#am i scared to reach out to my old beta? maybe

[limit-list]

and what if i hyperfixate on my wip from three years ago to update during pride month instead of working on my thesis 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[storiesbyrhi]

Angel of the First Degree - Chapter 12: Villains

Eddie Munson x Chubby!Reader 5748 words Series Masterlist

Warnings: Anxiety; fatphobia including internalised; drug use; bullying; body issues; discussion of body function and fluids; period shame/stigma; disclosure of sexual assault (chapter 2); disordered eating and thoughts of food; shitty/abusive/critical parents; porn magazines; smut; reference to suicide (specifically Virginia Woolf’s); no beta; grief/mourning; verbal fighting; warnings updated each chapter

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson finds you in the midst of a panic attack, it is the beginning of something. A fic featuring body and sex positivity, Eddie in a dress, soft small moments, scary big truths, and all the usual special feelings you’d expect from one of my stories.

Chapter Summary: The Seniors graduate. It’s the beginning of the end…

Author’s Note: I am not American so I straight up forgot ‘Thanksgiving’ exists. Casually skipping over it. Also, shoutout to anyone that saw the end note of last chapter before I caught the mistake; I put the end note for this chapter in it too lmaoooo.

Eddie’s hair wouldn’t fit under the graduation cap.

“Maybe if I, like, pin it on?” you thought out loud.

“Pin?!” Eddie screeched.

“Not safety pin. Hair pin,”

“Oh.”

Flattening some of the cap, you managed to get it to sit stable on his head. You smoothed his robes and took a step back.

“Don’t look at me like,” he mumbled, turning to leave.

“Eddie. Stop. Come here.” Taking his face in your hands, you smiled at him. Positively beamed. “You did it,”

“Yeah, yeah,”

“No. No, don’t do that. This is big. You’re allowed to be proud of yourself,”

“Oh, yeah, super proud of being a twenty-year-old high schooler,”

“First of all, you weren’t really trying before, were you? And, even if you were, you know better than anyone that this is all…” You shrugged. “It doesn’t work for everyone. School is… a…” There was an exact phrase Eddie had used before. What was it?

“Rigged system,”

“Yes! It’s rigged, right? So, who cares how long it took you to get here.”

Eddie nodded and gave in to the feeling of accomplishment.

When you and Eddie appeared in the lounge room, Wayne had to bite his tongue. He was going to cry and he’d never hear the end of it. “We ready then?” he asked.

You nodded and headed for the door. As you climbed the steps, you heard Wayne whisper a, “Proud of you, son,” to Eddie and it filled you with supreme love.

Wayne took his car, so that you and Eddie could head to the graduation afterparty straight from Hawkins High.

“Can I ask you something?”

You frowned, threw Eddie a suspicious expression. “Yeah…?”

“I know we talked about it, but… are you absolutely sure you don’t want-”

“I’m sure,” you interrupted.

Eddie was the absolute last person to want anything to do with your parents, but he was scared you’d regret not having them at your high school graduation. They would have got the invite in the mail, like all parents did. However, they hadn’t called or stopped by to talk to you about it. The one time Eddie asked if you wanted to reach out to them about it, you shut the conversation down fast.

Eddie nodded. “Okay.”

Later, when you crossed the stage and accepted your diploma, both Eddie and Wayne stood from their respective seats far apart. Eddie cheered ridiculously and you felt loved. Despite yourself, you glanced at the rest of the crowd. They weren’t there.

When it was Eddie’s turn, he got a standing ovation from Jeff and Gene, and Dustin – who had sneaked in and sat at the back of the crowd. For all the endless promises of flipping Principal Higgins the bird, Eddie didn’t. He blushed. Always full of surprises.

After the ceremony, Wayne presented you with a bouquet of peonies and Eddie a teddy bear, head only as big as a D20, wearing a little graduation cap. It was on a chain, ready to hang from the van’s rearview mirror.

The afternoon was cold, and the congratulations and pride only warmed you all so much. Wayne headed home, peonies accompanying him so they’d be safely put in a vase of water. You and Eddie headed to Chrissy Cunningham’s house for the only party where the entire cohort was welcomed. ’86, baby.

…

“So, high school graduate, what do you want to do with your newfound freedom?” you asked Eddie.

You were sitting on the floor of the bedroom a week or so after graduation, going through your notes and textbooks to see if there was anything worth keeping. Eddie had slept late, his light snoring and occasional sleep-babble the soundtrack of your morning. It was nice, just existing with no plans. No deadlines. No responsibilities.

Eddie shuffled his way to the edge of the mattress and peered down at your mess, no intention to ask what you were doing.

“Thought we would… go shopping,” he said, voice still croaky with sleep. He cleared it, then added, “Like we talked about,”

“Talked about? When?”

You honestly couldn’t recall one instance where you and Eddie had planned on going shopping. What could he possibly need?

“Ah, in the hotel. After the dance.”

Eddie watched you look up and frown at him, the cogs in your mind clicking and turning with thought. It was visible on your face when you remembered.

“Oh,”

“If you still want to,”

“I do,” you confirmed, nodding. Butterflies spawned in your tummy.

Since the dance, you and Eddie had spent a significant amount of time in bed, to the point where you knew each other’s bodies as well as your own. However, you had yet to feel as confident as you did that night. There was something about the novelty of the hotel room and the big event and all the fuss that made it seem… not real. Returning to everyday life, to the bed you shared with Eddie, to casual clothing, took some adjustment.

The ride to Lafayette started quietly as you played with your ruby ring and watched the sprawling Indiana landscape speed passed. Soon enough, Eddie had begun telling you about Jason Newsted, hardly taking a breath between sentences.

“You remember that album I played for you? The debut? Doomsday for the Deceiver? Well, the bassist for them is joining Metallica, after, you know, Cliff. Apparently, he learnt their whole setlist.”

No, you didn’t remember the debut record. Flotsam and Jetsam were only one of the dozens of bands Eddie introduced you to in an attempt to indoctrinate you into the metal life. Still, you nodded, and listened. You loved Eddie all the time, but when he got all revved up and excited, it was a sight to behold. He talked all the way to Lafayette.

“You sure about this?” Eddie asked when he pulled up out the front of Love Shack.

The name alone made you feel hot with embarrassment; still, you nodded to him and got out of the van. Eddie took your hand and lead you inside, all bravado and pep.

“Woah, woah, woah there Van fuckin’ Halen. Gotta be 18 to be in here,” a guy that looked like he moonlighted as a proper biker called from the register. “You look the part, but your girl there…?”

“She’s of age,” Eddie said, looking to you as you fished your ID out.

You’d skipped a grade in elementary school, turning 18 a week before the ill-fated 7 Minutes in Heaven party at the end of Junior year. The guy checked your ID, nodded, and handed it back. “First time huh?”

You nodded, afraid that your voice would come out broken or strained.

“Not for me. Just showing her the sights,” Eddie told the man.

“Right. Leave you to it then,” and he did just that.

Wherever Eddie went, you were close behind, looking at things you had never even thought could possibly exist. Things that made you feel bad and gross. Things that made you curious. Things that made you laugh. Things that made you all tingly and warm.

There was nobody else in the store and the music the right volume to cover any awkward silence well. The guy at the counter was reading a book, not paying any mind to the two of you. You felt comfortable enough to separate from Eddie, look around on your own. Bravely, you even flipped through a couple of magazines.

You stopped to read a poster, big cutesy letters spelling out ‘kitten playset’ catching your eye. The poster girl was on her knees, but sat back on her legs. She had pastel-coloured lacey cuffs, ornamental and sweet. Her collar matched, with a small heart-shaped tag with her name dangling from it. Cat ears sat on her head and the fur was the same as that in the tail that came from behind her, although you couldn’t tell where the tail was actually pinned to her.

“Found anything interesting?” Eddie asked, making you jump a little. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,”

“It’s okay. Just wondering… Never mind,” you told him dismissively, shrugging.

“It’s one of these, but like, with the tail,” Eddie said. You turned around and watched him pick up a small object. It had a suction cap on one end, and was made of silicon or soft plastic. You knew what it did without having to be told.

“Oh,” was all you offered him. Your focus felt cloudy while your mind filled in the blanks and showed you the kitten playset in many forms.

Eddie put down the anal plug and took your hand, moving to show you the wall of vibrators. “I think we just… start small. Simple.”

Ultimately, you picked a vibrator that required two batteries. It was small, around 10 centimeters in length. Plain black. Functional. Good for beginners. The guy at the counter processed the sale with the type of disinterest that put people buying sex toys at ease.

Eddie wore a stupid fucking grin all the way home.

…

“Welcome to Build-a-Bear, have you visited us before?” Kasey asked. You recognised her immediately, but she’d stitched together countless bears between Hellfire and Angel and your second visit.

With the money Wayne presented at breakfast, you and Eddie took a trip to the mall. Eddie picked up his new guitar strings and spent some time talking to the guys in the music store. You wandered around, pressing the odd piano key here and there.

At Build-a-Bear you picked a scruffy looking bear and named him Guthrie, in honor of Wayne. At breakfast, he’d given you strict orders not to recreate him in teddy form. Guthrie felt like a fitting alternative. Eddie carried the bear out of the store on his shoulders, a piggyback for a plushie.

“Alright, need anythin’ else while we’re here,” Eddie asked, casually looking around.

Across the mall, you spotted Hayley and some of the now-graduated cheerleaders. What do you call a cheerleader who doesn’t cheer? Are they just girls? Young women? Will they grow and change and regret the callousness of their past?

Hayley locked eyes with you. Fear ran down your spine, an automatic reaction to a situation you’d been in so many times before. But, high school was over. Hayley held no power over you anymore. It was like she knew it, she simply looked away, turned back to the magazine in her hand.

Eddie hadn’t noticed but had clocked Chrissy walking in your direction.

“Uh, on your nine,” he said, taking Guthrie off his shoulders and grabbing your hand. “Wanna go?”

“No, it’s okay,” you answered, turning in Chrissy’s direction.

“Um, hi,” she said, stopping a safe distance from you and Eddie. Her eyes flicked from you to him, then back to the ground. Chrissy gathered her thoughts and looked up. “I… I wanted to say something at the grad party, but… I, um, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

It threw you a bit, your hand tightening around Eddie’s. You could feel his pricky energy beside you, ready to jump in the moment you needed.

When you said nothing, Chrissy continued. “I’m sorry for not being a better friend. What happened to you last year was… bad… And, um… I should have said something. I should have stopped Hayley too. I just…”

“I know,” you told her. “I get it.” Honestly, you did. Chrissy’s mother could have easily rivaled your own in the cruelty department. You’d seen how she spoke to Chrissy about her appearance, about cheering, and her grades. About Jason. About going to church. About her future. About everything.

“I know… I know you do… That’s why I should have been a better friend…” Chrissy left ‘we could have helped each other’ unsaid. “I’m happy you found…” She looked at Eddie, unsure what to call him and his Hellfire friends. “Good people,”

“…Thanks. I hope you do too,” you replied genuinely.

Chrissy smiled, soft and sad, then gave an awkward wave and left. You watched her for a moment more, before looking up at Eddie. His eyes were still glued to her.

“Lot more lost sheep out there than there should be,” he said, his voice slow and quiet, an indicator that a thought got lost from point A to B, finding its way out his mouth before he could stop it.

“Yeah.”

You hoped Chrissy would be okay. That she’d live a long and happy life, find something better than the family she was born into, better than Jason, better than Hawkins.

Eddie took a breath in, sharp and sudden. Then, “Alright. Let’s go, angel. I’m fucking starving.”

After lunchtime pancakes at the diner in town, you made your way back to the trailer. Wayne had left for work already, so you were alone.

“Do you think it’s too early for Christmas movies?” Eddie asked as you plonked yourself down on the couch and kicked off your shoes.

“You like Christmas movies?”

Eddie was shaking his jacket down his back, throwing it on the coffee table. His Reeboks came off next, then he knelt down in front of the television set, looking through stacks of unorganised VHS tapes.

“Oh, yeah. Black Christmas. To All a Goodnight. Christmas Evil. Gremlins. Don’t Open till Christmas. The Dorm that Dripped Blood. You know, the classics,” he explained, turning around to give you a trademark grin.

You could help but smile back, heart aflutter with how utterly Eddie he was being. “I mean… we’re between Halloween and Christmas, right? Might be the perfect time for a festive horror?”

“Babe, you get me,” he replied with a laugh.

Eddie put a tape in and joined you on the couch, crashing down next to you with enough force you thought he was going to crush you for a second. He always landed with his weight on his hands though, never hurting you in the slightest.

“Alright, so even though this is pretty new, it’s arguably one of the best Christmas horrors. Came out… last year? Maybe the year before? Or the one before that. It kind of came out of nowhere, like, it’s not written by one of the big guys,”

“Big guys?”

“Yeah, like Craven or King or Carpenter. But people were pissed. All up in arms about good ol’ Santa being the bad guy,”

“Eddie! Did you just ruin the ending?!”

Eddie cackled. “No. It’s not that type of film. It’s just pure slasher… Which is why the puritans of the United States of Christmas America tried to get it banned and shit. Only just came out on tape because of it all. Had to be edited. Less gore.”

You loved when Eddie told you about something like that. He’d be animated and excited. Eloquent. Funny. Engaging.

“What’s it called?” you asked.

“Silent Night, Deadly Night.”

You snorted. “That’s a dumb name,”

“Yeah, but the deer antlers, babe. It’s fucked.”

Eddie was right. It absolutely was fucked. You cringed at the special effects in the film, understanding why people considered it to be too explicit. All in all, it was okay.

“I give it a B minus,” you stated as the credits began to roll.

You were stretched out on the couch with Eddie on his tummy between your legs, using you as a pillow. Throughout the film, he had been pressing lazy kisses to your stomach, hips, and hands.

“She’s hard to please,” he mumbled, his face mashed into your t-shirt.

“Am not. I just get sad when the villain is only bad because of something that happened to them. It’s like… Boring.”

Your argument interested Eddie, he lifted his head to look at you, folded his arms across your body, and rested his chin on them. “Continue,”

“Well, like, isn’t it scarier when someone is evil but there is no reason to be?”

Eddie thought about it. “You’ve got a point,”

“Right? And like, it’s kind of mean to keep saying that if shitty things happen to you, you’re going to become the villain. I mean, bad things have happened to us and we don’t go around killing people.”

Eddie was perceptive enough to see your argument was one part head and one part heart. He nodded. A sly, wicked little smile flashed on his face then. “I mean… You don’t know what I do when you’re not around,”

“Oh?”

“Mmmhmmm,” he hummed, crawling up your body and holding himself over you. “I could be the villain. The very bad, very evil guy,”

“Psycho killer?” you whispered, pulling him down by his pick necklace to kiss you.

Eddie did your favourite thing – smiled so hard into the kiss that the kiss didn’t work anymore. He laughed a little. “And you’ve totally fallen into my trap,”

“Playing the long game?” you countered.

Eddie nodded then pressed his forehead to yours. “There’s been others, you know, to keep me… satisfied.” He sounded ridiculous, his voice taking on just a little of his DM flair and a little of his dirty talk tone. “But I’m obsessed with you. Infatuated. Fanatical. Just had to have you.”

Despite the silliness, you could feel your body heating up. Trying to play it off, you giggled and looked away. It didn’t deter Eddie, instead you had just given him access to your neck. Quickly, he kissed a line from the top of your shirt up to just under your ear.

“You’ll never get out of here alive,” he whispered in his best love-sick sociopath voice.

Instead of laughing or pushing him off, your hands curled around his t-shirt. He bit your earlobe and you wrapped your legs around his waist in response. Eddie returned to kissing your neck, nipping harder than he usually would. Purposeful bruises would appear by dawn.

You were unsure how you felt. If you thought about it, your mind turned to morality and you recoiled at the idea of being hurt by a man. That train of thought lead you to Andy and your father. But, if you didn’t think at all, if you focused on physical sensation, it was different. Your body betrayed your mind and you wanted to go all in on the fantasy. And, if you focused on Eddie and Eddie alone… well, fuck.

Eddie, for his part, wasn’t thinking at all. He was acting purely on impulse and desire. When you squeaked out, “H-how would you…” but lost confidence in yourself halfway, he nudged your nose with his.

“How would I what?” He kissed you. “How would I massacre my sweet little angel?” He kissed you again, then looked from your lips to your eyes to check on you. Your pupils were blown so wide your eyes were almost as dark as his were on a daily basis.

The expression on your face was new to Eddie. He was sure he’d never seen you look so placid yet you were hanging on his every word. It was electric; he felt like his entire body was buzzing.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

You nodded, your gaze drifting to his necklace. With no premeditation, you opened your mouth and caught it between your lips, sucking it in.

“Jesus,”

“How?” you asked again, spitting the pick out.

“I… I need more space. Come on,” Eddie ordered. He was off the couch and pulling you to the bedroom with a neediness that absolutely thrilled you to your core.

…

“Nope. I love you more. It’s like… science,”

“Science schmience. I love you more,” Eddie replied.

It was sometime well after the 3:00 am witching hour. You and Eddie had thoroughly explored the fantasy, and were winding down with the help of a joint and cups of shitty packet mix hot cocoa.

“Maybe…” You knew it was a dangerous thing to say. There was time to stop yourself but you didn’t. “You just love me because you feel bad for me.”

Eddie’s easy happy expression dropped. His head tilted up just a little, enough to tell you he was thinking carefully. “Is that what you think?”

“No… But, you know, you kind of saved me… And, you do love a broken thing.”

He sat up. “If I only love you because… you were a broken thing,” he started. “Do you only love me because I saved you?”

“What? No,”

“Ah, so there’s plot holes in your theory, angel.”

Eddie reached out and ran his thumb along your bottom lip. He would have loved you if he’d found you ditching class and giggling behind the woodwork shed. If you’d given him the time of day, he would have loved you no matter what. There was a reason he’d remembered the small interactions you’d shared before 1986.

And, if you had given him the time of day, you would have loved him no matter what. It wasn’t the valium and the roof over your head that made you fall in love with Eddie. It was everything in between and beyond.

It was reductive to say your love was tied to saving and being saved. Love didn’t bloom because trauma planted the seeds. Because healing was rain and safety was sun.

Love bloomed for the simple and entirely irrevocable fact that it should.

Eddie turned the bedroom lamp off and pulled you into him. You rested your head on his chest, felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“I wish I quit cheering sooner,” you whispered through the darkness. “I might have… become me faster. Might have talked to you properly before this year,”

“I don’t know… Used to spend a lot of time thinking about how things could have been different. You know, with my, uh, parents… and all that. But it doesn’t really help. Doesn’t change anything… I mean, I wish it didn’t take me three years to graduate high school… but if it didn’t, wouldn’t have you, so… maybe it’s better not to wish things were different.”

Sometimes Eddie would drop a line of cosmic wisdom, and you felt honored to know him as that smart and thoughtful boy as well as the absolute madman that wanted sex while you were on your period and stole jack-o-lanterns for the sole purpose of destruction.

“Okay,” you said. “Well then, right now, I don’t think about any of this being different. Everything is just… good.” You wished there was a better word.

“Yeah, it is,” Eddie agreed, reaching over to run a finger across the stone of your ruby ring. He looked at you, mouth curved into a smile, eyes dark enough to mirror your reflection back at you.

Cuddled into him, you were warm, safe, and content all the way down to your bloomed love bones.

…

Eddie was home alone and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. You had gone with Esther to find a dress for your upcoming birthday, and Wayne was running errands and doing the grocery run.

He considered his options. House chores? Nah. Go for a walk? Nope. Give his bong a proper clean? He’d put that down as a maybe. Make a new mixtape. Masturbate. Try to give himself a tattoo using ink and pins. Nap.

Eddie had been sitting on the couch for about five minutes when the decision was made for him. A car pulled up outside the trailer, the gravel crunching under the tires. It wasn’t Wayne; Eddie knew the sound. He was standing to go spy out the window when there was a sharp knock on the door. Eddie didn’t bother with the window, pulling the door open with a casualness that indicated he never would have guessed who was there. He clenched his jaw and folded his arms across his chest.

Your father looked Eddie up and down, the same disgust on his face he wore last time he was in Forest Hills. Eddie said nothing, but glanced over at the car to see your mother in the front seat.

“Guess there’s a part of her that always knew,” your father said. Eddie looked back at him, still giving him nothing. “Doubt you’re getting any acceptance letters. That means she’s leaving you behind?”

Eddie held his poker face as your father shoved a bunch of mail into his arms. Without another word, they were gone.

Slowly, Eddie closed the door and walked to the kitchen bench. He laid out the envelopes, saw the college stamps, and took a breath. They had already been opened, a reminder of the disrespect you endured under their roof. He didn’t want to be like them. He didn’t want to invade your privacy. But Eddie’s rationality left when your parents did.

With shaking hands, Eddie learnt that you’d been accepted into three different colleges. The fact that he recognised two by name – Notre Dame and the University of Chicago – meant you’d done exceptionally well. He felt bad for being surprised. It wasn’t that he thought you weren’t smart enough, it was more that you’d had a rough year. Evidentially it hadn’t affected your grades.

Notre Dame was at least within the state. He could still see you. Or… was your father right? Were you about to leave him in Hawkins alone to rot? Notre Dame hadn’t offered financial support, the letter reading they regretted to inform you no scholarships were offered. How would you afford college?

Eddie was suddenly realising that it was a mistake to never talk about life beyond high school.

The next envelope offered accepted to a community college close by. He knew it was your backup. They offered financial support to pay for classes.

Finally, Eddie held the thick package sent from the University of Chicago. Tears were rolling down his face, landing on the paper and making it warp. You were accepted. Welcomed. Eddie began to grind his teeth. A full scholarship, on the basis that your History teacher was an old classmate of someone in the Humanities department. The recommendation was glowing. It was enough money to fund classes, materials, and a good chunk of living expenses. There was a room in a dorm already assigned to you, pending your acceptance of their offer.

Eddie dropped the letter before it creased in his fist. He tried to blink away the tears, then tried to wipe them from his face with the back of his sleeve. They kept coming. “Fuck!” he yelled so loud the Mayfield’s dog barked in response. He said it again, but it came out in a whisper. Eddie walked in a few circles, then back and forth. His breathing quickly lost rhythm and he started to hyperventilate.

The image of you, happy and Eddie-free, kept flashing in his mind. You in Chicago. You meeting college boys. You falling in love with someone else. You kissing someone else. Fucking someone else. Marrying someone else. Having a whole fucking life with someone else.

He tried to sit down but as soon as his body hit the couch he was back up, verbalising a broken, “Nope,” before going back to pacing. Eddie did all he could to stop from crying, but he crumpled to the floor and whimpered.

Meanwhile, you were in the front seat of Jeff’s car, borrowed by Esther. You were laughing with her, talking her out of any sort of surprise party. She pulled up out the front of the trailer and you asked if she wanted to come in.

“Is Wayne home?” she asked.

“Ahh…” You looked out to see if there were one or two vehicles parked. “Nope. Doesn’t look like it,”

“Then no. If Munson is home alone, god knows what’s going on in there.”

You laughed and shrugged. “That’s fair. Okay,” you replied, grabbing your bag. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for driving,”

“All good. See ya.”

You waved as Esther drove away. The door to the trailer was unlocked, which was not out of the ordinary. You walked in and made your way straight to the bedroom, the quietness usually meaning Eddie was catnapping the day away.

He wasn’t in there.

“Eddie?” you called, dropping your bags and returning to the other side of the trailer. You jumped when you saw him, startled by his still presence on the couch. “Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!”

You were about to laugh when you saw the redness in his cheeks, the hollow look on his face.

“Eddie? What’s wrong? What happened?” you asked, quickly going to him and falling to your knees in front of him. His stare was vacant and it was like he was avoiding your gaze. “Eddie? What happened? Where’s Wayne?”

Still, Eddie said nothing. You stood up and looked around. Nothing looked out of place. That’s when you noticed them. Paper and envelopes strewn across the kitchen counter. Somehow, you knew what they were without reading them.

As you stepped closer, you picked up the letter on top. The University of Chicago.

“Your dad came over.” Eddie’s voice surprised you. You felt ice cold. “Dropped your mail off,”

“Eddie,” you said slowly, turning around.

“So, that’s it?” His voice was hard, not how you were used to. Eddie looked over at you. The expression on his face was accusatory.

“What?”

“You just… come into my life. Make me love you. Make Wayne love you and all my friends. Then just fucking leave? Not a fucking word about it.”

You had never seen him angry. Immediately, you were scared. Your eyes welled up with tears and your bottom lip quivered like a child's. “No… That’s not-”

“I’m so fucking dumb! I really fucking thought you…” Eddie hesitated for only a millisecond. “…loved me. But, ah, I don’t even know what you’re doing. Don’t even know who you fucking are,”

“No. No, Eddie.” You tried to reach for him but he held his hands up and stepped backward.

“Don’t,”

“Eddie, please, I do love you,”

“No. Nope. You don’t... How the fuck could you plan on fucking Chicago, Chicago, and not say anything about it. Your whole life is planned. There’s literally a bed with your fucking name on it there!”

Eddie was being completely unfair. You couldn’t tell that in the moment. You’d had a whole life of being treated unfairly and the conditioning to make you believe you deserved it.

“Please,” you begged. “I applied at the start of the year. I didn’t… I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t have you like I do now. I thought I’d be stuck with my parents if I didn’t find a way to leave. Please, Eddie, listen-”

“No. Fucking no. Jesus.” Then, he said your name. Not baby or babe. Not angel. Your name served bitter.

