#i will need two(2) light nests <3

[boyfeminism]

PUMPKIN PAIR COMPLETE

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 3. I Was a Child Once, I'm Not Any Longer

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Slow Burn; Soft!Dom Joel; Sexual Inexperience; Small booby worship; FLUIDS — like lot’s of fluids forreal omg; Tummy Bulge; Heat Sex; Knotting; Biting; Mating; Blood Mention; Loss of Virginity; Squirting; Pussy Slapping; Breeding Kink; Size Difference; Size Kink; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Older and Experienced Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: It's raining here right now and feels really like a perfect morning to post this, I hope you like it.

Word Count: 12.4K

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3. I Was a Child Once, I'm Not Any Longer

When you make your way into the kitchen a while later – he’d left you with clear instructions of bathroom and teeth, thinking to give you some privacy to adjust to yourself once again after what you’d done together this morning – you’re nothing more than a little omegan mess. Hair a birds nest, his too big t-shirt sliding over one naked shoulder, and worst of all, almost bringing him to his goddamn knees, in the bright morning light shining in through the big bay windows, he can see the glossy mess of your slick smeared all down and along your pretty thighs, almost reaching your knees. 

Jesus fuck, but he’s in trouble. His teeth hurt, his gut aches, his cock – a mind of its own. It’s all starting, and he’s afraid and unprepared and too desperate to put into words. He wants it all now, he realizes, despite his fear, he can’t help himself but want it all. 

You step into the room primly, nose turning up in the air to sniff curiously at the smell of what he’s making you for breakfast, and when your eyes swing around the room to him, shy. Shy as if you’re remembering your modesty only after you’d let him finger your cunt and slicked his cock. The look makes him want to be gentle, a thing he often is not. And when his eyes move further down, something goes soft and shy within him as well: two of his too big socks, mismatched and sagging around your ankles. 

There’s something about you that’s impeccably vulnerable and honest, something he needs to guard fiercely. 

He blinks away, looking back at the cooking sausages he’s got sizzling in the pan. No one had ever cared for you before, not in any real and true way, and he’d received you here with nothing but promises of more uncaring gestures, threats to send you packing. The wrong foot indeed. He’s such an asshole. And he’d not seen to his responsibility properly last night, hadn’t made sure you’d had a rich and filling dinner, left you in bed alone and cold and without him, entirely unequipped for this little life that had suddenly been placed in his hands. But you’d also scared him last night, out on the cliff, more scared than he’d been at the simple notion of you, that of losing you, like with the letter, the bidding pool and the threat of you being given away, there was something wrongly terrifying about it all, the sudden possibility of you not being with him. Scared into want, into wakefulness, perhaps. 

Out of the corner of his eye he watches you tip toe into the living room, making your slow exploration around, to the big window where you pause to watch the outside world for a long moment, palm splayed against the glass as if you could reach out and touch it all, pluck the world into the cup of your hand. Then to the fireplace, bending in half to peer into the hearth and watch the flames pop, the sofa next, where he’d brought out another stack of blankets. You’d start nesting soon, and he needs to make sure you have the things you’ll want. 

He watches as you bring the corner of one of the quilts to your nose, smelling the scent of him that lingers there, rubbing it against your face, and then moving to the stack of his sweaters he’d left beside, you bend to bury your face in the soft, worn wool. His heart thumps and thumps and thumps within him. You pull one blanket first, laying it before the warm hearth in the spot of rug he’d cleared for just this. And then another and another, some pillows on either side, sweaters tucked and stuffed between, starting to build your nest. He’s hard, knot tight and hot and ready, and he has to take a few steadying breaths, force himself to look away and pull the biscuits he’d made from the oven, flipping the gas on the stove off and pulling the eggs and sausages from the heat, grabbing the bowl of oatmeal he’d readied for you as he moves towards the bar. 

“I made you some oatmeal, c’mere,” he calls, voice graveled with strangling want, but he appreciates the look of bright curiosity you swing his way. He’s coming to realize he finds everything about you, everything you do, devastatingly arousing, even just a simple look, the shift of your jaw. He pulses beneath his jeans as you approach, remembering the leak of your cunt against the throb of his cock from earlier and wanting more of it already. 

He hoists you onto the bar stool when you reach him, he’d draped a folded throw over the hard curve so you’d have something soft to sit your sore little cunt on, and turning you to face him, he slots you between his spread thighs on his own stool, close as he can get you. You stretch towards the spread of food, and give a little sniff, scrunching your nose at him in distaste. 

“Don’t gimme that face. Look, whatever you want–” He shows you the eggs and sausages and the oatmeal. He’d wanted to give you options. “I put honey and milk and cinnamon in it. Berries–” He pulls the bowl of blackberries closer. “You’re gonna be a good girl and eat all of it, and I’m gonna sit here and watch you do just that. C’mon, sweet thing, do as I say.” You look at him suspiciously, but with those words, as if your obedience were a foregone conclusion when he asks the right way, you start to eat. Slow little kitten licks and sips from the spoon of honey milked oats, and he has to force himself to turn and not burn you with the intensity of his gaze, piling his own plate high with biscuits and gravy and eggs and sausages, gut roiling with hunger not for food, he forces himself to eat, one palm still gripped at the back of your stool right up against your ass. He needs to feel you, to keep you close, it’s all starting now. 

