#i probably will. i just like. finally got up after an hour of rotting after class and went 'actually i probably have time for this'

[bravevolunteer]

i need to pick up. a fucking textbook. and technically i have time but like i don't you know

[sceletaflores]

all's fair in love and viscera...

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader wc: 6.7k contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, violence, blood, gore (more so thoughts of gore) nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, fighting as foreplay, bleeding as foreplay, written with X2 logan in mind, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), finger sucking hehehe, light choking, hair pulling, blood play, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, scent kink, pain kink, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n. author’s note: i have a rotting note that says "logan spar fic turned face sitting" so that's what this is but it kinda got a little weird lol i also just wanted an excuse to write more about the mutant ability that's been bopping around in my brain since watching season four of the boys. kisses!

logan wants to spar...

You can smell him before he even opens the door to the training room.

It’s funny, because almost all blood smells the exact same. It melds into one coppery, metallic tang that stings your nose everywhere you go.

Mutant blood is only slightly different, something sharper with a tartness that lingers in the air longer, that tingles along the edge of your senses and burns the back of your throat.

Logan's blood is something entirely different.

The first time you met him it almost brought you to your knees. It was so overwhelming, the smell swarming you so intoxicating and all encompassing that it made you feel dizzy.

Logan’s blood is a wild mix of earthy musk and something like charred wood. His scent carries an electric charge, like the smell of air right before a thunderstorm, like ozone after a lightning strike.

It's like nothing you've ever encountered before—hot and acidic, with a barely there underlying sweetness that never fails to turn your insides to liquid. It seems to defy normalcy, bending the rules of what you know about blood and biology.

You know in the back of your mind that it's the adamantium. It's been fused to his skeleton for so long, it must be something chemical. A reaction happening in his body that makes it so distinctly different.

Part of you likes to think that it's just Logan, that the scent is a reflection of everything he is. The raw, untamed essence of his nature, something primal that’s deeply ingrained in his being.

The door creaks open behind you, you make it a point to keep your focus on the punching bag. You've been here for hours, your arms only finally starting to burn with exertion. The bag feels solid and grounding under your taped knuckles, swinging lightly with every hit.

Logan's heavy footsteps get closer and closer, echoing through the empty room until he's striding past you to lean against the wall next to the bag's rig.

You don't look at him, but you can feel his gaze—an intense, almost palpable thing.

“Figured you’d be down here,” Logan's voice is the familiar rough and gravelly rumble you've become used to, cutting through the silence between the two of you with a barely there teasing edge. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Logan has an even better sense of smell than you do, and he can sniff out a lot more than blood. You're sure he knew you were here this whole time, that he could smell you from his room two stories up.

You give a small, noncommittal grunt, ignoring him as you throw another punch. Sweat is dotted across your hairline, it drips down the small of your back and the column of your throat. It's not that you don't like Logan, that you don’t want him here, you have the complete opposite of that problem.

You like Logan too much, more than you should.

Every time he’s near, you’re intensely aware of how much his presence affects you, of the way all the blood in your body starts to sizzle under your skin with a throbbing need that's getting harder and harder to ignore. It’s like a constant, low-grade fever that only flares up when he gets too close. 

“Come on, kid. You can’t ignore me all night,” he says, thick arms crossing over his chest. "Don't make me beg."

You let out a breath, more exasperated than anything else, and finally turn to face him. Logan’s standing there, all broad shoulders and rugged confidence in his white tank and gray sweats, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

That smirk—it's almost as dangerous as the claws hidden just underneath his skin.

“Didn’t know you were the begging type.” Your attempt to sound casual is overpowered by the slight breathy edge of your voice. You blame it on the workout.

Logan's smirk widens just a fraction, and you can tell he's caught the hitch in your voice. His eyes, sharp and knowing, narrow in on you with that familiar mix of amusement and something you can't quite place, something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Only when I really want something," he replies easily.

Your form falters, just barely, but it’s enough for Logan to notice. You can hear the amused huff he lets out.

You throw another punch at the bag, more to steady yourself than anything else. The impact reverberates through your knuckles, but it doesn't do much to dispel the heat pooling low in your stomach.

"Back to ignoring me?" he asks, needling. You can see the raise of his brow in your peripheral vision.

“Trying to,” you mutter under your breath, though it's more to yourself than to him. You keep your gaze locked firmly on the bag, willing your pulse to steady.

"What's that?" he leans in closer, his scent wafting over to you as he does. Somehow stronger than before, an assault on your senses. You barely conceal a shiver.

"It’s not my fault you’re here when I'm at my least chatty," you retort blandly, a little louder, willing your voice to sound as steady as it can.

"Looks to me like you’re always at your least chatty,” he shoots back, not showing any signs of backing down.

"It's late,” you reply tersely.

"Yeah," he says. "It is late."

The words hang in the air, laced with a double meaning that neither of you acknowledges.

"Too late to be up hounding the bags like they owe you money," he adds, the tone of his voice almost gentle in a way that catches you off guard. Nothing like the Logan you're used to.

“Yeah, well,” you grunt, throwing a particularly sharp jab. “Some of us don’t need all the beauty sleep."

Logan lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, you can feel the vibration of it in your bones. "Funny," he muses to himself, voice going quiet like he's turning your words over in his mind. "I can see why Charles keeps you around."

You huff, sweaty brows knitting together in frustration. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

“Babysit?” He smirks, clearly amused. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Your resolve finally cracks, your fists sore when you drop them to your sides and turn to Logan with a questioning look on your face.

"What do you want, Logan?”

It sounds harsher than you meant it, rough and exasperated as you start to catch your breath for the first time since he walked in.

Logan doesn't respond, just pushes off the wall to step closer. His scent hits you like a truck now that your focus is solely on him, you can feel your blood start to thrum under your veins. The sweat dripping down your back feels like it’s igniting the tension in your body, and Logan’s only making it worse the closer he gets.

He stops a little less than a foot away from you. It’s too close, he evades your space until all you can see is him. The width of his shoulders, the strong muscle of his chest and torso filling your view.

Logan doesn't say anything for a few beats, just stares down at you with a studying look on his face. It's a struggle to keep still under the intensity of his gaze. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythmic thud loud in your ears as the silence stretches between you.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing as he trails them over your sweaty face. You're seconds away from saying something, from turning and running with your tail between your legs, when he beats you to it.

He lets out an amused scoff, shaking his head as he walks past you to the large blue training mat in the middle of the room.

"C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, "Try hitting something that hits back, might help clear your head."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but Logan’s already made his way to the center of the mat, turning to face you with a challenging glint in his eye.

You shake your head slowly, not moving from your place across the room. "I don't want to fight you."

Logan chuckles wryly, “Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sends a jolt through you, your pulse skipping in response. It’s always the way he says it—rough around the edges but with a softness that’s almost affectionate. You clench your fists tight, as if the simple act of it will keep your thoughts in check.

"Think you can keep up?" he teases, rolling his shoulders in that casual, self-assured way of his. But there's something in his tone, a challenge that makes you want to prove yourself.

You cast your eyes to the ceiling, exasperated, a bemused laugh bubbling from your chest as you do. "You know I can," you reply, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. "This isn't about that."

You should just say no. You should say no and go back up to your room so you can go to bed and forget all about this in the morning. You can barely stand to be in the same room with Logan for more than thirty minutes at a time, training with him is too much of a risk.

"What's it about then? You scared?" Logan's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, a playful smirk curling his lips. He raises an eyebrow, daring you to join him.

That does it. A spark of defiance flares in your chest, overriding the nervous tension that’s been building since he walked in. You’re not one to back down from a fight, especially when Logan's practically begging for one.

Without thinking, you stride over to the mat.

Logan watches you approach, his stance relaxed but ready, like a predator sizing up its prey. You try your best to ignore the smug look on his face as you kick off your shoes and join him.

"Not scared," you shrug, running your fingers over the tape on your knuckles. "I just don't need you getting all pissy when I win." You roll your shoulders, shake out your arms, and square up, focusing on the way Logan’s eyes are locked on yours.

Logan's grin widens, a flash of sharp teeth that makes your pulse quicken. "We'll see about that."

You drop into a ready stance, the tension in your muscles coiled tight like a spring. For a moment, neither of you moves, just sizing each other up. The silence between you stretches taut like a bowstring. Your eyes lock onto Logan's, each of you reading the other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The air between you feels like it's vibrating, charged with a mix of tension, anticipation, and something else—something unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface.

Then, in a blur of motion, Logan makes the first move, just like you expected him to. He lunges, fast and strong, but you're ready for him, sidestepping the blow and bringing your forearm up to deflect his fist away from your body.

"Slow start, old man?" you quip, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you regain your footing. "Speed isn't what it used to be?"

Logan chuckles, a low and throaty sound. "Just warming up, sweetheart. Don't want you crying unfair when I take you down too quick."

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically before launching your own attack. You swing a swift roundhouse kick aimed at his midsection. He anticipates the move, catching your ankle with one hand while his other reaches out to grab your wrist.

But you're quicker. Using the momentum, you twist your body and slip free from his grasp, landing lightly back on your feet a few steps away. The brief contact sends a jolt up your leg, his touch searing even through the thick layer of your sweats.

"Stop holding back," you say roughly, your lips turned down in a displeased frown. "Hit me."

Logan's eyes flash with amusement. "Careful what you wish for."

He advances again, this time more aggressive. He throws a combination of punches—left, right, left—each one precise and controlled. You block the first two, but the third grazes past your defenses, skimming your rib cage hard enough to sting.

You hiss softly at the impact but don't back down. Instead, you duck low and sweep your leg out in a wide arc, aiming to knock him off balance. Logan slides back just in time, your foot swiping through empty air as he evades the attack with a kind of brute grace that you wouldn’t expect.

"Getting fancy now?" he remarks, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

You don't respond, springing to your feet with a raised fist in a swift uppercut. This time you connect, your knuckles catching his stubbled jaw with a loud 'crack'. Your whole hand throbs, you can feel the break in your thumb snap back together in a sharp pinch.

Logan stumbles back a step, his head snapping to the ceiling with the force of your hit. When he turns back to you, there's a large bruise blooming along the sharp cut of his jaw. You watch the color of it spread across his skin, angry reds and dull purples that fade as fast as they appear.

There's a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he meets your gaze. The brown of them darker than before, his pupils blown out and glossy in a way you've never seen.

With a low growl, he comes at you again, faster this time. His movements a blur of muscle and intent. You manage to block the first hit, but not the second, his fist catches your side with enough power to make you stumble back a few steps. Pain flares white hot through your ribs, but you grit your teeth and bear it.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the fight. The world narrows down to the two of you, the sound of your breaths and the feel of his skin brushing against yours in fleeting moments of contact.

There's a thrill in it, in the way you challenge each other, in the way you push past your own boundaries.

But there's also something more, something deeper. Every time your eyes lock, you can feel the electricity between you, the way your heart skips a beat, the way your breath catches in your throat. It's not just about the fight anymore. 

You feel more alive than you have in a long time. More alive with every sting of each new blow, with the way your muscles burn, with the stray hairs that stick to your forehead.

The heat between you is almost tangible, mixing with the sweat and exertion. Every punch, every block, sends a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making it both exhilarating and maddening.

The scent of him—earthy, electric, and utterly intoxicating—growing stronger with every second. Your senses are on high alert, every part of you tuned in to his presence.

It wraps around your whole being, making it hard to think straight. But you don’t need to think—you just move, letting your instincts take over.

Logan feints to the left and uses it to sweep your legs out from under you in the same move he mocked you for. Your back hits the floor with a hard thud, the give of the mat not doing much to soften the hardwood underneath.

All the breath in your lungs rushes out of you in a sharp gasp. Before you can recover, Logan is looming over you. He cages your body under his own, thick arms on either side of your head, his weight pressing you further into the floor. His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low, almost growling murmur.

"Gotcha."

You try to come up with a witty comment, a snarky line, a petty insult. Anything at all really—but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you just stare up at him, your chest heaving violently, your heart pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

The whole room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the intensity in Logan’s eyes, the heat of him against you.

Suddenly, your entire body feels like it's on fire. Phantom flames lapping at every inch of your skin that send your head reeling quicker than you can blink. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but you've only ever felt it outside of a mission once, and it didn't end well.

For a few heart stopping seconds, you're more than confused. Panic starts to set in at the thought of having another "accident" and not even knowing what's triggering it.

Through the messy haze of your panic, you finally see it. The tiny cut above Logan's brow leaking a thin trail of red down the side of his face.

Everything around you dissolves into static, your eyes zeroing in on that single bead of crimson. The cut's long gone by the time it drips from his jaw to the mat right next to your shoulder. Logan's skin stitching back together and leaving no trace that it was ever broken in the first place, but it doesn't matter.

The damage is already done, and you can feel your body start to react.

You can feel your resolve crumbling, the edges of your self-control fraying with every passing second. Your own blood pulses beneath your skin like liquid fire as your stomach churns and twists. The intense need to feel, to taste, to take claws at your throat.

You let out a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, as you lose the last of your control.

Hank had called it a frenzy, but that wasn't a technical term.

"You're not in your right mind. You've essentially been conditioned to react strongly to the scent and sight of blood, particularly when you're already in a heightened emotional or physical state. The combination of adrenaline, exertion, and the scent triggers this...well, this 'frenzy' for lack of a better term."

It's like you blackout, and when you wake up, you're straddling Logan's chest with your hand wrapped around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tan column of his throat glowing red beneath your hand, a map of blue veins inked along his skin like spiderwebs as you watch the blood pulse through them.

Your grip tightens instinctively, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to reign in the storm swirling inside you. Everything narrows down to the pounding in your ears, the blazing heat of Logan's skin under your fingers, and the urge to let go, to give in.

Logan's voice starts to trickle in around the static buzzing in your ears, your name falling from his lips sounds strained, but there's a calmness to it. The fog of your instincts begins to fade, the world around you slowly starting to piece back together.

You blink, the haze in your mind clearing as you try to focus on his face, the way his eyes are locked onto yours. Intense, but not clouded with fear like you expected.

Your chest heaves with every breath, ragged and short like they're being ripped out of your lungs. Your wide eyes dropping to where your hand is still locked around his throat, panic surges in your chest like ice freezing over a lake.

But before you can do anything, Logan's reaching up, his hand catching your wrist in a tight grip. His thumb brushes over your pulse point—the touch sends a jolt through you, as if he’s touched a live wire.

“Don't,” he says, like he knows what you're thinking, his voice a rough whisper. The rasp of it vibrates against your hand. “Don't stop now."

Logan’s other hand comes up to rest on your hips, his touch firm but not forceful. He doesn’t try to wrestle control away from you; instead, he holds you steady. His fingers dig into your skin, grounding you.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. “I can take it. Give it to me.”

The world around you blurs, your focus entirely on the man beneath you, the way his body feels under your hands, the way he’s willingly surrendering to your control.

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. You search his eyes, dark and full of want. There's a heat there, a spark that crackles between you, and it only adds fuel to your fire.

If he wants to push, you're ready to push back.

Silently, you slide your hand up the expanse of his throat, feeling the way his pulse beats strong and fast under your palm. The glow under his skin dissipates as you make your way up, tracing your fingers over his jaw and up to his bottom lip.

Logan’s breathing is rapid, his chest rising and falling under you quicker than before. His lips are slick and red, parted so enticingly that you can help but slide your index finger over them. Your nail digs into the fat of his bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to let him feel it.

Logan lets you toy with him, meets your gaze head on as you push further. Your finger presses deeper, pushing past the seam of his lips to feel the warmth of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue against your skin.

The sharp bite of Logan's teeth pinches your skin as he closes his lips around your finger and sucks.

Your breath catches in your throat, heat blooming in your core as his tongue brushes over the pad of your finger. You can feel the ache of your cunt between your legs, arousal leaking wet and sticky in your panties.

Your other hand rises up to rest on the side of his face, your fingers grazing over his cheekbone. The touch feather-light but filled with a fierce, unspoken energy. Logan’s breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening even further.

Your palm splays over the skin of his cheek, the heat of his face seeping into your hand. Logan’s eyes close for a moment, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he tilts his head into your touch.

In a quick move, you dig your fingernails into the fat of his cheek roughly. Logan’s body arches under you, his back snapping off the mat with guttural groan ripping from his chest as you pierce his skin.

You gasp at the scent of him wafting up through the air, at the feeling of his teeth digging into your own flesh. His blood leaking onto the tips of your fingers feels like a shock to your system, both electrifying and terrifying.

His skin glows even brighter than before. A mix of reds and oranges that light up just beneath his skin, the blue of his veins like rivers on a map. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, drawing more blood, the warm, sticky liquid coating your fingers. You watch, mesmerized, as the glow under his skin pulses in response, as if feeding off your energy, amplifying the connection between you.

Logan’s breath hitches, his body tensing beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into your touch, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

it takes barely any energy from you. The faintest traces of your power used for something none of those demented scientists in white lab coats intended.

None of that matters. All that matters is the raw, animalistic connection between you—the way his body is responding to your touch, the way his eyes shine with want, the way his blood sings in harmony with yours.

You could boil Logan alive in less than a second, burst every vessel and capillary in his body until he's nothing more than a copper stain on the floor. But his hands only tighten their grip on your waist to drag you impossibly closer.

"More," Logan growls, his voice vibrating against your palm as his teeth sink a little deeper into your finger, the heat of his breath searing against your skin. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging your body up his chest until your legs are spread on either side of his head. 

Your hands fly to his hair, steadying yourself with two fist fulls of the brown tufts that sit atop his head. You’ve always been curious if Logan styles his hair this way on purpose, or if it just grows like that naturally. You don't have time to ponder it for long before he's letting out another ragged groan and burying his face between your thighs.

You can feel the heat of his breath over the clothed expanse of your cunt, his nose trailing along the inseam of your sweats as he inhales greedy lungfuls of your scent.

"Logan," you gasp, voice gone high and breathy around the edges.

"Tell me what you want," he says lowly, his lips brushing over you with every word.

It's muffled slightly, but the demand in his tone still sends a shock through you. Your grip on his hair tightens as your mind falls into a whirl of sensations and emotions you couldn't possibly confront.

He presses a heated kiss against the fabric of your sweats, right over where your aching clit pulses with need. The sensation sends an electric jolt straight through your core. Your whole body hums with an intense craving, a need that burns hot and fierce.

"Tell me," he repeats, his voice a rough rasp that vibrates against your core.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as you try to form a coherent thought, let alone speak.

"I want..." you start, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and desire. The words are there, lodged in your throat, but saying them out loud feels like crossing a line you’re not sure you’re ready to cross.

"I need you,” you breathe out, the confession slipping from your lips like a secret finally set free “I need everything.”

Logan’s eyes flare with something fierce and wild. Without a word, he pulls you closer, his hands surging up to tear through the fabric of your clothes like it's nothing but tissue paper. The tattered remains of your panties and sweats pool to the floor in a crumpled mess.

The heat of his breath is replaced by the pressure of his mouth, his tongue sliding through the wet slit of your cunt. He lets out a filthy groan at the first real taste of you, the flat of his tongue lapping eagerly through your dripping slit.

The thrill of his mouth against your most sensitive spots sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching taut as you grip his hair even tighter. Logan’s groan reverberates through you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your core.

Logan is relentless, devouring you like he’s been starving for this, starving for you. The wet sounds of his mouth working you over mix with your breathless whimpers and the low growls rumbling from his chest. He works his tongue expertly, tracing every inch of you, mapping out every spot that makes you tremble and moan.

Your thighs tighten around his head, hips grinding against his face almost unintentionally as heat starts coiling tight in your belly. The scruff of his jaw rubs against the sensitive skin of your thighs with each drag of his head, the sting of it just adds to the assault of pleasure. You wish he could leave his mark on you, wish that your skin wouldn’t work overtime to fix the angry red blotches of raw skin he leaves in his wake.

Logan grips you hard enough that you can see the bruises decorating your skin every time you look down. His arms firm and strong where they’re locked around your thighs to keep you pressed against his mouth. His nose bumps against your throbbing clit each time he fucks his tongue into your leaking cunt.

“Logan,” you moan, your voice a breathy plea that only seems to spur him on. He flicks his tongue over your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a harsh pull that makes you cry out, your whole body shuddering with the intensity of it.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled by the slickness of your folds. “Could eat you all night.”

“Logan, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, sending you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your entire body convulsing with the force of it as you cry out his name, your nails digging into his scalp as you hold on.

Logan doesn’t stop, doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. He licks you through your release, his mouth working you over with a single-minded intensity that has you writhing against him, overstimulated and desperate for more.

“Fuck, Logan, please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for, just knowing you need something, anything to ease the ache that’s still throbbing deep inside you.

Logan pulls back just enough to look up at you, the bottom of his face slick with your arousal, eyes dark with a hunger that matches your own. He licks his lips, savoring the taste of you.

Logan’s hands slide up your thighs, his touch gentle now but still impossibly firm. He trails his fingers along your skin, tracing the sensitive lines where your skin starts to heal the damage he left behind.

“Still with me?” he asks, his voice is softer than before but there’s still an unmistakable rough edge coating his words.

You nod, your voice barely a whisper as you try to collect yourself. “Yeah...I’m here.”

“Good,” he growls softly, his hands squeezing the sore skin of your hips. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You’re on your back in less than a second, Logan flipping your positions so fast it has your head spinning. His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, all sharp teeth and bruising pressure. 

It’s a kiss that feels like a fight, like a challenge, like a promise of something much darker and more consuming just beneath the surface. His stubble scrapes against your skin, adding to the raw, visceral feeling of it all. Your teeth clack together violently, you can taste the faint coppery tang of blood on his lips. 

You kiss him back just as fiercely, pouring all the pent-up frustration, all the desire, all the fear and anger and need into the contact between you. Your hands are everywhere, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his back—needing to feel him, to mark him, to claim him as yours in a way that’s as undeniable as the blood pulsing through your veins.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him to fill the ache that’s building inside you. Logan grinds against you, his hard cock still trapped in the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your spit soaked cunt. You can’t help the desperate whimper that escapes your throat. “Please, Logan,” you gasp out against his lips, your voice trembling with need. “Fuck me, I need it, please–.” 

He growls low in his throat, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin. 

You nod frantically, your hips bucking up against him darkens the fabric tent of his bottoms. He feels huge, heavy and hot where he pushes against your slick folds. “Yes, please, just—” Logan doesn’t let you finish. 

With a swift, almost feral move, he pushes the hem of his sweats down roughly, the sound of seams ripping rings through the room. You barely have time to gasp before he’s pushing his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you so completely that all you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he immediately sets a relentless pace. 

You don’t have any time to adjust to the thick length of his cock carving its way inside of you, the sting of it has your eyes screwed shut. It’s only barely straddling the knife's edge of where pain and pleasure meld together, but it has you crying out his name all the same. 

Logan fucking sounds identical to Logan fighting, guttural groans and growls that are ripped from somewhere deep in his chest to pierce through the air between you. That ring in your ears and shake through your very soul like thunder. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grates, his voice thick with lust as he holds himself still for a moment, eyes glued to where you’re stretched around him. The puffy, abused lips of your cunt slick with his spit and the pre-come steadily leaking from his dark red tip. “Feels like heaven, sweetheart.”

You moan, high and loud in the back of your throat as your ankles lock around his lower back. Your heels dig into the skin just above his ass as your cunt trembles around his cock, your spongy walls working over him desperately, milking him. 

“You like that don’t you?” Logan taunts, starting to snap his hips with purpose. “You like getting fucked like this, princess?” He leans down enough to growl directly into your ear, “I can smell how much you want it, how bad you're aching for it." 

He slides his hands up your sides, rough palms gliding over your sweat-slick skin as he continues, "You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. I can barely think straight with you on top of me, with your scent all over me. You know what you're doing, don’t you? Getting me all riled up like this."

You can’t respond, can’t speak. You can barely form a coherent thought, your lips falling open in a stream of desperate moans and whines as you bury your face in his neck.

The pulse of his carotid artery under your lips is maddening, each beat of his heart like a drum driving you further into madness. You want to sink your teeth into the skin there, to pull flesh and muscle from bone so you can watch the blood run in rivers and streams down Logan’s body.

The taste of him fresh and heady on your tongue as you watch the layers build back up from nothing, nerves and veins weaving themselves back together grotesquely.

“Fuck,” Logan groans, the sound vibrating through your mouth as you press your lips against his throat, your teeth scraping against his skin with barely restrained hunger.

You nip at his throat, your teeth leaving small indentations that fade almost as quickly as they appear. Logan’s breathing is ragged, his chest heaving with every shallow breath as he leans into your touch, his body taut with anticipation.

"Atta girl, that's it," he growls, voice thick with desire as his hands grip your hips even tighter, nails digging into your skin as he ruts into you like a beast. His hips snapping against yours hard enough to sting, the loud slap of it bouncing off the walls to echo lewdly in your ears.

He’s fucking you like he wants to break you, reinforced hips heavy as he pounds you into the floor mercilessly. “Taking my cock so well, best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You can feel the way Logan’s cock jerks and pulses inside of you, the taut heaviness of his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You know he’s close, the brutal rhythm of his hips gets sloppier by the second.

You press your body up against his, your chest flush with his own as your hands wander over the hard planes of his back, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his skin. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades roughly, basking in the way his muscles roll and flex underneath your greedy palms.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the pulsing glow of his blood under your fingertips as you explore every inch of him with a hunger that’s almost feral. 

And then, with a low, guttural sound that you barely recognize as your own, you sink your teeth into his neck.

Logan’s reaction is immediate and visceral. His entire body tenses above you, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you bite down, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him floods your mouth, metallic and rich, and it sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

You can feel his blood on your tongue, warm and thick, the taste of it driving you wild. It’s everything you’ve been craving, everything you’ve been trying to resist. And now that you’ve finally given in, it’s like a dam has broken inside you.

Logan’s growl is pure animal, his hips bucking up hard as he thrusts into you one last time, burying his cock as deep in you as he can. The force of his orgasm rips through him, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he unloads inside of you. It’s so much, pulse after pulse of hot come that floods your insides. His hips don’t slow, still pumping and fucking like he’s trying to stuff you as full of himself as he can.

The feeling of it pushes you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in a wave of white-hot pleasure that leaves you gasping and trembling above him. Your shaking cunt gushes over his cock as you swallow the blood pooling on your tongue.

Logan’s hips finally still, slotting flush with yours as he slumps onto the floor next to you, dragging you along with him so you can lay flat on his chest. The coarse hair scattered along his pecs scratches the skin of your cheek, you bury your face in the sweaty crook of his neck. You feel hazy, like you’re floating through the air, completely weightless. 