On the verge of breaking down into either mania or a catatonic state, you turned and grabbed at the acceptance letters, ripping them up. “I don’t want to go, Eddie! I don’t want to go!”

He watched you with cruel indifference. The trauma that was deep in Eddie, the one that took the shape of him as a child, left by his parents, unloved by everyone for so long, had come to the surface. It was violent sadness and terror of abandonment.

Neither of you had heard Wayne pull up or climb the stairs into the trailer. He opened the door, arm holding a bag of groceries, just in time to see your hands full of ripped paper lower to your sides defeated.

“Please,” you cried, stepping forward again.

“Should’ve never fucking trusted a cheerleader,” Eddie spat.

“What the hell is going on here?” Wayne yelled. He watched you reach out for Eddie again, only to have Eddie push your arms away from him.

“She’s leaving,” Eddie told Wayne.

“No! No, I’m not,” you managed to say between sobs.

“Why wait? You should pack your shit and go now. Save us both from any more wasted time,”

“Eddie!” Wayne shot. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, you know. The fucking usual. Not fucking good enough. Not worth it. Right?”

He was so full of rage that you were paralysed. All you could do is look at him and cry, hoping that he’d see you never meant to hurt him.

“Eddie,” Wayne said again.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Eddie interrupted, stopping whatever scolding was coming. He darted by Wayne and was out the door before anyone could stop him.

Both you and Wayne watched in shock as Eddie’s van tore away from home, disappearing in a cloud of dust. When Wayne turned around, you were on your knees.

“Jeez, kid. What happened?” he asked softly, coming to pull you up and sit you on the couch.

After your best effort to speak was ineffective, you pointed to the kitchen counter. Wayne scanned over what was left of the letters, growing more confused before he settled the pieces into place. He knew exactly why his nephew had lashed out harder than he had ever before, but it didn’t justify how he had treated you. Wayne came and sat next to you, a hand on your arm to let you know you weren’t alone.

“I’ll kick his ass for this,” he eventually said. “He might be scared, but this ain’t how I raised him to treat people. Especially not girls,”

“I… wasn’t… gonna… leave…” you breathed out.

“I know. He knows. He’s just… He’s like one of those kicked around stray dogs out there sometimes. Not his fault, but still can’t go around biting. He’ll calm down. I’ll have a long conversation with him about this, don’t you worry.”

You were worried. Everything good was crumbling around you faster than you could comprehend. There were horrible truths – like the fact your father purposefully did this – that you hadn’t even begun to face or unpack.

“What if he doesn’t love me anymore?”

Wayne hated the small voice that came out of you. It reminded him of his brother’s wife, and like all the other people he’d not been able to help. Life is hard for a Munson, and it hurt him to see one of his own be the harbinger of heartache. He hated to see shades of his brother in Eddie.

“S’not possible, kid. Not big on the whole… fate thing, but think it’s more than high school sweethearts for yous.”

Wayne made you tea, which you didn’t drink, and followed you along the hallway into the bedroom. You climbed into bed, pulled Eddie’s pillow close, and started to cry again. Wayne turned the light off and closed the door, not knowing what else to do.

Next Chapter: 13 - Pretending

End Note: I’m sorryyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

When I graduated high school, there was one huge party after the ceremony and literally the entire year was invited. It was at one of the cool kids’ houses but everyone went. It was surreal, tbh. So, yeah, all the Seniors went to Chrissy’s house. One night of like… get out of jail free cards and truces.

Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984) is a classic 80s slasher film, not actually gory by today’s standards, but tw: sexual assault. Why do so many horrors have really shitty scenes involving S.A.?

Fic Taglist: @ajeff855 @b-barnes04 @eddie-munson-is-a-sweetheart @nerd-squad-headquarters @word-wytch @harrys-tittie @munsonsmel0dy @sidthedollface2 @eddiethesexy @bardicfrustration @orpheusredux @munsonsgirl71 @a-time-for-wolvess @eddieswifu @rosaline-black @thegirlwhohides @emotionaldreamer @e0509 @briasnow-blog @kiyastrf94 @erinsingalong @rainylana @thescarletangelsstuff @mrsdollardog @tayhar811 @chickennug90

Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24

[navybrat817]

Beg Me

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: Distracting Andy from his work is always a fun time. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, hand job, possessive behavior, dirty talk, Andy Barber (he's a warning!) A/N: For @happygowriting 's Hat Draw Challenge (Prompt: “I’m going to jerk you off until you’re begging me to stop.” with Andy Barber) ). Congrats, lovely!!! ❤️ Not beta read, so any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly. Comments, likes, reblogs and asks are appreciated. ❤️

I have discontinued my tag list. Please follow my sideblog @navybrat817-sideblog​ and turn on notifications to see new fics! I will only post fics, my writing schedule and updates there.

I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission. 18+ Please!!! By reading this, you agree that you are at least 18 years old. Enjoy, lovelies!

If you could have dreamt up the perfect man, he would have been in the form of Andy Barber. Handsome, commanding and passionate, there was no denying him and you never wanted to. While he was usually the dominant of the two of you in bed, you occasionally liked to be the one who drove him crazy. It wasn't to give you a sense of power or control. You were just happy to make the man you loved feel good.

You watched him as he sat at his desk, tapping your fingertip against the doorframe. He promised he wouldn't work when he got home, but there he was. You didn't blame him and you weren't even upset. But now was the perfect time to give him something to get him through the rest of the day. 

You walked over to the desk, your hips swaying enticingly. You continued to watch him intently as he tried to ignore your presence, but you saw him look out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat as he looked back at the papers in front of him. Smirking, you snatched them from his hand and put them out of reach. You swore he snarled when you kept the smirk on your face.

"I'm trying to work and you're distracting me."

Your body clenched in reaction to his glare. Being on the receiving end of that look scared most people, but you were the exception. It sent a shiver of excitement through you when he didn't blink and you dared to step closer. 

"I know I am, but I can help you out," you offered. 

Andy raised an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to feigned disinterest. But he couldn't hide how dark his eyes got. "You're going to help me?"

"Yep. I'll get you off and you can go back to it," you said innocently, straddling him as he leaned back in his chair. 

His hand reached up and gently moved along your jaw, the small action immediately spreading more heat between your thighs. You had no idea how he turned you on so quickly with the lightest of touches, but you wanted to have the same effect on him. Before he could pull away, you grasped his hand and brought it to your lips. Your eyes twinkled with something lustful as you sucked a finger into your mouth, moaning around it. 

"You think teasing me is a good idea?" he asked, a slight rasp to his tone as his finger slipped free. 

"Teasing would imply that I have no intention to follow through. And I have every intention of doing so."

Brushing your lips against his, you moved a hand between your bodies to cup him. You felt how hard he was beneath his slacks and you wondered how long he had been worked up. Thankfully, he had you to take care of him. 

"Poor Andy," you said softly as you rubbed him, kissing the corner of his mouth. Feeling his beard tickle your lips made you tremble as you unbuttoned his pants. Maybe later you could convince him to rub his beard against your inner thighs. "How are you supposed to get any work done with your cock so hard?"

You heard the air rush out of his lungs as you pulled the zipper down, feeling his strong thighs tense beneath yours. "Still fucking teasing me," he groaned as your hand grasped the band of his underwear to move it down. "Fuck, honey."

You smiled as you grasped his cock and pulled him free. Holding him in your hand, your fist went tight. You rubbed your thumb across the head as you leaned back and glanced down. The thickness of him never ceased to amaze you. It made your mouth water.

“I told you I'm not going to tease you," you reminded him as you twisted your wrist. "I’m going to jerk you off until you’re begging me to stop.”  

Andy was amazing. Addicting. How could not worship him? You ignored how soaked your panties were as you pumped your hand because this was about him. And after so many nights of him bringing you over the edge multiple times, it was time to return the favor.

"Fuck, honey. Faster," he groaned, his hips rocking as you worked him in even strokes.

"No," you laughed softly. "You have no patience right now, Mr. Barber, and that won't do. Just like my pussy is yours, this is my cock. I'll go as fast or slow as I please."

There was no mistaking the growl this time. He sounded impressed that you took control. "I'm ruining my pussy the second I'm done-"

"The second you're done what? Coming?" you questioned, kissing his cheek as you brushed the head of his cock again. Feeling him leak for you had you lightly grinding your own hips. "I told you. Until you beg me to stop, your cock isn't leaving my hand."

His hips bucked hard enough to rock the chair, his moan low and deep. "You think I won't fuck you with my fingers? Or make you ride my thigh until you gush on these pants?"

"That would be a shame," you sighed, feeling more precum slide across your fingers. "I like these pants… But it would be fun to ruin them the way you ruined me. Just like I want to ruin you."

His head fell back as he could look in your eyes, his hips starting to lose their rhythm. "I was ruined the moment you walked into my life," he breathed.

You whimpered, wanting so badly to take him into your quivering cunt at his words. "Later," you thought because your release didn't matter. But his… "Prove it. Make a mess on my hand. C'mon, hotshot. Do it. Come."

He whined, actually whined, for you as his cock pulsed, shuddering as you watched his release spread between you both. Some of it landed on your hand as you finished stroking him, hot and searing. You wanted to taste every drop as he came down. 

"Fuck…" he panted as his shoulders slumped, catching his breath. 

As you pulled your hand away, you quickly replaced it with the other. 

"What…" he gasped as you brought it to your lips.

"Beg me," you whispered as you began to clean your fingers. "That's an order, Mr. Barber."

[mypoisonedvine]

please I need more of 40s alpha bucky becoming the winter soldier, i need to know what happens I need them to be together again I'm dying

coming right up, anon! it gets smutty under the cut... additional warnings for violence, threatened/implied noncon (very brief), angst, and also use of a syringe so needle phobics watch out

read part 1 first

"The woman... the Omega..." Bucky mumbled. "She knew me... she had my mark."

"No she didn't."

He furrowed his brow.  "She showed me..."

Pierce sighed, glancing over to the HYDRA scientist who looked back at him sternly.

"She's too dangerous to be left alive," the man sighed, shrugging in his labcoat. "We can't deprogram a bond like that."

"We'll take care of her," Pierce promised.

Bucky launched from the chair, snapping his restraints like paper. "Touch her and I'll fucking kill you!" he bellowed, tackling his handler to the ground.

Pierce just laughed as another scientist jabbed Bucky with a needle, dosing him with something strong enough to kill any other man but just enough to knock out a super soldier. Pierce stood up and dusted himself off as he watched Bucky go limp and be lifted back into his chair.

"I can see the fight in your eyes, Soldier," he taunted as he leaned in to his face. "I know you really would kill me, if you could. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, right? But don't worry about your mate, we'll make it quick and painless. Hey, maybe beforehand me and a few of the other Alphas will show her a good time, poor thing's been without her mate for 70 years... I bet she's raring to go."

Bucky's arm twitched as his eyes started to fall shut, a tear falling down his blank and motionless face.

"Wipe him," Pierce instructed to the scientist, turning and walking away as the electric whirr of the machine charging up filled the room.

//

Steve was impressed with how accurate and imminent your prediction was; HYDRA was hot on your trail and desperate to eliminate the biggest threat to their Asset. Knowing they were coming made it easier, but it was still a brutal fight.

You and Steve tried to stay together, but they were smart, they used the perfect bait to lure you away.

"Tell me where he is," you demanded from the HYDRA agent as you held a blade to his neck, "then I'll kill you."

"Isn't it supposed to be 'or I'll kill you'?" he frowned.

You shook your head. "Not the way I operate."

Opposite to the reaction you were expecting, he grinned widely. "He's here."

Your heart stopped.

"On the roof. He's here to kill you."

You dropped the knife and ran straight for the stairwell, ascending them like they were nothing and calling out for your Alpha.

You found him there, waiting, gun trained on you. Raising your hands in surrender, you yelled to him again.

"Bucky," you called across the windy roof, eyes nearly blinded by the bright afternoon sun. "Alpha."

"I'm not who you think I am," he yelled back. "I'm not your Alpha."

It hurt to hear it in his voice, but you knew it wasn't him. Cautiously, you stepped closer. "Before you left, you told me you didn't want to mark me and leave me behind," you recalled. "But I wanted it. I wanted to be bonded to you more than I'd ever wanted anything."

He could clearly see you were coming closer, he even tightened his finger over the trigger of his weapon, but he was waiting. You kept walking to him, slowly.

"I've never regretted it," you continued, "not even when I thought you were dead, not even when I had to spent a lifetime-- more than that-- apart from you."

Finally you were face to face, and you stepped closer until his gun was pressed right into your chest.

"You can shoot me now and I still won't regret it," you promised. "I love you."

Shakily, he lowered his weapon. "Omega..." he breathed.

"Your Omega."

He pulled you into him and you sobbed as you felt him come to life in your arms-- the real him, your Alpha, your Bucky. He held you close and breathed against the top of your head and it was like a dream coming true decades after you'd forced yourself to let it go.

But you'd never given up. And now you had found him again.

Agents started to come onto the roof and Bucky spun the two of you around, firing with his right hand and using the left, metal arm as a shield for you.

He carried you and you didn't even know where he was taking you, but it didn't matter. In his arms, you were home.

//

You hadn't stopped coming or crying for at least an hour. Bucky had all but split you open on his knot all night and he didn't show any signs of stopping.

He apparently intended to make up for lost time. And you'd lost a lot of time.

"Just one more, I know you can give me one more," he groaned furiously rubbing your clit as his knot began to swell again.

You could give him anything, as long as he asked for it like that.

You'd lost count of how many times he'd told you to come for him, and how many times you did it immediately.

"I can see how full you are," he whispered as he rubbed your stomach gently. "So much seed in you that your body can't hold it all."

You looked down and yep, you were distinctly bloated from his come alone; it made you a little dizzy to even look at it.

"The idea of you alone during your heats, no one to protect you, it kills me," he explained with a growl. "I won't let you go again. I can't."

"Then don't," you sighed. "Never leave this bed, fill me with everything you have."

"Did anybody ever help you through them? The heats?" he asked. "I wouldn't blame you, they can be so painful... I just need to know so I can make sure you forget about them."

"No, Bucky, never-- I never let anyone touch me."

"Steve could've helped you, at least some..."

"He wouldn't have, he loves you too much. And I wouldn't accept anything less than you, ever. You're my Alpha. We're bonded. There's never anyone else."

That didn't seem to satisfy him, his eyes darting away as he swallowed. Your gut sank with the realization he probably wasn't being totally honest about why he asked.

"Your ruts," you gasped. "Were you alone for all of them?"

He shut his lips tighter.

"Bucky, it's okay, just tell me. I was asleep for 70 years, I skipped most of them, but you... you had to live through them all."

"They gave me betas, and omegas," he mumbled, "but I don't... I don't really remember. I know they wanted me to. They threatened to hurt me if I didn't, because they knew I'd go crazy after so many ruts alone, but I can't remember if I really did it. I remember... I remember crying, and begging for you."

"Alpha," you breathed as you felt new tears run over the stains of your old ones. "It's okay. Whatever happened, it's okay now. We're together again. Everything's okay."

You wiped his tear away with your thumb, holding his face tightly, weaving your fingers into his long hair.

"I'll always be your Omega," you promised.

He leaned in closer to you, kissing your cheek before pulling back a little. "It's faded," he whispered as he ran his thumb over the mark on your neck. "The last time I saw it, it was still fresh."

"It's older, sure, but it's stronger than ever, Bucky."

//

Steve's eyes went wide when he saw you in the hall. "Surprised to see you out of the love nest so soon," he smirked.

"It's been three days, I don't think that counts as soon," you scoffed.

"It does to him," Steve frowned. "He's asleep, isn't he?"

"Yep."

"I know he wouldn't let you out of his sights if he was conscious," Steve chuckled.

At that moment, you heard Bucky call your name and run out into the hall, only a bedsheet covering his groin. You spun around and smiled when you saw him come running towards you, embracing you with his free arm.

"You should've told me you were leaving, I got scared when I woke up without you," he admitted weakly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry!"

He pulled back and clutched your face in both his hands. "I'm waking up next to you every morning for the rest of my life, you understand?"

You nodded dutifully. "Yes, Alpha."

"One hand on the sheet, please, Buck?" Steve winced, looking away.

“Whoops,” Bucky groaned, reaching to cover himself as you laughed softly.  

“Let’s go back to bed, baby,” you decided quietly, taking Bucky’s (free) hand in yours and waving goodbye to Steve, who was already making his way as far out of earshot as possible.

[miraculouspenta]

Different Limits

Original Idea by @jinx-jade​​

Thanks to @moonlitceleste​ for beta reading :D

'What have I done,' Damian thought. Dick was lying on the floor with an arm that was clearly broken. He had surprised Damian with a hug from behind, triggering his instinct to attack. Damian had reacted by twisting his arm, resulting with Dick being on the floor. Jason entered the door when he heard Dick’s shriek of pain. "WHAT THE F*CK, DAMIAN!" he shouted when he saw Dick. His whole family had scolded him, Bruce had benched him for a whole two months, and Alfred had given him a disappointed stare.

Damian couldn't stand it. Not anymore.

He snapped.

He had tried, he really had.

But it was never enough.

As the heir to the Demon's Head, attacking at unknown touch has been burned into him. Touch had always meant danger. It was second nature to him now. Unfortunately, his family did not know nor do they understand. Two years of constant reminders that he had done terrible things. Two years of constant reminders that he was merely a killing machine. Two years of greater expectations, both in standard and amount. He had enough.

Damian said goodbye to his pets and ran.

After a good hour of running, he dropped into an alley and cried.

In his vulnerable state, he didn't see a man creep up. A man holding a gun. The unknown adult was planning to kidnap the boy, but as soon as his hands reached Damian, he reacted. He flipped the man over his shoulder like what he did to Dick earlier. But in his state, it didn't affect much. The man pulled out a knife and stabbed him in his side. It ended the fight.

The kidnapper ended up running away, leaving a heavily injured Damian to slowly watch the world as his vision turned black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette, who had just finished some business with Superman, decided to take a walk in Gotham before going home. Along the way, she spotted a boy covered in blood as she crossed an alleyway. He was already unconscious, and Marinette knew she couldn't just leave him there. So she opened a portal and went through it and carried the boy in her hands. She laid him down in her spare room and left to get her medical supplies.

Approximately six hours later, the boy woke up. His eyes scanned the room as he tried to up and leave. Limping, he tried to head to the window. "Hi sweetie, you need to calm down," Marinette’s soft voice said as she walked slowly to the boy., "You should be resting; moving might agitate your injuries." The boy just stared at her. Marinette stood up slowly and walked over. "May I?" she asked, reaching for his hand. When he nodded, she carefully took his hand and led him to the bed. Once there, she helped Damian into a comfortable position. "Do you have anyone you can call?" she questioned. When he didn't answer, she simply nodded her head and asked him what he would like to eat.

Damian ended up staying for three weeks because Marinette refused to let him leave until he was fully healed. The twelve year old grew closer to the woman. Once healed, he confessed that he has nowhere to stay. Marinette took the information in stride and told him he was more than welcome to stay with her. And stay he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Living with Marinette was incredible. Unlike his grandfather and his father, she didn't place any expectations on him. At one point, he slipped and called her mom. Damian had froze after he said that, scared of how she would react. It ended up with Marinette asking him whether or not he would mind her adopting him. Damian happily agreed and they soon got the paperwork done. (Chloe is conveniently Marinette’s lawyer). Damian wore the Dupain-Cheng name with pride. As Grand Guardian, Marinette took it upon herself to teach Damian magic. Starting with glamour, they covered the basics of magic.

Two weeks after the adoption, while reading the daily news, Damian came across an article on the front page.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Daily Planet

BREAKING NEWS!!

Not more than six weeks ago, twelve year old Damian Wayne was reported missing. The only biological child of Bruce Wayne was suspected to have ran away for an unknown reason. He was last seen running to his room before he left. “Maybe I was a little too harsh,” Bruce Wayne admitted, “But this isn’t the first time I had to ground him because he wasn’t able to control his strength.” The young boy had somehow managed to flip Richard John Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s eldest, when he had surprised him with a hug. “Damian and I may not get along, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Tim Drake, co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises said.

Damian Wayne is a tan boy with dark hair and striking green eyes. He weighs around 90 lbs at 4’9 ft tall. Currently, he is twelve years old. Multiple search parties have been launched. I myself know Damian personally from all the times he has visited my son. If you find the boy, please contact xx-xxx-xxx-xxx and we will get to you as soon as possible.

- Clark Kent

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After reading, Damian had a breakdown. Marinette rushed in when she heard the sobs of her child. She didn’t say anything and instead she approached slowly wrapping him in her arms. She let him cry as she rubbed his back and once he calmed down, he told her his story and why he left.

“All these new expectations were just overwhelming,” he said, “‘No killing’, ‘justice not vengeance’—it’s like they were expecting me to turn back. I never wanted to hurt them, but it’s something that is a reflex now. It’s not easy to let go of a habit.” Marinette was silent throughout his whole rant. She knew how terrible Ra’s and Talia were but that didn’t make it better. She knew the Batman could be cold, but the fact that he didn’t listen and try to understand infuriated her.

“Ra’s and Talia should know not to mess with me, but if I ever see your father I can and will punch him,” she growled. Damian smiled as he nuzzled into his mother’s chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three years passed. Damian and Marinette’s bond grew stronger while the search parties grew hopeless. The Justice League was also involved; so were the Titans and the Young Justice. They concluded that Damian was either dead or hiding really well. The former option was discarded when Zatara and Zatanna had almost managed to track him, but unfortunately the spell suddenly shattered when it was nearing.

Desperate, the batfamily decided to reach out to the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous. Imagine their surprise when they saw Damian on their way to her house. When they ran to him, Damian, now fifteen, went into an alley and disappeared. They rushed to Marinette’s house and knocked. They heard hard breathing and a gentle voice trying to calm the other party down. Leaning towards the door, Dick found that it was unlocked and tumbled in.

What they saw was Damian kneeling on the floor crying in the middle of a breakdown and Marinette trying to soothe him. “Out,” Marinette glared. The boys obeyed and waited anxiously. The person that they had been searching for was under the protection of the Guardian all this time. It made sense why even both Zatara and Zatanna couldn’t track him down.

An hour later, Marinette opened the door telling them to come in and wait. She took some water and placed them on her coffee table saying that Damian was taking a shower. As soon as she sat down the boys began to fire questions. They stopped after a good fifteen minutes and noticing that Marinette wasn’t saying anything. “I know why Damian ran away, yes, but it is not my place to say. I can ask him later, and I will not say anything without his permission. But I will say this,” Marinette said, voice colder than ice, “You f*cked up.” Marinette stood up to check on Damian. “By the way,” she stopped for a moment, “I adopted him three years ago.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian ended up being the one to tell them everything. Everything from why he ran away to why he decided to stay. The Waynes felt bad; they hadn’t even bothered thinking about his perspective. Looking back, Jason and Bruce realized what Damian had said about the League was true. “I’m- We’re sorry Damian,” Dick apologized. “Are you willing to come back?”

“No,” he said. The Waynes were visibly saddened.

“But I am willing to start over.”

1445 words

I had tons of fun writing this fic, hope you guys like it

~Leen

@animegirlweeb @battybatbat @crystalangelluna @dorkus-minimus @galaxylightmoon  @iglowinggemma28  @insane-fangirl-of-everything  @jayjayspixiepop​ @jjmjjktth​ @karukofox21​ @lunathealphafemale​ @megaafangirl​ @miraculouslydumb​ @myazael​ @nickristus-dreamer​ @our-preciousss​ @samiamack​ @sh31bin0​ @user00000003​ @waffleyunsure​

[implexedactions]

My Little Ember - Enji Todoroki

Platonic!Yandere!Enji Todoroki

A/N: Okay, I’m late. I missed a lot of due dates. This isn’t even beta read. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. But here it is anyway!

This is Yandere content, and as such, one should be cautious of viewing this if you have certain triggers.

“Wake up, my little ember~ Did you have a good rest?”

 You blink your eyes open and look around. You are in “your” bedroom, a cruelly comforting place. A room in Enji’s giant mansion, covered in pastels and various kid-friendly entertainment. The nicest cage money could buy. 

 Enji’s hand rests on your shoulder. A warm presence on this otherwise cold day. Your eyes flicker up at the cyan ones looking compassionately down.

 “Uhh, yeah, it was fine, Enji…”

 Enji sighs and rubs his hand against your shoulder. 

 “I told you, kid, call me dad.”

 “But-”

 Enji raises a warm finger to your lips.

 “Come now, enough of that. I’ve let you sleep in long enough; it is already 7:30 am. I have been cooking breakfast in the kitchen for you.”

 You look away dejectedly.

 “I’m not hungry.” 

 “Hush, you need your breakfast if you want to grow big and strong like your old man!” 

 He promptly lifts you out of bed with just one arm, shoving you over his shoulder. You don’t fight back, instead just lying there, looking at the upside-down room. 

 Humming a tune, he carries you out of your bedroom, and into the empty mansion that you both share—pristine white walls and furniture, broken up with the odd child-proofed edge or photo-frame. 

 He abducted you four months ago and ever since seemed to be treating you as his child. Everyone who saw Endeavor knew he probably didn’t have a stellar home life, but this was absurd. 

 He walks down the stairs to the first floor, walking through a massive living room.

 “Enj-uhhh, dad?”

 Enji hummed with delight as he kept walking, you swaying up and down on his shoulder, getting slightly dizzy.