You think you could live here, plastered to the strong planes of Logan’s body, stuffed full of his cock and leaking his come in messy trails down your shaking thighs. 

But eventually, you have to pull back, your breath coming in short bursts as you lick the blood from your lips. Logan’s eyes are on you, shining under the chandelier light, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing. The wound on his neck is already healing, the skin knitting itself back together, but the blood still stains his skin red, a vivid reminder.

There’s a moment of silence, the air between you thick with tension and something else—something new and unspoken. You’re both panting, bodies still trembling with adrenaline.

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood across your skin. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Finally, he reaches down slowly, like you’re a cornered animal that might turn and run any second. He takes your wrist in his hand, dragging it from the middle of his chest to the muscle directly over his heart. He presses your palm flat against him, blanketing your hand with his own.

“What do you feel,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath.

The question catches you off guard. It’s a challenge, but it’s also an invitation—a chance to confront whatever’s swirling inside you instead of running away from it. You hesitate, searching for the right words to encapsulate the storm of emotions you feel thrumming through your bones.

"You," you whisper back, your palm sliding over the sweaty plain of his bare chest. "All I feel is you."

Logan’s eyes soften, and a rare, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The intensity of the moment seems to dissolve, leaving a quiet understanding between you. He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a tender caress against your ear. His thumb brushes along your pulse in a feather light touch. “That makes two of us.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[mossyivy]

how about a desperate almost ex-husband leon being extremely needy and trying to get his wife back not to divorce him

Anon, idk who you are but you better become a regular if these are the ideas you throw into my ask box. I took liberty in picking which Leon would best fit and I just... It's Vendetta. I'm sorry, wet street rat Leon just stinks of desperation and in need of attention.

Also I am so sorry this took ages to get to you. I've been on break and was going through it. Hopefully it was worth the wait 🤍

Slight NSFW/Alluding to Sex

Not edited/Proof Read

"Please baby, I miss you..." You listen to the last few garbled words from the old voicemail. You hadn't seen or heard from him in a month. No calls, texts, letters or even the occasional flowers or muffin basket he'd have delivered to your office.

You know you shouldn't miss him. The divorce was for a good reason. Or at least it was supposed to be. You still loved him, he still loved you, but his absence was getting to you. You knew who you were marrying, a government agent who wasn't home as often as he wanted to be. You were left to your own devices often. Left with friends. Friends who talked. Talked about how neglectful he seemed to be. You defended him with your life, knowing the good man he was and still is. They picked him apart in secret, threw his flaws out for display like some kind of rotting carcass you'd see on the side of the road.

But eventually they got into your head about deserving better. So, against all the arguing or begging on his end you asked for a divorce and filed. That was a few months ago. He's not even officially moved out of the apartment you two share yet but you're adamant on being separated.

He on the other hand is trying to hold on for as long as possible. At least you thought he was. He left for work over a month ago and you knew he was back. No state marshall or sheriff showed up to tell you he died.

Maybe he was trying to respect your distance and keep away finally. But then Jill sent you the E-vite...

One of the worst parts of divorcing Leon was you having the same friends. You were both civil. No one took anyone's side so you'd both be invited places, even after the separation. You take in a deep breath, knowing he'd definitely be at this dinner party. It was going to be a struggle but you're a big girl. You can handle anything.

Sucking it up, you step out of your car, fixing your dress in place as you look up at the condominium. Seeing the lights on the shared rooftop space gleaming against the dusk sky. It didn't take long for you to push the door open at the top of the stairs seeing everyone dressed in semi-formal attire. Long puffy sleeves swaying as you pull at the gold locket hanging above the sweetheart neckline. The end of you dress puffing out and brushing lightly against your opaque black pantyhose covered knees. Heels clicking against the concrete of the roof as someone calls out to you.

"Hey! Glad you could make it." Claire, one of the hosts, walks out a small group of people in her dark pink dress. She wraps you in a tight hug looking you up and down.

"Thanks for inviting me!" You look around the crowds of people trying to decipher who's here.

"Last time I saw him was with Chris like half an hour ago. He showed up early." Claire knew who you were looking for. You give her an appreciative nod and tell her you'll be doing your rounds to be polite.

After grabbing a glass of wine you start making your rounds. Feet starting to hurt from your heels, they always killed your ankles. Stepping to the side you bump into another guest and spill red wine on yourself. Turning you see Rebecca with her mouth open, shocked expression on her face, clutching the front of her green dress.

"I'm so sorry," she frantically steps over, examining the blotch of dark red on your dress, "Jill and Claire probably have soda water at their place. Why don't you go ask?"

You quickly find Claire, desperate to not let this stain stick.

"Just head down to the condo. Jill's down there babysitting dinner. It should be done soon actually." You nod, heading down to the condo quickly. Knocking on the door you hear loud footsteps coming towards the door. The door swings open, Chris looking down at you in his charcoal gray suit.

"Oh hey. You finally showed." You smirk, smacking his shoulder before going in for a tight hug. Squeezing you in his arms he lifts you, pulling you through the threshold of the condo. The door shuts as he walks towards the kitchen, setting you down in the doorway. Jill turning her head from the stove. Wearing a dark blue pantsuit.

"Hey!" Dropping the wooden spoon onto the stove she walks over, hugging you tightly. She looks down at your dress noticing the wine spot. "Oh God. It looks like you were shot."

"Red wine and Rebecca."

"Ah. Let me get you something for that."

Jill starts searching the cabinets as Chris leans against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest.

"How've you been with... Everything?" Chris grabs his beer off the counter, taking a leisurely sip. Watching Jill out of the corner of his eye.

"I can't complain."

"Yeah you can. You're getting a divorce. Can't be easy."

"Chris." Jill shoots him a nasty glare, standing up straight with a bottle of soda water and a cloth.

"What!? I can't be blunt with her now?" Jill sighs, sliding the stuff across the island to you, watching you grab them.

"You can use the guest bathroom. Our main one is being worked on. It's down the hall to the right. Dinners done so just head upstairs when you're ready."

"Thanks." You nod, walking past them both and down the hall and into the guest room. You don't flick the light on, walking through the moonlight cover room to the door and push your way in. Starting to work on the stain on your dress after. Blotting the wine out slowly, taking your time to draw it out. Working the wine out you look at yourself in the mirror.

Tired eyes covered by concealing makeup and a fake sense of happiness. You really haven't slept well in weeks, since the filing. It was weird going back home alone. A knock startles you out of your staring. You quickly access the damage, deeming your work satisfactory enough. Opening the door you're met with dark circles under icy blue eyes. Stubble surrounding plump rosy lips as he gasps.

Now face to face with your soon-to-be ex-husband.

"Hey..."

"Hey." You two stare at each other for a moment, no one knowing what to say exactly. So you start cleaning up and rinsing the rag.

"I'll be out of your way in a second."

"Take your time." He assures, putting a hand on your lower back as he passes you and steps to the towel cabinet, sliding one of the drawers open and looking for something. You continue to rinse the rag, watching him in your peripherals as he searches. Wearing his old dark blue suit and a white button up open enough to show off his collar bones.

The silence is so awkward you could feel your toes curling in your heels.

"You look good." He speaks looking at you, you shut the sink off looking in his direction with a small smile.

"Thank you." you look him up and down. Taking in the appearance of him being dressed up for once. You always liked him cleaned up. "You look like a nightclub owner."

He chuckles, smiling as he grabs a box of bandaids from the drawer, shutting it with his hip as he starts reaching inside the box.

"You hurt yourself?" The old tinge of worry hits you as he starts walking towards you, presumably leaving.

"Just a little cut. Tried to catch a knife and it didn't work out." He shows his left palm, a cut along the side of his thumb, still bleeding.

"Jesus Lee..." You turn the sink back on and make him shove his hand under the cold water to slow the bleeding. You start washing the blotch of blood already dried on his palm as he just lets you. You're delicate hands scrubbing the shell shaped soap across his paler palm compared to the slight tan of his skin. You feel his right arm move and slide around you, hand on your waist like it's still so natural as he fixes to your side.

You stare at his hand, watching the bleeding slow as you rinse his palm. But you finally notice he's wearing his wedding ring still. The black band that matches yours sitting at home in your jewelry box, collecting dust when it could be getting pawned like your friends suggested. But you've grown attached to it, even if it is a constant reminder of what was. You shake the feeling, turning the faucet off and grabbing the hand towel to dry the area.

"You know, I can do this myself right?" You look up at your reflections in the mirror, it's almost like he's watching you over your shoulder with how close he is. His eyes watching your every action so lovingly. It makes you smile and forget that you shouldn't be feeling butterflies in your stomach right now.

"You never do it right." You tease, feeling his chest press against your shoulder and back. Notes of citrus and buttery sandalwood touch your nose. Making his noticeable lean over your shoulder almost forgiveable as you apply the bandage on his hand. You feel his nose brush against your ear as you throw the wrappers in the tiny trashcan next to the sink.

"Leon... No." His hand squeezed gently as it moves down to your hip, he takes a slow breath in. Letting the scent of your perfume and shampoo fill his senses completely.

"I miss you..." His voice is so soft, his breath against your ear makes a bolt of electricity shoot up your spine and your skin tingle. Goosebumps forming over your arms as you side step away from him. Looking at him again, his eyes look filled with desperation as he tries closing the gap again.

"I've been thinking about you nonstop for the past month." You paw at the bathroom doorknob, opening the door and slipping into the guest bedroom. He quickly follows you into the dim lighting.

"I'm seeing a therapist now." You glance at him, turning away as you try making a break for it.

"Good for you." You misjudge your step and smack your foot against the table next to the door, twisting your ankle in the process. Immediately, you hunch over to grab your ankle and whine in pain.

"Baby..." He leans down looking at your ankle as it starts to swell already. "Come here."

Quickly you're lifted off your feet and being carried over to the bed, reminiscent of your wedding night. Leon sits, putting your legs over his lap.

"You know these heels are bad on your ankles." His hands slight over your heel, pushing the offender off your foot and doing the same to the next. His fingers glide over your ankle making you wince and whimper. "I'm sorry... I can't really see it well with the..."

His fingers pinch against your pantyhose and pull it gently. Looking at you as if asking for permission. His hands glide up your legs, looking at you. Giving a small nods his hands go up your thighs, pulling at the waist and down your legs. Dropping them with your heels. His hands linger on your bare thighs as he stares. Gripping with the tenderness you'd forgotten about, a small huff leaves his lips before you clear your throat.

"Leon..." He snaps back to reality looking at your ankle and rubbing it. You complain again, feeling your heart beat in you leg.

"Good news, it doesn't look broken."

"No shit." He smirks looking back at you, lips turning into a sincere smile as his brows drop.

"Still as snarky as ever..." It's your turn to stare now, watching his hands wander back up your legs and wrap around your knees. Pulling you closer and wrinkle the sheets below you.

"Who would I be without my smart ass mouth?" His eyes drift halfway closed, his body almost completely pressed against your chest with his own. His arm slides around your waist with practiced ease.

"Not my wife." His words flow so naturally. Like no time has past since the separation. Being this close doesn't feel nearly as awkward as you expected it to be. His hands are as gentle as the look he's giving you. That same puppy dog stare only you seem to yank out of the rough and tough exterior.

It makes you crack a smile... A smile you definitely shouldn't be showing so easily.

"I miss you." His voice is soft again, leaning closer into you, cupping your cheek with a callused hand. "Do you miss me?"

"Yes." The answer rolls off your tongue without a second thought. The corners of his lips turning higher, smiling brighter then you've seen in a while. He doesn't waste any time pulling you into his lap, smothering you in his embrace and pulling you into a heated and hungry kiss.

Hands traveling into every available spot on your body. Finally finding his way under the skirt of your dress and pulling your hips taut against his growing desire.

"Lee... We can't right now, they're expecting us upstairs for dinner." His lips meet your neck, kissing across your pulse and to your ear. Hands gliding over your skin as he pulls back from your neck.

"Why would I go do that when I got my favorite meal right here?" You laugh, the noise sounding like music to his ears all over again. Eyes turning to that loving stare, laying you down against the plush sheets and linens.

"Plus, you hurt your ankle. You need bed rest... And maybe I could give you a real reason to limp."

[mrsbarnesblog]

barbie

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: Bucky takes his best girl to watch a Barbie movie and then spoils her with gifts.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, Bucky being the best boyfriend, he's healing your inner child.

Author's note: it was inspired by Barbie movie when it just came out. I think that Bucky is that type of boyfriend who would do everything possible to make you happy<3

You had been excited about the Barbie movie since the day you found out that it was in the making, and you may or may not have annoyed Bucky with it like a million times.

You begged him to go see it on the day of the premiere, and even if at first he really wanted to say “no”, he couldn’t.

Yes, he was your grumpy old supersoldier, but he would do anything to make you smile.

When the tickets started to sell, it was almost impossible to find one because people went crazy about this movie.

When you finally had time to look for the tickets, they were sold out. Obviously. Even if you didn’t say anything, Bucky saw sadness written on your face when you didn’t get the tickets for the opening night, and it hurt him to see you that way.

So, as the best boyfriend in the world, he got them for you. 

Yes, there was definitely one good thing about being a famous Avenger: you could get almost everything.

You and Sam also taught him how to use TikTok a few months ago, and besides a million videos of cats, he started to see Barbie-related content. He wasn’t really interested until he saw a video where a guy bought his girlfriend a doll and a lot of pink and cute things as a surprise.

Would you like it if he bought this for you? Did you even like dolls?

Bucky didn’t think about it too much; he just went to the store. 

He probably stood in front of the shelf with Barbie dolls for way too long because, while he was looking for the one he thought you would like, a shop assistant came to offer him some help. Bucky explained his situation, and the young girl—Stassie, as he found out—was almost jumping with excitement to help him and said that his girlfriend was really lucky.

She showed Bucky two dolls that came out recently: one in the western look and one in a light pink dress. It was hard to pick one because both were really cute.

So he bought both.

Stassie gave Bucky a few tips on what else he could buy for you; that's why, after another hour in the mall, he went home with a big box full of random pink and cute stuff.

You weren’t at home, so he hid the box in a safe place and decided to give it to you after the movie.

The day before the premiere, when you two were already getting ready to sleep, laying under the blanket and ready to cuddle while watching a movie, he silently gave you a white envelope.

“What is this?” You asked, looking at your weirdly smiley boyfriend.

“Open.”

You studied his face for a few seconds, but then sat up and carefully opened it to not rip whatever was inside. 

“Bucky…” You whispered as two tickets with “Barbie” written on them fell into your hand. “You didn’t—how did you get it?” Your eyes were watery as you looked at him.

“That’s a secret. But I wanted to make you happy.” The soft look in his eyes made you want to cry, but instead you just jumped into his arms, leaving kisses all over his face.

“I fucking love you, James.” 

“I love you more, doll.”

It was safe to say that he got his reward for being a thoughtful boyfriend, and you both fell asleep only a few hours later. 

You two walked out of the movie theater holding hands while you were still sobbing a little bit. It was an amazing experience, and you were overwhelmed with feelings. Bucky led you to the side so you wouldn’t bother other people, wrapped his hands around you, and held you close to him.

“Are you okay, baby?” He mumbled into your hair and kissed your temple.

“Yes. I’m so happy that we watched it. And that you came with me.” You wrapped your hands around Bucky’s neck and melted into him.

“I liked it too, actually.” You heard a deep chuckle.

“You know, I told you that you look great in pink, and you didn’t believe me.” 

You obviously decided to stick to a non-official dress code, but it was hard to convince your boyfriend that he needed to wear something pink too. So the only thing that he liked in the store was a pink jean jacket, and you were okay with that.

An old lady that sat in the movie theater behind you with her grandkids said to Bucky that he was a really good young gentleman and that you two were perfect for each other. 

Bucky didn’t really like any interactions with strangers, but you still noticed a light pink color on his cheeks and a sweet smile that he gave to the woman.

“If you think so, I’ll accept it, baby.” He was silent for a few seconds, but then smiled again and cupped your face with his metal hand so you would look at him. “I have something for you at home. Do you want to go there now and then order some food?”

“Something for me?” You frowned at him but still leaned into his touch. “And you should know better than to ask me whether I want to order food or not. I always do.”

You were sitting in your living room on the couch, where Bucky told you to stay and wait for him. He went to your bedroom and came back in a few seconds, holding a big pink box.

“This is for you.” He put the box near you on the couch and sat on the free spot at the other end. 

“For me? Why? I forgot about our anniversary or something?” You tried to laugh. 

You opened the lid, and your mouth opened as you saw what was in there. Your shaking hands gently pulled out two boxes with dolls, and you took a few seconds to look at them properly, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes. Then you got the rest of the stuff: a pajama set, a journal, a candle, masks and bath bombs, and a lot of your favorite candies. Of course, everything was pink. 

“I hope you like it. The girl at the store said–” You didn’t let him finish before you stood from your place and sat onto Bucky’s lap, hugging him as hard as you could, sobbing into his neck.

“Sh-h, baby, that’s okay.” He wrapped his arms around your body, gently swaying you from side to side.

“T-thank you so much, Bucky, really. You didn’t have to do it.” You moved back a little bit, and Bucky’s right hand immediately flew to your face to wipe away tears. You took one of the boxes with a doll on your lap and carefully took her out of the box. “She’s so pretty... I’ve never had a real Barbie before. They are expensive.”

“It is worth every dollar if it makes you happy. I saw this idea on that video app, and I wanted to give you something special.” 

He looked at you with a soft smile while you were unpacking the second doll and then gently touching her hair and clothes. He thought that he gave this present more to the younger you, and it made him feel so happy.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” You put the doll down and took Bucky’s face in your hands. “I am so lucky to have such a person in my life. Thank you for everything. Not only for dolls, it’s all amazing. I love you, James.” You closed your eyes when he moved closer and put his forehead on yours. 

“I’m the one who is lucky to have you. I’ll give you anything if it makes you smile this way. I love you.” 

[shuawonie]

with you.

pairing | yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

genre | pure fluff </3, babysitting au, established relationship au, non-idol au, comfort

word count | 5.6k

warnings | just jeonghan with kids :’), use of pet names (love, angel), kissing, mentions of pregnancy and having a child, cuteness everywhere, sneaky jeonghan, what should i say more- joshua as your brother and a dad ^^

summary: babysitting your brother’s daughter was always one of your favorite things to do. but you didn’t know that it might be even better if someone joins you, especially someone who you love the most.

a/n: here is a small drabble that has been rotting in my docs for so long already.. ㅠㅠ after watching TOO MANY (oops-) videos with jeonghan with kids i couldn’t stop myself… but hope you’ll enjoy it ! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡♡

“Gosh y/n, you’re literally an angel!”

Joshua, your brother, said enthusiastically as soon as he walked into your apartment.

Him, together with his wife were invited to a meeting with their old classmates, as it was already 10 years after their highschool graduation. However, the problem was that they couldn’t go there with their 3 years old daughter, Minji as they wouldn’t probably have that much time to give her the attention. Come on, after all they really wanted to meet their friends calmly, even though Minji wasn’t a big troublemaker.

So you decided to help your sibling, and for one day you volunteered to take care of the girl. You consulted everything with Miyoon, Joshua’s wife, so when your brother got to know that you’ll take care of Minji while they’ll be gone for a day, he was all over the moon as the problem of who they should leave their daughter with was giving him sleepless nights.

Your brother gently placed his 3 year old in your arms, kissing her cheek sweetly to which she let out a cute giggle. Miyoon was standing silently right next to Joshua. She was smiling lovely, while looking at her daughter and husband with such admiration shining in her eyes.

You chuckled, “Seriously! It's no problem for me. Spending time with this little sweetheart is pure pleasure, and taking care of her is hassle-free. Right, Minji?” the girl in your arms placed her head in the crook of your neck, while nodding gently.

Your brother cooed at Minji’s reaction and you laughed under your nose, while hugging the little girl closer to your body.

“I hope that she won’t cause any problems though.” Miyoon uttered, making you shift your eyes at her.

“If anything would happen, let us know immediately, and we’ll drive back to pick her up.” the girl added with Joshua nodding at her words, and you sent them a reassuring smile while affirming to them that you’ll call instantly if something happens.

“Minji mostly goes to sleep at 8 PM and if she’ll have any troubles with falling asleep, you can heat up some milk for her, she really likes it. But you can also read her a bedtime story or hum a song.” Joshua said in the doorway, and you placed the girl on the floor to run around your apartment with her favorite plushie in her hand.

She immediately ran up to your golden retriever, who was happily observing what’s happening the whole time.

You smiled at your brother with pity visible on your face, “Shua, please. It’s not my first time taking care of Minji.” you crossed your hands over your chest, “Seriously. You don’t have to worry about us.”

Miyoon chuckled as she watched how flustered Joshua got at your point. Then she gently patted his arm, “Babe, we need to get going. We still have around 2.5 hours to drive.” she muttered softly, and your brother nodded at her words while sending her his bright smile.

For the last time, Joshua and Miyoon thanked you, and (hesitantly) the two of them finally left your apartment, leaving you with Minji who was currently busy gently petting Seoli, your dog.

You watched her from the side for a bit, before you melted at her cutest behavior. Slowly, you approached them and Seoli immediately ran up to you, bringing Minji right after her. The girl gripped tightly around your leg, showing her gummy smile to you.

“Hi angel.” you crouched down, and poked Minji’s cheek to which the girl let out an adorable giggle. She wrapped her arms around your neck and hugged you tightly, making you smile widely.

“Please hold still, auntie! I’ll get the band-aid for you~” Minji melodized, and she ran quickly towards her pink backpack where she had all of her toys hidden, looking for the band-aid for you.

You two were in the middle of playing ‘doctor and patient’ and you sat on the couch, acting as if something happened on your cheek. Minji of course was the doctor, and she played as if she had to cure you.

Seoli, already tired after following everything you two did, was now laying on the fluffy carpet next to the sofa, silently observing both of you.

It was already 3 hours since Joshua and Miyoon left, and you were desperately trying to do anything with Minji until the time where you two would eat lunch, and then take a small nap.

So during this whole time, you already drew and coloured in Minji’s coloring books, played with her tiny animal figurines, played in a hairstylist, and had a small snack break.

But all of it was actually pretty much fun and you couldn’t complain. Minji was a really cute and happy child, which she probably got from her amazing father. However, she also got the softness and care that you could observe in the way of how she treated you as the ‘doctor’, from her sweet mother.

After a minute, Minji ran back to you with a pink colored band-aid that had smiley butterflies on it. She sat on the couch to get closer to you, and started sticking the band-aid to your cheek.

The girl was doing it with such patience and focus that it gave you an opportunity to look closer at her. And you immediately noticed how beautiful her eyes looked, as she had taken after Shua.

You were always jealous of your brother’s eyes as he was the one who got your mom’s eyes. Even though your eyes also looked similar to his, you also had a lot from your father.

The girl started to giggle as she was excited, and you couldn’t help but melt at her cutest behavior. And just as Minji was about to finish sticking the band-aid, the two of you twitched as you heard a voice in the room.

“Did I miraculously wake up in the future, and you’re playing with our little daughter?” your boyfriend’s still a little hoarse voice rang in your ears, immediately putting your heart in calm, bringing a warm smile to your lips. But you couldn’t stop blushing because of his statement.

“What? Hannie, no!” you chuckled at his words and added “This is literally my niece!” to which the boy pouted in disappointment because of the harsh reality (deep down, he really hoped that you would say yes).

“How are you, hm? Do you feel better?” you asked, smiling at him as the boy approached the two of you slowly, laying down on the couch while placing his head on your lap.

“Yup. I feel much better now, love.” Jeonghan replied smoothly, while getting comfortable on your lap.

Then he shifted his eyes on Minji, who was already observing him, curious about his sudden appearance. The boy smiled at her to which she smiled brightly, tilting her head to the side.

“I think you have a real patient here, Minji.” you chuckled under your nose, “Uncle Jeonghan had a biiiig~ headache this morning, so maybe you can take care of him now.” you started to gently play with Jeonghan’s dark hair.

It was really soft in the touch that you couldn’t stop yourself from playing with it, and starting to loosely braid it. Not as if Jeonghan minded you doing that.

The girl nodded happily while running again to her backpack, taking all of the needed supplies to play with Jeonghan.

“Should I be scared?” Jeonghan whispered to you with a playful smile on his lips, looking at the pink band-aid still stuck to your cheek.

“No, don’t worry.” you chuckled softly, glancing at Minji who was busy searching for her toys, “Doctor Hong is really gentle with her doings.” you added, and Jeonghan chuckled as you sent him a bright grin.

Not so long after, Minji joined you two again and Jeonghan was forced to (unfortunately) sit up from your lap as she started to play with him.

You observed all of this silently from the side, with a big smile on your face, and your heart growing with love. The way Jeonghan was playing with her, using his baby voice while speaking with her, and treating her gently as if she was the most fragile thing in the world was making it really hard for you not to fall in love with him even deeper — if that was even possible.

“Auntie!” Minji’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, to which you quickly moved your attention to her.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You have to give uncle Jeonghan a kiss.

You froze.

“W-what?” you stuttered, and the girl blinked at you with confusion.

“You have to give a kiss of love to uncle, so it will make him feel better! You know.. kiss of love! He said that his head still hurts..” Minji pouted, and looked at you with her shining, doe eyes.

Oh.. how could you refuse her?

So you looked at the main reason for your currently pink cheeks, and your eyes immediately locked with Jeonghan’s, dark one’s. His gaze was addicting for you. You could stare into it all day long.

But the way he was looking at you right now, with that smirk and playfulness dancing freely in his eyes, was making you feel really flustered.

“Come on, y/n. You have to give me a kiss~” Jeonghan urged you, holding himself from laughing out loud because of how much he loved to tease you this way.

You knew that he was feeling fine now, and that his head didn’t hurt anymore. It was normal for Jeonghan that sometimes when he came home late after an exhausting day, the boy got headaches as soon as he woke up in the morning. That’s how you always made him stay in bed and sleep more, most of the time with you by his side.

But now, he was just using the fact that you had a soft spot for Minji (and also for him) so you couldn’t refuse her requests. And without any other choice left for you, slowly, you leaned closer and placed a sweet kiss on Jeonghan’s forehead. But just when you were about to pull back, his hands softly cupped your cheeks and attached his lips to yours, connecting you in a real kiss.

Quickly realizing what just happened, you pulled away from the boy, making him confused at your sudden change. Minji was squealing from happiness while jumping on the couch and hugging you tightly. Gently, you hit Jeonghan’s arm while trying to act as if you’re mad at him. The boy let out a giggle that made you smile even wider.

“Now I feel much better.” Jeonghan uttered, to which you snorted and rolled your eyes at his behavior, resting your chin on top of snuggling to you Minji.

“Are you ready, Ji?”

Jeonghan asked with a big smile shining on his lips, feeling as excited as the little girl who was currently jumping beside him. He was crouching in front of her while trying to help her put on her jacket and a fluffy hat with bear ears on the top.

You were tying your shoes as your lips curved into a soft smile. Your boyfriend was chasing after Minji through your apartment as just a second ago the girl stole his scarf. The sight of how Jeonghan was happy with your niece was making you chuckle, while feeling warm deep in your heart.

As the snow continued to fall throughout the day, you all decided to go on a walk and play for some time in the snow. Minji immediately accepted that idea, saying that she really wants to go out with her favorite (right after her parents) people, and see the snow.

“You guys can already leave, I’ll join you in a second.” you stated, and Jeonghan nodded at your words with a soft smile spreading on his lips.

He quickly tapped Minji’s head, shouting, “Tag, you’re it!”

Then he ran out from the apartment, just to have Minji running just behind him, screaming his name.

You decided to pack a snack for Minji in your bag in case she gets hungry, and also take warmer clothes for the three of you. You had no idea for how long you’re going to be out, and as it was already the middle of January, so the evenings were really cold.

That’s why you took a small, pastel pink hoodie from Minji’s bag with spare clothes that her lovely parents left for her, and two Jeonghan’s sweatshirts (one for him, and also one for you of course). Some hand warmers and you were ready to go.

Being in a relationship with Jeonghan for almost 5 years now (and 15 years in friendship), has taught you many things. For example, you should always watch your back, if he’s not planning to pull any of his stupid pranks on you (which you actually adored). Always watch his hand movements carefully, he will always try to cheat. Never let him in the kitchen or you want to get it burned down.

And also his really low cold tolerance. He could get cold really easily, so you always had to be one step ahead by having a hand warmer hidden somewhere in the pocket of your coat for him. His reaction was always the best as he always got shy when you sneaked the hot pack into his hand, ostensibly to hold his hand.

As you finished zipping your bag, you were finally done with packing all of the necessary things. You took your keys from the drawer and left the apartment, locking the door behind you.

When you left the building, Minji was clinging to Jeonghan’s arm, who was crouching, busy doing something. From this proximity you couldn’t really tell what they were doing, but as soon as you got closer, you noticed a stray cat sitting by them.

Jeonghan was petting its head gently, cooing at the cat while Minji was observing everything behind Jeonghan’s arm. A smile spread on your lips as you approached them.

“Only a minute without me, and you already found my replacement. You are so toxic, guys.” you chuckled, and the two of them raised their heads to look at you.

Jeonghan quickly sent you an ‘are-you-serious-right-now’ look, before getting up and gently kissing your cheek. He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“And only a minute without me, and you’re already saying nonsense, love.” he uttered as he sent you a lazy smirk, cupping your face with his hands.

“I would have never replaced you.” Jeonghan left a sweet kiss on your lips, to which you quickly turned away when he pulled away from you, chuckling at your sudden reaction.

You hoped he wouldn't notice that rose blush which suddenly appeared on your cheeks. But you blamed it on the cold weather, not the fact that you got embarrassed. However, the butterflies in your stomach were saying the opposite.

Minji observed you the whole time, wearing a gummy smile. The hat which was falling over her eyes was making her look adorable. She was struggling to see anything, but Jeonghan was quick to notice it. He untangled himself from you, and fixed her hat with a small pat on her head and a baby-voiced coo.

Jeonghan as usually had to forget to take his own hat. The snowflakes that were gently falling down the sky rested on top of his dark hair strands. His cheeks were already tinted in light pink from the cold breeze, making him look even more breathtaking.

Quickly, you took out a hat with long bunny ears that you also decided to pack, and put it on Jeonghan’s head. Gosh, he looked so cute in it.

In the meantime, the stray cat ran away somewhere, and you decided to finally start your small stroll to the park that was located in your neighborhood.

Minji was quick to hold Jeonghan’s and your hands, ready to walk with you two by her sides. You had to walk much slower than usual because of her small steps, but you didn’t complain. The already setting sun looked alluring, with the pink and violet rays spreading on the sky.

Suddenly, the girl unhooked her hands, and ran straight towards the open area with lots of snow on it. She jumped into it, giggling, while taking the snow into her hands and throwing it above her. You followed right after her, playing together with the snow.

What you didn’t expect to happen next was a snowball hitting your arm. When you looked to the side, you quickly noticed the culprit, laughing soundly with a playful grin on his face.

“Come on, Minji,” you grasped her hand, “We have to win this battle.” a smirk spread over your lips as the little girl giggled in excitement.

And that’s how your snowball battle started. You couldn’t believe it but while playing, you suddenly felt as if you were 15 again, having a battle with your friends after you finished your classes. When Jeonghan and you were only friends, and when you never imagined that in the future you’ll fall for each other.

It’s obvious that at the end Jeonghan of course ended up winning against you two (you still question if he didn’t cheat while . But you didn’t really care about that. Him still being with you after all those years, smiling like a kid, having his best time with your beloved niece was more than enough to make you feel happy.

Hot chocolate tastes the best after playing in the snow. And you can’t disagree with that.

The three of you got back home 30 minutes after you finished the battle in the snow. Your clothes were all wet and Minji was already whining about how her legs hurt, so on the way back home Jeonghan gave her a piggy ride.

After changing into some fresh and most importantly dry clothes, Jeonghan was quick to suggest that you all should drink hot chocolate to warm up. Minji, having her uncle as the most amazing person after giving her a piggy ride home, begged you to make them hot chocolate.

And that’s how you ended up in this situation — Minji sitting on Jeonghan’s lap, snuggled into his chest. She was already done drinking her hot chocolate, watching a cartoon on the TV.

The boy kept stroking her hair gently, putting her into a deep sleep. Jeonghan’s warmth, together with the tiredness and soft sound of the programme they were watching, worked like a lullaby for Minji’s exhausted body.

You sat beside them, not being able to focus on anything else than the love of your life acting like your niece is his own child.

“Should we put her to her bed?” Jeonghan whispered after a while as he looked at you, his hand still on Minji’s head, hugging her closely.

“Yeah, I think so.” you replied softly, “She already fell asleep, so it’s even better.” you smiled, and the two of you got up from the couch as quietly as you could to not wake the little girl up.

When Jeonghan went to the guest room with Minji, you sent a short text to Joshua, saying that Minji is already sleeping and everything’s alright. You left your phone on the coffee table and went after Jeonghan to the guest’s room, stopping in the door frame. You leaned against it, observing how your boyfriend was gently tugging Minji to sleep.

When he finally noticed you standing behind him, he sent you a questioning look with a smile spreading over his lips. You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you headed to your bedroom. But on the way there, a pair of arms quickly sneaked over your waist.

You let out a squeak when the boy suddenly lifted you up, spinning you around. “Hannie, put me down!” you whispered firmly while laughing, as you didn’t want to wake Minji up.

“But I don’t want toooo~” he whined, keeping his face in the nape of your neck, but eventually the boy placed you back on the ground, turning you around to face him.

“You know..” you started, placing your arms around his neck, “I didn’t know that you’re that good at taking care of kids.”

“Oh please,” he laughed, “What am I not good at in the first place.”

“Hmm, I don’t think there is something like that.” you looked deeply into his eyes, which shone brightly in happiness and tenderness.

Jeonghan leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your nose before suddenly lifting you up in a bridal style, taking you to your bedroom (despite your protests).

He gently placed you on the bed as if you were the most fragile thing before showering your entire face and neck with butterfly kisses. Your giggles filled the room, enjoying your sweet time together.

It was already past midnight when Jeonghan came out of the bathroom. He had his hair still slightly damp after showering. You were laying in your bed, scrolling through social media. Joshua posted some photos from the gathering, and seeing your brother together with his wife, enjoying their time was making you feel really happy.

“What are you looking at?” Jeonghan asked suspiciously, observing how widely you smiled.

He dried his hair with a towel while standing at the end of the bed. But when you didn’t reply to him, the boy immediately pouted, annoyed that you’re paying more attention to something in your phone than him.

“Hello?” he said louder, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh yes, sorry. Joshie posted photos from the gathering, and they look so happy together.” you explained in awe, showing him the pictures in your phone. Jeonghan only hummed in response, not really interested, while putting the towel aside.

You could immediately notice a shift in his behavior, so you put your phone on the bedside table. Jeonghan got under the bedsheets next to you, quickly pulling your body closer to him.

You looked at him worriedly, “Hannie, what’s wrong?” you asked, but the boy just snuggled closer to you. Gosh, he’s so clingy.

“Nothing, let’s just cuddle.” he muttered tiredly, quickly earning a chuckle which in a split of a second caused the corner of his lips to raise.

While being tangled in his protective arms, you talked about the day, how much you enjoyed it and how much you’d want to experience something like this once again. Jeonghan (being already half asleep) listened to your subdued voice, humming in agreement.

What you didn’t expect was to suddenly hear a faint knock on your door. Quickly, you straightened up on the bed, unfortunately hitting Jeonghan at the same time. You whispered a soft sorry as the woken up boy looked at you, pouting while massaging his jawline.

You got out of the bed, and approached the door. On the other side you found a teary-eyed Minji, gripping her plushie tightly in her hand. The bare sight made your heart swell immediately.

“Minji, baby, what happened?” you asked her as you crouched in front of her, bringing her close to you, “Did you have a nightmare?” you added, while hugging her to your body.

You could only hear Minji’s sniffs, “Y-yes.” she whispered, snuggling into the crook of your neck.

Trying to calm her down, you picked her up and you got back to the bed. Jeonghan was already sitting, observing you silently with worry written all over his face.

You sat on the edge of the bed, Minji sat on your laps while hugging you tightly. Her sniffles were already gone, but you kept stroking her back and swaying her shaking body. Jeonghan took some tissues from the bedside table, and shuffled closer to you on the bed, gently wiping Minji’s tears away.

When the girl was finally calmed down, you looked at her shiny and slightly red eyes, and smiled.

“Do you want to sleep with us tonight?” you asked.

Oh. If only you knew how Jeonghan’s heart skipped a beat when he heard you spoke those words. Through out the day, he actually started to feel more as if Minji was his own daughter, and seeing you, so gentle and careful with the little girl only confirmed his thoughts about you being his only one.

Minji nodded, and you quickly took her off your knees, placing her in the middle of the bed. As your bed was king size, there was no problem for you three to sleep together.

Jeonghan helped Minji lay down, bringing her plushie closer to her. You also got back under the sheets, laying down next to your niece.

As previously, your boyfriend started to stroke her head, and also between her eyes as he once read somewhere that gently stroking that place makes babies fall asleep faster. The whole time you were looking at Jeonghan, as he was focused on putting Minji to sleep.

Surprisingly, that advice which Jeonghan used turned out to be true, because soon later Minji was back in her sweet slumber, and you two could finally go to sleep.

You were still looking at him, and when your eyes met, you felt those butterflies in your stomach waking up again. You found Jeonghan handsome and very attractive almost every time. When he had his hair done perfectly, with his black shirt on and that stupid smirk. When he was helping you cook something, politely obeying your orders. And when he was completely focused during building his lego sets.

But this sight. Oh dear lord, please have some mercy.

Him in front of you, in the most natural circumstances ever, with his dark hair soft but slightly messy, his shirt falling down a bit too low while exposing one of his collarbones, laying in the same bed with you and being the same (or even more) exhausted than you. It felt different.

He was the most beautiful, the most attractive and the most handsome person you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

“Angel, I know I’m handsome, but you don’t have to stare at me like that.” he commented with a smirk spreading on his lips.

You quickly got back out from that daze, “Oh shut up.” you whispered, while turning around in the bed, making him face your back.

“Good night, love.”

“Good night, Hannie.”

Just when you thought that nothing could look better than Jeonghan last night, you got your thinking changed once again.

Waking up in the morning with the sun’s light rays resting on the floor and walls of your bedroom, while laying next to your beloved boyfriend, and your niece cuddled up closely to him, officially became your new favorite sight ever.

They looked so fragile, so delicate and so adorable, while sleeping peacefully, that you couldn’t help but take some photos of them.

As soon as you got out of bed (and finished your mini photo session), you went through the new notifications. It was only 8 am, but you still got some throughout the night.

At around 7:30 am, Joshua sent you a text that they will eat breakfast now, and then try to leave around 9:00 am. So you still had 4 hours until they arrived.

After dressing yourself up as quietly as you could, you walked out of the room, closing the door behind you. You decided not to wake them up, but surprise them with breakfast.

You spent some time debating over what you should make, and if it should be savory or sweet, but you eventually chose to make sweet breakfast. Quickly, you began to make the batter for the waffles, also preparing coffee for Jeonghan and you while Seoli accompanied you. You of course didn’t forget to also give her food.

After some time, you were already making the waffles when a pair of arms suddenly sneaked around your waist, with the feeling of someone’s chin on your shoulder.

“You left the bed too early today,” Jeonghan’s still a little bit hoarse voice sounded right by your ear, as you were busy putting the done waffles on the plates, “You know I like to wake up and see your face as the first thing in the morning.”

“I know, I know, Hannie,” you laughed, pouring the batter into the waffle mold, “But I wanted to make a surprise for you two. Speaking of, where is Minji?” you asked, turning around to face Jeonghan.

Oh shit. He looked breath-taking.

“I helped with her morning toilet, and then we went to the living room. She is busy with her coloring books, but still kind of sleepy.” Jeonghan explained, and you nodded at his words.

The boy grabbed his cup of coffee, and took a sip before leaving a soft kiss on your cheek while saying thank you. You smiled back at him, finishing the waffles.

Soon, you took all of the waffles that you prepared, and placed them on the table. In the meanwhile, Jeonghan took out all of the toppings for the waffles, and went back to get Minji.

When you finally sat down, your boyfriend came into the kitchen with Minji holding his hand, and slowly walking towards you right by his side. As soon as she noticed the waffles on the table, she sprinted towards the chair and quickly got on top of it, already taking one of the waffles. Jeonghan joined right after her, and the three of you began to eat your breakfast.

The rest of the morning went really fast. Jeonghan dressed in something else than his pyjamas while you helped Minji to pick her outfit. Then you finally did your makeup, and the three of you just spent more time together.

You didn’t understand how it’s possible, that even with your tendency to have a low social battery, you didn’t feel tired or bored by your boyfriend and niece. It felt so natural now to have them around, that you just got used to it.

While Minji was playing with your dog, and Jeonghan was teaching her how to make Seoli do the tricks, you were busy thinking about how you actually can see your future like this.

Now, after yesterday, you were sure that you could picture your future with Jeonghan, and even see yourself as a mother. You were sure that the boy would be the best father, spoiling his kid while also pulling his stupid pranks on you with them.

But you were sure that with him it was possible.

A few hours later, a doorbell’s sound rang in your flat. Seoli immediately ran to bark at the person behind the door, but you were sure it was Shua with Miyoon. And you weren’t wrong. As soon as you opened the door you could see the young parents standing in front of you, greeting you happily as you kept Seoli from jumping on them.

Seconds later, Jeonghan came from behind the corner with Minji in his arms. She had her head pressed to his cheek, observing patiently who came over. And just when she saw her mommy and daddy, she grinned happily and wiggled in Jeonghan’s arms. The boy put her down, and she ran straightfully to her parents. They hugged their daughter closely, and Jeonghan joined your side, placing his arm over your waist.

“We hope she didn’t cause you any problems.” Miyoon uttered, patting the little girl’s head.

“No, not at all!” you quickly protested, “Minji is such an angel, we spent an amazing time together.” you leaned your head on Jeonghan’s shoulder.

“She’s the cutest. I’m so jealous of your daughter.” Jeonghan commented, earning a laugh from everyone.

You handed Joshua all Minji’s things that they brought, and it was finally time to say goodbye.

“Nooo! I don’t wanna say goodbye!” Minji whined, while cuddling to your leg.

“Ji, baby, you’ve been with your aunt and uncle for a whole day. Now we have to go back to our house.” Joshua explained, “We have to let auntie and uncle get some rest.”

“But I love them so much..”

You couldn’t control the coo that left your lips as soon as the girl said how much she loved you and Jeonghan. Your boyfriend only smiled briefly, observing everything.

“You’ll see them soon again.” Miyoon took Minji’s hand, bringing her closer to her to put the hat on her head.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” you replied, while intertwining your pinky finger with hers, “You’ll probably see us earlier than you might think.”

“I can’t wait already!” she shouted enthusiastically, and for the last time Minji hugged you and Jeonghan tightly, and patted Seoli. Then, the young parents left your flat, leaving you two alone, again.

Suddenly, Jeonghan let out a groan which startled you by the sudden action.

He headed towards the living room, “I want to have a kid.” he whined, and you chuckled under your breath, following Jeonghan’s steps.

“You know, we still can have one in the future.” you answered, and the boy immediately turned around, looking at you with his eyes widened and his mouth parted a little bit. “Only if you want one.”

Jeonghan was quick to run up to you, and spin you around, while holding you tightly. Your giggles filled the room once again, being the prettiest melody to your boyfriend’s ears.

“Of course I do, my love.”

He was sure. Jeonghan was sure that he couldn’t wait no more, and that maybe it was the right time to take out that velvet box which he hid deeply in the drawer by the bed, and finally put it into use.

Because he knew one thing. That if he wanted to spend his entire life together with someone, then it had to be with you.

© shuawonie | 2024, all rights reserved.

reuploads and likes are highly appriciated ♡

[unclewaynemunson]

Eddie can hear from Steve's breathing that he's sleeping deeply and he's wondering how the hell he can possibly be asleep right now. His own mind is spinning and he kinda feels like he might throw up soon. Steve went to sleep with his back to Eddie and now Eddie can do nothing but stare at his silhouette in the dark.

He doesn't really understand what happened: they had this big fight and the word slipped out of his mouth before he even realized it did. The one word he had promised Steve to never say to him. And then Steve stormed out and Eddie just fucking stood there, unable to move and nauseous as hell, tears prickling behind his eyes. By the time his brain started working again and he realized he should probably go look for Steve, he could already have gone anywhere.

Half an agonizing hour later he returned; Eddie didn't give a shit about their stupid fight anymore and tried to apologize, but Steve... wouldn't let him. I know you didn't mean it like that, was all he said. It's okay, but I'm really exhausted, so let's go to bed first and talk about it in the morning.

The worst part is that he doesn't know what he should prepare himself for. Steve has never done anything like this before, but Eddie sure as hell recognizes the signs: waving him off, attempting to make him feel safe, so he'll let his guard down and then it'll all come crashing down on him. He can hear his mother's voice again, so clearly that she might as well be standing right at his bedside:

No, of course I'm not mad at you, Eddie. You couldn't help it, it's not your fault.

Have you already forgotten about what you've done, Eddie? Looks like I have to punish you after all.

The worst one had been after his dad got locked up, five whole years of jailtime ahead of him. He had never been behind bars for more than a couple months on end before. And Eddie had been with him when it happened. No, worse: he had run away.

You couldn't help it, Eddie, you were scared, and you couldn't have gotten him out of it anyway.

He had been grateful for his mom's understanding words, had finally lowered his guard when she even made him a hot cocoa before bed. It only took one restless night of sleep until he'd find out what she really thought about him: a coward, a sissy, someone who didn't know what loyalty was. Didn't he love his father? Would he like to see his own dad rot in jail? She was often cruel with her words, but the times she was cruel with her hands were a rarity.

Eddie had never viewed Steve as being anything like his mother, but with yesterday's events in his mind and Steve unreachable on the other side of the bed, he supposes it's more than justified. However shit will go down tomorrow morning, he will most certainly deserve it.

------

He must've somehow drifted off in the early hours before morning, because he wakes up to light pouring through the windows and - an empty space on Steve's side of the bed.

He quietly slips out from under the blankets and tiptoes to the door, but when he peers around the corner, he finds the living room empty. Upon further inspection, the kitchen and the bathroom both turn out to be abandoned as well. Steve's nowhere to be seen. A new wave of nausea washes over Eddie when he realizes that things must be even worse than he was expecting.

He remembers those times, too: the times when his mother would disappear, sometimes for a couple hours, sometimes for days on end. When he was little, he'd get hungry. As he grew older and learned to take care of himself, he'd only get scared. When she'd finally get back, she'd tell him that he shouldn't be so dramatic, that surely she'd told him where she was off to and for how long she'd be gone. Sometimes, she'd even tell him that no, she hadn't been away for three days, she had only gone to the store, what the hell was he talking about?

When the realization hits him that Steve might never come back - the same realization that used to cause the paralyzing fear whenever his mom disappeared - it becomes difficult to breathe. He staggers and stumbles into the bedroom, where he starts randomly pulling the doors of their closets and dresser drawers open in a desperate attempt to see if all of Steve's clothes are still there. His polos are hanging in a neat row in the closet, and his underwear dresser is filled just fine. His toothbrush is still in the bathroom, just like his shaving cream and his medication: that should be enough confirmation that at least he'll come back but maybe that's exactly what he wants Eddie to think and he can't breathe anymore and -

-------

A good night's sleep and a morning run are the perfect cure for just about everything, if you ask Steve. He comes home all sweaty and short of breath, but feeling better than he has in days. His head is clear and yesterday's fight suddenly seems almost insignificant. He opens the door, ready to make some coffee and finally properly talk with Eddie, who was still fast asleep when he left the house two hours ago.

But when he calls out a "Hi, babe!" the apartment stays eerily quiet. There's no trace of Eddie in the kitchen, nor in the living room, and Steve wonders if maybe he has gone out to get some snacks. He shrugs and walks into the bedroom to take off his sweaty sports clothes - and chuckles quietly to himself when he sees the mop of dark curls above the blanket.

'Eddie, it's almost noon, man,' he says while walking up to the bed. It's only then that he notices that all their drawers and closets are opened, as if Eddie had been frantically searching for something.

'Have you been sleepwalking again?'

He goes to sit down on the bed, right next to the lump of the blanket that is Eddie's sleeping body. When Eddie still doesn't move, Steve gently combs a hand over the curls and then pulls back the blanket.

'Hey there.'

He traces a thumb over Eddie's cheek, which finally causes him to jolt up. Steve immediately clocks that there's a look on his face that can only be described as concerning: something frantic and fearful is radiating from those big brown eyes he knows so well.

'You came back,' Eddie sighs out when he sees it's Steve who woke him.

Steve frowns. 'Of course I came back. Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?'

'How long were you -'

There are tears in Eddie's eyes now, and he looks more scared than Steve has seen him look in years.

'Oh, baby, it's okay, I'm here,' he says, opening his arms to catch Eddie in an embrace. 'I was only gone on a run. Yesterday was pretty intense, remember? So I wanted to clear my head while you were sleeping in. I've only been away for two hours or so.'

Eddie slumps heavily against Steve's chest; his whole body is trembling like a leaf.

'What happened, baby?'

'What day is it?'

'Jesus, Eddie, you're scaring me. It's Saturday.'

Eddie lifts up his head; his cheeks are red and puffy and wet.

'Saturday?' Eddie repeats, voice sharp and frantic again. 'Is that true? Are you telling the truth?'

'Yes, what's going on, Eddie? Why would I - oh.' He doesn't need to finish that question to understand exactly what's happening, and he quietly curses himself for being so blind to it. 'Oh, fuck, Eddie, I didn't mean to - I'm so sorry.'

Not giving a shit about his sweaty sports clothes, he pushes Eddie a little bit to make space and crawls under the blanket beside him. He pulls him in his arms, cradling his head with his hand, and keeps repeating sweet-nothings like I'm here and I'm not going anywhere and I love you and I'm sorry for scaring you until Eddie has finally stopped trembling and his breathing is back to normal again.

'You're here,' Eddie finally says. His voice is creaky in a way that's breaking Steve's heart.

Steve leans forward to press a kiss against his temple.

'I'm here,' he repeats. 'And I promise you I would never do anything like the shit your mother used to pull, alright?'

'Watch out with that,' Eddie says. 'I also promised to never call you bullshit.'

Steve utters a sound that's somewhere between a sniff and a huff. 'Was that - a joke? Did you seriously just go from full breakdown to cracking jokes?'

Eddie hums something unintelligible and lets his eyes fall close while he nestles himself into a more comfortable position in Steve's arms.

'Why did you think I would ever do something like your mom?' Steve's question is almost a whisper.

Eddie sighs deeply. 'Because yesterday,' he says, burying his head against Steve's chest. 'It was too easy. You should've been mad, but you forgave me right away. And then you went to sleep with your back towards me and I - I had the whole night to spiral further about it. And then I woke up and you weren't there and - I dunno, my head was running wild, man.'

Too easy. That's exactly what it feels like, sometimes, with Eddie. To hear him say bullshit and know he doesn't do it to intentionally hurt him. To have a fight and know that they still love each other through it all. To come home in the apartment they share and have coffee together every day. It's too easy, too good to be true. Not something either of them ever thought they could have with someone. But they do. Even if they both take their damaged hearts with them. Even if they've both been raised on cruelty instead of love. Maybe it's not too easy after all; maybe they simply need to learn the difference between easy and too easy. Maybe easy is exactly what they deserve to share with each other.

Steve brushes some stray hairs out of Eddie's face. His cheeks are still swollen and his eyes are red. And it's never been easier to love him.

[redskull199987]

i have two so I'll probably send them separately, but at the same time I feel like that would be a lot of notifications (also fem reader please); #1 is giving mike schmidt head under his desk while he's at work and stuff , #2 is like playing with mike's hair and stuff to help him sleep and cuddling with him , and #3 is mike bending reader over his desk and going to down because he's had a pretty bad shift and needs to relieve stress. you can just do one or all, it's up to you

First of all, this is only one of these three requsts, the second one to be precise. The others will follow of course, don't worry. Until then, I hope that you enjoy this one. I had lots of fun writing this:D

So hear my Voice, remind you not to bleed

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader Request Word Count:1.3k Warnings:tooth rotting fluff,kissing and hugging, that’s all, slight movie spoilers Summary:You knew that your Boyfriend had trouble falling asleep, so you did everything you could to help him find his way into sweet sweet dreamland…

Masterlist

You felt like shit. At least, that was the short version. And the longer one wasn't even that much longer. To put it simply, you had an awfully long week. And that was probably an underestimation. 

You fought murderous animatronics, a creepy dude in a bunny costume, a feral cupcake and after all that shit, you barely escaped with your life. And while you were fortunate and had only obtained a few minor scratches and bruises here and there, Mike had a few life threatening flesh wounds and Vannesa was lucky to be alive at all, after her father had stabbed her.