 “Yes, my little ember?”

 “Do you think I-uhh, we, could go outside today?”

 Enji stops in his tracks, his grip on you tightening and warming. Not noticeably, but enough. 

 “...Ember, I am not too sure if that is a wise decision.”

 Of course. It hadn’t worked the other 50 times you asked, why would it work now?! Why was it so hard for you to find ANY time away his watchful eye.

 “What a fucking surprise…”

 “Hey!”

 He pulls your now shaking form off his shoulder. One hand around your waist, one around your head as he brings you in front of him, hovering off the floor. His eyes are thin, a scowl on his face. You feel his hot breath coming from his nostrils. You have never been more scared in your life of this man.

 “Do not use that foul language, Y/N Todoroki. I will not tolerate it. Do not make me discipline you.”

 “I-uhhh, sorry…” you stammer out, avoiding his gaze. 

 His hand moves your head and forces your eyes to meet his disappointed ones.

 “I have raised you better than that, haven’t I? Apologise properly.”

 “Uhhh,,,Sorry, Father, that I, behaved inappropriately…” you say, staring into eyes that only villains are privy to.

 His face warms and he pulls you in for a hug. 

 “Apology accepted!”

 He places you down on the floor, but keeps your hand in a vice-like grip.

 “Now! We can’t leave those pancakes waiting, can we?”

 Enji  pulls you along, almost causing you to fall over a few times to keep up with his faster gait. He walks into the kitchen,and the smell of pancakes fill the air. He places you down on a seat, grabbing a plate and putting some pancakes on it, before serving it to you. You detectedly pick at the pancakes, staring out the window. It’s an overcast and cloudy day, might rain later. Enji seemingly notices this. 

 “Feeling melancholy, oh sorry, I meant, are you feeling sad??” He pries, softly bumping you with his elbow to get you to pay attention to him.

 “You kidna-” You got to interject, but get interrupted. 

 “I have something that might cheer you up! Look at this, my little ember!”

 Enji reaches over to grab the wet batter, he pours a bit into one of his cupped hands, and after putting down the container, presses his other hand over it. After a few seconds, he pulls apart his hand to reveal a potato-shaped pancake with imprints of his hands on it, perfectly cooked. 

 You fail to look impressed, to which Enji sighs. 

 “You will find it more interesting when you have your own quirk, I bet!”

 “...You realise I’m quirkless right?” You’ve been quirkless forever, you weren’t thrilled about it, but you made do, or you did, before this deranged hero kidnapped you.

 “Do not worry, my sweet little cinder. You are just a late bloomer. Your powers will come in soon, I guarantee it! You are a todoroki! It is in your very nature!”

 “But I-”

 “You might even get a fire quirk like your old man! Imagine how much I could impart to you! Are you not excited?!”

 “No, not rea-”

 “You will go to UA of course, but that might be putting the cart before the horse, champ. We should think about primary school before that...”

 Wait, what? Ignoring the fact that he’s trying to enrol you in primary school, this would mean you’d get out of the house, and presumably, to a teacher, who’d figure out you’re not a kid, and are in fact, being held against your will. 

 “I’d love to go to school Dad!” you cry enthuasatically, desperate to get out of the house.

 “Ha! You’re certainly eager!” He saddles up beside you and pulls you into his side, tussling your hair. 

 “Although...School seems a bit dangerous, looking at UA and what happened with sho- maybe instead, we could try a different approach, my little ember.”

 “But I’d really like to meet oth-” You need to force this issue, you can’t let him shut this issue down like this. This is your one chance to get outside the house.

 “Hmmm! How about instead, you use packet learning for general education, and well, we will cross the hero bridge when we get to it. Heh, maybe I could teach you about being a hero and intern you myself if you try to get your hero license! Would that not be fun, your old man teaching you how to be a hero?”

 He presses you into his side more, face pushed against his pecs, preventing you from speaking. It’s meant as a sort of hug, it mainly just hurts quite a bit. 

 “Just know I love you no matter what the outcome is, okay? Powers or no powers. Hero or no hero. You’ll always be my little ember!”

 Despite your flails and protests, Enji carries you to the couch, sitting you down next to the TV. The sun has risen fully, becoming mid-morning. 

 “Alright, kiddo. Want to watch some cartoons? How about that backyard science one? We could try to replicate, er, repeat,  the experiment later?”

 “Could I-er, we, watch that detective movie? I saw an ad for it, it looked interesting?” The issue is gone now, he will only deflect any questions, you’ve tried MANY times to get that to work. Might as well get SOME enjoyment out of this day. 

 “Hmpfh, you saw an advertisment for that movie? I need to monitor what you watch more often, that is much too dark for a young mind like you! Let me put on that science show…” 

 Enji goes to grab the remote, but you slap it out of his hand.

 “Stop this! Stop pretending that I’m your child! Stop trying to coddle me!“

 Enji goes to touch your shoulder, concern plastered over his face, hiding something sinister. 

 “Don’t fucking touch me you creep! Everyone knows you fucked up your first chance at a good family life, and this isn’t a fucking do over, you abusive, coddling, tormentor!” 

 Enji sighs.

 “And I was having such a nice morning too.” 

 Enji’s face grows dark as he stands up from the couch, before turning around and bending down to your level. Fast hands pinning your shoulders to your side, keeping you in place as an intimidating and vilanous look takes over his face. 

 “I will give you 5 seconds to apologise, and just maybe, I, your FATHER, can find it in my heart to lessen the SEVERE punishment you are getting, kid.”

 “1”

 “I’m sorry! Please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” 

 Enji’s face contorts into a smug smirk as confusion takes over yours.

 “2”

 “W-What? But-I’m sorry! Please listen to me!”

 You thrash useleslly against the hands holding you in place, desperate to try and escape his gaze. Reduced to a whimpering and crying mess as you think of the ‘discipline’ your father will inflict.

 “3”

 “Please! I said I’m sorry! What more do you want from me?!”

 You’re on the edge of hyper ventilating as Enji stares you down. His hands are warming up, grip tightening, only causing your thrashing to become even stronger. Your attempts to break free don’t even budge him an inch.

 “4...Do not make me count to 5...”

 “Please! Enj-Father! I’m sorry! I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll eat those pancakes! I’ll play along! Please, don’t hurt me!”

 Enji’s smug smile and piercing eyes will haunt your dreams.

 “...5. I thought I had raised you better than that, my little cinder. Oh well, time to-”

 Lightning and thunder interrupts the countdown, an ear-splitting crack emanating from outside the sealed house. Enji jumps to cover you, as you yelp, the already anxiety inducing conversation ruining your nerves so much a lightning strike scares you. Immediately, Enji’s menacing demeanor melted away. 

 “Oh, I thought it was a villi- nevermind.”

 Enji looks down at you. Your form is shaking, tears spilling out of your eyes. Looking both catatonic and extremely wound up, as you fail to comprehend your surroundings, simply mumbling to yourself about punishment and forgiveness.

“S-Sorry. Forgive. Forgive m-me.I-I-”

 “Do you see, my little ember? The threat of punishment WAS the punishment.

 His hands pulled you into his broad chest, shushing you and rubbing warming hands up and down your back. You keep on crying, your turbulent emotions entirely out of control, not knowing how to react. You feel like your sanity is so fragile, anything will break it. You simply focus on a spot upon the wall, and nothing else. 

 “It is okay, ember. It is just thunder. I will protect you.”

 “...not scared of thunder...” you mumble. He chooses to cocoon you further with his massive body, noticeably warming himself up to protect you from the potential cold.

 “You do not need to lie, little one. I am not expecting you to be perfect, okay?”

 He pauses, mulling over his next words. 

 “I am only expecting perfection from me.”

[clouditae]

First Love | 19

Yoongi x reader | 18+ | college au | tattoo artist au | angst | fluff | swearing

Word: 3.9k

Beta reader: jinned

happy birthday to yoongi

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi

Chapter Index

You lie in bed staring up at the ceiling as the tips of your fingers brush along your lips. You can’t stop the smile growing as you remember the kiss. How he brought his lips to yours, taking you by surprise for a moment before your eyes flutter to a close and feel his lips move along yours. It fits perfectly with yours; soft, warm and sending butterflies in your stomach. You felt the fireworks and the rapid beating of your heart—it’s completely different from Hanbin. You toss to your side, burying your face in your hands as you feel the blush creep along your cheeks. You love him. You told him confidently that day and you have no regrets. 

So what does that mean for the two of you? Are you a couple? You thought the same thing with Hanbin, but it wasn’t until he asked you to be his girlfriend that you learned you two were just dating for a few weeks. Ari even told you that everyone starts dating to test the waters before they decide if they want to be official or not. So, you’re not a couple with Yoongi. Unless he has a different view on what official means and that kiss makes you a couple? But it also might not be that. Maybe it’ll only be a kiss and that’s it. You’ll never know what it’s like to date him and you’ll be alone the rest of your school year and find some old dude to be your lover because you’ve only loved Yoongi since then. 

“Oh my God I’m scaring myself,” you mutter to yourself, sitting up. You have to talk to him. You have to ask him if what happened that day means something more to him like it does for you. Climbing out of bed, you slip on your shoes and step up to your door, hand outstretched towards the handle. But you can't bring yourself to grasp it. Your hand idles, thoughts fighting against each other before you’re back in bed. “I’m not going. I’ll wait it out.” You’re under your cover, hiding from reality. 

So much for thinking you’re a new person with so much confidence.

“You’re such a wimp.”

“I am not!” you defend, but you know she’s right. Ari is one hundred percent right today, but you don’t want to admit it out loud. 

“Yes you are. Now grow a pair of bigger boobs and go ask him!” She shoves you towards the door, but her push is barely strong enough to nudge you. 

It’s been almost a week since you had your kiss with Yoongi, and your last talk with him, too. He’s been unreachable—always at school or too busy to even give Hoseok the time of day. You’re thinking it’s because he has an important assignment coming up, but then you’re also thinking he’s having second thoughts about the kiss. He never said anything to you that day after the kiss. He told you he needed to focus on his work and you left. Nothing was said. Nothing is ever said when it comes to him. 

Why do you like him again?

“I’ll do it later,” you whine, stomping your feet like a child as you climb into bed instead. 

You can see her staring daggers at you as she stands in the middle of the room with her arms crossed over her chest. You can see she’s thinking of something, but you don’t know what. Finally, she says, “You have a week to talk to him. If you don’t, I’ll go over there and ask him myself.” You can’t help but open your mouth in shock. Did she really just— “Got it?” she says, rather than asks. Groaning, you toss your blanket off you and slide off your bed, grabbing your backpack on your desk chair and slip on your shoes. “Where are you going?” she asks as you turn the handle to open the door. 

“To study on campus,” you half yell, opening the door, heading out of the room.

You're about halfway down the hall when you hear your dorm room close and open again with Ari yelling, "You better not forget what I said!"

No words are said from you as you push the side door open and head down the flight of stairs. You almost trip from the frustration Ari gave you, but you catch yourself and take careful strides down the rest of the steps. No one is really outside today—no one is heading towards the bus stop to take the fifteen minute drive towards campus. Maybe you'll have time to calm down in the shuttle and prepare yourself for a test that's weeks away.

You just needed to get out of the room and away from Ari's unnecessary glares. Reaching the sidewalk, the shuttle has just pulled to a stop. It seems like you'll have to wait fifteen or thirty minutes before the vehicle will take you to the campus. As the doors open, a few people exit the large, white bus—one of them being Yoongi who notices you immediately. You can feel your heartbeat quicken, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach in an instant. You don't understand how he can cause such chaos within you, but he does it every time you see him. You can imagine the kiss so clearly. His soft lips brushing along yours, thumbs running across your skin leaving a hot trail behind.

He's looking at you expectantly as the rest of the passengers leave along with the driver towards the buildings. It's not as obvious for you as it is for him, but you realize your mouth is open as if you're going to say something. Your body betrays you rather quickly before your brain can even comprehend what you're doing. Yet, he continues to wait there for a few more seconds before he turns his attention ahead of him and he starts towards his room.

"Um," you begin, seeing him stop in your peripheral, "I was wondering..." Wow you're struggling. Where did all that confidence you had when he kissed you go? Where did the ‘don't think just do’ motto go? Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turn to face him. "What are we exactly." Okay. You said it. Now the ball is in his court.

He's staring at you with a look you can never read, eyes blankly staring and mouth set tightly. Is what you thought about earlier really true? Was it just testing out the waters? Does he not like you? Why are you always right?

"What do you want us to be?" he asks.

You blink once. Twice. Just trying to comprehend what he just said and double checking with yourself to make sure what you heard is right. "What?" you ask, not wanting to answer just in case you did hear wrong.

He takes several steps towards you until he's a few inches away, his cedar wood cologne invading your senses as he repeats himself, his warm, minty breath fanning your face, "What do you want us to be?"

Okay he’s close. He’s super close. You can see the flecks of light brown swimming in his darker brown colored eyes. Taking in a deep breath, you answer, “I want to be more than what we are.” You said it. You did it—oh God you said it. What’s he going to say?

“Friends?” is his response to your statement. 

Is he testing you? Is that what he thinks you mean? You shake your head nevertheless. “More than friends,” you mumble, feeling smaller than you did when you first opened your mouth. 

He watches you. Searching for something you don’t know of. You can’t help but squirm, eyes shooting down to his black shirt as he looks at you for a moment. Finally, he answers, “Okay.” Your gaze is back to his again, shock clearly visible on your face. “If that’s what you want,” he adds.

“Is that what you want?” you ask him. 

He hums in response before he slowly leans in. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him get closer and closer before you close your eyes and wait. You’re going to kiss him again. You’re going to feel his warm, soft lips against your own— “The bus is coming,” he mumbles, and your eyes shoot open, head quickly turning to look behind you. The bus has its left blinker on as it slowly gets onto the road. You’re quickly running past him, never saying your ‘goodbyes’ as you run as fast as you can to the stop before the bus drives past it. To your luck, you make it before the bus does. As quickly as possible, you dig through your backpack for your bus pass as the bus driver notices you and pulls over and comes to a stop in front of you. 

The doors open and you smile gratefully as you step onto the vehicle. “Hello,” you tell him, taking in a deep breath after running the short distance suddenly. He greets you as you press your card to the scanner, hearing the satisfied beep, and make your way down the aisle and take the window seat just in front of the second door at the center of the bus. You’re putting your card back into your backpack when you hear the scanner go off, indicating that another person barely made it. The bus jerks forward as you zip your backpack up and someone sits next to you.

You look at the figure in surprise and realize it’s Yoongi. He settles into his seat, eyes forward as the bus skips the second stop, turning right onto the first cross. "Let's go on a date," he says, finally turning his attention on you. He looks so calm when he says it while it's most likely clear that you're in complete shock. "What do you have to do today?" he asks.

"I...um"—you swallow the lump in your throat—"I'm going to fill in my study guide for my test in a few weeks," you answer, hiding your hands under your backpack to clutch the straps tightly. Your heart is racing so hard right now.

"Let's go on a date after."

"I don't know how long it'll take for me to finish..."

"I'll wait," he replies as he looks ahead, seemingly not wanting to hear any more excuses.

For the rest of the ride you're lost in your thoughts on the entire scenario that played out within the last ten minutes. You try to hide the smile playing on your face, so you look out the window. The ride towards school is a quick one, only one stop was made before it comes to a stop at the final destination on campus and you follow Yoongi off the bus, walking out the door behind you.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm your excitement as you cross the small road and head towards the library entrance. The two of you are walking side by side down the pathway until you finally reach the building entrance. The outdoor seating is empty as Yoongi opens the glass door for you to enter first. You shyly thank him and enter inside. Pressing your hand to your chest, you feel the beating of your heart as if Yoongi being a gentleman is foreign to you. He’s done it before, but now it’s real in a sense. It’s not practice for you like it was before—it’s genuine. Yoongi is back at your side, and reaching the elevator lobby, you enter the stairwell and head down the stairs to the lower level study area.

Yoongi follows in tow, walking quietly as the two of you enter the rather empty room and you take the table under the skylight where the sun shines through the clouds and trees. Taking a seat, you try your best to hide the blush creeping when Yoongi sits next to you. And so, you try your best to focus on your study guide while Yoongi messes with his phone.

It's been a few hours when you finally finish answering all the questions. You put the guide away in your notebook, close it as well as your textbook and finally turn to Yoongi. He has one hand outstretched before him while the other is tucked under his head as he sleeps. You're lost in awe as you admire his beauty. He looks so peaceful; lips slightly parted, the tips of his jet black hair lie along his eyelids, and you can faintly see his back rise and fall with each breath he takes.

Your heart swells and you can't help but raise a hand and let your fingers brush the strands of his hair away from his eyes. His hair is softer than you thought it would be. Your hand lingers in his hair, brushing the strands away further back from his face before his eyes slowly open. Your hand is immediately back at your side, the color to your cheeks turning pink as you try and pretend you’re just packing up rather than staring at him for a few minutes. 

From your peripheral you can see Yoongi slowly sit up, stretching his arms before rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Are you done?” he asks, voice croaky and gravelly. 

“Y-yeah.” You stutter, packing everything into your backpack. You’re clearly not looking calm with a few papers falling from the stack as you’re trying to put it in your binder, or your zipper getting stuck when you try to open your backpack, or even your hair continuously falling into your face no matter how many times you push it back, but either he doesn’t notice or he’s pretending not to. “Uh.” You clear your throat. “Did you still want to…” 

“You hungry?” he asks, saving you the struggle of trying to finish your sentence. You hum in response, letting out a quiet breath. It’s hard to play off like you’re not internally panicking. He rises to his feet, and you do the same, holding your bag in one hand. “Let’s go eat,” he voices, pushing his chair in and waits for you to follow before the two of you head upstairs. 

As you step out into the crisp, Saturday afternoon air, the once blue sky is gone and replaced with gray clouds. You slip your arms through the straps of your backpack as you put it on, attention turning to Yoongi as he tells you, “Let’s have sushi.” You agree, already imagining the taste of the rolls you’re going to consume as the two of you head in the direction of the food court. Yoongi walks alongside you, the two of you walking in a comfortable silence. It’s something you’re not used to in all honesty. He usually walks ahead when the two of you go somewhere together, and the rest of the time you’re trying your best to keep up. Now, however, he’s keeping at your pace and it makes your chest flutter and a smile trying desperately to appear on your face. You’ve never felt so happy and nervous at the same time.  

Reaching the food court, you see a few people sitting scattered at the tables working on their assignments or chatting with their friends. You follow Yoongi towards the Japanese stand where the line is empty. When you reach the register, the man smiles and asks, “What would you like to order?” Yoongi says his order then looks towards you. After a few blinks of confusion, you realize he wants you to add your order in as well. Telling the man your order, he totals up and takes Yoongi’s card who had it out already before you could even dig in your backpack for yours. 

You find a table at the corner of the building, isolated from everyone else. You take a seat against the wall while he takes the chair across from you. “You’re nervous,” he comments after a few seconds of silence. You open your mouth to answer, yet nothing is said. You close your mouth and look away in embarrassment. You finally have him, but you can’t help but feel like you don’t. That this could all be a dream. “Are you having second thoughts?”

You shake your head, suddenly all the words spilling, “I want to be with you. I just never expected for it to happen and I’m just…a mess.”

He watches you for a second before saying, “Okay.” His name is called and he leaves to retrieve your food. 

While the two of you eat, no words were really said. You can’t think of anything to say, and Yoongi seems to be distracted with his food. It takes about halfway being done with your plate that he finally strikes up a conversation. Sadly it’s about your summer, so you had to do a lot of dodging when it came to Hanbin. Would he get jealous? Angry? Will he ask what happened between the two of you? You’re not sure, but you’re not going to find out right now. 

During his summer, Yoongi tells you he spent most of his time working at his shop, mastering his producing skills, and hanging out with Hoseok when they’re both free. “A simple summer,” he explains, placing a roll in his mouth. 

When the two of you finish, you feel satisfied and happier to have spent a calming date with Yoongi. You remember the last time he took you out on one—well a practice one, but the two of you argued and the whole date was ruined. This one’s real, and so much better than any date you’ve been on. Throwing your box in the trash, you head out the building only to be met with heavy rain. You stand under the awning with the rain pouring and the campus empty as far as the eye can see. Yoongi sighs, “Guess we’re running.” Turning to look at him, he does the same before his hand grabs yours and pulls you out from under the awning, the two of you running. 

You cut through the Psychology building, getting a bit of protection from the rain before you’re running along the road towards the bus stop. You try your best to shield your eyes from the rain, but nothing you do helps, so you rely on Yoongi to lead the way. Your legs are burning by the time you reach the bus stop, the two of you hiding under the bus shelter with heavy breaths. Looking around you notice that no one is around. You’re guessing everyone left before the rain hit while you were oblivious to the possibility of it coming. You should have brought an umbrella or—

Yoongi cups your cheeks softly, bringing your attention to him. Looking at him you take in his features. The tips of his hair stick to his forehead, drops of water fall from it, his mouth slightly parted as his pants become lesser. No matter how he looks, he will always take your breath away. 

“I want to know that when I wake up tomorrow, I can see you and hold you without thinking this is a dream. I want to be more than friends, too.” 

You’d think you would have so much to say from his confession, but nothing comes to mind. So, you repeat what he said hours ago when you told him what you wanted, “Okay.” You’re surprised, and it may be evident on your face as you watch his eyes dart from side to side as if he’s searching for something you don’t know. You try your best to let him know that you want this, that you want to be with him more than anything, and you can only hope it gets through to him. It seems like it does as his eyes stop searching and he’s looking at you with a calm, confident look as he leans in, eyes closing and his lips gently press to yours. 

Your eyes come to a close as you kiss him back, feeling that unfamiliar, yet wonderful sensation you felt when he kissed you the first time—the fireworks, the dozens of butterflies swarming your stomach, and your heart racing faster than when Hanbin kissed you for the first time. Warmth over takes the cold as your lips brush along with familiarity, as if the two of you kissed a thousand times before. You want to enjoy the kiss for as long as you can, but he pulls back lightly, his warm breath blanketing your lips. Opening your eyes, you can see his soft gaze staring at you for a brief second before he kisses you one more time as the sound of a vehicle comes to a stop in front of you. 

You feel like you’re on cloud nine, like nothing in this world could break you down right now. The feeling of his kiss lingers on your lips, and you want nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him again. You just want to be lost in his lips. 

As the two of you separate from one another, the shuttle doors open and the two of you quickly get in. Taking a seat at the back, you sit next to the window and Yoongi beside you, taking your hand in his as he settles further into his seat and closes his eyes. 

You’ve never enjoyed a bus ride as much as you do right now, feeling his thumb brush along your skin as the driver comes and goes at the next two stops, no one else enters the shuttle. The rain continues to pour from outside, creating small puddles on certain parts of the street with cars zooming over them and creating a splash. Music is playing over the speaker, a faint soothing song against the overpowering rain and cars zooming by.

A while later the shuttle comes to a stop in front of the entrance to your dorm building, Yoongi’s eyes open and he gets up from his seat, your hand still in his as he leads you out of the vehicle. You thank the driver before the two of you are running across the parking lot and up the flight of stairs to the second floor door. You hide from the rain as Yoongi fishes out from his pocket his ID and presses it to the scanner. A beep is heard and he opens the door, letting you enter first. 

Walking down the hallway, you stop at your door, turning to Yoongi. He tucks your hair back behind your ear as he instructs, “Go get warm before you catch a cold.” You nod. “I’ll see you later.” 

As he turns to enter his room you grab his hand. He turns back around. “We’re a couple,” you say, your statement not sounding like a question like you wanted. He nods in response. “You’re my boyfriend,” you mutter, nervous for his answer. 

He chuckles, a smile you’ve never seen before appearing on his face. You forget how to breathe as you stare in awe at his simple yet bright smile. “I am.” He steps forward and places a kiss on your forehead. “Go inside,” he tells you, and you let his hand go and do as instructed. Pressing your ID to the scanner, he whispers, “Goodnight.” and you enter your room, the biggest smile on your face with cheeks as flushed as they can be. 

Ari drops everything she’s doing and listens to you as you tell her about the greatest date of your life. 

[youarejesting]

Hope In The Sheets.6

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers, Words: 4.2k

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things.

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Not sure if there is any.

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

“Jimin, Where can I find jin?” Hoseok called across the bar. 

“He is on the dance floor,” Jimin said, gesturing and Hoseok thanked him and headed out through the bodies. He felt odd like he had forgotten how to weave through the bodies and he was jostled to a fro until he stumbled on a blood boiling sight. Seokjin was making out with a young lady, the two grinding against each other, and Hoseok grabbed Seokjin and punched him.

He watched Seokjin look up shocked from the floor, his cheek becoming a little puffier and redder. The music had stopped and Yoongi jumped down off the stage standing ready to break up a brawl if needed. Jungkook was there as well looking at the angry Hoseok.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Hoseok growled low, “Y/n is at home sleeping and you are here grinding on the dance floor and making out with another girl.”

“Hoseok-” Seokjin began but was quickly interrupted.

“I felt your baby kick, and you are out here cheating.” He was seeing red, he didn’t know what he was going to do but it wasn’t going to be good. He couldn’t accept giving away the love of his life to Seokjin if he was out partying and sleeping around. “You don’t deserve her”

“Hoseok, the baby isn’t mine,” He said, making Hoseok freeze confused “I wasn’t the person who slept with her that night, I was working and you can see the footage, I went home with a guy”

“Then who is the father?” Hoseok said

“She doesn’t want to say,” Seokjin said, look go home cool off and ask her in the morning.