Your Bones ached and your head was pounding, as you finally made your way home. Unfortunately, you couldn’t just ask your Boss to give you a few days off because you had several Animatronic-induced wounds scattered over your body. Heck, you were happy you didn’t just lose your job after not showing up for three days in a row. 

All you could do was tell them that you got involved in a car accident and that you and your boyfriend had been in the hospital for a few days. Much to your favor, they believed you and the fact that Vanessa was still in the Hospital only backed up your little lie.

Your Mind was still racing, as you reached your little Home. It was already dark outside, as you stepped into the comfort of your Apartment. You saw Lights coming from the Living Room and the Sound of the TV slowly made its way into your Brain and pushed away the gruesome memories of the Pizza-Plex.

“Mike?”, You shouted into the darkness,”Abby? I’m Home.”

You didn’t receive an answer, so you quickly discarded your shoes and Jacket and walked into the Living Room. Only now, you noticed Abby sitting in front of the Sofa, drawing with her Crayons and listening to the sound of the TV.

“Hey Abbs.”, You smiled and leaned down to greet the little Girl. She practically beamed at you and gave you a small hug.

“Have You eaten yet? Where’s Mike?”, You quickly asked again as you rose back to your feet.

“Yes, we had Spaghetti with meatballs.”, Abby stated happily,”And Mike said he was tired and went to sleep already. He told me I could stay up for a little bit longer:”

“Okay then.”, You mumbled, gently running a hand through Abby’s Hair,”I’ll go join your Brother in Bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay Love?”

Abby nodded at you profusely before turning her focus back on the Half finished Drawing in front of her. You looked at her once more, before deciding to finally go see your Boyfriend in your shared bedroom. You knew that he was always tired. Even before you started dating. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

 But after recent events, his insomnia seemed to get severely worse. He could barely fall asleep anymore and even if he did, he’d be awake again a few hours later, jumping up with heavy breaths and a sweaty forehead. You always tried to comfort him and be there for him, but you still felt like you weren’t doing enough. Like, you should do more. But you didn’t know how.

With a sigh, You slowly pushed your bedroom door open. You were surprised as you realized that the lights were still on and Mike was sitting in the middle of the Bed, still fully dressed.

“Mike?”, You asked with furrowed brows,”Are You okay, my Love?”

He didn’t answer you at first. Only as you got closer and sat down next to him, he looked at you.

“S-Sorry, must’ve been lost in my thoughts again. I didn’t notice you coming in.”, Mike explained. His voice was raspy and tired. With a soft smile, you grabbed his hand, squeezing it lightly:”It’s okay, don’t worry. You wanna go to sleep?”

Mike only gave you a nod and got up to change into his sleeping attire,which consisted of a Shirt and some sweatpants. You quickly followed him over to the wardrobe and before he could pull off his hoodie, you carefully hugged him from behind, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I love You.”, you uttered against his skin. You could see how the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and the shiver that went down his spine.

“I love you too.”, Mike answered, taking a hold of your hands and turning around in your embrace. For the first time today he gave you a smile. A lazy one, but you saw that it was genuine. You quickly leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek, before you connected your lips with his in a tender kiss. You felt his hands wander to your waist and he pulled you closer. Warmth radiated off of his Body, while his lips worked against your own in passion.

As you finally parted due to the lack of oxygen, both Mike and you were panting against each other's lips. It was quiet for a few minutes and no one said anything, while the two of you just enjoyed each other's company.

But then you reached for the hem of his hoodie and as Mike realized what your plan was, he obediently raised his arms, so that you could pull the hoodie off of his body. After you let the Hoodie fall to the Floor, Mike grabbed the Hem of your sweater and the two of you repeated the whole action, but with your roles reversed this time. 

It didn’t take long, until you were both in your sleeping attires after you lazily helped changing each other.

With a drowsy smile, You grabbed Mike’s hand and pulled him back towards the bed. You had of course noticed that his expression wasn’t really the happiest, as he was afraid of having nightmares again. He had told you about them. It was always the same. He saw Abby, Vanessa or You getting stabbed by William Afton and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t move or scream. He just had to witness it.

“Come here.”, You mumbled and held out your hand as you saw that Mike was hesitating to lay down. His gaze wandered from the sheets to your face and it seemed like the soft smile you gave him did the trick on him. He gently grabbed your hand and let himself be pulled down by you. As his head was laying comfortably in the crook of your neck and your hands were slowly brushing through his hair, Mike let out a deep sigh.

“It’s okay. I’m here with you, Mike.”, You mumbled into his ear. You felt how his arms slung around your waist, pulling you closer.

“I know.”, Mike muttered under his breath,”You’re here.”

He took a deep breath in again, before you finally felt his body relax against yours. You quickly grabbed the blanket, pulling it over the two of you.

“Just concentrate on my voice.”, you said, soothingly rubbing his back with one hand, while the other still brushed through his hair to calm him down,“Listen to my voice. You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”,

“You’re here with me.”, Mike repeated quietly. You only nodded and continued to mumble sweet nothings into his ear. And within Minutes, you felt his grip on you loosen ever so slightly, while his breath became more even.

With a soft smile, You kissed the crown of his head once more, before also letting your eyes fall shut. If Mike could sleep, you could sleep too. And if he woke up, You would wake up too, no matter what.

[thatfreshi]

Soulmates Aren't Always Beautiful (Astarion x Reader)

Part 2 to "He's Not Sick, Is He?", the happy ending everyone (including me) wanted.

Recommended Song: Run - Taylor Swift Ft. Ed Sheeran

You fall asleep in the dark alleyway, finding some peace and quiet in the cold stone. Thinking back a couple of weeks ago, Astarion would've killed you for being so reckless, passing out somewhere in the city. When you wake to broad daylight, you wonder if he'd even care, if he'd notice how long you were gone for. You know he cares, deep down you truly do, but it doesn't feel like it. It's hard to seem like you care about anything when you can't even care about yourself.

Astarion has been awake since you left, wondering if maybe he pushed you away for good. Somewhere in his brain, he says that's probably for the best. He knows it's been miserable, that looking after him has been a fruitless endeavor. He goes in between reading a book he's already memorized and staring at the bottle of your blood on the table. It was true, he needed blood, he felt miserable, and yet there was comfort in that misery, as if this is how it was supposed to be. It reminds him of that year in the crypt, when there were no rats to be found, how he desperately wanted a drop of crimson, and yet there was nothing.

He wakes from the memory when his eyes meet the bottle again, knowing you sliced your arm open for him. Why were you so determined to try? Why did you want to be there so badly? Astarion thinks of the moments you laughed together, but he can't place the jokes. He remembers kissing you, finally becoming intimate again, but it's all a blur. The past week has felt like centuries. The vampire desperately wants to take the bottle, try to drink some of your blood, but everything is screaming at him to stay in bed, that his bones will be far too heavy if he even tries to stand up.

Hours pass, it's early in the morning now and you're not back. He thinks about the past week, how all of his friends left the inn and he didn't even say goodbye, how you kept making up excuses for him. Would he ever see them again? Would he ever see you again? Memories flood back of Cazador's palace, stabbing him to death, the sobs and screams. What would he think, if his old master could see him rotting in the sheets, unable to even feed himself. He eyes the bottle again, and slowly moves to sit up against the headboard. It's slow, creaking movement, that feels like trying to break through paralysis. When he's sat there long enough, he reaches out to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle you so kindly gave him. Eyeing the fluid, he almost wants to throw up, nauseous from how long it's been since he last drank. But then, he think of you, of your companions, of Cazador's death. It wouldn't mean anything if he wasted away here forever. He drinks. It's not nearly enough, but it's something, something to make up for days of starving. He begins to cry again, from how hard it was to simply drink your blood. Then, he hears the soft knock on the door, and just continues crying.

You hear him before you see him, and you're rushing in after you knock. It hits you: the bottle is empty. He's not lying down, wrapped up in fabric. Astarion's eyes lock with yours, but he says nothing, and continues wiping away at his tears. You come to the bed and hold him, and he unravels in your hands.

"Thank you my love, thank you for trying. I'm so proud, I hope you know that."

You choke out those words of encouragement, truly shocked that he managed to do anything. It's such a relief.

"I'm sorry."

He whispers to your chest.

"It's okay, it's okay Aster I promise. I've got you, always."

You comb through his hair with your hands, blood still crusted from days ago. The urge to grab an actual comb is strong, but you hold back, knowing he just needs you to be here right now.

"I should feel better. Why don't I feel better?"

"It takes time love, it'll come in time. This is just the beginning, I swear it."

Astarion doesn't often like promises, but he believes them when they come out of your mouth.

"Is... is your arm alright?"

"It'll be just fine."

It definitely wasn't fine now, and would most likely get infected despite your efforts to clean it, but you'd go see Shadowheart soon enough. After a few moments of silence, he shifts to look up at you.

"Could I, perhaps feed on you now?"

You smile.

"Of course."

He's still shaky, softly digging his teeth into your skin. The drinking starts slow, but speeds up once he realizes just how deep his hunger runs. At some point he releases his teeth, and lays back in your grasp.

"Better?"

"A little."

There a few moments where he simply relishes the feeling of being fed. He had forgotten for a moment just how much his stomach ached for blood.

"Are you up for a little more?"

You wonder if this has been enough care for him, if he needs some more rest.

"Could we just, lay here? And you can ask me again in a while?"

You run a spare hand across his back.

"I'd love nothing more."

It hits you in that moment, just how hard taking care of a lover is, how it rips your chest wide open at times. No one could ever make you feel as much anguish as Astarion could, and that was a curse as well as a gift. Soulmates aren't always beautiful. Sometimes they hurt, knowing you're forever attached at the hip to a miserable aching person. But those moments, when you can talk without saying a word, when all it takes is a look, it makes it all worth it. You think about all the times you battled together, how many times he killed in your stead, how many times you did the same. You remember the fear, the love, the pain. Your hands grip him tighter.

No, soulmates aren't this angelic concept. They're messy, affectionate but messy.

"I killed him..."

You're woken from the memories, looking down at the loving elf in your grasp.

"Mhm, you did. He's gone now, forever."

"I'm still scared though."

It tugs at your heartstrings a little, knowing how much this is to process, especially after being under his reign for far too long.

"We're always going to be a little scared, just of more normal things now. Like Lae'zel being angry or knowing Karlach could snap us in half."

He breathes out a little, almost forming a chuckle, lost somewhere in the air. Your eyes trail back to his hair again, and the bloody matted mess it has become.

"Could I try to clean some of this out my love?"

Your fingers glide through the hair closest to his scalp, getting stuck soon after. He makes a small noise of agreement. Trying your best not to make him move, you grab your comb from the other nightstand.

"Anything else you want to talk about?"

You ask, beginning to pick out the dried blood, knowing most of it is Cazador's. It makes your skin crawl a little.

"Do you think I'll be okay?"

The urge to joke with him is strong, like you normally would, but he's fragile right now. Saying 'You have your whole immortal life to be okay' probably isn't a good choice.

"I do. Might take some time, but we'll figure it out."

"It's just... so paralyzing."

"What is?"

"Freedom."

A thought you hadn't had before now. Spending your entire life with one goal, and now being met with infinite choices, that must be terrifying.

"Well, what do you want to do with your freedom?"

"Everything. And nothing. I, I just don't know what's next. I've always known what's next."

"How about we just focus on one thing at a time? Then, you don't have all these options to choose from, just something to do."

"What if I choose wrong?"

"That's the beauty of freedom my love. It's not so black and white. You live in the grey now, where you can't really choose wrong. You can just, choose."

"I almost chose wrong at Cazador's."

You feel a little sick, thinking about what would've happened after the ritual. How different your precious lover would've been, how you would've lost your dear Aster.

"But you didn't."

"Only because you convinced me."

"And I'll be here to help you with the rest, as long as you need my help."

"I think I'll need your help forever."

"Then I'll offer it up for eternity."

You plant a kiss on his forehead, almost done brushing through his curls now.

"But you won't have to make a choice as big as that again. At least not for a long, long time."

For the next couple of hours, you tiredly talk about everything and nothing, finally getting him a fresh change of clothes and a warm bath. There's a moment where you're wiping the blood and dirt off his face, and you pause, lost in his eyes.

"What?"

You smile.

"I just don't know how I got so lucky. That's all."

As you're getting ready to lie down, you remember that every day won't be as successful as this one. Two steps forward, one step back. But you're hopeful, like Gale said, that's all you can be. Astarion melts into your touch and you wrap yourselves up in the shitty inn blanket together, his back to your chest. Sometimes you can feel the scars through his shirt.

"I'm proud of you. For all of it, today, yesterday, everything you've ever done."

He doesn't say anything, but he loses a little tension in his shoulders, unclenches his jaw.

"Just promise me you'll get up and try again tomorrow. That's all I can ask of you, that you keep trying, every single day."

"I do, I promise."

The two of you drift off without saying much else, and it's the best sleep he's had in weeks. The realization sticks with him, that you love him regardless, unconditionally. A smile stretches across his face in his slumber, excited to make a small choice, to wake up again tomorrow and try.

[jetblack4realz]

lake days v - jake "hangman" seresin x reader

summary - your relationship with jake evolves as you continue to spend time together on and off base. he's basically a part of your family, but neither of you have hopes to become part of his when you get stationed in california.

pt i , pt ii , pt iii , pt iv , pt vi

warnings - nah

a/n - i'm low key so excited for where this is going, it'll be fun to write fs

word count - 3.7k

______________________________________________________________

fall and winter had come and gone and as the spring warmed into summer, you and logan began to de-winterize your boat. jake, of course, tagged along for the adventure, trying to remember exactly what you were telling him about - from checking the engine and battery to cleaning the distributor, he was trying to catch it all. he hoped that next year he'd be able to do it with you and not bother logan with it.

"we should probably paint the bottom," you hummed to your brother as you inspected the cobalt. "it's been a while."

"i've got leila's dance recital, i can't do it today," logan answered.

"we can just do it," jake offered. "i can paint."

"well, we've got to sand it all off, check for rot and mold, prime, and then paint," you explained. he smiled at you, quirking a brow.

"darlin', i can paint," he said again. "that's the same old shit i had to do when i worked with my granddad." he turned his attention to your older brother. "we've got it, logan."

you were impressed with how little time it took jake to sand his half of the hull, the man crossing to your side to help finish up what you'd barely managed to complete. then, after wiping the dust and paint remains off, you took a quick look around for any rust or water leaks and continued with the paint.

jake wasn't lying - he could paint. he was quick and efficient and you were so glad he was the one helping you instead of logan. he was like you and couldn't seem to move fast at all when it came to painting. jake was done in only and hour and as you two let it dry, you laid out in the sun in your swimsuits, committed to getting a tan before the first boat ride in a few weeks.

"you've got paint on your arms," you told him with a laugh, leaning over to pick it off with your nails. he pulled away from you, whacking your hand away before doing it himself.

"your nails are sharp," he whined when you tried to help again, earning a laugh and an eyeroll from you.

"you're such a baby," you said, leaning back in your chair with his sunglasses perched on your nose. he smirked once he finally wiped the rest of the paint off and leaned over to you, pressing light kisses up your jaw and to your lips.

"do you really think that, darlin'?" he asked against your mouth, capturing your lips in his for a few brief moments before pulling away. you sat up quickly, looking at him with an unimpressed expression.

"really?" you asked.

"what? if you want more all you gotta do is say it," he told you, his smirk only growing with your irritation. you leaned closer to him, hand reaching up to grab his neck and pull him towards you, but he pulled away.

"jake," you whined, looking up at him over your sunglasses.

"what?" he asked, feigning innocence even though his grin gave him away. you scooted forwrad, hand still on his neck.

"just kiss me, you idiot," you muttered and his grin changed shape.

"whatever you say, sweetheart."

he kissed you more completely, pulling you closer to him as your lips locked repeatedly. his hands were resting carefully on your lower back, never moving anywhere they weren't supposed to. you appreciated that. except when he pulled you even closer, trying to maneuver you into his lap.

"jake," you breathed out, pulling away with a large breath as your hands caught his. "not now."

you two had talked about this several times and each time he respected your choice to stay abstinent. you'd always been careful with boyfriends in the past, only wanting to give yourself to your husband. call you old fashioned and call you a classic southern belle, a cheesy church girl, but you wanted to make it special, to make it count. and while you knew jake was special and you were extremely confident after dating him for nearly a year that he was the one - you couldn't be certain until there was a ring on your finger.

"i know," he hummed, pressing a short kiss to your lips. "i wasn't trying that."

"we're just both in swimsuits and outside," you laughed lightly. "i wouldn't want finn to decide now is the time to stop by."

"i know." he pressed another kiss to your lips. "we could always move inside if you want?"

he was grinning in a way that made you giggle and you kissed him again.

"how are we supposed to be tan if we're not tanning, jake?" you asked.

"i never said i needed to be tan, baby," he laughed. "that was all you."

you hesitated, glancing from your boyfriend to the door.

"i'll agree to go inside if we watch '50 first dates'," you said.

he sighed dramatically, droning on a, "fine."

"hey, you know you love adam sandler and drew barrymore as much as i do," you told him with a pointed finger as he pulled you up and to the door.

"i'll agree to adam sandler, but drew? not my kinda gal."

when he approached you about having lunch with his mom and sisters, you were over the moon.

"when?" you asked excitedly.

"apparently they're coming down for the weekend for molly's birthday," he answered. "staying in a hotel and all that. asked if we wanted to go on saturday."

"absolutely we do," you said, grinning. "jake, this is great! as much as you hate to admit it, i know you've missed them. and this way you don't have to see your dad, you just get to hang out with them."

"and they get to meet you," he said. "they're awfully excited about it. i haven't taken a girl home, well, ever."

"always the playboy, weren't you," you said with a laugh.

"until you went and made a man out of me," he answered, pressing a short kiss to your lips with a smile.

when you approached bj's bbq, you were a little nervous. jake squeezed your hand and shot you a winning smile before pulling you in and telling the hostess you were meeting others.

she led you to where the women were sitting, all smiling brightly at you as you approached.

you noticed that two of the four sisters were pregnant, leading you to smile softly. you slightly envied them. you and jake had talked about kids - you both loved them, but your jobs were too crazy to let that happen currently. you hoped that once you were married though, you would take a break and start a family.

"jake!" they cheered, standing to hug the man at your side. you let go of his hand to let him embrace them properly. the woman you assumed was his mother turned to you after greeting him, offering you a warm smile.

"you must be y/n," she said.

"that i am," you said with a nervous laugh.

"i'm dorothy, it's such a pleasure to meet you." she pulled you into a hug and you relaxed a bit, smiling as you pulled back.

"you too."

once you sat down, jake took the time to introduce each sister. the two that were pregnant were actually his twin little sisters, addison and annabelle, and the other two were georgia, who was darren's age, and molly, the sister just under jake and the birthday girl.

after you wished her a happy birthday, molly was quick to strike up conversation. "y/n, you have no idea how excited we are to meet you. jake's never been as head over heels as he is for you, let me tell you that."

the other girls chuckled in agreement.

"oh, you've talked about me?" you teased, shooting a look in jake's direction.

"more like raved," addison laughed. "he's obsessed with you."

"it's sweet," annabelle said.

you noticed how thick their accents were, even in comparison to yours and your family's. it made some sort of sense based on what jake had told you about living in a small town outside of odessa, working on the ranch from a young age, and being the first in his family to move out of texas in decades.

"we won't ask you how you met, he's already told us that. but tell us what y'all have been up to! how was the drive?" molly asked.

"it was good," you nodded. "we're not too far out, just live about a half hour away. highway's easy."

"oh, that's nice," dorothy nodded.

"and y'all? how was your drive?" you asked.

"enjoyable. just listened to music the whole way here, went a lot faster than you'd think," annabelle said.

"oh, i'm glad!" you said.

"hey, jake here said that your mom and i went to high school together. what was her maiden name? he couldn't recall," dorothy asked.

"hansen," you told her with a soft smile. "there's probably about a million of them up over there in upton."

"oh, yes! i know exactly who she is, then. and yes, there certainly are a lot of hansens out that way," she laughed. "they had to come over to our high school because of how small the towns were. your mother and i were on the cheer squad together. she was one of my bases and she was always the strongest girl on the team."

"sounds like her," you laughed lightly.

"always so kind too. we'll have to get together sometime soon," she said.

"jake says you've got a lot of brothers," addison said.

"any of 'em single?" georgia asked with a grin.

"actually yes," you laughed. "you're 18, right?"

"yes ma'am," georgia answered.

"well, then, i bet you and darren would get along quite nicely," you said with a chuckle.

"do not put those two together," jake said seriously. "we would have hell on our hands."

you all laughed, his grin rising as he squeezed your hand under the table.

you were certain they were all the sweetest girls you'd ever met and were sad when the time came for you all to split up - they had concert tickets to jon pardi.

having not grown up with sisters, you tended to cling to girls you met, which is why you were so close with your sister-in-laws. and why you presumed you'd become close with jake's sisters too. it made you real excited.

"it's a perfect trade, ain't it?" you said, climbing into the f-150 passenger side. even though it was yours, it always felt more like jake's. and anyways, he loved to drive it at all times and you hated driving in the city, so you let him. "i have brothers for you and you have sisters for me."

"perfect," he agreed with a smile.

it was a few weeks later that jake got his orders.

"north island?" you asked with wide eyes.

"they just told me," he sighed.

you both had been deployed twice individually, you gone for over a month on the uss intrepid over christmas and jake leaving the same week you got back to help out the atlantic fleet in virginia for a few weeks. over valentine's day he was gone again and you were absent for two weeks in april to fly a mission you weren't expecting to ever have to fly - one with bogies and orders you weren't even allowed to tell jake. you both came back each time, returning to texas with new mission orders and flying together again. but, this was different.

"top gun? you're going back to top gun?" you asked.

"and it could be my new station for who knows how long. jacobsen is considering transferring me to the pacific fleet."

"what?" you gasped, looking at him with knitted brows. you were still in your flight suit, jake having ran to catch you before you went into the locker rooms. "but then you'll be gone. i mean, we got lucky that we both got transferred to texas, but there's no way in hell that we'd be lucky enough to both get traded to a complete opposite fleet, i mean-"

"y/n," he said, grabbing your shoulders with a small smile. "it'll be okay."

"how can you say that?" you asked, brows furrowing deeper. "how can you know?"

"because he needs to talk to you too."

when you announced to your family on sunday night dinner that you wouldn't be able to attend your annual summer kick-off boat day because of a change in orders.

"where are you going?" logan asked, chewing on some apple pie alice had made.

"north island," you answered with a small smile.

"that's nice," your mom said, returning your smile. "back to home base."

"well, technically this is home base," you said, gesturing to the dining room around you. "but, yeah, my base of origin. i like north island. it'll be good."

"and it's not just that," jake said. "we're heading to top gun."

"top gun?" your dad asked, grinning widely. "what the hell are y'all gonna do at top gun again?"

"dunno," jake shrugged with a short laugh. "obviously something important."

"the odds that you both would get called back. i mean, you've already had two deployments together, why not three?" darren chuckled.

you didn't notice the way brynlee and kyrie looked at each other, or how jake kicked darren's leg under the table. why would you?

"yeah, i don't know," you hummed. "i'd say they like us working together, but we've been off on missions by ourselves since we first got put together. i really don't see why they'd do that again."

"they need us," jake offered with a shrug. "for whatever this is that we're doing."

the dinner wrapped up when everleigh fell asleep on her mother's lap. you said goodbye to everybody, promising to see them before you and jake packed up and left the following week.

you walked back to your place, jake holding his hand in yours as a comfortable silence filled the air.

"let's go this way," he told you, pulling you gently towards a small section of trees behind your toy garage.

"what? why?" you asked with a small laugh.

"just trust me," he said, shooting you his oh so charming grin and a wink.

he pulled you the rest of the way to where you knew the grove was, a smile on his lips the whole way. when you passed the garage and approached closer, you began to see a few lights. your heart jumped, thoughts running a million miles an hour through your mind as a grin pulled at your lips.

"jake?"

"shh."

he was smiling widely at you and sped up his steps. you were finally able to see a few strands of twinkle lights strung between the trees, pictures of you and him clipped onto them.

you on the boat, quadding, at the bar, on the tarmac, at the zoo with finn, on his 31st birthday, in your white suits, in your flight suits, at the alamo, on the couch, riding horses, on a tornado chase gideon had convinced you to one weekend, and a lot of selfies on the strip of stores you two frequented.

you looked at them with a wide smile, fingers brushing the edges. when you turned to comment to jake about how sweet his setup was, he was already kneeled down, a gentle smile on his lips.

you gasped, not out of surprise - it was easy to tell what his intentions were and you'd discussed it several times, but because you were so incredibly overwhelmed with excitement.

"y/n y/l/n," he started. "i love you more than i could tell you, more than i thought was ever possible, and love you more and more every day and every time i look at your gorgeous face. you are the only person i trust in the air and on the ground, the person who makes me feel alive every second i'm with you, and my best friend. you're my favorite person, my love, my life, and i want it to stay that way forever. will you marry me?"

"of course i will," you said, your smile the widest it could be as he grinned, slipping the gorgeous, simple diamond ring onto your finger. he stood quickly, taking you into his arms as you grabbed his face and pulled him towards you, kissing him sweetly. you couldn't help the smile that remained on your lips, but he didn't seem to mind.

you pulled away, breathless, kissing his lips again; shorter and softer, but somehow sweeter.

"i love you, jake seresin," you breathed out, looking into his beautiful chocolate brown eyes with a small smile. "the most."

that night you received a text from kyrie that led you to a shared google photos album. apparently, she and brynlee had followed you back and snuck a video and pictures of the whole ordeal.

you loved them for it.

the two of you looked so happy, so overwhelmingly joyous and somehow she had managed to catch the best moments. brynlee was an expert in videography, a skill none of you knew she had before, and had the best angle of him coming up to kiss you. it made your heart flutter the way that he pulled you close to him and giggle at how he had pumped his fist in the air in achievement.

a few moments later, another text came through.

'i'm happy to take some engagements for y'all before you leave next week. just let me know when!😘'

"who all knew?" you asked, tilting your head to look at jake laying next to you. he breathed a laugh.

"everyone. i had to pay finn in snickers not to tell you."

"how long have you been planning this?"

"picked out the ring a few months ago, just been waiting for it to be sized and altered for you. brynlee managed to get into your pinterest account and so i had several reference pictures as to how to get it exactly right."

"you mean it didn't come like this?" you asked, holding your hand up to get a good look at the ring. he hummed a 'no', fingers rising to trace along the band.

"these two little stones weren't there and the rock wasn't in a circle like this. and then i had to size it," he answered.

"you're so sweet," you mumbled with a smile, leaning up to give him a soft kiss. he smiled as he reciprocated.

"i do my best," he answered.

as you pulled apart, you furrowed your brows.

"wait, is this why i got assigned to top gun?" you asked. "why we got stationed together again?"

"no," he said. "but, it's why we'll only ever be stationed together again."

"you didn't ask him to put me on the mission?" you asked.

"no, i just about freaked out in asking him if you were on it though. it wasn't hard for him to figure out i was planning on proposing. i was gonna propose on the boat, but then he called me in and i got all flustered. but yeah, i already filed the paperwork for us to be kept together and if we go anywhere else we'll be in the married quarters."

"before i even said yes?" you laughed.

"oh, like you could say no to all this," he told you with a smirk, kissing you again before you pulled away laughing.

"you're too much, seresin," you said.

"hmm, i'll like that a lot more when it belongs to you too," he said.

"when are we thinkin'?" you asked, leaning back into his chest as he squeezed your side.

"after whatever the hell this mission in. preferably here in texas, but if we're stationed permanently in north island then i guess we could do it in california too. i don't wanna wait any longer than i have to to be married to you," he said.

"oh, you've thought about this a lot, haven't you?" you giggled.

"of course i have. this is our life, i want to start a life with you. a real one," he answered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"i want that too," you said. "have you told your family?"

"mhm," he hummed. "they're ecstatic."

"i'll probably make your sisters my bridesmaids. and the girls and phoenix of course."

"you told phoenix?" he asked.

"not yet. why?"

"none of 'em even know we're together," he said. "at least, not by me."

"nah, i haven't talked to any of them very much. coyote is more of your friend and phoenix has been deployed like eight different times. and well, why would i tell bradley?"

"you know how funny it'll be when we tell them?" he chuckled.

"what if we didn't? what if we just send them the invitations?" you laughed. he paused.

"that ain't a half bad idea, darlin'," he told you, grinning mischievously at the end. you laughed.

"yeah? you wanna play it cool, act like we ain't nothin' just to go back to the same bed every night?" you asked.

"well, we don't have marriage quarters yet," he said.

"that sucks," you grumbled.

"we just gotta get married earlier then," he answered, grinning down at you before pressing a kiss to the side of your temple. "that'll throw 'em off for sure."

"it would be funny," you mused, playing with the thought. "i dunno if i could keep it from phoenix though."

"i believe in you, baby," he said, a breathy laugh threading his tone.

"let's do it. just for fun," you agreed, nodding. "means you can't flirt with me, though."

"uh uh," he said with a shake of his head. "i flirted with you before. you just can't take me seriously."

"you make that damn hard, seresin," you told him, smiling as you leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw.

"and you make it damn hard to keep my hands off 'o you," he said, pulling you closer to him. he sighed, his breath tickling your cheek. "but, to see the look on rooster's face. you know he's got a crush on you, don't ya?"

"he does not!" you objected.

"oh sure he does. every man in the navy does," he laughed. he smirked at you, kissing you slowly. "but you're all mine."

"all yours."

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE | JJK (07)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, drama, OC cusses excessively so watch out, blood, pregnancy, discussion of abortion, giving birth

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 6.1k

← Previous Chapter (06) | Next Chapter (08) →

****

Six Years Ago, 2017:

France was not all that you expected. One would think people pursuing their doctorate degrees would be busier with their academic lives, but it looked like French people cared more about their social lives.

"Come on, just a few more steps!" Elyna, your classmate, chuckled while dragging your warm, sweaty body across the street. She almost tasted victory when she got a glimpse of the façade of your apartment.

Admittedly, Elyna still gets jealous whenever she remembers your apartment being nicer than hers. Talk about favoritism, huh? You were both scholars of Sorbonne University pursuing your doctorate degrees, but Professor Verlaine liked you the most.

"There you go! You can look after yourself, right? Bye, cutie." Elyna kissed your cheek before practically throwing you in your front door.

You were smaller in stature compared to your French classmates, making it easier for them to push and pull you around. You groaned when your back hit the door.

You were too drunk to cuss your classmate, so you could only suck it up and push yourself to enter your apartment. After what felt like forever, you finally stumbled inside, puffing out a breath and debating whether to just sleep on the floor.

Hours of clubbing with your classmates messed you up. You shouldn't have gone with them, but those shitty French didn't really give you a choice. Even Verlaine encouraged you to go out, going as far as postponing the submission of your business paper so you could have a fun Friday night.

Verlaine's exact words were, "Have fun. You've been in France for months already. You're the only international student who hasn't gone clubbing here."

You did not care for clubs. In fact, you hated them. You only attended your graduation parties and some quiet bars with Jungkook.

"Hah! Stupid pompous freak!" You cussed your traitor of a best friend, wanting nothing but to beat yourself for thinking about that bastard. You had done so well suppressing thoughts about Jungkook for the whole day. It's ten minutes before midnight. How could you fail so miserably?

You struggled to fish your phone out of your pocket, vision doubling, but that did not stop you from sending chains of messages to Jungkook.

To: Jungkook-shit I fucking hate you traitor

To: Jungkook-shit yoi betrayed me freak,. i hope you rot in hell

To: Jungkook-shit fucker

To: Jungkook-shit i hate you so mcuch pleas fo me a favor snd die

To: Jungkook-shit i will ndcevef dorgive you digshfit 

To: Jungkook-shit dick 

To: Jungkook-shit duck you

To: Jungkook-shit ny heart hirts

To: Jungkook-shitcan we go back?

The last message remained unsent as your intoxication finally caught up to you. You dropped your phone on the floor, face hitting the cold tiles as darkness clouded your vision.

You fell asleep.

***

That night, you had a long dream, which you were pretty sure had happened in real life—back when you were still very small, probably at five years old.

If you thought about it, you'd say the dream slash memory was triggered by going to a club with Elyna and the others. Your dream started off in a club, too.

Your Jisoo-unnie told you to hide in the closet and never make a sound, no matter who tried calling your name. You were an obedient child, only trusting your older sister. But it didn't mean your mother was as kind as Jisoo. Your mom would boss you around as she entertained guests. You basically served as an errand girl at a young age, forced to keep your mouth shut even when you saw your mother and the other girls get violently beaten up by rogue men.

"Where is my sister!?"

You were lighting heavy scented candles for your mother and client when you heard your sister's voice.

Your ears involuntarily perked up. You threw the matchbox aside and immediately ran out of the club's private room.

"Jisoo-unnie?" You blinked innocently.

Your sister was standing there, looking as if she was going to smack your mother. But Jisoo stopped when she heard you call for her.

"Don't take her away!" Your mother screeched and tried to pull Jisoo's hair.

Jisoo dodged, immediately running toward you and hugging your frail body. She covered your ears. "I will take her away! Please. Stop it! She’s just a kid!"

"Bah!" Your mother spat. "She earns me money, unlike a brat like you!"

"I will take her place." Jisoo did not even hesitate. She hugged you tighter. "Let me be your errand girl or whatever you want me to do. I will do it. Just leave her alone."

You couldn't properly hear what the adults were talking about. Jisoo covered your ear tighter to ensure you heard nothing. It took a while before your mother spat on the ground for the second time, but she relented and let Jisoo take you away.

Your memories were pretty vague. All you remembered was that Jisoo had brought you into a tiny apartment; it was cramped and dark and smelled like dead rats. But it was better than those heavy-scented rooms at the club. At least in here, Jisoo cared for you and did not try to beat you up.

It didn't mean all your trauma would go away instantly, though. There were many moments when you would wake up in the middle of the night, silently crying because of a nightmare. You usually dreamt about your mother's client beating up girls and throwing profanities at everyone, including you.

"It's okay, my little one. Your Jisoo-unnie is here, I'll protect you." You weren't sure if you were recalling memories of the past or if it was just part of your drunken dream. All you knew was that Jisoo's warm embrace was palpable. She used to cradle your little body in her arms.

You were a docile kid, wings clipped by those men at the club. They used to threaten to beat you up if you so much as made a small noise or a mistake. For a long time, you carried that pain and refused to talk to your Jisoo-unnie, or anyone else, for that matter. At school, kids made fun of you for acting all meek and weak.

There was a time when Jisoo was called by your teacher, asking if there was something wrong at home for you to act so distantly. You were seven years old around at this time, and you still didn't understand adult words. You just recalled your teacher telling Jisoo that you needed therapy or whatever that was.

Jisoo was barely of legal age. Your mother had a cut whenever Jisoo took in clients at the club. She spent more than half her money to feed you and ensure you could attend class.

Your Jisoo-unnie only had one reminder: "Study well, my dear. That's all I ask. You can get anything you want if you're smart and have lots of money."

You still didn't speak much but diligently followed whatever your sister said. Things took a turn after your teacher talked to Jisoo. The latter took the teacher's advice to heart, but she didn't have enough money to bring you to a professional. She could simply improvise.

"My dear, there's nothing to be scared of anymore, okay? I won't ever hurt you the way they did. Here," Jisoo offered her cheek to you. "You can slap me and tell me all the bad things those men did to you, I won't ever fight back."

You shook your head rapidly, cowering. Memories of those nasty men came like a tidal wave, sweeping you off your feet until you felt nauseated.

"Sshh, my dear. It's okay. Just try, okay...You're okay."

It took a lot of conviction before you relented. Every day, Jisoo would coax you to act like a regular kid who was not frightened of acting difficult and throwing tantrums. She made you feel like it was okay to be mean and that whatever you did or said, you would still be loved—this was the beginning of you having a sharp mouth that couldn't go one statement with profanities leaving your mouth.

You got away with so many things because of Jisoo.

That had been your setup for many years, but your life slowly progressed. You worked hard in school while Jisoo did all the jobs available to her. You got out of that tiny apartment and were able to move to a new house. You were initially reluctant to leave, afraid you would lose connection with the first friend you made in the neighborhood—Jungkook.

You didn't talk to Jungkook before, either. You two would casually sit beside each other and be in your own world.

"You don't have an adult at home? Cool, me too." That was the first thing Jungkook told you. You weren't bothered by his presence before, but Jungkook had become insufferable over time, teasing you here and there until you had to snarl at him.

Despite your banter, you had grown attached to Jungkook and even begged Jisoo not to separate you. Jisoo smiled at you, ruffling your hair and explaining that you would only move to a nicer home, but it was still around the area.

You felt relief flood your veins. Things were going well. You slowly healed from your traumatic childhood as you stayed close to Jungkook and your Jisso-unnie. Your sister kept her promise, never once leaving you.

Every day, Jisoo would go home to you. You gingerly waited for your sister to arrive; you'd set aside your homework and other stuff to open your front door and greet Jisoo with a simple "Welcome home!"

You couldn't maintain your happy façade as Jisoo smiled faintly at you, coughing and smelling like smoke. There were bags under her eyes, too exhausted at her work at the club.

You were getting older. You thought you could apply for a part-time job and help your sibling with the expenses, but Jisoo wanted you to focus on your studies. She brushed your concern off, saying, "It's just secondhand smoke. You know those men at the club, they can't live without cigarettes. Don't worry."

As usual, you blindly followed your sister's request. You hid your verbal concerns and could only welcome her home with hot water with honey. You did your best to care for your Jisoo-unnie until you moved to the university dorm and got busier with school. As time passed, your time with Jisoo lessened until it reached a point where Jisoo would not contact you. She even went as far as betraying you.

She must have known, right? How could she not know that you were hopelessly in love with Jungkook? How could the two most important people in your life betray you like this?

It just didn't make sense.

But then again, nothing made sense—not when feelings were involved. For instance, you flew all the way to Europe so you wouldn't have to deal with the mess back in Incheon. You had cut off connections with Jungkook and Jisoo, but months later, right when you were recovering from your hangover from clubbing too much, was when your doorbell rang.

It's probably Professor Verlaine, you thought. You didn't bother checking the peephole because, for one, you didn't want to see your professor looking prim and proper while you looked like shit. You were still wearing your clothes from last night and you just got up from the floor. Seeing Verlaine at the peephole would make you want to freshen up first; you just didn't have the energy for that.

And for fuck's sake. It's seven in the morning. Seven! Anyone who dared to disturb you at this ungodly hour deserved to see your bed hair, drool on the side of your mouth included.

So you opened the door, fully expecting to grin at your professor, but your smile froze mid-air.

You were still hungover, yet your reflexes were as agile as ever.

You slammed the door shut—no, wait, that's wrong. You swore you were about to slam the door shut. You were not a pushover and didn't intend to talk to your traitor sister.

But you stood there, stiff and unable to shut the door to her face when you heard her cough.

A stupid fucking cough.

Jisoo coughed, and you felt as if you were a child again, excited to open the door and welcome your sister home with hot water mixed with honey from the comb.

***

In hindsight, you should have seen it coming. Jisoo could go a long time without contacting you, though she could never cut you off completely.

Once, she promised to stay with you forever, and until now, that promise still stands.

A promise is a promise.

Jisoo was sitting on your couch. You foolishly let her in, heart still throbbing after hearing your sister's cough. It was just a stupid cough, yet you felt your resolve crumbling.

This can't be. You couldn't possibly still have a soft spot for her.

"Ya having a sidepiece spawn?"—so you attacked her.

Jisoo visibly flinched at the roughness of your tone. You sighed a breath of relief. Her expression would help you sleep at night: Jisoo lowered her eyes, lashes trembling because of your intense look at her stomach. You longed to damage her heart until all she wished to do was run.

Jisoo called your name, choking back a sob. It was hard to say if it was because of the guilt she felt toward you or if it was because of what you called her unborn child.

Yes, Jisoo was heavily pregnant.

It was unfair. Jisoo felt the kick in her belly while you felt like your heart had been stomped.

"It's Jungkook's." There was no room for rebuttal. You said it with finality.

Jisoo didn't deny it, either.

"Of fucking course." You chuckled mercilessly. "How many rounds of 'playing around' did it take before you finally managed to get knocked up?"

"We weren't playing around." Jisoo defended. It was real. The thing they have done, it was real. "But I never dated him."

You scoffed. "But you fucked him." Your jaw slackened. Looking at your sister ignited your anger.

"Once." Jisoo was desperate.

You did not know what to feel anymore. A searing headache hit you. You barked a laugh.

"Tell me, Jisoo-unnie," you said pointedly. You might as well knife her heart. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Crashing defeat settled at the pit of Jisoo's stomach. The baby kicked her tummy aggressively like it was punishing her, too.

Jisoo called your name, trying again. "It was a one-time thing."

"A one-time thing." You repeated. It was probably said to reassure you, but it didn't. If anything, you just found a way to nitpick her excuse. "Not a one-time mistake?"

Jisoo inhaled sharply. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to cup her stomach to calm her baby, but she saw your piercing gaze there, leaving Jisoo no choice but to keep her hands on her side.

"We were both drunk. I admit, it was a moment of weakness."

Cliche. You snarled, feeling acid burn your throat. You wanted to vomit bile. "Still not calling it a mistake?"

"We both wanted it."

"Why!" Millions of questions attacked your head at once. Why did you betray me!? Why did you sleep with him, out of all people!? Was it good!? Was it worth breaking my trust? Why did you want it!?

Jisoo parted her lips, seemingly ready to answer your query, but you raised your hand to shut her up.

Jisoo obediently followed. 

"Don't answer that." You felt your knees buckling. You wanted to crawl and die.

"It is—"

"Please, stop." You were certain your heart had been broken to pieces, and you thought there was no way Jisoo could shatter it more.

But now you weren’t so sure anymore.

You could only storm off to your room, slamming the door and hoping Jisoo would leave you alone.

***

Jisoo did not leave you alone. She was sheepishly sitting on the couch when you emerged from your room.

"You're still here," you observed, no snark in your voice, but exhaustion was there. 

"I will be here," Jisoo responded with a small smile.

You ignored her, but she kept her promise.

She stayed the whole day in your home. The next day, she was still there.

Then the next.

And the next day.

And the next day.

And the next day.

And the next day.

And the next day.

You couldn't keep track anymore.

***

You and Jisoo were certainly not on good terms or talking terms. Fortunately, you learned to cohabitate without tearing each other apart.

Sometimes, you would buy baby clothes for Jisoo's child. You’d leave the shopping bag on the couch where your sister usually sat. However, you wouldn’t wait to see her reaction after checking the clothes.

Once, though, you accidentally saw her hugging the new clothes you had bought.

You caught Jisoo's gaze. Your sister smiled shyly at you.

Unlike before, you didn't immediately look away. In fact, you gazed at her as if asking, "It's white. A pretty neutral color. That should work, right?"

You weren't siblings without a reason. Jisoo picked up the question in your eyes.

She embraced the clothes tighter. "It's a boy. You’re going to have a nephew."

You did not react. You cast your gaze away and wordlessly left your sister alone.

But the next day, you had ten shopping bags in your hand. You left them at the usual spot.

Blue. You brought blue clothes and a bunch of toys.

You also brought pink clothes because assigning colors to gender was stupid.

But also because your nephew would surely look cute in blue, pink, and all other colors.

***

Jisoo was 32 weeks pregnant when you made up your mind to say something to her.

"That's it." You barged into the bathroom, catching your sister on the spot. She was vomiting blood.

Jisoo gave a start; her eyes were glistening with tears when she snapped her head up and met your glare. She hurriedly wiped her mouth.

"Why are you here?" Jisoo felt cornered, so she stepped back like a frightened lamb.

You smacked your lips together, finding this situation ridiculous. Jisoo had already slept with Jungkook; nothing could ever top that betrayal, so why was she acting like you would strangle her for puking blood?

"This is my apartment, in case you forgot."

"That's not what I meant." Jisoo inhaled as she struggled to swallow blood back to her stomach. "You're supposed to be at school."

"Yeah, whatever I skipped." You couldn't bear to see your trembling sister any longer. You helped her sit on the wide edge of the bathtub.

You worried about your Jisoo-unnie. She'd been retching in the bathroom almost daily. She thought she could hide it by turning the faucet on to muffle the sound, but she was wrong.

You planned to put an end to this. Your brow creased. "Enough with your bullshit. You are thirty-two weeks pregnant, and you can't possibly still be experiencing morning sickness. Even if you were, you'd be vomiting vile or that strawberry yogurt you've been eating every day. Not fucking blood."

"It's fine." Jisoo brushed it off, making a move to stand and end this conversation. You two never talked for more than one minute since she arrived, so why were you being loud now?

"You are not getting out of this conversation." You blocked her way out, glaring at her with the storm in your eyes. "I'll ask again. Why are you vomiting blood?"

The silence was deafening.

You wanted to punch the mirror. You cursed your sister; your eyes were turning bloodshot. The betrayal from before was back in full force. The fact that Jisoo wasn't telling you anything made you feel like she was hiding a nasty secret again.

You couldn't handle any more treachery. You might actually die.

"Don't lie to me again—" You cut yourself off, afraid you’d make yourself look pathetic by murmuring a soft please.

Jisoo stubbornly refused to speak. She watched as tears fell into her open palm.

She had done so well hiding this. She didn't want to tell you about her sickness, but every second that passed made Jisoo feel like the distance between you and her was stretching.

In the end, she could only concede. 

"I'm dying." Shallow breath. "I've cancer."

This time, it wasn't the distance that stretched but the silence.

Jisoo dared to peek at your reaction as the silence made her uncomfortable. Only two people knew she was sick: Jungkook and now you.

Jungkook at least hugged her and wiped her hands, telling her it would be all right.

But Jungkook was Jungkook. She hadn't done anything to hurt him.

But you? She shattered and betrayed you, so she should have expected it when she heard your giddy chuckle. However, when Jisoo looked at you, no sign of happiness or sadness could be traced on your face.

It was eerily impassive.

And then she heard you say:

"Good. That's good. I hope you die."

The bathroom door slammed shut, leaving Jisoo with tears in her eyes and kicking unborn child.

****

Jisoo was 33 weeks pregnant when you gave up on radio silence. Your sister was lying on the bed she bought herself. Your apartment only had one bedroom, but Jisoo still squeezed herself in. Seeing her dozing off on the couch was a pain, so one day, you brought brochures where Jisoo could choose a bed of her liking.

Jisoo bought a single bed, putting it close to your bed. You two slept without bothering each other. Tonight, though, you couldn't take it anymore.

You lay on your side, staring directly at Jisoo. Your sister was already looking at you.

She smiled and said hi.

You didn't bother with greetings. You went straight to the point.

"What type of cancer." It was like you were reporting the weather, refusing to ask the question properly. Your monotonous voice made you appear apathetic. No one knew how heavy your heart was.

"Does it matter?" Jisoo cupped her bulging belly. Her baby seemed excited whenever he heard his aunt speaking. He was wildly kicking Jisoo's belly.

"Tsk. Just answer the damn question. Why do you have to make everything difficult?"

This was starting to get on your nerves. Even after everything that happened, you still weren’t used to Jisoo not indulging you.

"It's not difficult. It just doesn't matter. I'm dying, anyway." Just like what you wanted. But Jisoo didn't say the last part. She was not in a position to hold grudges against you.

You hugged your pillow to your chest like you wanted to shield your heart that was about to jump out of your body.

"Just answer."

It was getting harder for you to breathe. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead; you couldn't seem to get the image of Jisoo coughing in your head.

Please don't let it be lung cancer. Please don't let it be lung cancer. Please don't let it be lung cancer. Please don't let it be lung cancer. Please don't let it be lung cancer—

"It's lung cancer."

Your heart missed a beat.

"How much time do you have left?" You dug your nails into the pillow while Jisoo sighed. She was sure you couldn't wait for her to die.

"Not too long. Maybe I'll pass soon after I have my baby."

"But why." Jisoo wasn't sure if she was imagining things, but she thought she heard you whine. "Don't you have a treatment plan? Fucking chemotherapy and stuff?"

"Chemotherapy is harmful for the baby." Jisoo's tone was soft.

"Fuck the baby!"

Even you were surprised by how resentful you were. But it was true, wasn't it? Her baby was the devil's spawn. It was the fruit of betrayal, so why was Jisoo choosing it over herself?

"Why didn't you abort it?" You abruptly sat on the bed, shooting daggers at Jisoo. A whirlpool of abuse danced at the tip of your tongue. You didn't voice it out because Jisoo looked sad.

"Don't be like that to Soobin."

"Who the fuck is Soobin? Why should I care!?"

"It's your nephew's name," Jisoo explained patiently as she caressed her stomach. Soobin had stopped kicking, probably scared of his aunt.

"That's such a basic name. It's so ugly. I hate it. I hate him."

You didn't give your sister a chance to speak. "Forget it." You turned off the lampshade. "I don't want to talk to you anymore. I'm going to sleep."

You laid back down. Darkness enveloped the room. This was better. This way, you couldn't see the sadness in Jisoo’s face.

But you couldn't sleep. You tossed and turned all night, but nothing worked.

It's my fault. You wanted to say. Jisoo got cancer because of you. That club was a rotten place. You should've stopped her from working there.

Lung cancer. What a bullshit thing to have.

"Don't die." A week ago, you were saying the complete opposite. "If you die, I'll chase you to hell. You can't die, Jisoo."

You still have debts to pay. I have not forgiven you yet. You have to suffer my eternal wrath, so do not die before me.

*** In Jisoo's 34th week of pregnancy, you had asked her another question.

"Why did you do it?"

Jisoo didn't need context. She knew exactly what you were talking about, but like before, you cut her off before she could explain.

"Never mind." You covered your face with a blanket and slept.

***

In Jisoo's 35th week of pregnancy, you pestered her again about chemotherapy.

"I told you already. It's harmful for Soobin."

"And I told you already, I don't care about Soobin." You rebutted.

This bedtime routine was tiring Jisoo. She felt like she was arguing with a wall.

"Good night," so she just turned off the lampshade and went to bed.

*** You asked about the betrayal again in Jisoo's 36th week of pregnancy.

"Are you sure you want to know now?" Jisoo's carefulness shot your heart.

You shook your head, your chest heaving.

"No," you admitted. "Never mind it."

***

Jisoo's 37th weeks pregnant when you panicked upon seeing her looking like she was in a lot of pain.

"What's the matter?" Your heart leaped to your throat. You were beside Jisoo at once.

Jisoo bit her lip and wiped the sweat on her forehead. "It's nothing. Your nephew's just being naughty. He keeps kicking my tummy."

Oh.

Your heartbeat returned to normal. And then you snorted and folded your arms across your chest. "Tell that scrub to shut his trap and quit being annoying."

You were about to return to your bed when Jisoo seized your wrist.

You flinched, but you didn't push her away.

It gave Jisoo the courage to push through her suggestion. She cleared her throat, "Why don't you pacify him yourself? He's quite obedient. Here, I'll guide you."

Jisoo slowly led your hand to her tummy. Your hand was stiff at first, almost resisting when you had contact with the skin of Jisoo's belly.

"Sshh, it's okay, dear." Jisoo's voice was like a lullaby. You relaxed at once.

It took you a while before you finally started caressing your sister's stomach without wanting to die.

And then you felt it.

"Oh!" Your eyes grew big. "He kicked me! Your kid kicked me!"

An involuntary chuckle came out of Jisoo. "Yes, he likes his aunt a lot."

"Hmp." You withdrew your hands. "Too bad I don't care about him."

Jisoo didn't react because, deep down, you were fooling no one.

***

You asked about the betrayal again in Jisoo's 38th week of pregnancy. Jisoo had learned her lesson, so she did not speak and pretended to be asleep.

***

You found the courage to be honest in Jisoo's 39th week of pregnancy.

"I take it back." You gripped your blanket. "Soobin isn't so bad. I think his name is cute."

Jisoo gasped, which had you worrying. You thought your sister was in pain again. These days, all she did was vomit blood.

However, Jisoo's gasp was because of plain surprise. She beamed at you, "Soobin just kicked me three times. He means to say he loves you."

"You're an idiot, and you know it." You clicked your tongue in disgust, "Tell your devil spawn I hate him."

Your words were harsh, but Jisoo knew your heart was melting.

Just a few more. Jisoo mused, mentally patting her baby's head. Your aunt’s gonna warm up to you soon, Bin-bin.

***

Jisoo was in her 40th week of pregnancy when she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

It took a while before you got out of the hospital because of Jisoo's worsening condition. Thankfully, you were there to look after Soobin.

"Welcome home, mon bébé," you secretly whispered when you finally got home.

Soobin cooed at you, and you wanted to cry.

You stopped calling Soobin the devil's spawn.

***

Jisoo's 3 weeks postpartum, and she was delirious.