“You're lying, she tells me everything and she wouldn’t lie to me, we have been friends since we were children.” Hoseok was fuming and confused and he wanted to hit Seokjin again. 

You had been awfully secretive about things but that didn’t mean this right, this was so important and scary for you and he was your best friend through it all the one person you could lean on and trust. He would be the first to know who the father was. Right?

“Go home Hoseok,” Seokjin sighed, rubbing his swollen jaw, “before I have you thrown out of my bar”

“Come on Hoseok,” Namjoon said sadly, “you two can talk in the morning when you have calmed down. You are scaring the customers”

The reality of the situation seemed to fall back on Hoseok as his focus fell from Seokjin to the club patrons standing around dumbfounded at the situation. 

Hoseok nodded, letting Namjoon guide him from the club, Jungkook who was on door duty looked over with a smile. His smile fell quickly looking at Hoseok and Namjoon’s solemn faces. 

“Would you like me to call a taxi?” Namjoon placed his big hand on Hoseok’s shoulder looking into his eyes searching for any signs of violent emotions but he only found a sense of powerlessness. 

“Nah, I need time to think I will walk home.” He said, walking towards his old apartment and trying to process even the slightest thought that you were lying to him. 

Twenty-five years that’s how long you had known each other, you were his best friend. There was never secrets between you, Hoseok knew when you got your first period and you knew the first time he had sex. It was just natural when something happened, whether it was meaningless or important, especially something important that the other person knew. 

But, you were pregnant and you didn’t tell him, you wouldn’t even tell him the father. Not only did you not tell him you lied to him made something up to hide from telling him. 

“Hey Hoseok,” Yuta called from across the street he was sitting on his delivery bike and eating some pizza. 

Hoseok walked over, taking a slice without permission, and leant against the wall. “Y/n lied to me. Perfect Jin isn’t her boyfriend or the baby daddy, can you believe that?”

“Help yourself I guess,” Yuta laughed “what’s got you in a daze.”

“Look I don’t remember much about that night, I don’t know who I was with but I remember walking home and waking in my bed.” Hoseok sighed chewing the pizza to the crust and dumping it into the box before grabbing another slice  “my dream girl had vanished but what I don’t get is I don’t remember going home with anyone but I also don’t remember anyone going home with Y/n., it’s weird.”

“Do you know what’s weird?” Yuta huffed “I never offered you my pizza?”

“Dude no we are talking about me and my problems right now, who did she go home with, she got pregnant and I don’t know who this guy is, was she seeing someone?” Hoseok turned to Yuta and asked, “how long has she been lying to me?”

“Maybe you went home together and had sex with her, maybe you’re the father?” Yuta laughed, slapping Hoseok's arm. “Heaven knows you are both in love with one another”

“No, that’s crazy. I would know if it was Y/n, this girl she was different and amazing.” Hoseok dropped another crust into the box and when he reached for another slice Yuta snapped the lid closed. 

“Get out, I am not here to give you free pizza,” He huffed, shooing Hoseok who laughed and hopped out of reach “Whatever it is, you need to talk to her tomorrow about it, tell her to just come clean and you will trust her”

Hoseok nodded waving goodbye heading back to his rundown apartment, he stopped at your door and wondered if you were still sleeping. Wondered what you were thinking. He had kissed you, felt the baby move in your belly and he wanted nothing more than for it to be him that you were with.

If Hoseok was the father he would be there, he would step up. He wouldn’t let you fend for yourself. He loved you and he would give up on his dream girl to be with you. Maybe that’s what he would do, he would step up, if this baby daddy wouldn’t be there for you then he would. He would step up and help you because that’s what best friends are for.

Hoseok woke to a knock at the door and for just a second, things were back to the way they had been before you were pregnant. He checked his phone making sure he wasn’t late for work and saw a message from you asking if he got home alright giving the cold wash of reality and a message from his phone.

Storage full!

You can free up space on this phone by managing your storage in settings.

He sighed, throwing on some pants and heading to the door. He threw open the door expecting you with some breakfast and coffee but instead he saw Seokjin standing there in all his handsome fat lip glory.

Hoseok remembered what he had done that night and bit his lip trying to hold back a laugh. Seokjin saw his face contorted and smacked him on the arm. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, this face is priceless, a rare beauty that you decided to hit last night.”

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok said the words squeaked from his chest as he suppressed the laughter inside. He honestly didn’t think the older gentleman’s lips could get any bigger, “Come in,”

“I even brought you breakfast and you are making fun of me,” Seokjin sat handing him a coffee and a breakfast burger. “You have a lot to answer for coming into my bar and punching me in the face.”

“I am sorry,” Hoseok meant this sincerely and it was reflected in his tone that all joking was pushed aside, he felt bad for his actions and Seokjin got caught up in all of this. “I just thought you were the father and you were cheating on Y/n and I don’t know I just got so angry and I hit you and I am sorry”

“You like her I get it and if any of us saw her baby daddy kissing another woman we would punch him in the face, so for that, you are forgiven and I thank you for apologizing.” Seokjin began eating wincing when he tried to take a big bite of his breakfast burger. “You need to talk to her about everything”

“I know Yuta said the same thing last night,” Hoseok said, he scratched his bare chest and took a sip of coffee to wash down the food. “But I thought about it all night and I have decided it doesn’t matter?”

“What?” Seokjin was stunned, this man who was in love with you just didn’t care anymore, “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

“Well, If the father of this child wanted to be a part of this he would be there, but he isn’t. I haven’t seen anyone stepping up, so I will be there for her, I will take on the responsibilities just like a real dad would. It doesn’t matter who the father is because I will be there for her and this child.

“Well, I am glad,” Seokjin smiled scrunching up his rubbish and dropping it into the bin, “You should still talk to her, it’s important that you let her know that you are going to be there for her no matter what and that she can be open and honest about everything”

“Of course, I will head over now,” Hoseok smiled unlocking his phone to send you a quick message saying he is coming over when the stupid message appeared again. 

Storage full!

You can free up space on this phone by managing your blah blah blah.

“I will make room later.”

Seokjin was at the door when he stopped at the threshold. “If you punch me in the face again, you will never step foot in my bar again. Got it.”

“Got it!” Hoseok saluted with a bright grin. 

Hoseok raced around the apartment getting dressed before heading out the front door to the bus stop. Whilst riding the bus he checked his emails trying to ignore the full storage message 

Storage full!

You can free up space blah blah blah something something settings.

and found a response about a vehicle, he booked a time to see the vehicle and thought he would stop in before making it to yours. 

It was a bit of a rush and the vehicle wasn’t the best, he almost made the deal when he received a phone call, excusing himself he answered with his usual business tone, thankfully he did as it was a response back from one of the jobs he applied for, the asked if he could start on the following Monday and he was so excited, it was a full time job that paid sick leave.

He apologized to the young man and the rusted heap of junk that he was about to call a vehicle and raced off, he wanted to see you and tell you the good news. He was stepping up, he would be there for you, help provide for you.

Hoseok took the next bus to your house and knocked on the door, he opened it to see you all dressed up cute in a pair of maternity jeans and a babydoll shirt. Hoseok wondered how you got more beautiful every day, pregnancy made you glow.

“Hey,” Hoseok stepped in, his excitement bubbling, “I got a job, an office job, it’s full time and it pays sick leave and I am growing up and being an adult.”

“That’s great!” You smiled happy that he was happy but concerned about his job of choice he hated office jobs, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I am sure, I thought about it after punching Jin last night that I should really start to live my life like an adult.” Hoseok smiled

“You punched Jin, Why?” You shrieked worried about the man who had been posing as your baby daddy.

“Well, he was kissing another girl on the dance floor and I thought he was cheating, but he said he wasn’t really the father and Y/n I want you to know. I don’t care who the father is, you are my best friend and I am here for you and if you don’t want to tell me then that is okay, but know that I am here for you and you can tell me the truth and I would never judge.”

“I know that Hoseok, I just got scared it was a big thing and I was worried how you would react, I mean we tell each other everything but even this was a big deal” You licked your lips taking his hands, “I think I am ready to tell you-”

Your phone started ringing ruining the moment and you answered confused, “Good morning this is Y/n speaking how can I help you?”

“Hello Miss Y/n, This is Miss Cho from the Prenatal clinic, I am just confirming that you are coming to your ultrasound at 11:30 today?” The woman’s voice was professional and you realized you had forgotten entirely about the appointment.

“Of course, we will be there at 11:30,” You smiled checking the time, you had an hour and a half till the appointment that was plenty of time. You hung up and told Hoseok that you had an appointment and he seemed nervous but he volunteered to accompany you.

The clinic was small and complete with anatomical posters of the baby laying in the womb and breast tissue and hoseok tried not to look at anything or anyone which wasn’t really working. 

“Your first time here?” An older gentleman asked, “you look nervous son just relax soon you're going to see your little one and it’s going to be magical.”

You took Hoseok's hand and tried to soothe his nerves and the two of you discussed random topics mostly about food as it was getting closer to lunch. 

“Perhaps we can get something to eat after this, what would you like?” Hoseok smiled 

“Mm chicken” you grinned thinking about how you couldn’t even enjoy beer with it. 

“Chicken it is,” Hoseok smiled, you felt at ease when he smiled, the lady called your name and you took Hoseok's hand and guided him into the room. 

Hoseok was blushing as people saw you holding hands going to see the doctor together. They must think you two are together. 

“Hello miss Y/n and is this the baby daddy?” The woman smiled at Hoseok and you laughed almost agreeing with her when Hoseok interrupted. 

“No, I'm her best friend?” Hoseok smiled patting your hand, he felt proud that this woman and the man in the waiting room even thought he was the father “we are going to do an ultrasound today let’s get you ready”

Hoseok watched the woman scan your stomach and he heard the heartbeat feeling his heart warm at the sound of a little baby that you had made. He would love this child as if it were his own. 

You watched him almost tear up and the woman spoke, “Your baby seems really well developed, how far along are you now?”

“Uh, about six months now,” You said, checking off the months on your fingers, Hoseok nodded along as the Nurse told you the baby was perfectly healthy and was average for it’s gestational age.

“would you like to know the baby's gender?”

“Yes, please, can you record it Hobi?” you said excitedly to know more about your unborn child. The woman waited while Hoseok tried to work his phone only to see the persistent alert and he frowned.

Storage full!

Storage full!

Storage…! Storage…! Storage…!

Come on damn it this was an important moment, sighing and taking your phone Hoseok used it to record instead. The woman turned the screen to you both. 

“It’s a little baby girl” she spoke and you looked up at Hoseok who was tearing up and you laughed trying to wipe your eyes . 

“You're having a baby girl!” He shouted excitedly through the tears and pressed his lips to yours. 

It was a beautiful moment that quickly turned awkward and you pulled away almost instantly. Hoseok stopped recording and the nurse gave a knowing chuckle. 

“I will give you two a moment while I get you a picture of your little girl to take home” she smiled shutting the door. 

“Sorry I got so carried away and excited,” Hoseok smiled the smile hadn’t left his face “I can’t believe it a little girl”

You watched Hoseok wipe his tears, the woman came back in handing over the photo. Hoseok snatched up the photo, fawning over the tiny baby captured on film. 

“Come on momma, we have to feed the little little darling, she needs to eat?” Hoseok pulled you off the table onto your feet not noticing how close he held you, your rounded tummy pressed against him. 

“What about me, I want to eat too?” You pouted feeling like Hoseok had replaced you, but you had little time to think as he tucked some stray hair behind your ear.

“What does my little darling and little little darling feel like eating?” His gaze was soft, his hands restless holding yours and massaging your palms affectionately. “What is darling momma craving? Do you still want chicken?”

If this man was any cuter you would melt, with Seokjin it was nice but he was very business. Have you eaten? Here is some nutritional food and make sure you rest. Whilst with Hoseok it was how are you feeling? What do you want to eat? It felt like he was here because he wanted to be not because he had to be.

“I really want seaweed soup,” You began, he seemed to nod contemplating where exactly you could get seaweed soup for lunch. It was an afterthought that made you continue “And bacon with peanut butter and sweet potato and watermelon and-”

“Woah woah woah, why do I feel like this is going to hurt my bank account?” Hoseok said cheekily. Slapping his arm you walked out dragging him, from the clinic making sure to wave goodbye to the reception.

“You suggested it so you front the bill, Hobi” You laughed, “Come on, I will settle for anything right now I am hungry.”

“Come on we can’t have darling momma and her baby starving to death,” Hoseok waved down a taxi, he went to help you into the vehicle but when he turned he saw you crying, clutching your stomach. It was like all the blood left his body and he was left with the cold sick feeling. “What is it, What’s wrong are you in pain?”

“You said we would starve to death!” You accused him, you knew it was irrational but you had just seen your baby girl and even joking about death was off limits things were too fragile right now and your hormones were all over the place.

“No, no no no” Hoseok reiterated quickly, “that’s not what I meant, it was just a dumb figure of speech, I would never and I mean never let you and your baby starve listen to me I would feed you my left leg before I even think about letting that happen.” 

“I don’t think you would taste good” You frowned, nauseous at the thought, pregnancy was such a miracle, between the mood swings cravings and the urge to upchuck every so often it was “I know exactly where you have been” 

He laughed, “Come on, I will take care of you, let’s eat everything you want”

Jumping excitedly you climbed into the taxi and the two of you sped through the city to a nice quiet restaurant, it was beautiful the aesthetic was nature and you were happy looking at the pretty flowers.

The two of you laughed and ate excitedly the old lady who worked there gave you some team with a hint of ginger to help with nausea. “You are a cute couple, you will make wonderful parents.”

“Thank you Auntie,” Hoseok smiled, taking your hand and kissing it, “We just found out today that it’s a little girl.”

“Oh that is wonderful, a man like you will have to protect your girls now,” The woman teased, making Hoseok puff his chest proudly raising his hands in a karate chop motion, “I won’t let anything hurt them.”

“You two take care now,” The woman smiled letting you both go, filling your hands with a few bags of goodies.

You were walking to the bus stop when you stopped out the front of a tiny boutique, there were a few baby clothes inside in pastel shades. You were frozen outside and Hoseok smiled, “We can go in and look around, if you want,”

You were about to protest when Hoseok continued slipping his hand into yours, “Come on, it won't be scary we will just look around”

His gentle tug on your hand was the only thing that got you into the store, for some reason each new milestone made this baby feel more and more real, and less like a concept. You had set up the nursery and now you were going to buy clothes for your baby girl that you will be having in approximately three months.

You remembered trying to deny it all, even postponing making the nursery but here you were getting increasingly nervous and excited. Every night you rubbed your belly whispering to the baby inside about how you couldn’t wait to meet them but how you were still learning and you loved them.

Pressing your hand to your stomach, you push back the emotions. Trying not to think about anything that could make you anymore emotional in public. “This one is cute, look at the little frills”

Hoseok held a very tiny suit in his hands and you thought about the small person who would fit in his hands and blinked back the tears. This was so much at once but you couldn’t back away, you had to face it, like ripping off a bandaid, even if it stung or was overwhelming it was better to get it done quickly.

“The Nursery is white and grey. What colours were you thinking to add to it, maybe pink rattles?” He suggested holding said items, “Fluffy yellow socks?”

“Green,”

“I love green,” Hoseok added excited about the idea of using his favourite colour, “what kind of green?”

“I thought maybe a soft mint green, mint green light grey and white, an easy colour scheme” Your voice strained the emotions bleeding through into your words as you took a small suit from the shelf. Imagining your little girl wiggling in the suit with her little legs and arms and her squishy face. “Hoseok”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he grabbed your face, “What has you upset again little darling?”

“The baby is going to be so small and I don’t know if I can do this, I am trying but maybe my mother was right, I am not ready and-”

“Your mother is a rotten old woman, you are going to do great, because you are tough, because you are trying your best, because you have a heart of gold and because I will be there with you every step of the way holding your hand” Hoseok assured you “I am going to be there”

“This one is very cute, how about we buy it and call it a day, you have had a lot of excitement today and I think we take small steps not giant leaps.”

“Hoseok, I got, this flyer for a baby class, they teach you about the birth and hospital bags and what to do if the baby is born early and how to give the babies first bath and well, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me cause you know dad’s usually go but well your the closest thing I have to a man in my life and I would be ever so grateful”

“Have you finished rambling?” You nodded sighing, Hoseok was giving you a look that said you were overthinking everything. “I would love to go”

You smiled “It is every sunday afternoon at five to eight, so if you can’t make it tomorrow we can try for the next one”

“I will be there.” Hoseok smiled and the two of you headed home Hoseok carried the free snacks from the old lady at the restaurant and you cradled the tiny paper bag from the baby boutique with the tiny mint green suit with the frills.

Once at your house Hoseok stopped you at the front door, “Listen to me whenever you start to panic or freak out, remember twenty-five years can’t be erased that easily” He moved your shirt to show your collarbone tattoo caressing it with his thumb “I won’t just leave, I promise you, okay?”

“Okay, Hobi” You agreed with his statement. Feeling a little reassured by his declaration, he was right. You had twenty-five years and when you tell him, he will understand and everything will be okay.

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[rufousnmacska]

Only You

A manorian arranged marriage fic from an anon request -

Do you think you could write an angsty manorian drabble where political/royal pressures and such has Dorian marry someone else + Dorian being mortal has Manon encouraging him? just all that manorian heartbreak+pining. also really love your fics!

This turned into much more than a drabble, but I hope everyone enjoys it! 🤗

Many thanks to @itach-i for beta reading and helping plot things out! ❤️

*

PART ONE

*

Dorian hadn’t noticed the cold until his valet wrapped a furred robe around him. How long had he been standing out here? The sun had just broken from the horizon and his breath was pooling in front of him with each exhale. The valet, a gray-haired man named Ruben, disappeared back into the royal suite, muttering something about the foolishness of young men. Dorian smiled grimly, knowing he was indeed foolish. Worse. He was a godsdamned idiot. And he felt numb, as though his body was somewhere far from here, his mind with it. None of it was due to the winter chill. Staring off towards the hills west of Rifthold, his eyes glanced over the many red and gold banners attached to the city’s roofs, snapping in the wind. Part of him loved seeing his people so excited, so proud for the coming celebration. They’d suffered greatly during the war and had worked hard in the rebuilding effort of the last two years. But that small joy for his kingdom was overshadowed by his own despair. How many times had he stood in this spot, watching and waiting and holding his breath until he caught sight of those silvery wings and moon white hair dancing in the sky? He’d known today would be his last chance to watch for her. And since sleep was a fool’s hope, he’d come out to his balcony and stood here for hours, his gaze on the west, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

***

The rising sun shone brightly off the tops of the castle towers, giving the small group of witches their first real view of Rifthold in the distance. In the past, this sight would leave Manon breathless with anticipation, pushing Abraxos to speed up in her excitement. There had been times when her giddy desperation to reach the castle was almost humiliating, forcing her to contain her emotions before she landed. But no matter her control in those moments, Dorian would greet her on his balcony with a ferocious embrace, seeing right through her mask. He always had. Now, Manon wished that truth away, pushing it deep down, along with the nausea roiling in her gut. As they drew nearer to Rifthold, she could just barely make out the decorations hanging from the castle. It almost brought up the meager breakfast she’d eaten not long ago. With the brightening sky, she realized the entire city was decked out, covered in colorful banners and garlands. Of course, a royal wedding demanded finery. She had expected it, guarded herself against it. But her expectations were dealt a swift blow by the reality now facing her. Manon was on her way to Dorian’s wedding. Not as the bride, but as a royal guest. And she had no one but herself to blame.

*****

Six months earlier…

Manon frowned as Abraxos landed on an unusually empty balcony. Though she’d never asked for it, the space had been rebuilt to provide a large enough area to comfortably hold a wyvern. Wrapping halfway around the king’s tower, the balcony offered magnificent views of the ocean to the east and the mountains to the west. As she dismounted, Manon realized that vast western view was what gave Dorian the ability to know she was almost there. Normally, she wouldn’t notice the view because he would be there, scooping her up and taking her inside to say hello in her favorite ways. But tonight, she and Abraxos were alone.

Quietly, so as not to startle Ruben, Manon stepped through the doorway. She needn’t have bothered. The bedroom was as empty as the outside and she heard no sounds coming through the door to the other rooms. Wondering if he hadn’t received her last message telling him when to expect her, Manon sat on a sofa to wait. She lasted less than five minutes before pacing around the room, then finally deciding to go in search of Dorian.

The office was empty and as she continued through to the exterior door, Manon rolled her eyes at the messy desk. How Dorian managed to keep everything straight in the piles and stacks of papers was beyond her. She wasn’t in the corridor long before she heard angry voices echoing up the stairway. Chaol and Dorian had stopped part way up the tower.

“You can’t afford to just dismiss this threat of rebellion. Lord Frey is an ass, but he has the ear of too many other nobles to be ignored.” Chaol sounded winded. Manon didn’t think he came up here very often since his mobility was tied to his wife’s magic. That he was here now to continue this conversation was significant.

“I refuse to give into his demands,” Dorian growled. “He complains about me leaving the kingdom to Erawan, and yet he brags about how he profited from the war. Whatever gold he has in his coffers did not come from me.”

Manon inched back to the door on silent feet. She knew Dorian’s lords were causing trouble, but he’d refused to go into detail about it with her. The thought of anyone claiming Dorian had willfully abandoned Adarlan to Erawan made her blood boil. The valg king and his armies had left a path of scorched earth and devastation on his march to Terrasen. And Dorian had spent the last two years of his life dedicated to rebuilding his kingdom.

Chaol sighed. “Yes, but what he’s proposed in exchange—”

“What he’s proposed will not be considered,” Dorian interrupted. It was a voice Manon had never heard from him.

After a long pause, Chaol continued. “I know how you feel, Dorian. But we need to put emotions aside and think this through. I’m not saying we go along with it. But right now, we have to look at every option.”

“You say ‘we’ as if you would be the one marrying his daughter.”

Manon gasped, covering her mouth to remain quiet.

“It would be a political alliance,” Chaol reasoned. “You wouldn’t have to end things with—”

Again, Dorian refused to let him finish. “Stop. I’ve told you my decision. We will find some other way to placate the rebellious lords. I am not marrying her.”

Soft footsteps punctuated by the clack of a cane sounded as Chaol left his king and descended the tower. When he was gone, she heard Dorian smash his fist into the stone wall, pieces of mortar crumbling and raining down onto the floor. Manon was paralyzed, her hands balled up into tight fists, eyes wide. And that was how Dorian found her when he took the final steps up to his suite.

***

“You misunderstood. Frey doesn’t have enough clout to demand such a thing.” Dorian was frantic, spending the last two hours trying to explain away what Manon had heard. But her face had frozen into a mask, nothing he said could tease out even the slightest reaction.

“You can’t be so flippant,” she said, the stony resolve in her voice starting to scare him. “He’s offered you an out from civil war. If you care about your kingdom, you must do it.”

He was going mad. First Chaol, now Manon. Where was Yrene to talk some sense into them? He cared about his kingdom and his people. He cared so much that he had no life whatsoever beyond the endless meetings and negotiations and squabbles. His sole joy in life was standing before him now arguing that he should marry someone else.

“If I care?” he asked. “I was prepared to die for it. On many occasions. I would gladly give my life. But I won’t give my heart.”

Manon blinked slowly, and he realized she was looking past him. “You once told me you were prepared to give up your throne for Sorscha. Then the war taught you how foolish, how childish that was. And now, as if you learned nothing, sacrificed nothing, you want to do the same thing. Your life and your heart are one in the same.” Finally, her golden eyes met his. “I am immortal. You are not. You need a human queen to give you heirs and unite your kingdom. I will not play a part in disrupting that.”

Dorian searched for any sign - an unshed tear, a twitch of her lips, a clenched jaw. But there was nothing. Nothing on her face except a cold certainty that left him feeling lost, alone. He knew this was an act, a means of protecting herself. And yet, she was right. When they’d parted ways in Orynth after the war, he’d ignored the desire to ask her for some sort of commitment beyond “We’ll see.” They both had countries to rebuild and had chosen that greater responsibility over personal wishes. Dorian told himself then that they had time. Yes, he was a mortal. But he still had a plentiful well of raw magic on which to draw upon, magic that would give him a much longer life than a normal human. And only two short years later, out of nowhere, everything was falling apart.

No, he would not let his people suffer through war again. But giving in to extortion was not an acceptable alternative. He thought of Aelin, wondering how she would handle a situation like this. With the way her people adored her, he knew she’d never reach this point. Maybe Frey and his allies were right. Maybe he’d left them to fend for themselves out of cowardice instead of prudence. Suddenly, Dorian was exhausted, tired of being king, tired of giving up everything he wanted. He rubbed his eyes until they were red

“You know it has to be this way,” she said, having watched him sort out his thoughts. “No matter what they claim, you’ve never once abandoned this kingdom. Which is why you won’t do it now.”

Dorian stared at the ground, grasping for a way out, but his mind felt like aspic, soft and muddled and useless. “I won’t be a king who takes a queen and still keeps a lover.” The ultimatum was hard to voice, but it was true. Despite his rakish history, he’d never taken a new lover without breaking things off with the old one. If ever an exception was to be made, it would be with Manon. But he would never disrespect her, a queen in her own right, by reducing her to a secret paramour and source of castle gossip.

Still stoic, she replied, “I would not expect you to.”