"Jisoo-unnie, it's time for your medicine." You were sitting in your sister's bed with a glass of water in your hand.

"Honey water again...?" She blinked, eyes unfocused. She was hot to touch. "I don't want honey water. You make them too sweet."

"This is not honey water." You tried to make her drink, but Jisoo was stubborn.

She called your name. “My dear, please. You have to listen to me, alright? Hide in the closet. Don't answer even when mom calls for you. I will..." She cupped your cheek. "I will be back for you, okay?"

Postpartum was foreign to you, but you figured your sister was struggling.

"There's no need to hide. I'm not a five-year-old anymore, Jisoo-unnie."

It was the wrong thing to say because Jisoo scowled. She was unhappy, though she kept caressing your face.

"What are you saying? You'll always be my little girl."

***

Jisoo's 9 weeks postpartum when her mind cleared up. Regrettably, her body became weaker.

"You can't even carry your own baby," you taunted, peering down at your bedridden sister as you gently rocked Soobin in your arms.

Your nephew was so well-behaved.

"It's okay." Jisoo coughed. "Soobin has you."

"I'm not a babysitter." You jutted your chin, annoyed. "Hurry up and get better. I'm getting tired of—oh."

You weren't able to finish whatever you were saying. You couldn't even remember what you were trying to prove. All your thoughts vanished when Soobin wrapped his tiny hand around your pinky.

"Jisoo-unnie! Look! Look! He's holding me!" You stepped closer to Jisoo's bed, crouching down so your sister could see.

Jisoo forced out a smile. But that small action was taxing to her body. She coughed up blood again. She wiped it before you could see it.

"That's good. That's really, really good...."

***

Jisoo was 10 weeks postpartum, and she was still rotting in bed.

"You have to force yourself to get better," you demanded, a deep scowl on your lips. "Just look at your son. He clings to me a lot. Do you want him to recognize me as his mom?"

Your statement was meant to be threatening, but it made Jisoo happier.

"He is yours, dear." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She didn't have the energy to speak louder, but she could still smile. "He is meant to stay by your side."

"Shut up." You rolled your eyes. "I'm not cut out to be a parent. This is your mess. I was not there when you made him." I was against you making him. You hurt me.

Jisoo's forehead creased, though. She didn't agree with you. "But I made him for you."

What?

You couldn't believe your ears. If postpartum was this kind of bitch, then you were willing to fight it. It was making your Jisoo-unnie act crazy. She was full of shit.

"Soobin...stay...you..." And she was blabbering random words.

You touched her forehead. She was burning. Her fever was probably making her crazy.

"Next time, I'm bringing you to an asylum." Soobin slept soundly in his crib, so you had time to care for your sister. You put a wet towel on her forehead. "You're crazy, did you know that? Who would have thought a cute baby like Soobin came from a nasty girl like you?"

Jisoo's scowl deepened. She struggled and weakly caught your wrist. "No. Soobin looks like...me."

You glanced at Soobin's sleeping form. Yeah, right.

"Keep dreaming. It's free."

"No." Jisoo cried. It looked like she took your statement to heart. "He looks like me...he should look like me..."

Suddenly, Jisoo was crying. You were stunned. What was this drama queen crying for!?

"He looks like me. Please. He should remind me of you. I'm dying, I'm dying. I'm dying--!!"

Your eyes widened. Jisoo was out of control. She was sobbing and kicking her feet, albeit weakly.

"Jisoo-unnie, calm down." You held her hands, giving up. "I believe you, okay? Soobin looks like you."

She was easy to pacify. She stopped crying at once, and then she cupped your cheeks.

"My dear, my little one...I'm sorry, your Jisoo-unnie can't keep her promise to you. I'm going soon. Stay...stay with Soobin, alright?"

Jisoo slowly trailed off. The terrible realization slapped you in the face.

You were shaking, bile crawling to your throat when you connected the dots:

There was a high possibility that Jisoo, your sister, planned on sleeping with Jungkook so she could get pregnant. She wished to get pregnant because, after all this time, she still saw you as a little girl who needed someone by her side.

And since she was dying, she needed someone to...

You stopped thinking. You looked at Soobin's sleeping form and sobbed; your sister's words echoed in your mind:

Stay with Soobin. I made him for you.

Fuck.

***

In Jisoo's twisted way, what she did was for your sake. Unfortunately, you did not ask any of this.

Jisoo was 15 weeks postpartum. She was like a withered flower. No color was left on her face. Death was around the corner.

"Are you there, my dear?"

You did not answer. The question you didn't have an answer to entered your mind. You hadn't asked in a long time. Should you?

"Why did you betray me?" You asked it aloud before you could think properly. You thought Jisoo's too weak to answer, but she forced herself to speak.

"I was lonely. We were both lonely."

In the grand scheme of things, that explanation should have made sense. Lonely people sought comfort. You should be the first to understand that. But you didn't. It only brought you pain.

"I can't make you happy?" But you were her sister and Jungkook...Jungkook was your best friend. How could you not know that the people you loved were suffering? That they were lonely? Were you that...insensitive?

"It's not about you." Jisoo groaned. She was in a lot of pain. "You will never understand our grief. Your life is...a bliss."

The pain was unbearable. You wanted to cover your ears. You regretted asking that question, but you just couldn't stop.

"So you don't trust me? You don't think I'd understand you?" Did Jungkook think so too?

Jisoo didn't give a clear answer. She couldn't breathe. Her chest was stuffy.

Silence prevailed.

You stared blankly at Jisoo.

Jisoo struggled to maintain her breathing. She called your name.

"Have you forgiven me?"

It took you an eternity to respond, but your tone was biting when you did.

"You and Jungkook bonded over something you thought I was too immature to understand, so tell me, Jisoo-unnie, how can I forgive you?"

It meant to hurt. But Jisoo smiled through the pain.

She seemed...happy.

"Good…Good. Don't forgive me. I don't deserve it."

Blood. There was blood everywhere. Jisoo was barely awake.

"But leave Soobin...out of your...anger. That kid will love you. I swear, he will love you."

You had no plans to give Soobin away.

"I know...I am in no position to ask you anything, but...Jungkook...he must know about his son. He deserves that much, no--" She seemed to shake her head. "Soobin deserves that much....Promise me, in three..."

She paused. She was thinking....calculating...

"No four...four years...three years..." It was getting confusing. "Return him home in three years. Ugh."

Jisoo couldn't hold on.

She called your name. “ You and Soobin...you two are my life...I love you...I'll see..." you.

Jisoo didn't get to finish her last statement. She died, eyes clamped shut and blood splattering everywhere.

She died while her son slept, and you wept.

**** A/N: I wrote this for so many hours...this is not edited, I feel like I'm going to vomit if I read this chapter one more time. Imdeadtired.exe.

We will be back in the present in the next chapter.

← Previous Chapter (06) | Next Chapter (08) →

[liketwoswansinbalance]

On the Subject of "All-Kinds-of-Fur:"

Link to the original Brothers Grimm fairy tale for reference. It's basically a variant of "Cinderella."

Also, if I have the inspiration for it, this could become part of a series, set during the peaceful days before the prequel events. Thus, if anyone would like to send in a request for the School Master brothers' reactions to a classic fairy tale or an SGE one, however obscure it may be, I might write it!

⸻

[Rhian enters the tower chamber looking distressed while Rafal is grading fourth-year students' theses on treachery, taboos, and the natural lines of family, that, when wrongly crossed, drive people insane and disrupt the fragile human psyche.

For an example of this so-called phenomenon (stolen from the plot of Hamlet), imagine a scenario as follows: a wife marries her husband's brother after her husband dies. While they may not be blood relations, this scenario is still off and rather strange, even if modern times could make more allowances for such a thing to occur and be socially-acceptable.]

Rhian: My fourth-year Class Captain had to run away whilst on her questing assignment!

Rafal: [absently, without looking up from the papers, slashing through lines in bloodred ink] Mm, shame. [He sips his tea.]

Rhian: [tries to smile but it looks uneasy and he begins to pace with anxiety.] No! It's... good... I suppose. [He cringes.] If she hadn't run into the Woods last night, she would've had to marry her father!

Rafal: [spits out his tea.] Who's her father? Not one of my graduates, surely. Even my curriculum standards rise above that, that rot.

Rhian: No, it's not one of yours. Simply some brazen king. I just... I wish I could do something. She was one of my best students. [He sighs dejectedly.] But I doubt the Pen will tolerate an intervention. We just have to let her tale play out.

Rafal: Well, is it worth working yourself up over? She got away. Maybe it's you who's too invested in your students’ lives. They can fend for themselves, you know... well, probably. Actually, some Evergirls can be dimwitted. [He pauses.] How about this?: you always have the option of throwing her a lovely funeral.

Rhian: Oh, forget it. I don’t expect you to understand. [He throws up his arms, flustered, and exits the room.]

[Rafal observes that his brother still looks rather sad. In fact, Rhian grows more worried with each passing day as the Storian writes of the poor girl's travails as a forlorn scullery maid in hiding.]

⸻

[Several months later, three days and three nights after each night of the ball and banquet in the Evergirl's fairy tale:]

Rhian: [elatedly, swelling with hope] Rafal! Rafal! Have you heard? My Class Captain might live to see her Happily Ever After! The young king is going to save her! She’s danced with him three nights in a row and he would take no other partner. Though, each night, she slips away and conceals herself in that hideous, asymmetrical coat. You've seen the Pen's illustrations, haven't you? And last night, she wore a dress that glistened like the stars! I just knew the Beautification Practice While Impoverished classroom simulations would pay off! I knew it! It's the sheer magic of what a little soap and water can achieve!

Rafal: [not listening to Rhian's enthusiastic raving] Uh-huh.

Rhian: [finally looks at Rafal more closely after his lackluster response.] Say, Rafal? Where did that patchwork blanket come from? Is it new? I feel like I’ve seen it before. Somewhere... [he muses.]

Rafal: [shrugs without looking up from his book.] Nowhere. You’re not still… sad about that tale, are you? It’s old news. And the Storian's been still about that tale for a good few hours. Maybe it'll be scrapped, storybook and all.

Rhian: [grits his teeth in frustration] Yes. I know. You weren't listening.

Rafal: [expressionlessly] Wasn't I? Regardless, Happily Ever Afters don't concern me.

Rhian: [tongue-tied, attempting to come up with a fitting retort] An-and, you need a good douse of soap and water too. You've got... soot and—is that walnut oil all over your hands?

Rafal: [rolls his eyes.]

⸻

[The next day:]

[Rhian devours the completed tale in one sitting and notices a discrepancy he assumes is a continuity error by the Storian: the vagabond princess disguised in the role of a scullery maid returned to her little cubbyhole below stairs to find that her coat, which she’d left in the shadows, had disappeared, seemingly stolen.

Perhaps, a creature of the night had made off with it, desperate to reclaim its skin.

Or perhaps, there had been an intervention.

Thus, the princess was forced to show her true, shining self to the king’s men hunting her down. In her gown, that gleamed like the stars, much like a bride's.

And Rhian has a feeling he knows why this Ending came to be.]

⸻

[A week later:]

Rhian: [enters, humming about wedding bells to himself.]

Rafal: You look well. Did something go right?

Rhian: Yes! Something nice came in the post today, brother. My former student and the young, foreign king have invited us to their wedding. And look! Even you got an invitation, too. [He laughs to himself and makes a face of mock fright, lowering his voice and gnarling his hands into claws.] Whooo, they probably didn't want the Evil brother to curse them during a christening someday, so you'll probably get a golden plate and sweetmeats to spare at the wedding feast in order to "appease" you.

Rafal: [glares at him.]

Rhian: [drops the act.] Ahem. Anyway, we’ve got to pack for spring in Altazarra. Bring some non-black, festive clothes, if you have any. Oh, and bring a less ugly coat than that scruffy old blanket, will you?

Rafal: I’m not attending. I don’t like inane balls or sentimental Ever Afters, but have fun.

Rhian: Are you sure about that?

Rafal: Positively.

Rhian: [holds up an illustration of the princess' cubbyhole from the tale he’s been scrutinizing for the last few days.] Then what’s this shadow the Storian’s inked in darker than the rest? It looks quite a lot like a human form.

Rafal: Trick of the light. Just be glad Evil didn’t prevail this time, and call it a day. My side will win next time to be sure.

Rhian: [smirks knowingly] I guess I owe my peace of mind and sanity to a thief then.

Rafal: [deadpans] Run along, Ever. Pip-pip. You've got a wedding to attend, have you not?

[twst-drabbles]

Octavinelle 16

Summary: You’re in bed. The sun was highest in the sky, bound to dip but you’re still in bed. You get up eventually, knowing there are seafolk pets relying on you to feed them.

(Decided to say fuck it to the funnies and write the mental state that’s been plaguing me. But yeah, just wanted to put emphasis on the fact that I'm not in a state of sadness. I just feel so tired with this constant fog over my own feelings. Oh and this is just over a 1000 words.)

You felt like a low existence, sinking into your bed sheets that haven’t been washed in over three months. There was nothing to mourn about yourself, felt useless to indulge in any sort of sadness really. A bother, basically, to try and feel anything beyond just mild annoyance at your own smells and the too loud and too bright things of the outside.

You look over to your phone, long since overcharged with sticky notifications of habits you’ve broken and missed. You haven’t swiped them away, telling yourself that you’ll get to them eventually but you don’t. You miss a day and tell yourself that it’s fine. That you need a break. Then another break. Another day of rest, another day of being still.

Day after day, day after day. You haven’t been on walk for half a year. You stopped during the winter because your shoes were torn to pieces by a teething Floyd and never had the energy to just buy new ones.

It’s not that bad, really. You’re still alive. You’re not rotting and waiting around to die. You still drink water, you still get a bite to eat, even if it is only enough to make your stomach shut up for an hour. It’s just…

It’s a bother, to wash yourself, to clean your teeth, to go outside and be blinded by the sun, to do the same things you do every day. And it’s a bother to try and do any changes. You just don’t have the energy.

You’re running on empty, and the empty have to rest, because it aches to try and do anything more.

You snuggled deeper into your sheets, piles of blankets on top of you, weighing heavily upon your entire body. And just so you can get more on top of you, you made your room even colder than it ever should be. Just made snuggling into the blankets all the more nicer.

You missed the seafolks’ first feeding in the morning. This was the first time you’ve done this, but you know them to have enough fat to survive missing one feeding. Will they be grumpy? Probably. Pissed at you, most likely. But you also know them to store away any leftovers in their little hiding places. They’ll be fine. They can let you rest for a bit.

The left side of yourself has gotten a little pinched, a bit numb. You closed your eyes for just a little bit and woke up to suddenly three in the afternoon. You’ve laid on your side for too long again. You felt annoyed and when you felt a pulse in your head and a tightening of your stomach, only then did you bother to push yourself up.

You’re tired, you’re hungry and you’re thirsty. The nap did nothing but made breathing harder and your eyes drier than anything. But it was enough. It was enough to get you annoyed with laying in bed. So you reached over and drank your water. You didn’t want to brush your teeth, so you just used your gulp of water to wash around your mouth before swallowing it. Then you drank water again to refresh.

You finished the bottle and tossed it in the overflowing trashcan filled with other empty bottles. You got out of bed and walked out your room. You didn’t bother with shoes or getting into different clothes. You’re tired as is.

The blood has finally reached your head and the pulsing came back, this time behind your eyes. You had to squint as you opened the door to seafolks tank.

You heard three distinct chirps, all much closer than you expected.

You looked to the back, seeing the tank popped open once more, then you looked down just as Jade and Floyd were bodied by Azul right before they could munch on your big toe. Ah, you haven’t clipped your nails in a while. You just noticed that.

Floyd’s little claws clicked against the floor as he struggled to Azul off of him. Jade’s usually behaved self was replaced with a growling little eel, his jaws clicking and gritting as he whipped his tail about.

“…alright,” you rasped out, putting a hand to the wall as you guided yourself to the food you stored away, “yeah, probably should’ve expected this…”

Azul finally knocked their heads together and made the eels behave. You almost wanted to laugh, but the feeling was too vague to make physical. It was only a twitch of a smile you gave out as you dragged out a bag of cold whole fish. You had a fridge stored in here since you didn’t want your regular fridge to smell like their foods.

You closed the fridge and carefully slid yourself down to the floor. Even that task was tiring. You can feel your heart pumping beneath your ribs. You had to lean against the fridge just to cool yourself down for a bit.

Azul, evidently proud of his defending of you, basically strutted towards you with a grumpy and limp Floyd and an equally grumpy Jade who was huffy, but behaving.

Azul finally looked at you, at your eyes and your greasy skin and unwashed clothes. He tiled his head. You ignored that.

“Hey,” you greeted as you ripped open the bag and watched them all perk up, “Sorry about that. Here.”

You pulled out the fattiest fish into the air. Floyd shot out of Azul’s grasp, but was grasped by Jade’s own claw. Jade pushed his brother behind him and shot after the fish. He clamped his jaws right into its belly and now you have both a fish and an eel hanging from your hand.

You gently set it down so he can rip it up in peace. Floyd, not to be defeated, sunk his teeth into the head and immediately started to pull it apart. Messy eaters. All of them.

You shivered as Azul pulled himself onto your lap. He gave a low whistle at you and opened his mouth wide.

“Ah,” hand-feeding, huh? He’s feeling rather spoiled today doesn’t he? “Here.”

You gave him something small just so he doesn’t make a mess on your lap. Fish smell isn’t exactly nice.

“Oh,” you jumped just as Jade and Floyd coordinated together to bring their meal onto your lap behind the munching Azul, “Oh, gross.”

Well, so much for that. Cold, slimy, your sense really hate you right now. Well, you suppose this is fine. They’re having fun and it’s not like showering is that bad. You needed one anyway. Well, no not a shower. A bath. A bath isn’t bad. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand that long anyway.

Well, you’ll get one right after you have something to eat. You’re kind of tired of snacks, so you might heat up some hearty leftovers. After everyone has finished eating. You don’t feel like leaving right now.

[cherriteaa]

chifuyu x his pretty girl ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊

Chifuyu x Black fem reader

I love Toman Man I literally have no other explanation

Contents: Tooth-rotting fluff

(not proofread)

HE'S SUCH A SWEETHEART WHERE DO I EVEN START

He's always giving you stuff. Sharing and gift giving is so big with him. He's always going:

"Hey baby you want some before I drink this?" "You want anything to eat?" "Want some?" "I saw you looking at that plushie in the window. Do you want it?"

He has something of his, something he found, or something he bought for you nearly every time you meet up. He's a sucker for matching items as well. Couples plushies (he makes them kiss whenever he comes over), couples keychains, couples necklaces, ect. With jewelry, he always manages to find tasteful matching things. But he occasionally will get one of the corny heart pieces or something just because it's funny.

He is your number one hypeman until he dies. And then probably after that. His face totally lights up when you show him anything having to do with you. Or even just when you walk in the room and he notices something. If you get your nails, hair, lashes ect done, its a BIG DEAL for him.

"Let me see!! They're so pretty!" "Baby you look so goood!!" "Did you get your lashes done? They look amazing!"

Even if he notices you're feeling under the weather, he's there to remind you how much you mean to him, and even if you're insecure about anything, he makes it known that you are everything to him.

He finds cooking with you to be messy, but fun. He likes to put on your favorite songs just to see you hum and dance while in the kitchen.

HE SENDS YOU SO MUCH SHIT ON MY GOD. Instagram reels, tiktoks, memes he got on discord, links to clothes he thinks is cool, screenshots of clothing items or plushies that you may want. Literally everything. You two will send tiktoks back and forth for hours until its super late, text eachother goodnight, and then like an hour later, both see eachother online again and go "WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP STILL? GO TO BED" only to have the other send the stupidest meme in response. Often times, this leads to facetimes at 1am with you two giggling into your phones until you finally get tired. Then, you'll sleep on facetime together.

His gallery is full of you. Both pictures he took of you, and photos of you two together. He's a pretty energetic guy, and you two like to go exploring a lot, which means pictures at the park, pictures at new restaurants and cafes, photo evidence of you two getting into mischief, everything. He loves taking photos and capturing memories of you two.

Absolutely infatuated with you. He can't keep his hands off you. Not in a sexual way, but he's always holding your hand, wrapping his arms around your waist/shoulders, playfully poking at you, kissing your cheek, anything. He loves to randomly tilt your chin towards him so he can pepper kisses all over your cheeks/ lips

OH AND YOUR HAIR. He's respectful, so of course he asked before touching, but he's awfully curious about it. He loves your curls and the different styles you do/get done. He will certainly help you with detangling or washing, but he fumbles a little with styling. He's more than happy to help with adding beads, ribbon ect though. He's a "Yes ma'am" kinda guy. Def calls you 'his lady' and always pretends you're already married. Says shit like "Happy wife happy life" to his friends after buying you a plushie and they just snicker at him

Chifuyu is overall a very playful boyfriend. His number 1 priority is your safety. His second is your happiness. He likes to be corny for jokes, but you truly are everything to him. He's very cuddly and loves to share every aspect of his life with you. If you two ever encounter problems, he's a "We'll figure this out together." Kind of guy.

A/n: I love him so much omg

The writing grind continues!! I can't believe tokyo rev is taking a hold on me like this again

as always, please please please reblog and/or comment. I'm restarting my writing blog again, and would love love love to meet mutuals.

My requests are: Open!

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | MS47 | part. 18

Pairing: mick schumacher x hamilton!reader (she/her)

Warnings: curse words, mentions of food and alcohol, tooth-rotting fluff, angsty, mentions of anxiety and break up, not proofread, etc, etc. Minors DNI!

word count: 3.3k

part. 17 | series masterlist | part 19 | taglist

Summary: Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that’s why, for the first time in forever, he threw caution carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

A/n: Thank you so so much for all the love and support! I see you, and I appreciate you! *mwah* I hope you guys like this chapter, I may have shed some tears while writing it hehe I'll release the next one TOMORROW so you better get readyyy!

When Yn knocked at Lewis’ door he wasn’t expecting to see her with a running nose and teary eyes. In fact, he wasn’t expecting to see her. She was supposed to be at her apartment getting ahead with some work because she had dinner plans with Mick, that’s what the German had told Lewis earlier that day. 

“Hey, bitsy, what happened?” the Brit asked, confusion and worry lacing his tone. 

Yn could only crash into her brother’s frame, being engulfed in a tight hug and letting out some of the pain and anxiety she had been holding back. He knew how hard it was for her to let herself be vulnerable, which meant she reached her breaking point.

“I broke up with Mick,” she sobbed into his shirt, and Lewis took a step back to look into her eyes, holding her face between his hands.

“What did he do?” 

And though Mick had come to be a close friend of his with the shared routine in the Mercedes team, Lewis wouldn’t think twice before distancing himself if he had done something to hurt his little sister. Mick knew it. Everyone knew it. That’s the reason he was so taken back the second he noticed the lingering touches and secret stares. It wouldn’t be hard taking sides, but it would certainly hurt doing so. 

Yn shook her head, more tears doting her black skin, “Nothing, he did nothing wrong-” a hiccup passed between her lips. “Someone posted about me and Mason, and suddenly the whole internet is talking about the two, and me, and our personal lives and- Lew, they have pictures! There are pictures of me and Mason around the internet.”

Lewis closed the door behind her and guided his sister to his couch. Roscoe came running to her too and it wasn’t long before the three were cuddled in silence, the only sounds being Yn’s sniffs and sighs. 

He knew not to pressure her too much, knowing that she needed some time to breathe before finally speaking about everything, or most things, that were going through her head. Lewis was worried about Mick too, but he would check on his friend later, for now, his sister was his priority and she needed him, all his love and attention.

It was an hour or so before the sniffs stopped and Lewis noticed that Yn had fallen asleep, she was probably tired from all the crying and stress she had been dealing with lately, and the outing of her past relationship with soccer player Mason Mount was the icing on the cake. Lewis peeled his body off of hers with caution not to disturb her peace and reached for his phone seeing tons of messages from a worried Mick asking if he knew something about Yn’s whereabouts. He quickly answered reassuring the German that she was safe and with him, and added for him to be patient with her. Yn loved Mick, it was a fact.

Lewis ordered from their favorite place and got some of her favorite clothes his for her to wear after a long and much-needed relaxing shower. He gave Roscoe his food, and while the dog ate everything eagerly, he opened Twitter and Instagram seeing how the internet was indeed going crazy about Yn, Mick, and Mason. It was crazy how people felt entitled to someone else’s personal life. 

Assuming that Yn probably didn’t have the time and the energy to do something, Lew stepped onto his terrace, closing the door behind him and calling the family’s lawyer. He had no idea how those pictures ended up on the internet, or how his sister’s past relationship got exposed, but he was gonna make sure whoever did it would be held accountable for it. He wanted to call Mason too, to ask if he had any idea about anything, how he would handle it from his side, but that was too personal, that was something only Yn should do. 

After the food arrived, and Yn showered, the siblings sat on the living room’s floor to eat, a ritual they used to share whenever they could since their early teen years. Yn nibbled on her food, not eating the way she would when her favorite was on the table, she felt a lump in her throat, it was like she was trying to swallow back her own heart and by doing so she couldn’t try and put anything else there. Lewis noticed and used the moment to try and make her open up a bit, and share her burden with him. And that she did. She poured her heart out, cried again, sobbed again, and confessed to him how stressed she was ever since everyone discovered she was his sister, to which she was quick to apologize too because that wasn’t a problem, but rather how people started treating her was the real issue. Yn loved being a Hamilton, loved sharing the same blood as Lewis, loved having him around as her best friend, loved to share her happy and sad days with him, but she hated how everyone seemed to compare them now, how Yn wasn’t Yn anymore but “Lewis Hamilton’s younger sister” or even “Mick Schumacher’s supposed girlfriend” and not in a contextual way, but rather derogatory, like trying to diminish her and who she was, to resume her to two men. And fair enough, she loved them, she loved them both so much, but she was her own person, she loved herself before loving them. And maybe, Yn thought, she just needed to get used to having her brother mentioned every time, just like her relationship with Mick, but adding Mason to it? Adding Mason to it was cruel. 

She confided in her brother all the things that had been plaguing her mind, and Lewis listened attentively, catching a tear from her here and there with his thumb, and nodding attentively. He was a good listener. He was the best brother, Yn told him. 

That night they watched TV until falling asleep on the couch with Roscoe by their feet. Something they used to do when they were kids and the days were so packed that they didn’t have much time together, Yn would sneak into his room, they would make a tent with Lewis’ comforter, and turn on the TV on the low volume so that their parents wouldn’t wake up, and they would watch Disney movies until both passed out. Life used to be easier at the time. 