They had always pushed and teased each other, seeing which one would break first and admit their feelings or give in to the desire. Desperately hoping that they were playing that game now, he surrendered. “I want you, Manon. No one else.”

The slightest hitch in her breathing and a tiny flutter of her eyes sent his hope soaring. But, with a firm tone that meant she would say no more, Manon said, “Marry her, Dorian. Save your throne and keep your people from more bloodshed.”

Before he could respond, she walked out the door and climbed into the saddle still strapped to her wyvern. Manon was in the air without a look back, and Dorian sank to the ground, his head in his hands.

*****

Rumors were flying through the witch city faster than the most agile wyverns. Mere months ago, the witches had expected an announcement from their queen, happy news that their kingdom would be united with Adarlan. Some were not in favor of their queen marrying a human, king or not. Others, especially those in the queen’s council, saw it as a good match. A love match, they claimed. But now, after the royal messenger from Adarlan had arrived, the gossip was spinning out of control.

Manon stared at the thick envelope sealed with red and gold wax, the wyvern stamped into it watching her with a single mocking eye. Dorian had once laughed about how significant it was for his royal crest to include a wyvern, a connection forged between their two kingdoms before they had even met. She’d brushed the thought away at the time, rolling her eyes at his insistence that fate was at work. But now, the memory of his teasing voice sank into her chest, adding to the heaviness and pain that had been choking her since she’d left him on that balcony months ago.

“You don’t have to go. No one would fault you for it. We can send Petrah as a representative,” Glennis said, her voice stiff and formal. It was a tone usually relegated for council meetings, not a conversation with her granddaughter.

She was silent for a long moment, still looking at the envelope. Instead of answering, Manon picked it up and ripped apart the seal. The invitation was written in fanciful blue ink with a border of red berries and ivy stamped into the parchment. She frowned at the flowery words that matched the design, knowing the girl must have been behind all of it. The girl. Manon knew she was likely close to Dorian’s age, but she didn’t care. The future queen of Adarlan would forever be the girl in her mind. Even so, it was impossible to miss her name in elegant calligraphy.

Your presence is requested at the royal wedding of Lady Eveline Frey and His Majesty Dorian Havilliard II, King of Adarlan

Manon stopped reading at his name and continued to flip through the remaining pages. They contained notices of the pre-wedding events that the ‘happy couple’ hoped people would attend, despite the possibility of poor weather at that time of year.

Happy. Her eyes caught on that word and didn’t move. She knew it was a lie. And yet, her old doubts and fears flooded back into her mind. She was still heartless despite her efforts to change, he deserved someone who could sufficiently return his affections. She was immortal, he was not. Manon had reasoned that she would rather lose him like this than watch up close as he aged and died. Rather lose him now, when they could both move on to full lives, than be forced to somehow carry on after his death. A magically extended life or not, she could see no other scenario if she continued with him. And if that was truly how she felt, then she wanted to be there and show him they were both better off this way.

Glennis watched her, likely reading every thought that had gone through her head. For when Manon said she was going, her grandmother’s head dipped in resignation. “Then I will accompany you.”

Manon lost count of her attempts at crafting a reply. She began with a simple list of witches who would attend with her, which morphed into a long drawn out explanation of why she wanted to be there. Then she backtracked into a brief, two sentence response. And even then, she had to make several copies until one was legible. The anguish of what she faced kept showing itself in her shaking hand.

Her eyes keep going back to their names and she found herself wondering what the girl was like. Did she like to read? Could she fight with a sword? Would she stand up to the nobility who claimed Dorian was not worthy of his throne? How would she react to him waking up screaming in the middle of the night from a nightmare in which he’d been torturing people?

That last thought made her feel sick. Not because of the dreams that still plagued him - she was well versed in helping to comfort him, just as he knew how to ease her grief and fear after a nightmare. It was the idea that they’d be sharing a bed that turned her stomach.

Gods what was she thinking? There were two months until the wedding. Was that long enough to forget everything Dorian was to her?

Manon knew the answer. And yet, when she read over their names again, she made herself remember why things had to be this way. Adarlan could not survive another war, especially one which tore it apart from the inside out. This was for the best. His and hers. This wedding would be closure, and afterwards, she could move on, search for a suitable consort. Not to become her king. She could not bear seeing anyone else beside her in that capacity. But finding an acceptable male to produce an heir would help to stabilize her kingdom. If Dorian was forced to set aside his heart to help his people, then she would do the same.

When she gave the reply to Glennis later, her grandmother frowned. “I find myself not wanting to send this.”

“It will be us and two sentinels. That’s all,” Manon said, ignoring the witch’s reluctance. “We will arrive the day before and leave immediately after the ceremony.” As Glennis nodded in agreement, Manon noticed she held a royal envelope in her other hand. “What is that?”

Again, that frown. “It’s from Prince Fennick Whitethorn of Doranelle. A cousin of Rowan’s I believe.”

“Was he in Orynth?” She didn’t recall him being there, but her memories from those early days battling Erawan’s army were foggy.

“I don’t think he was.”

Manon took it, examining front and back. The wax seal matched that of Queen Sellene Whitethorn. “What could this be?” she wondered aloud.

Glennis was already walking away, but she turned and said sharply, “I can only imagine.”

Manon was glad she waited until she was alone to read it, for by the end of it, she was sitting motionless, the letter forgotten on the floor.

Prince Fennick Whitethorn, a cousin to both Rowan and Queen Sellene, had written to express his regards and dismay at the news that the King of Adarlan would marry a noble from his own kingdom. He’d felt compelled to write her directly, offering her his support and friendship since he’d experienced something similar a few hundred years before. As Doranelle’s representative at the festivities, he hoped they could meet in Rifthold. In not so veiled terms, he suggested they might establish an alliance of their own, one that would be amenable to both their countries.

Mere hours after speculating about taking a consort and here she was, staring at a proposal. She couldn’t decide between outrage or amazement at the audacity of the fae male. It had certainly taken balls to approach her this way. And at this time. Picking up the letter, she read it over again. From the sounds of it, Fennick had been left heartbroken in his past. A past that extended even further back than her own. Had she not used her own immortality as a reason that Dorian should wed another? Here was an immortal throwing himself at her, eager for alliance. But she wondered if his interest would wane when he was told that at best, he might become her consort. There was only one man who she’d accept as her king, and he was now outside her reach.

She decided not to send a reply. If the fae prince was there, she would meet with him, see what kind of male he was and whether he might bring anything of worth to an alliance. If not, it would be one less thing to worry about.

That night, as she tried and failed to fall asleep, Manon found herself imagining how she might say goodbye to Dorian. They never used the word, choosing instead to focus only on their hellos. It made a twisted sort of sense that this goodbye, this parting that would be permanent, would be the first and last time it was spoken between them.

***

Yrene found Dorian in his office, watching the brutal winter winds send snow whipping through the air outside his window. Judging from her expression, she knew why he’d sent for her. When her eyes went to the letter on his desk, her shoulders seemed to slump, and she sat down heavily across from him.

“She will be attending,” he said, pushing the short reply across the desk in case she wanted to read it. After immediately recognizing the handwriting as Manon’s, he’d stared at it for a long time. As if there might be some sign of hesitation on her part, he’d examined the note, his eyes running over each stroke of ink, again and again. It was flawless. Just like her, he’d thought miserably.

“I didn’t think she’d actually come. It was meant as a formality between two allies.”

“Perhaps that’s why she has agreed. Formality, nothing more,” Yrene offered.

“How do you think Eveline will handle it?” Despite a wedding date only a few weeks away, Dorian barely spoke to his future queen. Yrene had been acting as a go between, keeping Dorian from having to feign pleasantries and interest in someone who he’d claimed looked and acted like an empty doll.

“She has been trained as a courtier since birth. I’m sure she will be as polite and ladylike as she always is.” Yrene rose and came around the desk, standing in front of the window to make Dorian look at her. “She may appear timid and vapid in front of her father, but she is no fool. She knows what this arrangement is and why it’s happening. Your involvement with Manon was never much of a secret. Eveline knows she is not your choice. But like you, she is doing her duty.”

Dorian didn’t reply. He knew his opinion of her was misguided, that it was based on anger at the situation, at her father. Which was why he kept his distance. If he couldn’t keep himself in check in private or with his friends, how could he expect to refrain from unleashing his rage on her with hurtful words? At least, that’s what he told himself. It was true, but some part of him knew that if he gave in and spent time with her, it would make this all the more real.

Yrene’s eyes darkened as she said, “Lord Frey has a reputation to match Chaol’s father. With her mother gone, I suspect Eveline has not had much control over her life. This would be nothing new to her.”

Now fully ashamed of himself, Dorian only nodded. If there was anything he could understand, it was not being able to defy a bullying parent. A new sense of sympathy filled him as he wondered how desperate Eveline must be for a new life. Freedom from an abusive father would be worth the heavy responsibilities and loss of privacy that came with being a queen. Maybe it was time to make an effort. He couldn’t envision a future where he would ever develop actual feelings for Eveline. But he could at least become her friend.

“What else have you learned about her?” he asked.

Yrene shrugged. “Her education has been extensive, and she knows much about the court and how it runs. She enjoys art and music, embroidery …” She trailed off, trying to think of any other attributes worth sharing. “Horse riding. She always seems to be coming back from the stables when I see her. I’ve gotten the impression her father does not approve of that hobby, but she maintains that being a good horsewoman befits a true lady.”

“So, she does disobey him then …” Dorian smiled slightly, recalling how he used to rebel against his parents. Horse riding was much less scandalous. “Does she need any help with the wedding plans?”

The suddenness of his change in tone had Yrene blinking at him. “I don’t believe so. But I can ask her.”

Dorian stood and walked towards the door. He knew if he didn’t start now, he never would. “I will go ask. I’d like to recommend some music.”

“Wait,” Yrene cried, trailing him out into the corridor. When she caught up to him, she asked, “What are you doing?”

The fear in her eyes almost made Dorian turn around and forget his pledge of moments ago to try and accept this. Yrene had always been the biggest supporter of his relationship with Manon. Whether she was helping them arrange a short, secret escape from their duties, or using her sharp tongue to tear down any detractors of the Witch Kingdom, or giving him advice on how to help Manon recover from the loss of her coven … Yrene had always been there. And now, for the first time, it seemed to be sinking in for her that what she had dreamed for her friends – a happily ever after to rival what she had with Chaol – was impossible. It pained Dorian to see it and he pulled her into a hug.

“If there was another way, Yrene, I’d do it. You know that.”

She hugged him back fiercely, her voice shaking as she said, “I know. She is my friend too, Dorian. And I don’t want to lose her.”

Gods, Dorian thought his heart couldn’t break anymore. And here it was, cracking into even more fragments, each time becoming smaller and smaller. “I know.”

Yrene backed away and let loose a string of curses and insults about Lord Frey that left his eyes wide and mouth agape. He’d never heard her speak like that before, had never thought her capable of such filthy language.

Before she could think to apologize, he laughed. “Well said, Lady!”

Red with embarrassment, Yrene burst into laughter too. When they’d both regained their composure, she said, “Come. I’ll walk with you to Eveline’s rooms and catch you up on her wedding plans.”

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. “She is as much a pawn in this game as anyone, and she doesn’t deserve my animosity.”

Yrene nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s a perfectly lovely young woman. It makes things worse in a way.”

When they reached her rooms, Yrene led him inside.

“Your Majesty,” Eveline said brightly. Her dark hair matched her eyes and she gave him a beaming smile. “I was not expecting you today.” She was going through a stack of replies to the invitations.

“Please, call me Dorian. I insist,” he said. “I have one more to add.” Slowly, as if not wanting to give it up, he handed her Manon’s reply. He and Yrene both watched her carefully as she read it.

With the same smile as before, Eveline said, “I’m so pleased the Witch Queen will be attending. None of your other royal friends are able to come due to the weather. Though Doranelle is sending someone.” She paused, thinking. “I can’t remember his name.”

As the two women went through the replies and spoke quietly, Dorian pretended to listen. For one terrible moment, he wondered what the word princeling might sound like from Eveline’s mouth. The thought felt blasphemous, leaving him spinning and trapped between two worlds: the reality sitting next to him, this perfectly lovely woman for whom he felt nothing, and a dream world where he’d wake up happy each morning to snow white hair and golden eyes. A dream that had slipped through his fingers, like the wind gusting wildly outside.

Perfectly lovely. Eveline was lovely, and perfect, with exquisite manners, an impeccable wardrobe, and a distinguished education. But despite that loveliness and perfection, he knew without a doubt that his feelings towards Eveline would never come close to what he felt for Manon. Manon was his mirror, his equal. If beings other than fae were able to have true mates, she would be his.

The thought struck him like a dagger, straight to whatever bits of his heart yet remained. Shaking his head, Dorian tried not to think of Manon, of how this next visit for the wedding would likely be her last. Tried not to dwell on how he would have to live the rest of his life without her, his mate in every way that counted.

Of course, he failed. And when Eveline asked him about what music he’d prefer, Dorian used every ounce of strength he had left to force a smile on his face and answer.

To be continued...

***

Thanks for reading! You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m not sure who all is still out there. So if I missed you, or you’d like to be tagged/removed for parts two and three, let me know.

@itach-i @bookishwitchling @manontrashbeak @awesomelena555 @jimetg98 @over300books

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You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 5

We back at it again because I love this right now

----------------

After smuggling Derek into my room via the window, the interrogation began. He sat in my computer chair, leaning over, resting his arms on his legs.

“Uh, first I want to say thank you for saving me again.” I began. He looked up and nodded. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“And uh, you’re a werewolf.” I said, starting to pace back and forth, “Is Scott a werewolf?” 

“He is.” 

“Did you bite him?” I paused, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“No, I’m an omega. Only Alphas can give people the gift.” He said. You call that a gift? I’d like a receipt.

“Is there a cure?”

“There’s a legend that says if the beta, one of the pack, kills the alpha then he will become human again. But I don’t even know if that’s true.” He explained. That meant Scott’s odds were not looking good and this werewolf thing is permanent. 

“Were you bitten by the alpha?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed. 

“No, I was born with it. My family was a pack. After…” He paused, “After the fire, my older sister became the alpha since she had been trained by my mother to be the new matriarch. I came back here because I hadn’t heard from her. Now we know why.” 

“I’m so sorry.” I looked down at my socks. These questions were making him bring up what must have been incredibly painful memories and bringing up the fresh pain of the murder of his sister. 

“The thing following you in the woods was the new alpha. He killed her for her alpha spark.” 

“Alpha spark?” 

“It can transform a beta, or an omega into an alpha. It’s taken when the alpha is killed by either of those. Or it can be transferred willingly.” This was a little more complicated than I thought. I knew that there were hierarchies in wolves, but who knew it translated to werewolves?

“Why is the alpha coming after me? You said it was following me.” 

He leaned back in the chair, “Well, he’s either looking to eat you. Or he wanted to turn you.” At my shocked expression he added, “Probably the latter. He’s a new alpha so he’s trying to start a pack, probably why he started with Scott. Speaking of, you need to tell him to stop seeing Allison.” 

“Why, what’s wrong with Allison?” 

“Her family are a very old lineage of werewolf hunters.” He said seriously, “Chris Argent and I have an unspoken agreement. No deaths, I don’t end up dead. I can’t say the same for the rest of his family.” He was something in his eyes, a pain that couldn’t be described. 

“I know I said I wanted answers but if its too painful-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupted. I raised my eyebrows at him. 

“Derek, I understand what it’s like to lose your family in one day. It’s the most awful feeling imaginable. Because after the pain is the loneliness. I got lucky that I have Uncle Noah and Stiles. You had your sister and now she’s gone and you’re the only one left.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“It’s not just me. I have an uncle in a vegetative state at Beacon Hills long-term facility. And my sister Cora, I haven’t seen her since the fire. I think she’s gone too, but there’s always the chance that she’s still out there. She just doesn’t want anything to do with me.” He looked down at his hands. He looked so vulnerable right now, something I never expected from him. He had so many walls up. There were still things he was hiding about the Argents, but pushing him now didn’t seem right. 

I gave him a small smile and kneeled down in front of him. Slowly, I reached for his hands, giving him plenty of time to pull away, but he let me touch him. I held his hands in mine, rubbing my thumbs over his knuckles. I titled my head to meet his eyes that he was hiding. 

“Hey, grief is hard. Especially since we lost our families in the same way. Let’s help each other. Would that be okay?” I asked softly. He met my eyes finally, his stern expression was more loose than usual. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“I want to. But I can’t.” 

The sound of the door opened behind us, and queue Stiles meltdown. And with the position I was in, on my knees in front of Derek Hale, maybe it was a little justified. 

“What is going on?” He asked. I quickly got to my feet. 

“Uh, Derek was just leaving. Just a quick little visit.” I took Derek by the arm, brought him out of the chair and ushered him to the window, where he left without another word. 

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Stiles shouted. 

“Will you keep it down?” I whispered loudly. 

“Oh you can cut the crap, Dad isn’t here. Why the hell is a wanted criminal in my house?!” 

I crossed my arms and shrugged innocently, “We were just talking.” 

“Why was he covered in blood?” He pointed to the dry blood that was on the arm of my chair. I sighed and rubbed my temples. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell your dad.” I pleaded. He crossed his arms and looked away from me. 

“As an upstanding citizen of Beacon Hills-”

“You cut the crap, Stiles. You have more priors than he does.” 

“I wasn’t questioned about the murder of my sister.” He shot.

“He was acquitted of all changes due to his alibi.” I shot back.

He grumbled and shook his hands, “Fine, fine. Tell me.” 

“Okay, so, Michael found me in the woods-” 

“Michael-” He started. 

“Hey, no interrupting!” He held his hands up in surrender, motioning for me to go on, “He found me in the woods and was probably going to commit a bunch of unsavory things on me when Derek showed up because the night before when you and Scott were arguing, I went to his house to get some answers of my own, he told me to go home so I did.” I paused and took a drink out of the glass of water on my nightstand, then continued, “Anyway, when Derek showed up he killed Michael because Derek is a werewolf.” I rushed out. 

“A what?!” He shouted. 

“Oh don’t act so surprised, you know Scott is a werewolf.” 

He stepped back, pretending to be shocked, “Scott? A werewolf.” Clearly trying to cover for his friend, but no dice. Stiles was a terrible liar. 

“Derek told me. And he also told me that Allison’s family are werewolf hunters. But I assumed you already knew that because you don’t look surprised at all.” 

“Well, ahhh, her last name does mean silver in French.”  He added. I shook my head, holding my pinkie out. 

“Pinkie swear me you won’t tell Uncle Noah.” He sighed, tapping his foot, “Promise!” He grumbled, throwing his hands up in the air, but eventually he wrapped his pinkie around mine. 

“Fine.” He paused, still holding my pinkie, his grip on my finger tightened, holding me there, “But you have to swear not to get romantically involved!” He pulled his pinkie away. I gasped loudly, staring between my pinkie and his. 

“You can’t do that.” 

He smirked, “I just did.” 

“I am not romantically involved with Derek.” I blushed. 

“Coulda fooled me.” He scoffed. I huffed. 

“Okay, time for you to go. Goodnight Stiles.” I pushed him out the door and slammed it behind me. I leaned against the door and sighed. I wasn’t romantically involved with Derek, we just had a connection. 

…

Maybe I was romantically involved. But could you blame me, he was my knight in shining armor twice. That was attractive. And he was far from ugly. 

- 

The next morning, I went downstairs and was surprised to see Uncle Noah in the kitchen making breakfast. 

“Morning, I didn’t hear you come in last night.” I said, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. 

“That’s because,” He yawned, “I came in this morning.” He motioned to the table, “Sit, sit. Let me make you breakfast.” I sat at the table, pulling an apple out of the basket on the table. He placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. 

I smiled up at him, “Thanks, Uncle Noah.” He nodded, sitting down with his own plate before eating. The few minutes were in silence, just chewing. I decided I should at least talk, make it seem like I was still scared that Michael would come back. 

“I know you don’t want to bring up work at home, but is there any news on Michael?” He sighed through his nose, swallowing his bite of food. 

“It’s okay. And I wish I had better news, but we still haven’t found anything.” He said. I nodded. 

“It’s okay, I know you’ll find him.” Find his body? Maybe. But he was very much dead. The only thing I’m worried about now in the woods was the alpha werewolf and whether he wanted to make me lunch or one of them. 

- 

I was making my way out to get groceries when I saw Stiles Jeep whipping through the neighborhood. Being curious, I decided to follow, where I was led to Dr. Deaton’s office, the local veterinarian that Scott worked for. 

“Is there a reason you’re driving like a bat outta hell?” I called, seeing Stiles get out. 

“Oh great, you can help me carry him.” Stiles said, opening the back of the Jeep where Derek sat. He was pale, his eyes looked sunken in, and there was blood dripping down his hand. 

“Jesus Christ.” I said, carefully helping Derek out of the Jeep. He grunted while Stiles and I helped him inside after Stiles unlocked the door with the spare key. Scott had gone to go find the bullet so that Derek could cure himself, he would have to steal from Kate Argent.

 We brought him back into the operating area. I’m sure Stiles was chomping at the bit not to say something. Derek explained that he had been on the trail of the alpha when a hunter saw and shot him. 

Stiles looked at his phone then Derek, “Does Northern Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?”

Derek was leaning on the operating table, “It’s a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet.”

“Why?”

Derek looked from me to Stiles, “Cause I’m gonna die without it.” He said breathlessly. He took his jacket, then his shirt off to reveal the bullet wound in his arm which was bleeding, but the strangest thing was his veins around the wound were purple and crawling up his arm. I guess Monkshood must be deadly to werewolves, but then again, it is wolfsbane. Derek looked manic, he was getting warmer and sweat was dripping off of him in buckets. He looked around and grabbed an amputation saw.  I grabbed a bowl filled with water and grabbed a couple paper towels. I wet the paper towels, and moving to touch his wounded arm, he pulled it away.

“Okay, if the Blue monkshood doesn’t kill you, an infection will. Let me help you.” I narrowed my eyes. He glared, his nostrils flared but he held his arm out. I lightly dabbed at it, careful not to apply too much pressure.

Stiles gagged when he saw it, prompting me to elbow his side, “Okay, you know, that really doesn’t look like anything, some echinacea and a good night’s sleep couldn’t take care of…?”

Derek swallowed thickly, “When the infection reaches my heart, it’ll kill me.”

“Positivity” just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”

“Stiles!” I scolded. 

“If he doesn’t get here with the bullet in time– last resort.” Derek grabbed an amputation saw from the table. 

“Which is…?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re gonna cut off my arm.” He rushed his words out, they slightly slurred together. 

“Okay okay.” I grabbed the saw from his grasp and set it back down on a metal tray, “Let’s just be a little optimistic. Scott’s going to be here soon.” He glared at me, causing me to raise my hands in surrender. He grabbed a rubber tourniquet and tied it tightly around his arm with his teeth to stop any further movement. 

Stiles held his arms out, “Oh, my God. What if you bleed to death?”

“It’ll heal if it works.”

“If it works?!” I snapped, not believing that any of this was happening still.

Stiles sight, “Ugh. Look - I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!”

“You’re not afraid of blood. You don’t faint.” I said, confused. 

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped - off arm!” 

“All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I’m gonna cut off your head.” Derek glared. 

“Derek.” I scolded.

Stiles shook his head, “Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any-” Derek grabbed him by the shirt collar and lifted him up, “Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold. Totally. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” Derek dropped him and Stiles looked back at his arm, “What? What are you doing? Holy God, what the hell is that?” His arm was oozing from the wound. 

“It’s my body..” Derek breathed out, “Trying to heal itself.”

“Well, it’s not doing a very good job of it.” Stiles avoided his arm once again.  

Derek grabbed the saw, holding it out to Stiles, “Now. You gotta do it now.”

“Look, honestly, I don’t think I can.”

“Just do it!” He shouted. 

Stiles took the saw, “Oh, my God. Okay, okay. Oh, my God. All right, here we go!” 

“I can’t watch this.” I covered my eyes with one of my hands, the other was on Derek’s uninjured arm. But like an angel’s voice, we heard Scott yelling for Stiles. 

“Scott?” Stiles asked, looking at the frazzled teen who just ran through the clinic.  I uncovered my eyes, still seeing Stiles with the saw pressed to Derek’s arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott asked, exasperated. 

Stiles dropped the saw, “Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares.” 

Derek stood up more without the help of the table but he was starting to wobble, “Did you get it?”

“What are you gonna do with it?” Stiles asked. 

Derek swallowed thickly, “I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” His eyes fluttered shut, his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. 

“Derek!” I shouted, grabbing his torso before he broke his skull open on the floor. When Derek had dropped, it had knocked the bullet out of Scott’s hand and it had rolled.

“No. No, no, no, no.” Scott pleaded as he watched the bullet roll and fall into the vent in the floor. 

Stiles was down on the floor besides me, “Derek. Derek, come on, wake up.” He was tapping his cheek, “Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know! I can’t reach it.” Scott called from across the room.

“He’s not waking up!” Stiles said between his teeth, clearly in panic mode, but I wasn’t any better. I leaned my head down to his chest, trying to hear his heartbeat. 

“His heart beats slowing down!” I called, I grabbed his shoulder, starting to shake him, “Come on, Derek, wake up!”

“Come on.” I heard Scott grunt.

“I think he’s dying. I think he’s dead!” Stiles looking back in Scott’s direction. I started to panic, shaking him harder. I can’t lose him. I can’t. No one else I care about is allowed to die.

“Just hold on! Come on.” Scott let out a restrained yell, then shouted “Oh! I got it! I got it!” 

When Stiles heard that, he pushed me back and bowed his fist, “Please don’t kill me for this.” He swung and connected with Derek’s cheek, “Ugh! Ow! God!” He pulled his hand away, shaking it. Derek gasped and his eyes shot open, I helped Derek to feet and held his waist to steady him.

“Give me…” Scott gave Derek the bullet. He took the bullet between his teeth, and broke it open. He dumped the contents of it on the table. From his back pocket he pulled out a match book, he lit a match and dropped it on the contents. It burned quickly, an eerie blue flame. Once it went out, he pinched some of the ash in his fingers, then stuck his fingers in the wound. I winched and looked away. 

“Ow, God.” Stiles gagged. But we all watched in amazement as the dark veins that had been growing up his arm disappeared. I was finally able to breathe properly, I let out a sigh of relief, back away and leaning against the wall. I placed a hand on my chest, feeling my heart slowly go back into rhythm.

“That - Was - Awesome! Yes!” Stiles cheered, throwing his arms up. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked.  

Derek grumbled a bit, “Well, except for the agonizing pain.”

“I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.” Stiles smiled, feeling accomplished. He probably just was relieved that he didn’t have to cut anyone’s arm off. 

“Okay, we saved your life, which means you’re gonna leave us alone, you got that? And if you don’t, I’m gonna go back to Allison’s dad, and I’m gonna tell him everything-” Scott started his threat. Which meant that I was severely out of the loop. 

“You’re gonna trust them?” Derek cut him off,  “You think they can help you?”

“Well, why not? They’re a lot freaking nicer than you are.”

 Derek glared at him, the pain was back in his eyes, “I can show you exactly how nice they are.” 

-

After the excitement was over, I decided to go to the Hale house to talk to Derek privately. I got there before him and waited for him in the driveway. I really shouldn’t have come unannounced. He would probably just tell me to get lost like he usually did. I was pulled out of my thoughts by his black Camaro pulling up beside my car. I got out as he did. Derek still looked pretty rough but his color was coming back to his skin.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” He said dismissively, walking towards his house. And we were back to this. Even after everything, it’s like our relationship reset itself every time we saw each other. I followed after him, hot on his heels.

“Why do you keep doing this?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

“Doing what?” He took his leather jacket off and hung it up.

“You and I, we talk, we get more comfortable with each other. I think I am finally getting through that shell of yours only for you to make another one.”

Derek turned to face me, “I don’t owe you any explanation. I am fine by myself.”

“No, you’re not.” I came closer to him, my face mere inches from his, “You’re not fine by yourself. I saw how you looked tonight when Scott brought up the Argents. You were hurt, and scared, and angry. You can’t just sit here in this house and pour yourself into finding this alpha, you’re going to kill yourself. You almost died today.”

“He killed my sister! He is killing people and now Kate Argent is back and she doesn’t follow the Code. She will do anything, no matter how awful it is, to murder my kind. She’s the reason my family is gone!” He barked back. I took a deep breath.

“I know you want justice for Laura. I do too. But you can’t do that if you’re dead. Is that what she would want? Her little brother dead trying to get revenge?” Derek avoided my gaze, looking through me more than at me.

“Derek.” I said softly, slowly bringing my hand up to his cheek. He inhaled sharply, becoming stiff under my touch.

I stood on my tiptoes to press my forehead against his and whispered, “This is selfish to say… but I can’t lose you too. I-I thought you were dead. You have to be more careful. Please.” His body became less rigid and he let out a shaky breath. He slowly brought his hand to my waist, the other sliding over my hand that rested on his cheek. In that moment, it felt like the whole universe stopped. It was only me and him. It was like our minds finally connected and our souls touched. There was silence, only the wind blowing softly through the trees. 

“I can’t do this.” He whispered, closing his eyes. 

“You can.” I laced my fingers with his against his cheek, “We can do it together.” 

“I can’t let myself.” He opened his eyes again to meet mine, “When I’m with you I lose focus, you’re all I can think about. I get distracted from what I need to do. So I ignore you, treat us like it's nothing because I can’t open myself up again. Not after… not after what happened.” He was opening up, if not all the way, just a little. Derek had a good point. Finding the alpha and killing him was the only way to get justice for Laura. And if I was distracting him, maybe I should keep my distance. He clearly has been hurt terribly by someone, and hearing him bare his soul made me think about how to make it better. But what was I to do? My demons were killed, Derek deserved to destroy his own. 

“Do you want me to go away?” My words were barely a whisper. 

He licked his lips, “If I was allowed to be selfish, I would never let you go.” I took a deep breath, dreading the fact that I had to leave him. 

“Okay.” I smiled, trying to ignore my burning tear ducts, “I’ll go home. And… I won’t come back unless you want me to.” I reluctantly slipped my hand out of his. But, I need one selfish thing if I was ever going to live with this. I leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. I pulled away, feeling his hand fall from my waist. I kept my eyes on the floor as I walked out of the Hale house, got into my car and drove away. 

---------------------------

Read part 6 here!

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YSM Tag:

@nyotamalfoy

@fruitloopzzz

@babygirl-angel-love

[delicioussshame]

Too long for tumblr, too bad to be posted by itself on AO3, have this ABO future AU where LBH and SY never got together.

There is always something bittersweet about Shizun visiting.

Luo Binghe loves having him here. He loves that Shizun obviously feels comfortable enough around him that he doesn’t mind being in the demon realm, away from allies and friends.

He hates knowing that no matter how pleasant their time together was, Shen Qingqiu will eventually leave to return to his bamboo house.

He tries to put that last thought out of his mind and just enjoy his shizun’s company.

It’s just that there is something else going on today. Something that is incommoding Shizun. He keeps twitching as if he can’t sit still. His skin has a pinker shade than usual. His gaze sometimes lingers on Luo Binghe in a way that is very hard to ignore.

Luo Binghe does all he can to do so anyway. Why raise his hopes up at this point?

When his usually graceful shizun manages to send a cup rolling, spilling tea over the table, Luo Binghe cannot blind himself anymore. “Shizun isn’t feeling well today. Is there anything this disciple can do to help?” He can’t help the eager tilt in his voice. He wants to help Shen Qingqiu so badly. He still wants Shen Qingqiu to smile at him kindly and pet his head gently, praising him for being good, the way he used to do when Luo Binghe was still a child.

Shen Qingqiu stumbles. He flushes, embarrassed. “This isn’t something Binghe should bother himself with. It will pass. It’s just unexpected. I should have remained home today.”

That’s strange? What condition could he be talking about? “What is Shizun suffering from?”

Shen Qingqiu sighs. “Well, Binghe is more than old enough to know. He probably figured it out already, didn’t he? He must have experience dealing with this with others.”

Luo Binghe stays silent. He has no idea what his shizun is talking about, but he’s not going to tell him that. He doesn’t want to appear stupid in front of Shen Qingqiu.

“Your master is an omega. I am currently feeling the first symptoms of an unprompted heat. I was already here when I first felt it, so I thought it would be rude of me to leave without seeing you, but it’s been more distracting than I would have expected.”

Luo Binghe tries not to white out at this unexpected knowledge. “Shizun doesn’t smell like it.”

Shen Qingqiu waves it away. “I’ve always hidden my natural scent. Easier to live without attracting attention that way.”

“I see.”

Shen Qingqiu rises. “Since Binghe understands, I will take my leave.”

“Where is Shizun going!? He should be careful! His condition makes him vulnerable!” If someone were to cross paths with his shizun so impaired and decided to take advantage… He couldn’t stand it.

“Back to my peak. As I said, this is unexpected, so I have no other arrangements. It will just pass. I’ll be fine.”

“Qing Jing Peak is much too far! Shizun should remain here. I can make sure he’ll be comfortable and undisturbed, if that’s what he prefers.” It will be a trial like no other, having Shen Qingqiu so close, knowing his body is begging for an alpha’s touch, but it will be better than having him on the road, pretending to be unaffected and failing miserably.

Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. “I couldn’t inconvenience Binghe so.”

“It would be no bother! The palace has personnel used to providing adequate care for omega guests.”

“Binghe, it’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? Shizun would be safe and taken care of.” Luo Binghe isn’t letting him go, and that’s final.

He can’t make himself do so.

“Binghe, are you really going to make me say this?”

Now, Luo Binghe is confused. His master had just admitted he was going into heat? What could he find more embarrassing than this? “Shizun can tell me anything. I wouldn’t tell a soul.” He would also make sure anyone witness to his shizun’s secrets wouldn’t be able to betray them.

Shen Qingqiu rubs his temples. “You’re not the child I raised anymore. You must have more self-awareness than this.”

Self-awareness? “I don’t know what Shizun is talking about.”

Luo Binghe recognises that the gruffness in Shen Qingqiu’s voice is a mask to hide deep embarrassment. “I can’t be around an alpha of Binghe’s calibre when I’m like this. I’ll shame myself.”

It takes all of his energy to keep himself in control. Too much enthusiasm and he’ll scare Shizun away. “Is Shizun implying he thinks he would proposition me?”

Shen Qingqiu’s lack of composure gives him away. “Binghe!”

Keep yourself in check. Don’t scare him. Don’t act like this is a favorite fantasy of yours you’ve been entertaining since you were thirteen and found out you were an alpha. “If Shizun prefers not to be alone, I would be honored to be his companion.”

Luo Binghe knows that Shen Qingqiu isn’t quite in his right mind. That the way he’s responding to his overture doesn’t mean anything in the long term.

But here, in this moment, Shen Qingqiu cannot deny he wants Luo Binghe. It’s written all over him, from the heat on his face to the tightening of his fingers on his robes.

Luo Binghe charges on. “If Shizun would allow me to, I would love nothing more than making sure that everything goes perfectly for him, in all aspects.” Luo Binghe reaches for his shizun, holding his delicate, warm, trembling hand in his. “I will take him to his room, where he can safely wait for the right time to come. Meanwhile, I will discreetly arrange for all he might need, and only when this is done will I join him.” His fingers tighten their hold on him. “As an alpha, I promise I will fulfill all his needs and desires.”

Luo Binghe cannot tell if his teacher’s scent is fluctuating under the influence of his words, but he’s almost certain Shen Qingqiu can smell his own attraction. He will know Luo Binghe is honest.

“Binghe… I cannot compare to the ladies you usually spend time with.”

Luo Binghe has no idea what ladies he’s referring to. “Shizun has nothing to be ashamed of.” Luo Binghe could easily sing Shen Qingqiu’s praises for hours, but he knows he would scare him away.

“Are you certain? Binghe shouldn’t feel obligated. I can wait it out.”

Shizun, in what world would bedding you be an obligation? No one on this earth would think so. “I’m certain.”

“Then, I will be in your care.” There is a hint of hesitation still in his voice.

Luo Binghe will make sure none remains by the end. “I won’t disappoint.”

____________

Luo Binghe visits Lin Lian himself.

She isn’t startled by his sudden, unannounced appearance. She is known for taking everything in stride, which is one of the reasons why she is so good at her job. “Junshang.”

“Shizun is going into heat. Everything needs to be perfect.”

She doesn’t even flinch, never mind asking why beta Shen Qingqiu was going into heat.

Then again, Luo Binghe now suspects he probably employs a few hidden omegas himself.

“Alone?”

“No. I’ll mind him.” Luo Binghe might have banned any mention of Resentment of Chunshan from his palace, but he doesn’t expect his servants not to be aware of it. She won’t need more than this.

While Lin Lian is officially just another senior servant, she is the one in charge of omega affairs. Be it making sure schedules allow for planned heats, providing supplies for inconvenienced guests, or keeping alphas at bay where they’re unwanted, Lin Lian was the one handling it all. She, more than anyone in the palace, would know what to do.

She nods. “A sudden heat?”

Luo Binghe acquiesces.

“It won’t last long then. They show up fast and pass just as quickly. When did he start feeling it?”

“A few hours ago.”

“He’s almost there, then. No time for ample preparation. I suppose you won’t let my people in the room?”

Luo Binghe answers that question with a growl that menaces to turn into a roar at any second. No one will be allowed near Shizun in this state. Not even another omega.

“If it lasts only a few hours, you won’t have to do much. If it’s longer, please make sure he eats and drinks a bit. His heat will be hard on him. Even a cultivator should feed to replenish themselves. We keep food that is both easily eaten and kept for this kind of occasion.”

Luo Binghe hates that he won’t be able to cook for Shizun himself. The feast he’d planned isn’t appropriate for the current situation.

Later, then.

“You might also wish to bathe him, and change the sheets as he soaks. Omegas expect alphas to tend to their physical needs. Anything more can come at a pleasant surprise.”

Luo Binghe bets Shen Qingqiu won’t be surprised. He had taken care of such tasks for his shizun for years, when they were still sharing a roof.

Unless his “other arrangements” weren’t as attentive. Luo Binghe hadn’t missed that sentence. Who did Shen Qingqiu turn to in his time of need, if not Luo Binghe himself? Liu Qingge? Yue Qingyuan? Someone else, unknown to Luo Binghe?

Whoever they were, they won’t have him now.

If he treats Shen Qingqiu as lovingly as he should be treated, maybe he’ll never turn to them again. While it isn’t what he wanted, calling Shen Qingqiu his omega every time his nature overwhelms him is much better than what he has now.

He gathers everything Lin Lian prepares for him, carrying food and sheets carefully via hidden passageways. The less people knew of the situation, the better. If Shen Qingqiu’s long-kept secret was exposed because of Luo Binghe’s carelessness, Shizun might not forgive him.

As soon as he opens the door to his shizun’s room, he is hit by what he assumes must be his teacher’s natural scent, so strong Luo Binghe finds himself following its call mindlessly until he reaches Shen Qingqiu, lying on his bed only in thin white inner robes glued to his skin.

Luo Binghe unceremoniously dumps everything on a nearby table, too distracted by the spectacle of his shizun flushed and panting to care about anything else. “Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu lifts foggy eyes toward him. “Binghe…”

Shizun is calling for him. What could he do but answer? Luo Binghe climbs on the bed, throwing off jewelry and pieces of clothing as he approaches.

He freezes just as he’s about to touch. Will he really do this? Can he really, finally press his lips to Shen Qingqiu, discover the taste of his skin and the sound of his moans? Worse, will he become intimately familiar with his scent as it crescendos? Shen Qingqiu said the heat was unplanned; is there a chance their union will bear fruits?

He has to ask. “Shizun, is this really all right? Will you permit your Binghe to cherish you as you should always be cherished?”

Even through the fog of heat, Luo Binghe can tell the blush is born out of embarrassment, not desire. “Binghe! Don’t talk! Just… do what you have to do.”

It’s as much permission as his beloved will ever give. “As Shizun wishes, then.”

At least Shen Qingqiu is too out of it to notice Luo Binghe’s own nerves as he finally kisses him for the first time.

But not the last.

____________

Luo Binghe wants this to never end.

Shen Qingqiu is nestled on his chest, still exhausted from their activities. He smells different now that the heavy pull of his heat has lifted. Bamboo and orchids on a rainy day, perhaps.

Luo Binghe had been a bit reluctant to bathe him, once the heat had broken and Shen Qingqiu was close to sleep, but he was familiar enough with his shizun’s temperament to know that he would much prefer to wake up clean than still covered in sweat and semen. And what Shen Qingqiu wanted, Shen Qingqiu got.

He doesn’t quite regret it. Fresh sheets and clean skin meant that Shen Qingqiu had no incentive to wake up, instead curling up against Luo Binghe to keep awareness at bay.

It is paradise on earth, holding Shen Qingqiu such. Petting his soft hair as he wishes. Feeling his slow, steady breath on his chest. Hearing the contented beat of his heart.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Shen Qingqiu starts to move, obviously fighting off sleep.

Finally, he blinks cloudy eyes at Luo Binghe. “Binghe…?”

Luo Binghe refuses to flinch. Instead, he tightens the arm thrown oh so carelessly across his shizun’s side. “Shizun. Did you sleep well?” Because if he didn’t, Luo Binghe will happily hold him to sleep again.

Instead of flustering, as Luo Binghe expected, Shen Qingqiu snuggles a bit closer. “Yes, but I’m not ready to rise yet.”

Ah. As far as Luo Binghe knows, it is not unheard of for omegas just over their heat to still feel bonded to their alpha, demanding closeness and comfort when they would usually demure. “We can remain here as long as Shizun wants.” His heat was too short for him to need food right now. He’ll be hungry, but that can wait.

(This has nothing to do with Luo Binghe’s desire to feed Shen Qingqiu proper food instead of aging snacks made without love or care.)

Shen Qingqiu lets out a sigh that is almost a giggle. “Binghe doesn’t have better things to do?”

Nothing could be more important than this. “They can wait.”

Shen Qingqiu… tuts? “Aren’t you the ruler of this realm? Do you push your responsibilities aside anytime you help an omega in need?”

“Why does Shizun think I do this regularly? I would only favor someone worthy so.”

At this, Shen Qingqiu does fluster. “Surely I am not ‘someone worthy’?”

Luo Binghe scuffs. “Who could be worthier than my shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu does laugh then, a light, airy thing that rings into Luo Binghe’s ears. “What a diligent disciple Binghe is, willing to take care of his shizun even in this.”

There are no circumstances where Luo Binghe wouldn’t be willing to take care of Shen Qingqiu.

But if he tells him this, he will run. Luo Binghe knows. He remembers too many of his attempts failing as Shen Qingqiu remembered something urgent he had to do, or a person he had to meet, whenever his disciple tried to express his less-than-platonic interest.

It has finally been long enough that Shen Qingqiu has managed to make himself forget. Luo Binghe cannot risk his teacher avoiding him again by being too forward.

He can, however, offer exactly this. “This disciple is indeed diligent enough that he would gladly care for his shizun again, when his proper heat arrives.”

Shen Qingqiu looks up at him from where he’s still resting against his heart. “Really? This master is grateful for his disciple’s help, but he doesn’t have to force himself by sleeping with an old man.”

This is painful. “Shizun can believe me when I say nothing about last night was me forcing himself. Or are his memories so hazy that he does not remember my enjoyment?” Because Luo Binghe would certainly not mind reminding him of it with actions instead of words.

He gets a light slap on his side. “An alpha enjoys any omega in heat. I know it’s not personal.”

Luo Binghe has to bite his lips not to cry in dismay. If anything, any alpha would enjoy Shizun no matter what the circumstance were. “It was personal for me.”

He sees it instantly. A tightening of Shen Qingqiu’s expression; his body sliding off Luo Binghe’s as Shen Qingqiu apparently decides he has had enough of lazing around. “Binghe is being ridiculous. This master is nothing special.”

He can’t let this stand. “I apologise if I offended Shizun, but he has to know I care for him deeply. He cannot consider himself as just another stranger I take to bed. His well-being is important to me.”

As he expected, his emphasis on Shen Qingqiu’s well-being, an expression of platonic concern instead of romantic interest, soothes some of Shen Qingqiu’s nerves. “Binghe is really too good a pupil. I don’t deserve him.”

Luo Binghe suddenly wonders if those words might be more than a rote phrase. “Shizun deserves the world. I’m nothing compared to it.”

Another light slap. “Really, ridiculous.” He finally lifts off the bed, looking for his robes, almost unmindful of his easy, effortlessly seductive nudity. “I’m hungry. Does Binghe know if it’s time for dinner?” He finds the abandoned snacks. “He brought food! Binghe really did a good job.”

“Shizun, no! I will go make Shizun a proper dinner. He shouldn’t spoil his appetite with these. Who knows who made them. They might be bad for him!”

Shen Qingqiu puts the bun down. “Binghe didn’t make these? I’ll wait then.”

Luo Binghe trained his teacher so well. “Does Shizun have preferences? I’ll cook whatever he wishes.”

Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. “Anything Binghe makes is delicious.”

If Shen Qingqiu decided to stay, Luo Binghe would prepare his every meal and relish doing so, as he used to do so long ago.  

Alas, Shen Qingqiu won’t. Instead, he will return to Qing Jing Peak and teach Luo Binghe’s shidi.

Luo Binghe can’t even blame him. Others deserve to have the same chance he got.

In the meantime, Luo Binghe will make his stay as sweet as possible.

Maybe if he does well, Shen Qingqiu will tell him when his regular heat is expected.

If he does really well, he will return here for it.

It’s a start.

[yeojaa]

finders keep hers, iii.

read parts one and two!  the long awaited conclusion!  i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel.  i hope it does the first two parts justice, though.  these kids are...  idiots.  i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif​)!  💖

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  rating.  explicit, ofc.  tags.  this is...  really soft at certain parts.  and then really raunchy at others.  oops?  but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end.  you might need a filling.  wc.  5.4k.

You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter.  “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”

“You too, Mr. Choi.”  A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat.  You’re in no rush.  “Is he home?”

“I don’t believe so.”  The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent.  It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit.  “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since.  That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.”  As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know…”  There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone.  “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”

Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one.  It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby.  “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”

How true that is, you’re not sure.  For your sake, you try not to think about it too much. 

The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears.  It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly.  He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest. 

Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees.  How much he knows .

You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly.  He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest.  “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.”  You aren’t offended by the dismissal.  “It’s always nice chatting with you.”

You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by.  The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.

Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things.  Always had.  It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.  

Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day.  There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential. 

Unconditional love, they called it. 

It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.  

You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you’ve never been afforded.  Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub . 

You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite.  Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.  

The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy.  You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that.  Different upbringings.

The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower.  It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.  

But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess.  Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.  

Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook. 

You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul.  Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge.  The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly. 

You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.    

This is what dreams are made of.  Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar. 

“When are you going to tell her?”

You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.  

There’s no reason for you to be surprised.  Not really.  This isn’t your home, after all.  You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.  

It doesn’t matter, though.  The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.  

Because it’s a female voice.  Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity.  Not someone brand new.  

Your heart stutters at the realisation.  The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room.  They must be able to - it’s practically deafening.  You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.

Their conversation .

Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.

You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater.  Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours.  God, you’re an idiot.  He was going to kill you - or she was.  You’re not sure which is worse.

You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again.  This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame.  He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.

“Jesus!”  The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince.  “You scared me!”

You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.

“Enjoying yourself?”  There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom.  You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.  

“I didn’t know you were home.”  You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman.  Had he left her on the couch?  Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out?  What excuse could he come up with?

“Didn’t know you were home either.”  

He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water.  He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush.  That puts you on edge.

Was he going to hide you in here? 

“I wanted to relax after my run.”  You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway.  You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session.  You can’t bring yourself to address it, though.  The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns.  It hurts to swallow. 

Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him.  He’s normally a chatterbox.

The silence stretches on.  Suffocating.

You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water.  “Should I… go?”  The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain.  You hate it.

By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too.  He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch.  “Why?”

Heat floods across your cheeks.  You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors.  It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed.  Surely, he knows why.  

When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.  

Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling.  The universal sign for you know .  It should be enough - you hope it’s enough.  Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.  

“Suddenly mute, baby?”

It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest.  You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be.  “You’ve got a girl here.”  

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue.  The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.  

He’s still snickering when he speaks.  “You mean my sister?”

“Your sister?”  It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window.  Because his sister was practically your sister.  How had you not recognised her voice?  You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence. 

“Yeah.  I spent the night babysitting the twins.”

You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’.  It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor. 

“How are they?”  You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along.  The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.

“They’re good.  Getting big.”  He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes.  Reserved especially for the people he cares about most.  Your favourite sight.  “You can come with me next time.  Minnie asked about you, anyway.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest.

Being liked by peers?  Great.  Being respected by your superiors?  Rewarding.  But being loved by children?  It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.

“Sure.”  You can’t keep the grin away.

That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back.  “So, were you jealous?”  His ability to piss you off is uncanny.  It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day. 

“No.”  It’s meant to be a scoff.  It’s not very believable.

“You sure, princess?”  The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.

“Yes, Bunny .”  You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you.  You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation.  Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too.  “Now let me finish—”

He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting:  “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”  

“You heard me.  Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.”  Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure.  Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly.  Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.  

He leaves you without another word.

You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms.  You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.

What the hell was his problem? 

Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue.  You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom;  you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.  

They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.

“Come here.”  It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once.  A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal;  that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time. 

The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies.  You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger. 

“What?”  It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.

“Watch it,”  he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words.  Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.

That makes one of you.

Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting.  “ You watch it, Bunny.”

Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often.  Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes.  For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it. 

“You’re a brat, you know that?”  

“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, not unkindly.  

“You’re making this really hard,”  he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.  

You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

“Me?”  

“Did I stutter?”

If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback.  As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips.  You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers. 

Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words:  when are you going to tell her?

All at once, you want nothing more than to leave.  You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come.  You’re not ready for it.  

“Listen—”

He cuts you off, again.  “I love you.”

You’re not sure how your face looks.  You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now.  “What?”

Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall.  When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect.  The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings.  “I love you.”  

He’s nervous, you realise in amazement. 

“Come again?”  

He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease.  He doesn’t say it again, though.

“Are you messing around with me?”  You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.

“I’m not an asshole.”  Except both of you know he certainly can be.  You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap.  “I talked to my sister.  She…”  He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders.  “She told me I was an idiot.”

You’re not surprised by that.  Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.

“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.”  There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do.  “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it.  Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—”  He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does.  “But—”

“But?”  Quiet, hopeful, coaxing. 

There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about.  It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.  

Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long.  The light wanes.  You wonder if the moment has passed.  

And then he continues, a little more earnestly.  “Was she right?  Am I going to lose you?”