When Lewis had to start the hectic schedule for Silverstone weekend Yn went to her parents. She spent a week sleeping in her old bedroom, having every possible meal with her parents, and enjoying the hugs, kisses, and pampering from them. They couldn’t mend their heart back together, but while there it felt like they could glue it for some minutes. It would fall to pieces in the ground when she lay awake in bed at night, but when the sun shined through the windows and her dad woke her up so they could cook pancakes together while The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill played as background sound some of the pieces of her heart would flutter closer. 

The second week was about to start when she got a call from Corinna. She cried when she heard the woman’s voice. The accent is so like Mick’s. The sweet and warm tone. Corinan asked Yn if she wanted to spend some time in Switzerland with her. It was a calm place, she wouldn’t be bothered by too many paparazzi, she could go off from social media, they would have tons of activities to do if she felt like it, and Gina would even fly there for the weekend. So Yn packed her bags, and by Monday afternoon she was in Switzerland. 

Yn cried again when Corinna hugged her, told her how sorry she was for hurting Mick, and tried to explain everything, but the older woman just shook her head and hugged Yn together, assuring her that she wouldn’t judge, that she did not blame Yn. Life was complicated, but Corinna seemed to be sure that Yn and Mick would find a way out of the storm they were facing, and she made sure to tell Yn that. Without pressure, of course. In fact, they agreed on not talking a lot about Mick or her relationship, but it turned out that was a hard subject to avoid because Corinna made her feel safe and comfortable enough to want to talk, and everything at that house screamed his name. So much so, that Yn wandered around on her first night and ended up in his childhood bedroom, watching some of his trophies, posters, books, and toys. Yn fell asleep curled on his bed, hugging his pillow.

The coming days were good. Corinna distracted her the same way her parents would. Yn taught the German some of her vegan recipes, and Corinna seemed to like them. They would cook breakfast together, share tea by the garden, feed the horses, and solve crosswords while eating dinner. 

After two weeks in Switzerland Yn went back to her apartment in London. She wasn’t exactly ready for the remainder of Mick at her home, yet she needed to work through whatever was plaguing her mind, she needed to recenter so that she could face him again. She knew the way they broke up wasn’t fair to him, knew that they would have to talk again eventually, either for closure or to get back together. 

At the door, his slides were the first thing to greet her, then his smell that plagued the whole apartment. By her couch, there was one of Angie’s toys, in her room his shirt she used to sleep with, some of his clothes inside her closet, his toothbrush beside hers, his shampoo, little things that got there gradually. Some of them she still remembers the exact moment. The feeling of tranquility coming home with him and knowing his things were there too. 

Yn kept everything intact: all his things inside her house. All the feelings inside her chest. 

She went back to her routine, working, seeing her friends, trying to enjoy a bit of the privacy that was still left after she deactivated most of her socials. Except, now she wasn’t joining and cheering for her brother in person during the weekends, but rather watching everything from her couch. Sometimes, those weekends would be shared with Lewis’ friends and her friends as well, the ones that couldn’t make it to the GPs too. 

When September Yn was ready for the launch of her winter collection. She was also ready to be in the same room as Mick, or so she thought, she had to be especially because her team had sent invitations for the whole Schumacher family and she had a feeling he wouldn’t miss it. 

Sure enough there he was, and though they couldn’t exchange more than a longing stare and a friendly wave, Yn felt everything she kept tamed inside burst out in the open. She busied herself with the parade and all the little details that needed her attention, and because she was the main name tonight she wasn’t able to speak to everyone. Though, what would she say to the Schumachers? “Thank you for coming! And, Mick, I miss you, maybe I owe you an apology”, well maybe that’s exactly what she should have said, but the rush didn’t let her. Maybe that’s why Yn was surprised when everything was over and someone from the staff came with a bouquet of tulips. 

It wasn’t anything new, she usually gets a ton of flowers during parades, and events in general, from fans to the crew she’s working with, but she never got tulips, and her heart skipped a beat, hands slightly trembling when she reached for it, and opened the envelope between the beautiful flowers. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a proper congratulations and hug. I’m really proud of you – today, and always. I’ll be here when you’re ready. - Your Mickey”

Yn knew exactly what ready meant. 

And she also knew how meaningful it was of him to sign as her Mick. Not Mick Schumacher, or simply Mick, or anything, but “your Mick”. The version of him only she knew. A pair of tears rolled down her cheeks just when Lewis reached the door of her dressing room.

Yn looked at her brother silently, and he gave her one of his small smiles. 

“You should text him,” the Brit suggests.

“How do you know I’m thinking about him?” 

Lewis shrugs, draping his body on the blue couch, “You two went to see a field of tulips in Switzerland, right?” She nodded, and before she could joke about his memory Lewis added, “But that’s not how I know, he actually told me he would do it. Even asked me if I thought it was ok for him to show up.”

“Oh-” she utters. “I’m- I- I exposed him, put him in the spot. Mick is a super private guy, Lew, and I kind of blew everything up,” she sighs, knowing damn well she’s repeating the vent session they had back the other month. 

“He told you he doesn’t care, didn’t he?” Lewis asks and Yn nods, biting her lips. “I think that’s proof enough that he’s ready to compromise if it means having you. That’s huge, Yn. He’s ready to give up part of his private life to stay with you, and not as in sacrificing himself and all this red flag thing, but as in: he thinks you’re more important. He loves you, can’t you see?” 

“I’m still scared,” she confesses.

“Fuck being afraid, bitsy, do it anyways. If you let fear stop you, you’ll never fully live,” it’s his older brother's advice. “Besides,” Lewis adds, “You think he isn’t? He’s probably scared shit too, and that’s yet another reason why you should talk, dot it together because if you have one another the burden gets lighter – if there’s even one.”

She rolls her eyes, they’re full of tears ready to fall, and they do the second she smiles dropping her shoulders. Yn nods to Lewis, and when everything is packed and they’re walking on the parking lot to their respective cars parked side by side, her phone pings. 

Lewis winks her way with a smile when she turns the screen to him. It’s Mick. 

“Good luck, bitsy. I’ll be at home if you need me, and I’ll back you up on whatever you choose to do,” he takes off some of the weight from her shoulders. 

Yn hugs him tight and whispers how much she loves him and how lucky she is to be a Hamilton. She listened to her heart and only her heart, trying to ignore whatever her mind wanted to rationalize, and whatever others would think, while she typed away on her phone. 

After indirectly inviting him to dinner, she drives all the way to her apartment with a grin on her face and feeling all warm and fuzzy after feeling cold and sad for so long.  

The second her doorbell rang, Yn stopped pacing around her living room and ran to the entrance, already feeling her hands shaking slightly. 

“Hey,” Mick breathed with a small smile on his face when Yn showed up behind the wooden door. He was holding another bouquet, this time red carnations. Yn’s greetings got stuck in her throat. Mick looked just so good wearing blue jeans paired with a dark green hoodie. His eyes did not leave her, quite the contrary, he drank her in, blue orbs roaming around each small detail. For him, Yn looked just perfect. 

“I-” Mick started to fill the silence after a minute, but before he could keep going Yn crashed into him, taking a deep breath and lacing her hands around his neck. He held her closer by the waist and inhaled her perfume, feeling his heart speed so fast it felt like he was racing around his favorite circuit. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. Sorry, I made you wait. Sorry-,” Yn whispered with a voice so small he could only hear because her face was between his neck and shoulder. He detached their bodies just enough to hold her by the jaw, eyes scanning the tears slowly descending her cheeks. 

Mick shook his head, “I should have come after you before. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Yn sobbed, letting her forehead hit his solid chest, and trying to take deep breaths to control her own heart, “No, babe, you gave me my time, you gave me space, and I love you for that.” 

It was his turn to let some tears fall. Mick was a smart guy, he knew how to be rational, but it did not mean that he knew how to control each emotion of his. Quite the opposite, from time to time he let his feelings lead the way. He can feel insecure and overthink just like any human being. The thing is, that while they were away, he took his time to work on it. Work on himself. Look in the mirror and understand he was doing the right thing by kicking the ball to her court. There was nothing he could do but wait. And waiting he did. 

Now, looking into her eyes, he wonders why he waited so long, how he spent every day for over two months without her. But the second those three little words passed between her plump lips he knew it hadn’t been for nothing. Knew that life was gifting his patient.

“Can you find it in you to forgive me?” she asked, still glued to his body.

He chuckled, “Schatzi, there’s nothing to forgive. And even if there was, you know I would. I would do anything for you because I love you. I love you in every language, the ones I know and the ones I don’t. I love you like my best friend, my favorite person, my lover. I love you like I never did before.”

It was the first time she heard him say those three little words, and they hit her like a truck, rearranging every organ in her body, and making her heart grow ten times bigger. Making her flutter, and come down at the same time. But for the first time, she wasn’t worried about falling, he would be there to catch her. Or they would fall together. Always together. Either way, she chose him. She chose to give love a chance. To give herself a chance at happiness. And when his lips found hers after so long it felt like everything came together. It was sweet, and salty with their tears. It was soft, and hungry, demanding attention and trying to make up for the lost time. It was like a king coming back from war for his queen. Stating that he was more alive than ever. That he wouldn’t leave. That his promise to come back was true. Burning cheeks, sweaty palms, warm chest, tingly stomach, it was like meeting each other for the first time all over again. 

When Yn’s hands sneaked under Mick’s hoodie, brushing over his bare skin, he smiled into the kiss, taking the seconds to breathe in some air.

“We still have to talk. I still have so much explaining to do,” Yn started.

“And you have to tell me about your time in Switzerland without me, mama said you rode the horses with G and even planted a new three.” 

She grinned. A bright expression doting her whole face.

“I’ll do it over dinner. Come, the food is getting cold,” Yn laced their fingers bringing him inside, and Mick enjoyed the feeling of truly crossing the line of her heart. He knew that this time entering her house meant so much more. It meant a green card for entering her heart and staying. And he would do it. 

They would make a home out of each other. What they were not yet aware of was that the home was already there. All they had to do was get inside. 

And they had just done it. 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: We're so close to reaching the ending, I'm getting emotional ugh!! I hope you guys liked this chapter, I opted to let some details out of the plate, so let me know if you want them (like their dinner conversation and all) and I'll see if I can write an extra <3 make sure to reblog this chapter if you like it. I'll be releasing the next one tomorrow, and all I want to say is to make sure your seatbelts are on. *mwah*

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[kakujis]

chifuyu x overstim;

warnings: afab! fem reader, slight dacryphilia (fuyu), overstim, not proofread. MDNI.

wc: 0.5k

a/n: i had no idea how 2 format this lil drabble so it's been rotting in my drafts for months MB!!! but pls imagine… chifuyu w a closet nymphomaniac gf who cant keep her hands off him especially after work!!! NFJCNSKCKSKFK!! like its been hours since he got home and you just keep bouncing away on his overstimulated cock!! ♡♡♡

“again?” he groans, head fallen back against the sofa, his black hair stuck on his sticky forehead as you coax yet another orgasm out of yourself.

“‘m sorry, baby, you just feel s-so good,” you pant, swiveling your hips as you use him like a personal toy. it’s so messy, the way your cunt is dripping cum and slick all over his lap. and chifuyu thinks its finally over as you slow down, hands absently trailing up his chest.

but you just needed a short break before you start again, mumbling even more sorrys as tears prick chifuyu’s pretty eyes. he probably can’t take much more of this, thinking he’s gonna die as his girlfriend rides him til dawn.

“baby just one more, i promise,” you coo, slightly readjusting yourself. but even that small movement has chifuyu whining, he’s so overstimulated, brows knit and face red. “you’re so handsome, fuyu,” you compliment, as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

once you settle in a more comfortable position, now on your knees instead of your feet, you start to move again. the slide of your walls along the length of his cock always feels the best, that’s why no toy satisfies you like chifuyu does. plus, you know chifuyu likes it too, even when he’s telling you no more, his nails stay digging into your waist and his cock stays hard as you milk him of every drop of cum.

just like today, as he groans and whines, he makes no effort to move you off, instead starting to jut his own hips up into yours.

“thought you said no more?” you giggle, but he ignores you, planting his feet firmly on the ground to position himself to take control and rut up into you. your moans are loud, tumbling chifuyu’s name like a chant, but it’s nothing compared to the squelch of your hole which continuously drips liquid down your legs. the both of you are too fucked to think about the mess underneath, as you continue grinding on him, pussy twitching at how pretty his expression is, brows knit and jaw slacked.

you can feel your orgasm coming, the coil thats tight and about to unwind. luckily, chifuyu isn’t far behind himself, evident by the vice grip on your hips that is sure to bruise. it’s filthy, with each slap of his balls against your skin there’s sticky ropes of cum and fluid that keep the two of you connected.

“m’close, fuyu,” you whimper as he continues to ram up into you, this time it’s him fucking you stupid. “fuck, fuyu, fuck-“ you chant, lips ghosting over his as you gasp out obscenities mixed with the sweet tumbles of his name.

he mirrors you, mouth agape as he pants, hot breath mixing together, as you two stare at one another with lust blown eyes. “cum with me, baby,” he grunts, chasing after his high, “so pretty when you cum.”

it’s the praise that sends you over, eyes rolling as you mewl out his name one more time, your orgasm hitting you like a wave. you ride your high out on him as he follows suit, stuttering out hot cum into your clenching cunt.

you fall forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. “no more,” he mumbles, head fallen against the sofa once more, eyes droopy. “seriously.” he doesn't even want to think about the mess he has to clean up after this.

“mmkay,” you reply, nuzzling into his neck. you’re full, just like you like it. as much as you'd love to go again, you figure it's time to give him rest. besides, there's always tomorrow. <3

[scoupsahoy]

leaving like a father, running like water

[crossposted to ao3]

It’s 1991 when Steve finally does what his father’s been telling him his entire life, which is: he grows up. Hawkins is stuck in time, a ticking time bomb, a place that’s never really needed him.

That’s okay. People needed him to stay for a while.

Robin needs him. Stuck to his side, constantly over his house, hardly going back to her own. He hears fighting from the inside for a while before he stops taking her back. Violence and vitriol and venom. And he needs Robin, too, needs her to be by his side, needs her to put him back together after the town splits down the middle.

It’s mainly her.

The kids needed him for a while, but they were always stronger. More magical. He was a piece of shit when he was their age, didn’t understand a single fucking thing, and they just knew. They’d lived entire lives right under his nose. They’d fought and won and lost and lost and lost and won, and they were always smarter than him anyway. More resilient.

And Hawkins can hardly be called a place anymore. It’s gray and rotten and barren, and the kids live there because they grew up on its streets and underneath them, but Steve. Steve has only been beaten down by this place, realizes he has to grow up somewhere else.

His parents give him the house and he sells it immediately. No one’s buying land in Hawkins, but it’s land, the town will take it, they’ll take anything they can get, and so will Steve.

They drive west until they hit Las Vegas and they get hitched at one of those sleazy casinos so people stop asking questions.

Steve dips Robin low and kisses her on the cheek behind a veil and the drunk witnesses don’t notice that her cackle is at the ridiculousness of people ever thinking they could be together. And hopefully in a while she’ll be one of those girls on the news wearing a shirt that says Lavender Menace but she could never have been that girl in Indiana.

And Steve. Well.

Before they really decide to leave, Steve gets drunk and hooks up with a guy he’s never met before and never seen again, a drummer in a little metal band playing just outside Indianapolis when he was convinced he was just testing a theory, and then Alexandria Brown, who had a fucking tongue piercing, just to make sure girls still get him off, and then Ronny Jackson, who was in AP Calc and a huge loud weirdo but otherwise gives him the best orgasm of his life. And he otherwise chases what Robin lovingly calls “the Munson High” until it clicks for him.

He leaves because without the kids to take care of, because he can’t play mother hen forever, Hawkins is nothing but a rotting open grave.

So they drive farther and hit San Francisco with ring pop rings and get a nice two bedroom apartment from a landlord who doesn’t ask questions, and that becomes home.

Steve is twenty four when he decides to grow up.

The problem with growing up is the growing part. Stretching his limbs and pounding at his muscles and working long hours lifting heavy boxes onto wobbly shelves for nine hours a day. He sees ghosts in the grocery store and monsters in dogs on a walk and it’s hard out here pretending this has been his only life. But at least there’s beer.

“Steve,” Robin flies through their front door, crumpled flier in hand, right when Steve cracks the can open. “Put that down.”

“Why?”

“We’re going out tonight. This was in our mailbox. I think it’s a gay club.” She smacks her hand on the counter, spread out over a piece of paper, probably too excited to realize there’s no way Steve would be able to read it.

He puts his beer down anyway before asking what should be an obvious question, because he actually isn’t trying to turn into his father, and because he’s a good friend. “Why would someone slip a flier for a gay club into our mailbox?”

“I think Addie and Rose from down the hall put it in there. Doesn’t matter. Go with me.”

And. Steve stares at his beer and the tiny television they got when they moved in so they wouldn’t die of boredom. They were going to watch Turner Classics or something because that’s what they always do on the weekend.

He looks back at sweet, hopeful Robin and sighs. “One of these days I’ll say no to you.”

“No you won’t,” she says, bright and shiny, runs into her closet of a room to get dressed and shouts through the apartment. “Also, for the record, you need to get laid!”

“Say it louder, I don’t think Addie and Rose heard you.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it, because we both know I will.”

So Steve puts on real clothes, nothing too nice, and runs a comb through his hair. It’s a bit longer now than it was when he was a kid, long enough to give him hat hair at work, short enough that he’s not immediately clocked as a freak.

On the walk there, Steve decides his primary goal is to make sure Robin has a good time. His secondary goal is to make sure neither of them get into too much trouble. And the third, if the first two goals go well, is to get head in the bathroom, or, if he’s really lucky, give head in the bathroom.

They haven’t been in San Francisco for very long, considering how long they stayed in Hawkins, but there are regulars in their neighborhood, people he recognizes from work, people he recognizes from the store. It’s like they’re making a life here, almost.

The bartender is a guy who’s jogging route passes in front of their apartment most mornings on their way to work. His grizzled face breaks into pleasant surprise when he gets his eye on them.

“Oh, I recognize you two,” he says, pointing two fingers at them. His voice has a midwest twang to it. Kind of reminds him of home, not that he needs reminding. “That married couple up by that one deli. You guys lost?”

“We’re not.. really married,” Robin says, in that ridiculously un-subtle way she tends to.

Steve shoots her a look. “We’re legally married.”

“Yes, but as friends,” she emphasizes, shakes her naked ring finger at the bartender before leaning both elbows onto the bar and resting her head on her fists. “Tell me, do women frequent this establishment?”

If anything, despite the anxiety burning Steve’s ears red, the bartender at least seems amused. He nods over to a corner of the club closer to the stage and she’s immediately off in that direction, leaving Steve alone on a barstool with a man who knows way too much about him now.

Most of the rest of the bar is empty. Being a club, most people are on the dance floor or in dark corners or against the stage. Steve’s always been the kind of guy to sit by the sidelines. At least, since he graduated.

“She seems quirky,” the bartender says, no malice in his voice, pouring a drink for another patron and sliding it down the bar.

“Yeah, try living with her.”

He heaves a belly-laugh that makes Steve make real eye contact with him for the first time since getting in. “I’m Ricardo.”

“Steve.” They shake hands, firm and friendly.

“Not lost, then?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so,” Ricardo says, though Steve does a quick check of his hair and his clothes, see if anything gives him away. And he must be tense, because he continues. “Hey, relax, let me make you a drink if you want. We don’t bite.”

That shocks a smile out of him, enough to ask for a rum and coke. And Ricardo nods, and Steve tries to remember how to be social again like he hasn’t spent the last five years exclusively hanging out with teenagers and Robin. “That’s a shame. About the biting.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I could introduce you to a friend. He’ll do anything if you ask nicely enough,” he laughs, handing over the drink.

Steve squashes down how flustered that makes him. Robin’s right. He does need to get laid.

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Thinking about it, you’re exactly the kind of guy he usually goes after.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know. Athletic. Good hair. Very normal looking,” Ricardo makes vague gestures at Steve’s general likeness and he tries not to take it personally. “He usually comes by on Saturdays. In case you were curious.”

“What’s his name?” Steve asks, even though he’ll probably forget, by the amount of rum he can taste in his drink and the way a man with more than one tattoo on his neck looks at him from down the bar.

He does manage to remember, because it’s kind of a weird name. And pretty quickly Steve decides that hooking up with someone in a bathroom isn’t too much trouble to get into at all, and Robin is loud and excitable across the club and he shouldn't worry about her too much anyway. So Jacob with the neck tattoos drags him into the bathroom by the hair at his nape and pushes Steve to his knees and the roughness of it gets him off without even being touched.

And his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised and he thinks about the guy named Winn who usually comes in on Saturdays, who likes guys that look like Steve, who will do anything if Steve asks nicely enough.

On the way out Robin has another girl’s lipstick on her teeth so she can’t say anything too scathing, but she does give him the Munson High stare.

He climbs into her bed that night because he has dreams about monsters and bats and open graves. He thinks about Eddie Munson after five years of him being gone, after only really a few days of knowing him, never knowing what he tasted like and chasing it anyway.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson died.

•

It’s 1991, deep into summer, and Steve sweats through his work uniform every single fucking day, takes twice as many showers as he can probably afford the water for, and sometimes it’s so hot in California that he starts to think he might be seeing things.

Robin tells him he’s been hit in the head too many times, which is objectively true, and if he were more self-preserving he’d probably benefit from going to a doctor about it. His father would call him crazy, he knows that, too.

Sometimes at work he’ll see a new-hire with Dustin’s curly hair, the style he had it in years ago when there was a chance he could grow up normal. And Steve will go home on those days and call the Henderson home phone until someone picks up and tells him he’s safe.

And lately, on Friday afternoons after work, when he goes straight from work to the grocery store to pick up whatever he can for dinner, he swears he catches a glimpse of Eddie. Just for a second. Like he’s a ghost.

And there are things wrong, always, the hair, his style, the walk, it has to be a hallucination.

Eddie’s been dead for five years, dead in a different state, in a different universe. And there’s no one to call when he gets home.

The feeling of it sits in his gut and festers like a poison. He doesn’t know why it’s getting worse since coming here. Chasing the Munson High.

They don’t go back to the club very often. They probably should. Robin needs to get laid just as badly as Steve does, but he’s never been the type to let loose when he felt responsible for someone else, not since Nancy. San Francisco is big and gay and new and it’s not quite home yet, and they’re from smalltown Hawkins, Indiana. He doesn’t know how to let his guard down.

But.

“We’re going out tonight,” Robin tells him, sitting next to Steve on their little couch with a sandwich and swinging her legs across his lap as a table.

“We are?”

She nods, smiles, speaks with a mouth full of food. “Yep. We’re going back to the club. And I’m the designated driver.”

“You don’t drive,” Steve blinks. “And we walk there.”

“Then I’m the designated walker. I’ll cart your little drunk self back home. Unless you go home with someone else, of course.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

Robin smiles her little Robin smile, the one where she’s clearly feeling pity, which she knows Steve hates, and will not apologize for it.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Your nightmares are back again. You’re worrying too much about me and everyone back home,” back in Hawkins, she means, their old home, “and it’s Saturday night and as your wife, I’m forcing you to go out and get drunk and get laid and stop worrying about other people for once.”

“There’s plenty of things to worry about, Robin,” Steve points out, even though it’s a losing battle.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. The apocalypse isn’t coming to San Francisco, and I’m pretty sure if it did I’d be able to handle it until you sobered up.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right.

Fuck. He knows she’s right.

So he lets Robin eat her sandwich and he gets changed into something that won’t make him die of heatstroke (because if he survived the past eight years and throws it all away in the basement of a club, he’s going to march into hell pissed off). And he makes himself look good and he wonders if Jacob with the neck tattoos is coming tonight, or maybe a drag performer, or maybe Winn who knows Ricardo.

They come up with a game plan on the way, because Steve is nothing without a game plan, basically the only thing that’s kept him alive this long. He’s going to get as plastered as he likes, and Robin is going to hopefully hook up with a drag king, and they are going to check in at midnight. And if Steve goes home with someone, he’s going to let her know before he goes, and he’s going to have a good time (this, she is adamant about), and he’s going to call her if he plans on spending the morning in bed.

Robin tells as much to Ricardo when they get in, orders Steve shots before setting his watch to go off at midnight like he’s fucking Cinderella. She looks Ricardo right in the eyes and demands him, “make sure he gets plastered.”

And get plastered Steve does.

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Ricardo says. “Not really your scene?”

Steve leans an elbow on the bar. “It’s not that. I like to be careful. I know that this is San Francisco, but still. We’re from Indiana.”

It’s a half-truth, at least. Indiana itself was part of the problem, it always was. Not safe for Robin, not safe for him. Steve always had to pick the safe option. Tonight is really the first time he’s not going to worry about it.

The world is a scary place, even without all the monsters. Ricardo must understand that. Steve takes another shot.

“Illinois.”

The liquor burns down his throat this time, hits him like a punch, “What?”

“I’m from outside Chicago,” Ricardo says, which explains the midwestern accent.

Steve breathes, the buzz starting in his chest. “How long did it take for you to get used to this?”

“Kid, we’re all still getting used to it.”

He takes another shot at that. He thinks about the things he’s getting used to, the new place and the new world and the way the world spins. The way the ground here isn’t cracked and rotten and part of hell. The way he doesn’t have to worry about getting an annual concussion, hopefully, if he watches out, if he follows his rules.

He thinks about Eddie, which is a bit funny, because he doesn’t think he’s tried to think about him in a long time. Sometimes it happens like that. You know about someone for years and then you know them for a few days and then.

Impact.

And if he’s being honest, he’s never going to get laid like this. Sitting miserable at the bar. It’s a club. There are people and performances and men that he doesn’t have to be afraid of.

Steve has to do more than just survive, now. It’s been eight years of surviving and he gets to live.

So he gets plastered. Sloppily so, finds Robin and kisses her wet on her forehead and lifts her up for the girls by the stage and wingmans until she’s giggling and slapping at him and threatening divorce.

He gets bullshit drunk, chases his Munson High, grinds against a man with lots of eyeliner, hair so long he’s pretty. He tells him so against his lips and his hips. Doesn’t learn his name before he’s sitting back at the bar, a moment that hardly sobers him.

He sits for a while and breathes and people-watches and talks to Ricardo, and there’s a man with sunglasses down the bar, staring right at him. His hair is cropped short and he’s covered in tattoos, and Steve flags Ricardo down.

“Am I really drunk or is that guy staring at me?”