You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking.  You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking.  You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve.  “You’ll never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.”  

Did you?  “You’ll never lose me.”  You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.  

“Then say it.”  Again, not a request.  A prayer, perhaps.  Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.

You don’t hesitate.  “I love you.”

He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.  

How he kisses you now feels different.  More .  It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible.  Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky.  Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose.  You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape. 

“You never told me you could kiss like that.”  It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.

His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating.  “Shut up,”  he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you.  Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer;  the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.

“I’m serious...”  You really are - far more than you should be.  You’d been missing out on this ?  It’s incomprehensible.

The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest.  It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach.  His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder.  Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth.  You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.

“So am I.”  Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble.  It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.

You don’t mind.  

“Say it again,”  he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.  

The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue.  “I love you.”  

“Again.”  You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before.  Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck.  “Say it again.”

“I love you.”  Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip.  Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you, Bunny .”

He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again.  It’s more gentle but just as lovesick.  A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.

“I need you.”  It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.  

“You have me.”

“Do I?”  There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips.  The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch.  As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.

“Since when do you ask?”  You have a point.

“You’re right,”  his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl.  “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?”  His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly.  You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.

The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest.  You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration.  “Are you saying I’m not?”

“Don’t know, baby.”  The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips.  It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat.  “Want to be a good girl for me?”

You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual.  A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface;  the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.

“Always,”  you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes. 

“Always,”  he murmurs, tasting it for the first time.  He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure.  You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love.  Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils.  “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?”  You don’t need to push him.  You like to do it anyway.  It feels right .

“You’re the worst.”  What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week .  What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you.  What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.  

On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.  He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses.  He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else. 

In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare.  He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue.  He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway.  He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.  

On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot.  His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare.  You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness.  He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark.  From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.  

He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths.  You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.  

“Jungkook.”  It sounds more like begging than anything.  Exactly what he wants.

“What’s up, princess?”  Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs.  He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you.  “Something wrong?”

“Stop teasing.”  You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.  

“I thought you were going to be good for me,”  he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt.  He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once.  “You’re so wet, baby.  I just slide right in.”  

As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open.  It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting.  He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.   

“ Jungkook! ”  You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations.  A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.  

“Stay still.”  It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs.  Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further.  You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself.  “Good girls listen, remember?”

You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach.  You need him so badly it hurts .  “Please.”  

“Please what?”  That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly.  “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.”  He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars.  The bastard has the audacity to coo at you.  “What’s wrong, baby?  Can’t speak?”

You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name.  Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh. 

He makes a sound, wistful and resigned.  You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need.  You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.

Then he withdraws, all at once.

You could scream.  In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving.  “I hate you!”  

“No.”  He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug.  There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you.  “You actually love me.”  He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily.  “Say it again.”

You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try.  “No.”

It’s a challenge more than anything.  He knows it;  you know it.

He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.  

“Say it.”  Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear.  He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation.  You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core.  He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing.  “Come on, baby.”

You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him.  You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.

“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want.  I’ll give you everything.  Promise, sweetheart.”  

Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat.  “I love you.”  It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.

“I love you,”  he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.  

It’s never been like this before.  Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you.  The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more.  You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders.  He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.  

“I’ve got you, baby.  Let me make you feel good.”  When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again.  “I love you.”

His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin.  It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos.  Jungkook’s always been everything to you.

The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect.  Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well;  everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive.  There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.  

That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning .  Picture perfect and filled with wonder.

He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head.  “I love you.”  It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock. 

“I love you,”  you parrot back - or try to.  It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.  

You’re at your breaking point.  He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.  

“That’s it, princess.  Right there.”   

The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart.  White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss.  You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.  

The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat.  When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross.  It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.  

“I love you, baby.”  

“I love you, Bunny.”

You realise - it feels exactly like that.  Making love.

[moon-kn1ght]

stay. 

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: mentions of high school, mentions of shrek the musical (i’m sry), fluff, pining, 

A/N: this is for @emmikmil! I’ve had so much fun writing this for you and dropping by your ask box often. I hope you enjoy! thank you to @wyn-dixie for the beta! 

listen to a similarly vibed playlist here || masterlist

“I just don’t get how I was able to spend so much time away from you Marcus!!” you laugh at your friend on the couch next to you, “Eight years later, and your movie commentary is still making me laugh my ass off.” The credits roll on the movie that you two had been watching, and even though the movie had not originally been a comedy, Marcus Pike had made you laugh so much that your abs hurt.

“Now that we’re both in D.C., I can tell you that you’re going to get tired of it. I may be older but my time in the FBI has stunted my humor level back to where it was in high school,” Marcus jeered. His smile had the same youthful exuberance that it did when you two were kids, working for the government hadn’t taken that away yet. His eyes still held that warm kindness that had drawn you to be his friend all those years ago.

You and Marcus were best friends back in your shared hometown of Troy, Ohio. You two had bonded at age fourteen over a desire to get the hell out of your small town. While your friendship was built on a mutual distaste of home, it grew to be much more than that. Your high school years were remembered with moments of utter joy with Marcus by your side.

There were summer adventures into the countryside to find streams to swim in to beat the unbearable heat. There were late night ‘study sessions’ that routinely involved borrowing Marcus’s older sister’s car to go get McDonald’s and sit and talk for hours. You went to every single one of his football games (even though he was third string). And you were there the one game in four years that he was on the field and caught a pass that resulted in a game-winning touchdown.

He was there for your break-out role as the Gingerbread Man in the school’s production of Shrek the Musical. He saw it every night. And he was there when your date to junior-year homecoming didn’t show up, and even though he vowed to not go to a school dance that year, he stepped in as your last-minute date (and funny enough, your original date showed up with a black eye on Monday, but you never heard the details…).

Maybe you’ve been apart for longer than you two actually knew each other, but the friendship that you two shared in those years could have been enough to last a lifetime. Luckily, with both of you now working in D.C., it doesn’t have to be. Maybe now you can experience another lifetime of friendship, but this time as adults.

You have been silent for a moment too long when Marcus interrupts, “Hey, you still here?”

“Sorry, yeah,” you respond. “I was just thinking about how you never told me how my ex-homecoming date, Brian, ended up with a black eye after he stood me up?”

The memory makes him laugh, “That information is on a need-to-know basis.  But what I can say is that conversation was quite helpful to draw on when I was learning interrogation skills at Quantico.”

“I KNEW IT!!” you yelp. You grab the throw pillow from your side of the couch and reel back to playfully hit him with it, but he’s too quick—he reaches and yanks it out of your hands, landing his own solid thwack against your stomach. This elicits a squeal from you, “HEY! Not fair, Mr. FBI. You can’t use your super-agent skills against me, that’s got to be a ground rule.”

“I was only acting in self-defense,” he contends, but releases the offending pillow from his grasp. “But if you insist, I will let you take a retaliatory hit at me, to keep things fair.” 

“Hmmm. Now I don’t trust you, Pike. I’m pretty sure you’re the type that would remember where I’m …” You were going to finish the sentence with the word ‘ticklish,’ but you can see the shift in Marcus’s eyes, meaning he knew the end of your sentence before you said it. He lunges towards you, and you’re able to call out an “OH NO!” before he’s on top of you, hands attacking the spots on your body that, of course, he does remember are ticklish.

Everything devolves into laughter. Radiant joy fills your living room, joy that you haven’t experienced in so long.

When you’re able to squirm away and catch your breath, you release a thought that had been on your mind all night, “Marcus, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You could live forever in the incredibly tender way that he looks at you.

“I’ve missed you too, Ging” he says, reminding you of your high school nickname that formed from your silly but wonderful role in the musical. Like old times, Marcus can still sense the melancholy that hides behind your smile, “hey, we both did it. We made it out. And now we’ve found each other again. Nothing is going to take you away from me now, friends for life, remember?”

You two hug, and time could stop for all you care.

—X—

“I can’t believe I let you drag me to a Quantico bar!” you grumble humorously as you slide out of the Uber you and Marcus shared back to your place. “I know So Many great bars in D.C. proper, and I let you drag me to the suburbs, just to be ogled by a bunch of middle-aged men in ill-fitting suits. I’m never going to forgive you for this one.”

You both are laughing in earnest at your condemnation of the rather dive-y establishment you both got probably a little too toasted at for a Thursday night. You were right, the place was filled with the Special Agent-type that Marcus worked with every day, which is likely why it was tinted in rose-color in his memory. 

“In my defense, I am not a woman, so how could I…” the words drunkenly tumble from Marcus’s lips. “Wait I take that back, let me rephrase…”

You spin around to shoot lasers into Marcus as his drunk ramble verges on being problematic. You wag your finger at him, “Hey, watch it captain.” He stops in his tracks and you, tipsy as well, step towards him, maintaining eye contact and continuing the silly motion of your finger, until you two are a breath apart.

He doesn’t back up, in fact, he leans into the proximity of your bodies. “Yes ma’am, I’m gonna shut up, I promise,” he blathers. You rest your palms against his chest, fingers grabbing at his wrinkled dress shirt. The alcohol coursing through your veins is giving you a confidence that you weren’t quite ever able to manifest in all those years ago. His hands come up to rest against your upper arms, not pushing you away but also not yet closing the remaining distance between your bodies.

“Yeah, you better. If you don’t, I’ll have to…” your thought stops short from completing as what’s left of your sober brain starts to comprehend how much contact you have with Marcus. Heat and energy pass through each junction of your bodies, his fingers on your arms, your hands against his muscled chest. Were your feet touching too? 

“Or you’ll have to what?” Marcus probes, finally releasing the breath he took in the moment your bodies touched.

His voice prompts you to look up from where you had been staring intently into the wrinkles of his once-pristine dress shirt. His eyes are boring holes into where he’d been staring at your head, desperately waiting for you to do something.

Gods, you want to kiss him so badly right now. You want to kiss him hard and desperate to make up for all the years apart. You want to kiss him soft and tender, so he’ll never leave again.

But what if he doesn’t feel the same way? You can’t destroy this absolutely magnetic friendship that you’ve regained after all these years, just for one kiss. But what if he does feel the same way?

You break away from Marcus. You can feel the energy that’s been coursing through your body from his break as you sever each individual point of contact. You can feel each finger leave the surface of his chest and travel through the suddenly chillier D.C. air. His hands slide down your arms. The last of the contact of your bodies breaks as he squeezes his thumb and pointer finger against your pinky.

“I should go,” Marcus says, fracturing the prolonged eye contact by looking down to the pavement. You look down too, your energy shattered by the sudden loss of contact. “Let’s do this again.” The sound of his voice still holds the joy that filled you both tonight, even as his eyes search the ground for something better to say.

—X—

He always smelled like cedarwood. You can still smell it around you as you close your front door and lean back against it. You know you're going to feel this emptiness tomorrow, a different kind of hangover than the tequila sitting in your stomach threatens you with. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door and you jump out of your disappointment. You look out the peephole and it’s Marcus, fidgeting awkwardly. You open the door, “Hey, did you forget some...” you start to ask but he cuts you off.

“Hey sorry for probably scaring you, but I felt something back there. I don’t know if you felt the same thing, but I was wondering if I could kiss you? And if the answer is no, we can forget …” Now it’s your turn to interrupt him. You grab a hold of his shirt in the same place you held him in the parking lot. You pull against him and he leans down and kisses you.

It’s like something in each of you breaks. A floodgate of emotion opens, channeled through this kiss. Your lips search each other for answers you’ve been longing for since the beginning of time.

One of his hands holds your face, while the other finally roams your body. It’s almost as if he’s charting himself a map, so he’ll never lose you again. It traces down your neck, across your shoulders, phantom fingers on your breasts. You’re not sure if his hand is leaving icicles or flames in its wake, but he has every nerve in your body standing on end.

You break from this kiss, but you don’t travel further than to just murmur against his lips. “Marcus are you sure?” you whisper.

He looks down at you and his eyes shine with more joy than you’d ever seen. You cup his cheek in your hand and all his words, all his ability to profess his love dies in his throat because of the simple gesture. He smiles and nods and whispers your name. You could get used to this, the feeling of his lips on yours and your bodies locked together.

“Let’s stay like this forever,” Marcus says, reading your mind.

“Yes. Forever,” you reply and kiss him again.

fin.

[koboldsoul]

a new little day within my hand

this was supposed to be for sg week but I’m bad at finishing things period, much less on time. in any case, we get to have some indulgent h/c between our two emotionally constipated wizards. as a treat. special thanks to @strwpup for betaing! 4585 words, shadowgast, gen, ao3

“I have more of Caduceus’ mixture,” Essek said from the doorway, the little ceramic pot in his hands testament to the words. Caleb nodded his assent to a question that had not been asked.

“Ja,” he said aloud, rather unnecessarily. The hoarseness was new, but welcome: for two days after that final, awful battle, he hadn’t been able to speak at all. Maybe he was still relishing the ability to coax sound from a shredded throat. “Thank you.”

That seemed all Essek needed to be confident in his approach, and this, too, was new. Since reuniting in Eiselcross, mutual hard worry had softened into gentle concern somewhere along the course of relearning their dynamic, and though Caleb had warmed at the change, there was no telling what had inspired it.

In any case, Essek settled beside Caleb on the low settee without apprehension, and removed the lid from the little pot. A week into his recovery, Caleb no longer flinched at the sharp smell of herbs; now, as Essek took his battered hands and carefully unwrapped the bandages, there was a comfort—nearly a sweetness—to both the touch and the scent.

Caleb’s hands immediately began to tremble without their wrappings, the tendons flexing in uncontrollable spasms. Time had yet to complete its work on their appearance, either: to Caleb’s eyes, they seemed a stranger’s, warped and scarred beyond what his past teachers (the archmage, the streets, the call of adventure) had managed on their own. There were many things he used to know like the back of his hand—they were a mystery, now, and the limbs themselves unrecognizable.

He glanced at Essek’s face instead of contemplating that further. His impeccable recall wouldn’t let him forget what his ravaged flesh looked like, anyways, and he would much rather commit to memory the dusting of silver across the bridge of the drow’s nose and the sharp angle of his cheeks, a shade darker than the platinum of his lashes and hair. His brows, knit together in concentration, matched.

They were seated close enough that Caleb could feel the puff of air from Essek’s soft sigh. It accompanied a flash of hurt in his eyes, something vulnerable and sad, when he brought Caleb’s exposed fingers up for inspection. “Your hands look…” He trailed off, apparently searching for the words. Caleb was not sure what would hurt most, what would ache best—there were no words for the destruction he had wrought on his one infallible tool. “...better,” Essek eventually decided, and got to work applying the salve.

Caleb could argue, but it was true enough. Each day of intensive healing, of careful application of potions and poultices and therapy, had made them more closely resemble what he remembered. Neither cleric was sure if they would ever be the same, though Veth was—as always—recklessly optimistic, promising he’d be back in fighting form in no time. Sometimes it chafed, the hope. It burned and blinded the same as any raw magic.

“Any sensation, yet?” Essek asked, voice low.

Caleb watched the salve spread over his skin and imagined it cool and smooth, faintly tingling as was typical of many of Caduceus’ blends, but...he shook his head. “Nothing,” he rasped, and tried not to let the terror behind the admission show on his face.

He must not have been able to keep it out of his voice, however, for Essek paused in his application to shoot him a look of concern. Why he had elected to oversee Caleb’s treatment when he was not well-versed in the healing arts—and moreover, why Caleb preferred his fellow wizard in the role as opposed to another, better-suited member of the Nein—was still something of a puzzle to them both.

Perhaps it was reassuring to be tended by someone who understood, better than anyone else, that a wizard’s hands were his life. Perhaps—and this was a notion Caleb loathed to put words to—he simply enjoyed Essek’s company, the practiced motion of his fingers. Or perhaps Caleb was simply a coward, and could not bear to look the Nein in the eyes, not after what he had done to ensure they all returned to the Material Plane alive.

Saved us, Veth had said. Scared us, Beau had said. Really done a number on yourself, Caduceus had said, and Jester: Protected us, so now it’s our turn to protect you for a little bit, okay?

Caleb knew they meant well, and a part of him longed for their companionship and their care; the rest of him, however, could not bear to see them, or to be seen. Because...for a little bit was optimistic. For a little bit implied a promising prognosis. For a little bit was not—was not what was in the cards for a scholar who could not write, an adventurer who could not fight, a mage who could not cast.

But even after a week alone with these thoughts, Caleb was hardly about to articulate this to himself, much less say this to his friends. So he let Essek finish his treatment in silence, patiently massaging the salve into each hand and working them through stretches that Caleb could not feel. When he was done, they simply sat, hand in hand. Breathing. Thinking.

Essek cleared his throat and absentmindedly rubbed some circles into Caleb’s ruined palms. “I…” he started, trailing off, and Caleb tensed; these treatment sessions were not habitually accompanied by conversation. “I understand, how...how difficult this must be—”

“Difficult?” Caleb repeated, the consonants catching in his throat so sharply he had to bite back a cough. He knew he was meant to be resting his voice, but although there was no vocabulary to describe his present circumstance, not in a way that captured it faithfully, difficult was so woefully inadequate that reticence was out of the question.

“Essek,” he went on incredulously, “I—I cannot do anything like this—write! Eat! Dress, even. I can’t cast or light matches or turn doorknobs or—anything. Without my hands, what am I supposed to—how do I—” It was too many words at once, and he tugged his hands out of Essek’s grip to muffle a round of coughs with his arm. When his eyes watered, he blamed it on the discomfort and could only hope that his nurse also ascribed the symptom thus.

Essek remained quiet through the outburst and fit alike, but out of patience or unease, Caleb did not know. Palm-up and empty, his hands rested loose and...forlorn, almost, in his lap. Oily residue from the salve gleamed in the lantern-light, gold on the dark of his skin.

Lanterns, for once. Lanterns—because Caleb could not muster the dexterity for even a simple cantrip he had learned to cast at six years old. His eyes continued to burn even when the fit passed. His throat remained tight.

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say.” Essek addressed their knees, knocking together on the narrow couch, but the unexpected honesty still hit Caleb full in the face. Uncertainty, Essek had once said, was the surest way to lose one’s footing in the court, and though his time with the Nein had given him ample opportunity to labor at vulnerability, it seemed to Caleb that developing the habit was a glacial process. “You are...such a gifted mage, and I—”

He broke off again, but Caleb had nothing to add. Was, he might have corrected, but the past tense would have grated like broken glass, and he choked it back with the tears.

“I cannot begin to imagine,” Essek said at last, studying his own hands, flexing his fingers and rubbing at his palm with the pad of his thumb, “how it would feel to lose my own hands. How...terribly feeble, and exposed, and...and useless I would suppose I seemed to others.”

Caleb scoffed to cover up his sniffle, and turned his head away and down so that he wouldn’t have to see the pity in Essek’s eyes when the drow inevitably looked up to meet his gaze again. “Ja,” he said, harsh and bitter, “you have the right of it.”

“But,” Essek went on, louder, more firmly, “I am not any of those things, and neither are you, do you hear me, Widogast?”

Essek might have thought this a kindness, these trite words, but all they did was sour the hopeless feeling in Caleb’s chest. It was heavy enough on its own without the gall of false affirmations.

“Like this, I can open a locked door, blur my form, and cross a space, and that is all,” Caleb said, and the rasp only made him sound angrier. He had catalogued his spells over and over again, every morning and evening, mentally flipping through the books whose pages he could no longer physically turn.

“That is all,” he repeated, and it was wet where he wanted scorching. Fire was familiar. Anger was easy, and burned better than sorrow. “That is the extent of my ability without my hands, you understand? I cannot protect them this way. I cannot—I cannot even summon a place for them to stay, a place for us to regroup while they plan around my...my inability to—”

“They don’t keep you merely for your ability to—”

“I know!” Caleb burst out, and there were tears falling in earnest now, landing on his useless, scarred-up hands and leaving dark splotches on the blanket over his legs, left there lovingly by Veth some hours ago. “I know. But I...I need this, Essek. You have to know this. You know this better than anyone else I have ever met.”

Essek did not do him the disservice of trying to argue. “I...I do.”

“If I don’t…” Caleb dashed uselessly at his eyes, and it was clumsy and humiliating the way he couldn’t feel what he was doing, the heel of his hand catching on his nose before he could reach his cheek to brush away evidence of at least this one failing.

Foolish, this attempt at subterfuge. As if he were without an audience. As if Essek had not already seen him at his lowest. As if crying like a child was the only sign that things were terribly, terribly wrong.

“If I don’t recover, all I can do is get them killed.”

“Do you regret it, then?”

That brought Caleb up short. He abandoned his attempts to scrub his face dry. “Was?”

“You could have let go,” Essek explained, kindly, as if this weren’t the most obvious thing in the world. “As soon as you felt the magic begin to burn, you could have let go. Let the gate close. If you could go back—do it over—would you have let go?”

“You know I wouldn’t have.” He said it softly, like a dirty secret, even though it was insultingly self-evident. The alternative—it didn’t bear even considering.

Essek nodded, and when Caleb turned his head away—tried to escape some of the intensity in Essek’s gaze—the drow dropped to his knees on the rough wood floor, equally unyielding. “You weighed the risk,” he agreed, and insisted, “and you chose their lives over—” Essek bit his lip, one sharp canine peeking out as he laced his fingers, folded his hands in front of him. “Well. You...you have to understand what you—what I—what...what it looked like to...to watch.”

Caleb could only imagine. The gate had resisted his touch with violent intent, endlessly fed by a wellspring of terrible, raw planar magic. He remembered...pain. Remembered the iron conviction that his friends—the Nein—his family—needed more time. He remembered...counting out the seconds, holding the gate open with his bare hands, even as his skin bubbled and melted and his nerves weathered the assault of surging magic, waves whipping the Weave about with the furious abandon of a storming sea, and the burn burn burn of power—too much, not enough, everywhere.

He didn’t remember screaming, but by the state of his voice afterwards, he must have. He didn’t remember Veth and Jester making it out, though they must have—they were here, safe. He certainly didn’t remember passing out, but that must have happened, too. So no, he supposed he did not fully know what his suffering must have looked like to an outsider, but...

He chuckled entirely without humor. “I assure you it felt worse.”

Essek nodded. “I don’t doubt that,” he said quietly. “I don’t doubt that. And you knew, if not before, then certainly very quickly after, what was at stake. Am I wrong?”

He was not. Caleb didn’t need to say the words aloud for Essek to know.

Shoulders slumping, Essek settled on his heels and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “And you would do it again,” he said. “Even knowing you might never cast again, even if it cost you the magic you love, the alternative...that price would have been too steep, and no one would disagree with you on that. Caleb,” Essek said, leaning forward and taking his face between his hands, brushing away frustrated, shameful tears with his thumbs, “they both would have died. Veth, Jester—neither of them would have made it out.”

Instinctively, Caleb’s hands came up to take Essek’s wrists—not to tug them away, but just to hold—but he could neither feel them nor sufficiently flex his fingers for a satisfactory grip. It was the final straw.

“I know,” Caleb said, voice cracking along with what remained of his composure, and he did not fight when Essek pulled him down into an embrace.

This, too, was new, and—Caleb hesitated to call it good, because touch had always been a fraught thing between them. There were so few touches they had ever shared without pretense, but...he did not have the energy for pretense now. He didn’t even know what agenda he would be pushing if he had.

Numbness in his hands aside, every other inch of skin seemed abruptly hyper-sensitive, and Caleb rattled apart in Essek’s hold, blind and trembling. Careful fingers found their way into his hair, gently guided his head into the crook of a neck, encouraged his hands into the tiny gap between their chests as arms tightened about his shoulders. Claustrophobia warred with the awful certainty that he would shatter without this grounding pressure to hold his pieces together.

It had been a long, long time since Caleb had cried with such abandon. He had tipped past some long-forgotten (or long-buried) threshold, found himself drowning in the great whelm of fear—grief—fury—relief—and knew, suddenly, that this was why it was always Essek who insisted on treating Caleb’s injured hands, who never suggested Caleb accept help from one of the clerics. That Essek had been patiently anticipating this—and had wanted to spare Caleb the anguish of losing control in front of the others.

Trust was a complicated thing, and this was not trust so much as it was understanding. Essek was not safe in this sense, but—he was a place free of condemnation. Hypocrites they were, both, but playing at judgment was a thing of the past, and despite the uncertainty, the still-healing rift, they had both silently agreed to turn their eyes towards the future.

And so Caleb sobbed like a child and ignored the many warring voices inside of him that by turns berated and applauded him for this show of weakness. All the while, hands that had rent reality, started wars, plucked at the threads of fate like the taut strings of a harp—these hands cradled him like something precious. Comfort and protection in one.

There were no words for this, not even those that could be expressed in touch. If Essek tried to speak, Caleb could not hear him over the blood roaring in his ears, the hiccuping gasps and involuntary wails coming out of his own mouth. If any of them resolved themselves into intelligible speech, he had no inkling of what he was trying to say.

He had saved his friends, yes, and in so doing had damned himself beyond the point of no return.

It was a long time before the shaking stopped, and when it did, Caleb slumped, exhausted. He ached from his knees to his sinuses, scooped out and hollow. He was warm here, tucked up against Essek’s chest, and stooped—Essek was slightly shorter than him—but Essek’s fingers were cool where they rested against the back of his neck.

Embarrassment quickly rushed in to fill the empty space left behind by this great purge of emotion. Though it tested what little reserves of energy Caleb had left, he tensed. Essek’s grip tightened in response, and faintly, over the sound of his own rattling breaths, Caleb heard him whisper shh, shh, shh.