Ricardo smiles, response sloshing around in Steve’s brain. “He’s definitely staring. I told you that you were his type.”

“Oh shit,” he says, “that’s Winn?”

Steve doesn’t stick around long enough to hear anything other than the confirmation. And if Winn gets tense, Steve is too drunk to notice. He wants to drink and he wants to make out and he wants this guy to do whatever he wants with him. He wants to flirt and get in his pants and go home with him. And he’s a reckless drunk and he’s okay with it.

“Hey,” he says when he sidles up, rests his elbows on the bar.

“Hey.”

His voice is gruff and deep, surprisingly so. And he looks out into the crowd for a bit, so Steve can peek behind his sunglasses to see what they’re hiding. “I was wondering if you were planning on buying me a drink.”

Winn smiles, and it’s bright, even if it isn’t huge. It looks shocked, unused, awkward in the lips like they’ll crack open. Steve wants to get bloody on them.

“Now why would I do that?”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Steve says, even if he doesn’t know that it’s true. It’s true enough. “And Ricardo told me that I’m just your type. Was wondering if you’d ever make a move.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t make a move of your own?” His voice wavers a bit, a teasing jolt, something familiar, weirdly.

Steve drags his eyes down Winn’s body, his plain black shirt, and dark wash jeans, and the lean muscle that sits underneath. “What do you think I came over here for?”

“You’ve got me there. But I don’t think I was staring at you.”

“I’m pretty sure you were.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m wearing sunglasses, so I could have been staring at anything,” Winn says, turns his shoulders towards Steve’s, like they’re closing in on each other.

“You’re looking at me now, at least.”

“That’s true.”

“Any chance you’ll be looking away any time soon?”

It’s fun. Their back and forth. He can tell Winn likes it too, cheeks red, even when the lights change to flash yellow and blue and green. His voice cracks higher for a half second. “None.”

There it is.

“Good,” Steve says, curls his fist into the front of his shirt and pulls Winn down to him. He can feel the snag of chest hair in his hand, swallows the little groan he lets out into his mouth. He wants to get drunk on that, too.

He knows how drunk he must be, out in the open like this. He knows how selfish this must be, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it. Steve wants.

Winn hesitates for a fraction of a second, the kind of second that drags on when you’re drunk, and then kisses back the kind of kiss that empties your entire mind. His tongue is hot, licks into his mouth like fire, and he doesn’t taste like liquor. It’s just cigarettes and sweat and Steve wants to drown in it.

It turns out that Winn is the take control type. The do whatever you want if you ask nicely enough type, if he’s remembering correctly. He’s solid and bone-crushing and not nearly close enough. Steve is desperate and hungry in a way he hasn’t let himself be in years, doesn’t care about the consequences, wants Winn to make a mark on him that won’t go away.

And Winn gets them both drinks, gets Steve just what he likes, takes his own shots like they’re nothing. He downs them like water and Steve stares at his throat like he wants to build a home inside of it.

There’s a little bit of talking, but mainly making out, and a lot of touching hip bones and exposed biceps and the tender skin at the juncture of Winn’s neck, and ordering drinks and feeling reckless and not giving a shit.

And then his hands are in Steve’s hair, pulling, kissing him again and again, and his knees nearly collapse right there.

“Take me home,” Steve finds himself saying. “Your home. Take me to your place.”

Winn laughs, a sharp sound, “You’re a little drunk, buddy.”

“Sober me up then,” Steve says, slides his free hand up Winn’s leg. He tests a theory. “Please?”

And that does something.

He is pretty drunk, and otherwise his blood isn’t particularly focused on his brain function as much as his dick, honestly. But still, Winn makes Steve dizzy with it, with want and need.

It’s quick and reckless. Steve tells Robin he’s going home with Winn, that he’ll call a cab in the morning, and she salutes him on his way out.

The air outside is just as stale and hot as the club, and Steve leans into Winn’s arm while they walk.

“I hate how hot it is here.”

“You might have come to the wrong place, big boy,” Eddie says. Or, well, Winn says it, but Steve stops short in his tracks, feeling like a tape getting rewound, cranked slowly. It’s five years ago all of a sudden, just for a second, and Winn catches Steve by the bicep and if Steve were feeling more like himself he might have flexed or flirted or something. “You alright?”

And he’s back in the present, skipped ahead with a scratch. “Yeah.”

“Don’t die of heatstroke on me. I have water at my apartment. It’s not far.”

It really isn’t far. Winn keeps his sunglasses on even though Steve can hardly see a foot in front of him as it is. He wonders for a second if Winn has real eyes, or if he sees through his lenses like screens. Or maybe he can’t see at all. That seems unlikely.

He wonders if Winn has Eddie’s eyes, too. Big and brown like he’d never seen before or seen since. The real Munson High: not a guy with long hair and rings and tattoos and weird interests, but a guy who looks at him like that, like Eddie did. Intense and sure and determined and unafraid.

“You remind me of someone,” Steve says, sloshed, uninhibited.

For all accounts, he should keep his mouth shut. Steve is actually trying to sleep with this guy, and he can’t imagine that comparing him to his admittedly life-changing but violently dead friend from five years ago is going to be appealing.

And this guy is cool, Steve tells him so. His style and his walk and his demeanor and how he tastes like cigarettes, the kind you roll yourself.

He thinks, maybe, keeping it lighthearted will be best. If this is the final destination of the Munson High, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Or scary the way seeing the ghost of him in his grocery store is.

Winn keeps him talking, though. “Someone nice?”

“Oh,” Steve blinks. He isn’t quite sure, which seems unfair, but he doubts Eddie thought Steve was all that nice either. “Maybe. He was nicer than me, maybe. He was good, I know that. We had a lot going on back when I knew him, but you have the same kind of smile. And manner of speaking. All that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steve is too drunk really to read into the way Winn’s posture changes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that they’re at Winn’s apartment already. It’s not far at all. In fact, Steve could probably make it back home in fifteen minutes if he wasn’t so far gone.

His apartment is small and a bit messy, and it’s quiet and a little impersonal. Not much on the walls, no pictures of family around. And sometimes it’s like that here, he’s learned. Not everyone has a Robin. But at least Winn has a Ricardo.

The entry space isn’t too warm. It’s actually nice and cool. Cooler than the club, certainly cooler than the outside. Like, Winn must have good air conditioning. “Jesus Christ, are you rich or something?”

“I can’t believe that you of all people would ask that,” Winn says. Steve doesn’t bother asking what that means but he wonders. He looks for hints in Winn’s sunglasses or the familiar weight of his hands.

“I feel like I can breathe,” Steve takes a deep breath and spins, almost topples over, and Winn catches him by the shoulders. Firm hands. Familiar. They’re familiar. “Woah, thank you.”

“Not a problem, dude.”

There it is again. That tone of voice. Steve has got to be fucking hallucinating, honestly, all of a sudden overcome by this pulling in his chest.

“Is dude really an appropriate thing to call someone you’re trying to sleep with?” He flirts, the only cylinder in his brain that’s firing like this. Everything else is fighting drunken confusion and Eddie and trauma. And it’s not fair that this is happening now.

Winn’s sunglasses are still on. “You’d be surprised, Stevie.”

He stumbles and trips over a cable and it feels like 1986 again and 1985 and 1984, and it’s a black and slimy vine, something that will slither around his neck and ankles and choke him out. And the next few hours are a confusing haze, because he collapses in Winn’s arms. He gets taken to the couch, a fucking ugly thing, and he can’t breathe and it’s humiliating.

It’s been a while since an episode like this. The first few weeks in San Francisco were like that, peeking around every corner, distrustful of every shadow. And the feeling of being back there mainly sticks to nightmares, something he can blame on his dreams.

But he got used to it. He got used to San Francisco and normal problems like being broke and hating your parents.

Steve knows what’s real and what isn’t. He’s smart. He hasn’t gone insane. He’s not crazy, except, he definitely looks crazy to this guy. This poor guy. Not-Eddie. Eddie’s not real. Or, not anymore.

He never should have come here. He should be with Robin. She knows what’s real too. She can talk him down. She’s good at it.

He can’t see for what feels like an hour or what he knows is realistically only a couple of minutes, and then he can, because Eddie or not-Eddie rubs circles into his back and puts a glass of ice water in his hands and tells him how cold it is. He narrates the droplets of condensation that track down his skin and into his watch, which still hasn’t gone off yet.

This is the longest night of his fucking life and that’s saying something, it’s saying too much.

“You’re okay, man,” Eddie or not-Eddie says, calm like he’s used to this feeling, when nobody could be. Nobody but the group of them who fought monsters in alternate dimensions, who were nearly killed off and then paid off by government organizations. It’s why Steve and Robin came here in the first place. To get away from it. Somewhere where no one would know. So they wouldn’t have to see the effects of it every day and breathe the awful polluted air.

A chill runs up his spine. The air conditioning whirrs. A thought comes to his mind: he likes it cold.

And he thinks he’s hyperventilating again, he must be, because Winn is concerned and takes off his sunglasses and Steve gets a good look at his eyes and they’re Eddie’s. Like he took them from him. Like the world is fucking with him, like they never won at all and this is Steve’s fucking ticking clock. Like the last five years weren’t real, like nothing is real.

By some grace of God, that’s too much for his brain to handle, and he passes out right there on Eddie’s couch in Eddie’s arms in San Francisco in 1991.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson almost died.

•

It’s 1991, and Steve wakes up hungover in a room he’s never been in before. It’s dark still, and his head is pounding, and he’s sure it’s from the alcohol. But it centers around his eyes like he’d been crying, something he doesn’t let himself do all that often, and it floods back.

His eyes barely adjust and there’s an old Metallica poster on the wall and a stack of books in the corner of the room and a guitar pick necklace hanging from the corner of a mirror and nothing else.

Nothing else recognizable, at least. Nothing else personal, not that Steve can really say he knew Eddie personally. It’s nothing like Eddie’s room at home five years ago, the one he had to clean out because Wayne and Dustin were too heartbroken to do it themselves. With his guitars and posters and fliers and lyrics and chord progressions. With his drugs that they threw back into Rick’s house. That he and Nancy made sure to keep far away from the kids, because God fucking forbid they touch them.

It’s too dark to tell if this is the Upside Down or one of those clock hallucinations or if it’s just night.

There’s no reason Eddie Munson should be alive.

There’s no reason, really, that Steve should have been thinking about him for so long, anyway. For thinking of Eddie as this special thing to him, a high he’s chased for years, a person he recognizes pieces of in strangers on the street. That must be what this is. Punishing him for not letting him go. When he hardly fucking knew the guy.

But that’s not right, either.

He’s shaking, and the bed creaks with it, and the door opens slowly, and he holds his breath until Eddie walks through.

Because Eddie walks through. His hair is cropped and his neck is scarred and his face is older. There aren’t rings or patches or buttons on leather and denim. He looks different and exactly the same, and the light from the other room floods from behind him like a halo, like he’s a ghost.

Steve knows that this can’t be his imagination, though, can’t be the effect of some spell or hypnotism or post-traumatic stress, because he’d never imagine Eddie like this. Barren.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Eddie says, like it’s a normal thing to say, like this is a normal thing to do, and Steve kind of wants to kill him again.

The light flickers on, bathes the room in an ugly yellow. “What did you do?”

“What?” Eddie stops short. Water spills over the rim of a glass Steve didn’t notice he was holding. “You had a panic attack and passed out. I brought you to a bed.”

Steve shakes his head. “You died! You died five years ago! What did you do? Did you make a deal with Vecna? With the guys at the lab?”

“Jesus, no!” Eddie steps forward and Steve tenses. His eyes flash, and they’re just as big and swirling as Steve remembers, but they’re dark, and he holds his other hand out, placating. Is he a vampire? Is Vecna even dead?

“Was any of it real? Is any of it over?”

Exdie crouches, and he takes off his shirt, and Steve must still be a little drunk because he stares at his chest and the curls of hair scattered around. But behind that, more clear now than it was in the club, is scarred, discolored patches of skin, poorly stitched together, healed but slowly. Painfully. The scratches and scars run lightly up his arms and his chest, up into deep pinks and reds at the base of his neck.

“I didn’t die,” Eddie says, patient, practiced, like he’d been prepared to be found out. Which begs the question: what was the fucking point? “I nearly died. I thought I died. But I didn’t.”

Steve fumes and he tries to follow and he stares at Eddie’s skin, thinks about all the people he couldn’t protect.

“We mourned you. Dustin was,” Jesus Christ, it hurts to think about, “torn in half. You let us all think you died, but you let him think you died. We would have helped you.”

Eddie stares like he’s brokenhearted, and Steve is done talking. His throat hurts and his head hurts and he’s too fucking old for this. He dares Eddie to explain himself.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He really did think he was going to. He’d already accepted it, and if Dustin got to live, he would have done it over and over again indefinitely. He would have relived the pain forever, and he knew it even when it was excruciating and he tasted blood and venom and whatever else.

The only thing he wouldn’t relive was Dustin’s face, dirty and tear-tracked and sobbing.

Eddie faded out and faded back in. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard the others come back, heard them tear Dustin off of him, heard the rumbling of thunder and the splitting of earth.

One thing Eddie learned when he was young, when his dad put his mom in the hospital, was that hearing goes last. The last moments wrapped up in loud silence.

He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but the screams and the cracking and the laughter from Vecna sounded a lot like hell, especially when it didn’t stop. When it kept going. When he thought he was dead.

But hell seemed to spit him back out.

Didn’t want him. Go figure.

He was hardly alive, though. Alive in the sense that he was sometimes conscious and his heart was chugging, pushing blood around his body.

And eventually, in Hawkins, real Hawkins, he crawled until he ended up in the Hendersons’ backyard. He’d heard a story once, right before he died, that Dustin had taken in a little monster until it could live on its own.

It was a long shot, but he was hoping the kid would be willing to do it again.

He was.

Eddie bled sludge onto the concrete of Dustin’s cellar, and Dustin stole antiseptic and gauze and painkillers from where they were keeping Max in the hospital and from the donation drives and wherever else, Eddie never knew. He soaked needles and string in hydrogen peroxide and sewed him up in the really gnarly gashes that wouldn’t scab over, placating Eddie with whatever was in his mother’s liquor cabinet.

And it was fucking hell.

He will never remember most of it.

But as soon as he could stand upright he cut his hair short and hitchhiked to Indianappolis and took a one-way bus to California and didn’t look back.

There was no way he could. Every step was a miracle. He was a man on the run.

But nobody except his uncle knew that his name was Edwin, that his mother’s maiden name was Langley. Nobody except Rick, who’d made him a fake ID before he got sent to prison so he could run off to San Francisco after he graduated, or after Wayne got sick of him, or after shit got really bad.

And well.

It killed the poor kid, he knew it, but he hoped that knowing he was alive would lessen the blow. Even if he swore him to secrecy. The kid was loyal. Could keep a secret.

Dustin is nothing if not stubborn. Packed Eddie’s bag with a note with his home phone number and a radio frequency and a threat, a promise, to tell the police exactly where he was if he didn’t confirm proof of life at least once a month.

An extremely charming scribbled note on a piece of paper he would keep in his bedside table that read: I WILL MAKE ELEVEN FIND YOU. LIVE.

So Eddie Munson – if you asked his ID, Edwin Langley – if you asked anyone else, Winn the Mechanic – didn’t die in Upside Down Hawkins, Indiana in 1986. He laid low for five years in San Francisco, a place where people run to all the fucking time and don’t ask questions, didn’t make too much money, didn’t make too many waves.

He got rid of anything that would identify him. That was the hard part. All Eddie Munson had was his identity. Was his band and his music and his club and his loud personality. And he’d never held himself back for anyone.

He figured, though, if he was going to hold himself back for something, it would be for the teenagers who fought monsters. Maybe, he thought, this way he’ll win. There’s no other way for them to win.

Eddie knew his odds. Every day was a stealth check. And for five years he rolled high enough. It helped staying mainly sober and playing the new performance of being mysterious and quiet. Like that was a new game in itself.

And then, one day, a drunk and traumatized Steve Harrington rolled high enough on investigation to crumble the whole thing down.

•

It’s 1991. And Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He was alive when Wayne and Steve organized a pathetic little funeral for him with sticks and pins and guitar picks buried into the ground on the right-side-up of where he got attacked by the bats. He was alive when Steve and Lucas spent nights in Dustin’s room, giving them a break from the hospital room and making sure they were doing okay.

For Christ sake, he held Dustin while they mourned.

Eddie was alive when Steve sort of pieced together why he was so heartbroken. When Robin asked why he kept Eddie’s jean jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, why he didn’t bury it or give it to Wayne. He was alive when Steve was confused and tired and drove out to Indianapolis and went down on some drummer with long hair and big eyes who called him baby and pretty and gave him a warning before coming down his throat.

When Robin coined the term Munson High.

And Jesus Christ, Steve is exhausted. He’s nauseous and dizzy and hungover and his mouth tastes like shit. He’s only pretty sure this whole thing isn’t an elaborate mind game.

“I don't understand, dude,” Steve says, running the palm of his hand flat down his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

Steve kind of wants to kill him again. “Why did you have to be dead? Why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Why didn’t you tell me? We were friends!” He clears his throat. “And why the fuck did you take me home tonight knowing damn well who I was?”

Eddie counts the questions off on his fingers, formulating his thoughts, and it’s infuriating to watch. Knowing that Eddie has had five years to think about this, and Steve is falling over on himself like a fucking idiot. Blindsided.

He speaks, and for some reason it sounds the exact same as it has in Steve’s memory, and it hurts. “The town wanted me dead, man. There were people coming after me with pitchforks, no questions asked, there was no saving me. Not after Jason died. Not after it broke national news. I couldn’t be missing or sent to jail or any of that shit. I had to be dead or they would kill me. And if they couldn’t kill me, they’d kill you guys for keeping me alive.”

Steve clenches his jaw and it sends the violent sting of a migraine into his eye. “We would have done it. We needed you–”

“That’s why you guys couldn’t know. You would try to fix it. If you knew I lived, you would patch me up and take me to your magical girl’s friends with the government and they would wave their wands, but I would be public enemy number one, and that was never going to change or get better,” Eddie says, a crack in his voice like he’s frustrated, like he has a right to be. “I’ve been public enemy number one since the kids in Hawkins found out who my dad was. It never fucking changes.

“I told Dustin because I knew he wouldn’t ask me to stay after I’d already made up my mind. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would. You would have asked me to stay and I would have done anything for you back then. And now, too. I just can’t say no to you, Stevie.

“But,” he finishes, “you needed to focus on the bigger picture. If you thought there was any shot I would make it, you would have taken it, and you would have gotten yourself killed.”

Steve breathes. He can’t do much to argue with that, but the parts of it that were personal, that made Steve feel like stained glass or the open mouth of a cave, like he was something Eddie could really see, those parts are hard to swallow.

“And?”

“And,” Eddie says. “I haven’t seen you in five years and I never got to kiss you back then, I never even thought of it as a possibility. And my cover was broken and I was drinking even though I don’t do that anymore, and you asked to go home with me, Steve. I already said I can’t say no to you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie relaxes into a position more familiar, barely. The ghost of a posture Steve recognizes from five years ago. He wonders if he’s still the same or different in Eddie’s eyes. “And I wouldn’t have slept with you under false pretenses, I just figured you’d rather not be in a dark little gay club when you realized I was Eddie.”

He’s a little too tired for this. A little too broken. It’s a little too much.

Steve wonders if he would feel his heart stop if it did. Or if it would just feel like the same dull ache he’s been feeling for five years. More than that. Since his world turned upside down.

“You’re stuck with me, now. You got that?”

Eddie smiles, and it’s something so massive and heart stopping and sickening that Steve worries if it’s real at all. It’s just different enough. Five years older. Relieved and real.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, waterlogged and broken and also whole.

Steve would hate to break this, but he glances at the clock and feels a tension about a fifteen minute walk away. “You’re going to have to deal with Robin, though. And Dustin is going to have to deal with me”

•

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana.

•

It’s 1991. Steve unlocks his apartment, cramped and kind of ugly, and full of life.

“Hey Rob?”

Robin calls from her little closet room. “No honey I’m home? Where has our love gone, Stevie?”

“Uh,” he shifts by the door. “I ran into someone last night.”

“I thought you went home with that Winn guy. Did he fuck your brains out? I should have told him about your history of concussions before I let you leave…” Robin trails off when she turns one of the snug corners of their apartment and makes eye contact with them.

And Steve can only imagine how they look to her, considering everything. Steve bringing home a man who looks more like Eddie Munson than is probably healthy for him. Looking exhausted, his eyes are chapped and red from last night. And Eddie looks kind of terrified, which he should. It’s a blessing that Nancy is on the other side of the country, because Eddie would be dirt in the fucking ground, probably.

“Hi,” Robin looks Eddie up and down with so much intensity that Steve can feel the heat of it. “I’m sorry. I’m Robin. I need to steal Steve away for just one minute.”

“Robin,” Steve manages. She looks away from Eddie and gives Steve a scathing Munson High stare. It quiets him.

Eddie speaks, though. That same old voice. “Robin.”

It’s pleading, almost. And it works. Steve and Robin joke about being able to read each others’ minds, but it’s like something really happens then. Exactly how he thought she’d react: confused, and then suspicious, and then almost angry.

“What is this?”

She doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just walks up to Eddie and pulls on the collar of his shirt. Steve looks too: the smattering of scars, years healed over but still gnarly, raised, skin crawling over itself like veins.

There’s this little quirk in the scars on Steve’s stomach, marks that never faded, speckles of black, like shards of venom from the bats stuck inside him. They play just underneath the pale scars on Eddie’s neck. And Robin’s face breaks.

“What the hell is this?

“I’m–” Steve thinks there’s going to be an apology from Eddie, half-formed, scared and desperate in a way that tears Steve’s heart in half even though it’s only just been mended. But Robin launches forward, unsteady on her feet, wraps both arms around his neck.

“You were gone,” Robin croaks into his skin. “I saw it.”

Eddie rubs her back, and Steve’s heart lurches at the memory of her and her brave face when they found Dustin hovering over his body.

“I’m sorry.”

“How are you here? Did they–” the government, the Lab, the Russians, the creatures, “did they take you away? Are you under witness protection? Who’s Winn?”

Eddie’s voice shakes while he explains it again, and Steve shakes while he hears it again, and Robin watches and listens with her usual intensity, careful and horrified and spinning cogs in her brain while she puts the pieces together. She’s always loved a mystery. A puzzle. She asks the right questions, gets the right answers.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face. This beautiful thing. It crumples the tiniest bit, and Steve’s always been attuned to these non-verbal signs, these warnings. So for a second, there’s a wet anguish in his eyes, and Robin’s fingers curl hard into his shirt like a threat, and Steve worries that whatever comes out of his mouth will be a lie.

It’s too much like 1986 and Eddie’s smiling at him, curly and beautiful, promising that he’s not a hero. Like it’s 1987 and Dustin is sitting at Eddie’s grave like he doesn’t know where he is. Like it’s 1988 and Steve on the phone with his parents, telling them things are fine. It’s 1989 and Steve is telling Robin that he’s fine. 1990: this town isn’t sucking the soul out of him, he can stay for the kids, he deserves one more year as a kid himself, he still has something to offer.

It’s 1991, and Steve knows how to lie, and he’s never been afraid of being lied to. He’s only ever been afraid of the truth.

–

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. There’s no big white spectacle event at the town’s once-gaudy now-dilapidated church, no priests or preachers. The bride never believed in all of that, and the rest of them haven’t bought into it for at least a decade.

It’s a small ceremony. Steve walks Max down the aisle. He whispers to her that Lucas started crying the moment he saw her, Max says she knew he would, and Steve laughs, delighted.

He drops her off and falls back into Lucas’ groomsmen line, punching him in the shoulder on the way, lands his hands on Dustin’s shoulders and squeezes.

He catches Robin’s eye on the other side of the aisle. She’s still wearing their wedding ring, but she’s playing with the lace on Nancy’s shoulder, and Nancy’s smiling in a way Steve’s never seen from her.

It’s been a decade free of evil in this town, and Steve doesn’t often come back, but it’s moments like this where Steve remembers that this was his home, once. There aren’t towns like this in California, smattered with woods, filled with people who have always known him, who he doesn’t have anything to lie about to.

Eddie’s there. He hasn’t been to Indiana since he crawled out ten years ago. He’s sitting, playing with hair he’s been growing back out for five years.

There’s a tattoo on his ring finger, now, black and sprawling.

Steve stares at it the entire time.

–

It’s 1991, and Steve is back in Eddie’s apartment. There’s a nice radio in the closet, and the two of them sit on the cool ground in front of it.

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off of Eddie in hours, what’s felt like years. He edges closer, like Eddie is a stray, like he’ll scamper away. And Eddie at least seems to understand. Press back, knowing there’s fear that he won’t.

He’s warm. That’s one of the most jarring things.

He still remembers how cold he felt, years ago, bleeding through his clothes, through Steve’s hands.

And now he’s warm and alive and Steve wants to be burned by him. Seared. He wants Eddie so close he leaves a mark.

Eddie turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow, “ready?” And he waits for Steve to nod before he turns on the radio and plays with the frequency.

“Obi-Wan to Luke checking in…” His eyes flicker up to Steve’s. “Over.”

Steve smiles. Of course Dustin is Luke. He’s almost surprised he isn’t Han.

It takes a few seconds for Dustin to respond, undeniably him, attempting to hide his excitement in the way he’s never been able to pull off. “Luke to Obi-Wan, confirming check-in. Is everything alright? We just spoke last week. Over.”

“Just peachy, young Skywalker. Though I do have a visitor. Over.”

“Are you compromised?” Dustin’s voice crackles with his natural intense panic. “Over.”

“No,” Steve leans into the microphone, keeping all points of contact with Eddie like he’ll float away. “But you are. Over.”

There’s a bit of amusement that Steve can see in Eddie’s eye, a smile that he can’t look away from. It makes this whole thing feel less massive. Everything’s felt massive for almost ten years, and Eddie just dissipates the whole thing. Like magic. Eddie’s fucking Houdini.

“Shit.”

“You didn’t say over. Over,” Eddie says, voice light.

It’s ridiculous, all of a sudden. Easy. Even though everything is an awful disaster, it’s easy.

“Shit… Over.”

–

In 1996 they stay at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis after the reception. They slow dance in the little space next to the bed, entirely sober, both of them. Drunk off each other, almost.

They don’t sleep, because they fuck like rabbits, and because Hawkins is still a little too haunted to get real rest, and because the Motel 6 is still a piece of shit even after rebuilding it in the 90’s.

The sun rises and it stays there.