This is alright, he seemed to say. This is alright for a little while. And Caleb did not have the wherewithal to argue, so he curled in tighter and resolutely did not think about the arms wrapped around his torso.

“Let me teach you something,” Essek murmured into his hair after some time. “Something new.”

The words were difficult to find, and when they came, they were rough. “How would that work?”

“We will start small.” Essek pulled away—Caleb mourned the contact briefly, though the relief of being able to breathe freely again washed over him in a confused wave with his release—but only to resituate at Caleb’s side and stretch his right arm out over Caleb’s, his left underneath. Caleb’s palm, he sandwiched between both of his hands. “You will remember if I show you, I have no doubt, but...this is better.”

Wish I could feel it, Caleb thought, absurdly, but that was fruitless thinking. Wish I could feel you was even more sincere, but that was a step too far. “What does it do?”

“Does it matter?” Essek asked, and Caleb supposed it didn’t.

For several long minutes, Essek manipulated Caleb’s shaking hands and useless fingers into careful shapes, puppeting him through a series of somatic gestures that he narrated in a soft voice directly into Caleb’s ear.

Fingers curled, wrists twisted. Over and over again, they formed poetry in angles and strokes, some of the elements—the careful geometry—familiar from past lessons in the dunamantic arts. Their hands blurred together, deep blue-gray-purple and angry red-pink-white, exhaustion or the lingering burn of tears painting their shapes with a singular uniformity.

Perfect memory had Caleb anticipating each movement by the second sequence, and it felt good—even satisfying—to trace out the gross motor elements with his arms, though he could only watch the finer motions take shape. He was putty, malleable clay. And then...Essek’s ministrations stuttered, an uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Did you just—” Essek cut himself off. As if trying to forget the moment entirely, he made as if to finish the sequence. It was slower, though, and sloppier, and no sooner had he completed the final flick than he seemed to reconsider. “I thought I…” he started, faltering. “Did you…?”

“Do it again,” Caleb whispered. Seven times Essek had gone through the motions, and on the last...Caleb could hardly dare hope, knew he was likely imagining things, but…for a split second, maybe…

They traced the rune on the air together. Essek tugged Caleb’s pointer finger in, extended the outer three. Brushed them through imaginary gossamer, lack of intent unable to bring them in proper contact with the Weave, and then—a simple thumb stroke. But Essek’s gentle grip was just a split-second behind the movement of Caleb’s thumb against the outside of his index finger.

Neither of them spoke. Bringing it to light, giving voice to it—it was not up to them to tempt fate in this manner. They only sought out fate with intent to control it, and this was too fragile a thing.

But Caleb could hear the tension in every inhale-exhale. Excitement—curiosity—very nearly hope—was in the very air they breathed. There was no sensation in his hands, but the frisson of thrill was an illusion of lightning arcing down his arm, making the hairs stand on end and...and easing the tremble in his fingers.

They repeated the somatic component one final time, but Essek did not let go of his hand. He laced their fingers together and let both fall to Caleb’s lap. “Now with the material component?” he suggested, and it was the most tentative sort of excitement Caleb thought he had ever heard from the man. Essek was a reserved individual, yes, but his anticipation had never been a frail thing.

“What is it?”

In lieu of answering, Essek freed one hand from their tangle and reached back. Caleb heard the jingle of metal and precious stone, much closer to his ear than he’d expected and—he craned his neck, curious.

“Ah,” Essek said, and just as he managed to free one piece of jewelry from his left ear, he said, “any crystal will do, though of course quality can, ah, affect the spell’s potency. Not in the shape standard for this particular spell, but it will do in a pinch.”

And how like a mage to ensure he was never without his tools of trade. How like Essek to ensure that his components were both beautiful and quick to hand. They were both ever-practical, but where Caleb’s pragmatism was, by necessity, ruthless, Essek’s had always been a touch elegant.

“Between your third and fourth fingers,” Essek instructed softly, and demonstrated himself. The stone shimmered between his knuckles, and when he twisted his hand, it caught the lantern-light and flashed like a tongue of flame. “Here.”

Essek slipped the gem into place—Caleb dutifully raised his arm to an appropriate casting height—and used both hands to mold Caleb’s into proper formation.

“I’ll drop it,” Caleb warned, as Essek went to release his fingers in order to begin guiding him once more through the somatic sequence.

“You won’t,” Essek replied, and it even sounded sincere. “We will...we will go slow. All you need to do is hold on.”

And wasn’t that always the case? Wasn’t that how Caleb had gotten here in the first place, what he had told himself as he counted down the seconds through a haze of pain? All you need to do is hold on.

He took a deep breath in. Held it.

Hold on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see the edge of Essek’s profile. His chin rested lightly on Caleb’s shoulder. His cheek brushed Caleb’s jaw.

We will go slow.

Caleb thought about dancing, and circling, and spiraling inevitably towards gravity’s center until you were close enough to walk hand in hand. He was human; he was not accustomed to going slow. Essek, with his elven lifespan and his particular expertise in the arcane, had so much more time at his disposal—

And he had chosen to spend it here. With Caleb. All you need to do is hold on.

Caleb breathed out, focused hard, and steeled his will. “Ja, okay. I can...I can do that.” He felt Essek nod, then heard his verbal acknowledgement.

“Just hold on,” Essek said again, and Caleb did. He honed in on the crystal between his fingers, bid his deadened nerves and healing muscle to bend to his will. And when Essek let go, left the gem entirely at the mercy of gravity and Caleb’s grip, it—it shook in his grasp, but it didn’t clatter to the floor.

The sharp laugh that Caleb barked out startled them both, but the sheer delight—sunlight breaking through clouds, the first POP of a corn kernel in the pot, the last term slotting into place to make a formula work—could not be contained to his chest. How ridiculous to be so pleased by so simple an act, and yet—

Essek let out a disbelieving chuckle that quickly gave way to several more in succession before devolving into a full bout of giggles that he tried and failed to muffle in the crook of Caleb’s neck. Had Caleb been wearing his scarf, the sound might have found some measure of cover, but clad as he was in clothing for sleep, each giddy exhale was a spark against his skin and deafening in his ears. Infectious.

They did not manage even half the somatic sequence with the crystal in hand—it fell to the ground when Caleb curled his arms over his aching abdomen, quaking with hysterics—but he had not laughed like this in...in...he did not know how long. He was wrung out. There was nothing in him left to dampen the hilarity of it, to absorb the heady, intoxicating spread of this great wildfire feeling.

Was this it? Was this the tipping point? Where the simple act of holding a stone between two fingers was enough to promote wonder? Had he finally cracked entirely, gone over the edge?

(Maybe. Maybe. But was that so awful? Especially when it might be enough, too, to send them both over a different edge entirely?)

Briefly, Caleb considered the fact that this small victory was no indication that things would truly improve, that the future held anything more than the tragedy of a slow and incomplete recovery, but nevertheless...he laughed. It was something. It was something. Hearing his voice and Essek’s mingling—wordless mirth—and reveling in a shared moment over a personal triumph...it was something.

When the laughter died, Caleb became aware that they were leaning solidly against one another, foreheads pressed together and Essek’s nose brushing his cheek as they both recovered their breath. Joy—the first he had felt in weeks—faded to simple hope, but that was no small thing. It ached, still, but...not quite as unbearably as before.

“What is the incantation?” Caleb panted, drunk on the feeling of it.

“Ah, it is—” Essek cleared his throat. “Gyllenek’eroth zere. Be careful not to—ah, to agitate your throat. Repeat it...repeat it slowly. You should feel it, ah, here.” And so saying, he pressed his fingers to the vulnerable skin under Caleb’s jaw, just to the outside of his jugular. It should have been a viscerally distressing sensation, intrusive at best, and though it certainly wasn’t what Caleb would call comfortable, he found he didn’t mind.

“Gyllenek’eroth...zere,” Caleb repeated. With Essek’s hand there, he was keenly aware of the vibrations of the rumbling consonants.

“Nearly,” Essek whispered, breathless. “Again. Slower.”

Letting his eyes fall shut, Caleb complied. “Gyllenek...eroth...zere.”

“Again?”

He repeated the incantation, softer. Then again, even softer, tilting his head. They both sighed when their noses brushed, when Essek’s hand slid around the back of Caleb’s neck. Once more—carefully enunciated—Caleb murmured the incantation, and felt the warmth of his own air against his lips. It would be a matter of millimeters to press their mouths together.

“Is this okay?” he breathed, and wondered how many steps were left in this dance.

He felt Essek’s answer, a breath against his skin, before he heard it. “Your pronunciation is perfect.”

Just a few more steps, then. “Okay.”

“Once more?” Essek asked, and Caleb was braver with his eyes closed.

He whispered the incantation into Essek’s mouth and swallowed the gasping reply.

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 7:

Fast!

Bar Playlist: Youtube, Spotify

Fishing In the Dark

“Okay Logan, we are going to be on Peanut together. Sound good?” Leo held a kiss dazed Logan’s face in his hands as they spent the last hour convincing Logan to go on the trail ride with them. Kissing him until he couldn’t focus on his fear was seeming to work the best. Finn got in on it too before he had gotten on his own horse, along with most of the team. Celeste and Dumo decided to stay behind and help Judy clean up.

Leading a still dazed Logan over to Peanut he helps him up, Leo following soon after. Hands under Logan's arms holding the reins. Lo was leaning back into Leo’s chest and only noticed they were on a living vehicle when said vehicle started moving to join the others.

Leo rubbed a soothing hand over his side to let him know he was okay. Finn and Clay trotted over to Leo and Logan with a smile on their faces. There was a brown Burmese cat that was lazily stretched across Leroy’s rear behind Clay.

“It’s about time! From what I’ve heard Logan is pretty good at riding, should transfer over to equine.” Clay winks and Logan smacks Leo’s arm as he tries to hide his laugh. “Just know that Leo tells me everything… even stuff I don’t want to know. But I do the same with him.” Clay shrugs and turns around going over to Thomas, Noelle and Reg, the cat just fully relaxed as Leroy bumped it around.

“How long have you had him?” Thomas vaguely gestures to Clay and his posse.

“About 4 years, found him in the woods eating a rabbit.” Clay smiles at him as they ride side by side down the trail Leo and Logan were leading. Jerry, a little song bird that loves to ride with Leo anytime he goes down the trail perching himself on the rim of Leo’s hat.

“Wha- I thought horses were herbivores!” Clay looks up at a confused Thomas and raises an eyebrow, then it clicks.

“Oooohhhh, you think Leroy is a HE! Nope, she’s a mare! Had her since I was 9 years old. Tina is a man though, fathers all the kitties around the farm.” Smiling his million dollar smile at him. “I also have a sand boa named William-”

“Snakespear?” Clay blinks a few times and laughs nodding.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Maybe to some of us who… maybe still browse Tumblr on occasion.” Thomas winks at him causing Clay's face to heat up, swallowing the happy feelings that he knows he can’t have. He smiles back and trots ahead to be next to Logan and Leo.

Logan was gripping Leo’s wrist the entire trail ride, Finn was so distracted at one point Kuny let go of a tree branch and it smacked him across the face because he didn’t listen when he was told to duck.

It was a nice relaxing ride through the countryside, nothing fancy, just an easy going adventure. Everyone made it back to the pasture in one piece, thank god, everyone was hopping off and unsaddling the horses.

Leo got off Peanut first just for a moment, in that moment he watched Logan completely freak out when Peanut took three steps to the left to graze. Hiding his smiling by sucking his lips in between his teeth, walking over to Lo he helped him off of the horse. Logan was clinging to Leo like a koala, and tight enough it was hard for Leo to breath.

“You okay?” Leo put a hand under Logan’s booty to support him and ran his other hand through his soft curls. Hoping he felt safe now.

“I am now.” Logan looks up at him and smiles before lightly nipping at his jaw. Leo laughs a little and nods a thank you to Reg who is un saddling Peanut. Leading everyone inside to relax until they go out later tonight. Walking into the entrance hall and kicking off his boots all while holding Logan still.

“I thought these were school pictures!” Jackson, or Nado as the team calls him, points to the bunches of framed photos of Leo. “Are these… mugshots!?” He laughs in disbelief. The rest of the team starts to examine the pictures more closely. Some pictures had Leo with bruises or blood, some had him smiling with a middle finger up or peace signs, others had him looking annoyed. His younger one from when he was like 12 -13 years old were of him looking scared or crying.

“Yeah, they are all my mugshots from when I was, I think, 12 to this year. The Sheriff doesn't like us at all, arrests Clay and I for random reasons and even if, like when we were younger we would call the cops because someone vandalized the gate to the ranch and tried to break in. I got arrested for a false call. I was 14 I think. The cops are definitely not afraid to use force with us either… I hope he fucking leaves us alone while y’all are down visiting.” Leo is looking at his first mugshot ever of him sobbing at 12 years old. The week of his birthday, someone threw a rock through a window at a shop and blamed him.

“Is this your sister?” Timmy points to a mugshot of Eloise from last year and Reg bursts out laughing, Clay snorts and Leo looks confused.

“That’s my mom…”

Hours later, the drunk trio had already left for the bar to get a table and to talk to some of their friends they haven’t seen since the beginning of summer. The team was in their little ranch hand house getting ready, the speakers in the house all blaring Fast! By Sueco the Child because they know… they know there will be nothing but yeehaw music to assault and molest their ears tonight.

Thomas was pulling his grey shirt over his head, smoothing the fabric down as Noelle chills in her sweatpants and his t-shirt. People who didn’t want to go out are going over to Clay’s house to learn a bunch of mixed drink recipes and to talk shit. It was mostly the girls who didn’t feel comfortable getting harassed by middle aged men with beer guts, Dumo and Celeste who have become close friends with Judy overnight, and people who didn’t like going out in general. Like Olli, Adam, Timmy, and Sergei.

“We should talk to him.” Thomas sits down next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, kissing her forehead. Looking at the ceiling all he can think about is how easy they got along with Clay. How his smile and Noelle together made his heart speed up. When they both turned to look at him earlier he thought he was going to have a heart attack.

“I think you need to talk to him first, this is something new for you. To like a man. I- I’m not going to lie the thought of Clay and you separately give me the same feelings, but you two together. It makes me feel the happiest I’ve ever felt. Do you maybe want to talk to Lo or Finn before we talk to Clay? To make sure this isn’t just us… I don’t know, using Clay in a way we don’t mean to?”

“Yeah, I think that's a good idea. But when can we get them away from Leo long enough to talk to them?” Looking at his watch and hearing all the thumping down the stairs he gives her one last kiss before standing up and stretching.

“You could try to corner one of them tonight?” She smiles at him and winks at him as he shakes his head. “Have a good time tonight, Babe.”

“You too.” He heads out the bedroom down and down the stairs. He was riding with James and Coops to the Bar but maybe he would try to switch and ride with Finn and Logan.

“Red-ay!” James slings his arm around his shoulders and ruffles his hair. He thinks for a moment, then sees Finn swinging the keys to his rental car on his finger as Logan is on the ground struggling to yank his boots on. He was wearing heavy combat boots to dance around at a ‘Honkey-Tonk’ as Leo calls it. Seems like a bad idea.

“Actually I think I’m gonna tag along with Finn and Logan.” He smiles at James who shrugs and slaps his back before running off. Walking over to Finn, he looks down at Logan and gives Finn an ‘is he serious?’ look.

“He doesn’t want to be called short by all the hot cowboys and these are the tallest shoes he owns.” Sighing he looks back at Logan who is laying flat on the ground out of breath from fighting with his shoes. Reaching out he helps him up. “What’s up?”

“I’m gonna ride with you if that's fine.”

“Sounds good, let's go.” Finn skips to the car while Thomas and Logan walk side by side. Getting in the car, Thomas was squished into the backseat. As soon as the doors close he is asking questions.

“How did you guys know?”

“Know what?” Logan looks back at him as Finn starts the car. Thomas looks out his window watching the other cars pull out and start driving towards the gate.

“Know that three was the perfect number for you…” He looks back at them and sees them share a look for a moment, having a silent conversation before Logan climbs into the back with Thomas.

“It took us a long time to figure out, but we knew that Leo was for us because we could barely function as a couple without him. Like we could do it but, it just wouldn’t be the same. There was always something missing after we both started getting feelings for him.” Logan sighs a little. “It's hard to explain but it was like there was always a perfect Leo sized gap wherever we went. Once we both realized we wanted him, and he wanted us… it was a no brainer to ask him to be with us.”

“It’s definitely a feeling of loss when they leave and it's just you two together. So maybe it will cement your feelings when you get away from that person for a while. If they are the main topic of conversation when it's just you and Noelle… maybe three is the perfect number for you as well.” Finn smiles at him as he drives past the gate and follows the google map to the bar.

“What if we have already had time without them and.. We- I don’t know, we want to talk to them but I’m scared because.” He gulps and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Because I’ve never felt this way towards a guy before.” Finn blinks a couple of times and Logan nods, making a noise of understanding.

“ It’s a scary feeling at first, I freaked out for a long time until I finally met Finn. Then I freaked out even more and actually tried to leave the Frat. Then I finally let myself fall and I fell fast and in the stupidest way.” He laughs a little remembering when he realized he was in love with Finn. “Basically Finn had this mini basketball hoop in our dorm room the first year we had to share a room. Second semester I finally gave in to my desire for him. We had sex, honestly it was terrible because neither of us had any fucking clue what we were doing. But after, this bitch!” He starts laughing as Finn starts getting red on the tips of his ears from embarrassment. “He got up after like two minutes of cuddling because he had so much energy and started playing basketball! I was curled up in my duvet watching him with a sore ass, and a stupid smile… That's when I knew he was for me.” Smiling at Finn, just absolutely in love he turns to look at Thomas who is still laughing a little.

“I think I realized I liked… This person after they sent me a video of them playing a harmonica really annoyingly and another person in the car threw it out the window and he pulled another one out of his pocket.” Snickering, he smiles at them. “Thanks for not freaking out on me, Noelle told me to talk to you guys because she also really really likes Clay.” He realizes he just said the name he was trying to avoid and looks at them a little worried.

“It was pretty obvious how she was flirting with him all afternoon, and you just kind of watched and looked like a little puppy following them around.” Logan moves out of the way as Thomas tries to smack his arm and puts his hands up in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry! I meant like the big strong manly man you are.” Laughing, Finn pulls into a parking spot in front of the bar and shuts the car off.

Walking into the bar the smell of sweat and beer washed over them, making them scowl for a moment. They spot Reg talking to a blonde girl with a red cowgirl hat on. Leo and Clay are already hustling a game of pool with some people who look about the same age as them. The team made their way to the tab Reg was at and got comfortable. Ordering drinks and listening to music. Leo and Clay stopped by after losing $100 on the pool game. Chatting for a few moments when suddenly a sound like bagpipes came over the speakers.

Thomas watched as Clay's face completely lit up, dragging Leo out onto the dance floor. Everyone got into orderly lines and started stepping and dancing to the song all the same. It was mesmerizing. Thomas would be lying if he said he didn’t watch Clay completely lose himself in the music and didn’t have to take a drink to cure his cottonmouth. Especially when those goldish lights would land on them.

Making them even brighter than before, the lights giving Clay’s skin a bronze glow. When Clay pulled his tank top out of the waistband of his jeans, he choked on his beer. Patting his back Finn was chuckling as he watched Leo dance.

He moved so easily, like it was second nature, the dance didn’t look hard but Finn was known to have two left feet off the ice. The lights were amazing, making Leo’s hair poking out from under his hat look like gold leaf.

He was beautiful.

It was obvious that Leo and Clay were platonic soulmates, they mirrored every move perfectly. They had fun and acted like they were the only ones on the floor and whipping their heads back and forth to the beat of the music made Clay kick Leo by accident and he would just laugh.

Once the song was over Logan, Leo, Sirius, Thomas and Clay all went to smoke outside. Sirius and Thomas were out there to get some fresh air while Logan and Leo traded a cig back and forth. Clay puffed on his own and closed his eyes looking up to the sky. Hearing Footloose come on over the speakers Logan and Leo rushed inside because that was one song Logan actually knew how to dance to.

Leo joined him on the floor and would laugh but catch him anytime he would stumble with his boots. He would end up spinning Logan back into place and singing off key from behind him.

Reg was watching his friends as he spoke with Kuny about the wildly different styles of boots and hats people were wearing when a panicked looking Clayton came up to him. Grabbing his arm and walking towards the one dark lit corner of the bar and kicking a couple who was making out, out of the corner. He turns to Reg. Watching someone behind Reg walk towards the door and leave.

“You alright?”

“Thomas just kissed me…” Looking at him with wide eyes looking so lost, Reg grabs his arm to make sure he doesn’t bolt. “He kissed me and he has a girlfriend Reg! I- I’m not a homewrecker I swear!”

“Whoa whoa, hey Clay. Look at me.” Clay makes eye contact with him and starts to relax. “Thomas isn’t the type of person to just kiss someone out of nowhere, and I bet he is going to tell Noelle right away. It’s okay.”

“But Reg, I really like them… like in the way Leo likes both Logan AND Finn. I don’t want to lose them. I just figured it out the other night. I was never going to act on it because, its pretty fucking rare, but now Thomas did and- and what do I do!”

“How about we go and sit down for a couple of songs? Maybe dancing might help you out because it always seems to relax you. Okay?” Clay nods and follows Reg back to the table, after a few fidgeting moments he goes to the bar and orders a couple of shots and takes them all in a matter of seconds. Taking a deep breath he starts to relax. He feels a familiar hand run from his shoulder to his hip.

Ashley.

“Long time no see, huh.” She smiles a sly smile at him and leans her back on the bar. She was wearing a low spaghetti strap tank top and painted on blue jeans with red boots that look like Clay’s. He swallows a little. She did look good, and he was getting to be just drunk enough to be horny.

“What do you want?” She catches him looking at her boobs and smirks; he flushes red and turns around to also lean his back on the bar, looking out to the dance floor where some of the team has joined Leo in dancing to Hillbilly Bone by Trace Adkins. He looked at the table and noticed Reg staring directly at him.

“I just wanted to say hi, looks like you’ve really been taking care of yourself.” She feels his arm that he unintentionally flexes and she squeezes his muscle. He looks at Reg one last time, making his decision, he looks back at her and nods towards the door.

He leaves with her.

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Reg watches him leave. Absolutely shocked. He gets up from the table and walks onto the floor, walking over to Leo he taps his shoulder. Leaning down so Reg can talk into his ear, Reg tells Leo exactly what happened.

Looking up and around the bar he can’t spot Clay anywhere, he excuses himself from the group and walks outside with Reg. Seeing Clay’s truck is still there they walk over to it and knock on the window before looking in. Empty. They left.

“Fuck. I’m texting Judy.” Leo does exactly that.

Leo, having taken a few drinks to calm down, lets himself relax. He was at a bar with his friends and boyfriends, he could have a little bit of fun. They all decided they were leaving in an hour anyway.

So when Fishing in the dark by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band starts he grabs Finn and pulls him close swaying to the beat of the music as he mumbles the words into his neck, still stressing about Clay leaving like that. Holding Finn as close to him as he could he let himself just forget about anything but the man in direct contact with his body.

Once the song had finished he stood there still holding Finn for an extra couple of moments, letting Finn kiss the top of his head, his hat being on Logan’s head who was sitting at the table because his feet hurt. They eventually pull apart and start back towards the table.

“Oh fucking Christ!” Leo sighs as he notices who has taken his chair at the table. Ashley’s brother and the Sheriff’s son. David. He walks over and stands next to the chair. “What the hell are you doing over here?”

“I’m socializing with some new people, you didn’t bring them. Why would they want anything to do with you?” He laughs and his lackeys on the other side of the chair also laugh and slap his shoulder.

“Actually they did come here with me.” He crosses his arms and the rest of the team is looking a little uncomfortable and confused. “So if you and your shithead friends would oh so kindly leave. I would appreciate it.” Narrowing his eyes David stands up in a way that is sizing Leo up. Leo raises an unimpressed brow because David is a good five inches shorter than him and a scrawny man.

“Do they know you’re a fucking faggot? That you’re a cockslut? A fairy?”

“Why do you think we are here?” James pipes up and the three idiots across the table look at him in shock.

“You’re a whore, I could never!” David looking back at Leo and jabbing a finger in his chest. Looking David up and down slowly with a cringed face he nods.

“Yeah, you couldn’t. Now, I believe I asked y'all to leave.” Leo points with his thumb behind him.

“You’re dad would be so proud.” Leo grabs him by the collar of his shirt and aggressively pulls him closer to him with a look of pure fury on his face.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“I said. you’re disgusting dad-” Leo is pulled away from David by Sirius.

“At least my dad wasn’t a murder!”

“AT LEAST MY DAD DIDN’T KILL HIMSELF!” Leo stops fighting against Sirius’ grip and calmly gets away from him, storming out the doors, kicking them open and walking towards his truck. Kicking rocks up and trying his best to hold himself together. Getting into his truck he slams the door and grips the steering wheel, pressing his forehead against the hot plastic and squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he can.

Minutes later Finn and Logan crawl into the truck in silence. Leo goes to apologize but they hush him and just give him understanding smiles and both of them cup one of his cheeks. He was so close to crying but he just couldn’t. Not in front of them, the people who are supposed to see him at his best.

Once they get home everyone goes to their rooms and Leo walks down behind the barn to the pond.

He spends the night by himself under his dad’s tree.