“Do you eat meat?” He asks, taking a bite of the savory and fatty sausage. You scrunch your nose again, nothing but wide eyes and a bout of sweet timidity now that your greedy cunt had gotten what it needed. “No? You wanna try?” You shake your head no, shrug that bare and tempting shoulder, end on a nod, leaning forward to take a small nibble of the meat from his own fork. Plush blossom mouth opening to slick itself against the metal where his own mouth had just been – his cock leaks. You chew slowly, thinking, come back for more. He pulls you even closer, tugging the stool loudly against the hardwood floor, feeding you from his own plate and hand, watching the shift of your jaw, the bright of your eyes as you enjoy all the food he’s made just for you, until his plate is clear, and he’s so fucking hard he feels faint – all the blood that’s supposed to be in his brain pooling at his groin.

He could feed you forever. He will. 

Picking at the blackberries now, carefully choosing the fattest and shiniest one first, he presents it to you, watching your eyes shift from the berry to his eyes back and forth until you finally decide to humor him, plucking at his wrist with two tiny fingers, only a quarter of him in your grasp to pull him towards you, and opening your mouth so that he can place it on the dip of your tongue. Your mouth purses around it, they're sweet and tangy this time of year, and your nose scrunches again at the sour zing, and you’re so– he can’t help himself. Joel feels like a fucking animal, wholly himself. He yanks you towards him, up into his lap, head wrenched back and fucking eats at you, licking into you, tasting the fruit on your tongue, swallowing it down his own throat along with your spit. It’s disgusting only because it’s not enough, only because he wants more. And you– you respond to him immediately, little warbling song of a different sort of hunger in your throat, hitching higher in his lap, pressing closer, tugging and clawing at him. 

He feels insane. He feels insane. 

It’s a difficult thing to want so much, to be so confronted by the depth of your desire, your nature, to hold it within the palm of your hand as he is now. 

You climb over him, moving to straddle his lap, to rub that needy cunt over his lap, ravenous huffs as you push and pull him this way and that, kissing his face, his ears, his neck, smelling his hair. He has to plant his bare feet wide, steadying himself to hold the two of you upright as you lose control a little bit. It’s almost time, it’s so near. 

He lets you do as you need, grinding against him, marking him with your scent; your inexperience obvious in your desperation. For the life of him, he can’t fathom what his excuse is. 

His hands slide over your knees, “Look’t what you’ve done,” he tuts, passing a ghosting thumb over the skinned little cap, adventure wound from last night, up your thighs, beneath the hem of the t-shrit, no fucking panties, fuck, his fingers slip against your slick covered thighs to grip the meat of your ass, slippery, pulling your ass cheeks apart to feel all that glorious wet sliding everywhere. He needs to calm down, but he pulls you tight against the pulse of his cock, grinds and grinds and pants up into your own open mouth. 

You’re staring down at him now, wide eyed, and your frantic movements slow, hands on either side of his face, fingers clutching at the curls that wrap around his ears. He slides one hand lower to cup your sex, the smooth and bare little palm-full of it, the other sliding up your back, over your shoulder and down your arm to grip and squeeze your wrist tight, your eyes flash, and then he moves to cup your little tit, pinching and twisting the soft puffiness of your nipple, smiling up at your little gasp, and tucks the tip of his index finger inside of you, just a crook of the first knuckle, just to feel you tremble around him. You gasp, oh, and he wants to tie you up in strings and play with you, make you whatever he wants at that moment. Yeah? Just like that? He whispers up at you, and he wants you to give him so many things and everything, and suddenly, the possibilities of him are endless, so much potential to be born from you. He wants to fuck you full and breed you and keep you forever, and he feels insane and finally soothed. 

It’s the rut starting, he knows, and it should be considered a cruelty to want something so much, but you only feel like a gift. 

You sigh a shaky little exhale that makes his stomach clench with how sweet it sounds, lashes fluttering shut at the feel of him breaching you just this little bit. He bends his head to bite at your nipple over the worn cotton of his shirt, keeping his eyes on yours, on the shocked look you’re wearing. He gives one sharp tug with his mouth, and then shoots back up to press one more swift, hard kiss to your open mouth. When he pulls his finger from your leaking hole, he gives your pussy a gentle pat, right on the clit.

“We gotta calm down,” he says slow, can hear the sticky splash of your cunt against his patting fingers. You nod your head, but shift your hips side to side, trying to find friction. “Told you we gotta time it right – take our time. Didn’t I?” But his hand provokes you still, looking up at you with all the wonder of a man coming across something he’d searched for all his life and yet, at the final moment of discovery, is still shocked. 

“You need to eat too,” you say shyly, fingers still twined around his ears, one single tip laid flat against his right gland, applying soft pressure, pulling away, tapping twice, applying pressure again. Your shared want in a clicking language. 

You slide off his lap, back to your own stool, but keep your knees hooked over one of his own thighs, two little feet pressed against the other, fingers still shifting in his hair, petting him while he piles his plate again and digs in. You touch him everywhere you can reach, tugging on his ears, hand smoothing over the muscles in his arms, poking the soft of his belly, gripping his jaw on either side to count his chews, and then palm cupping his throat to feel his swallows.  

He feels suddenly, desperately impatient for the heat to start in full, to spread you wide on the ground and fuck into your slicked, open cunt, to pump it full of his semen and tie you to him with his knot. To own you in a way that only the thing you are and the thing he is would allow. 

You stare at him intently, focused concentration, like you’re reading his mind, brows furrowed and chin tipped. 

“Can I help you?” He crooks a brow at you. 

You shake your head, staring him down, chin to sternum. “No– You eat so much.”

“M’hungry,” he mumbles around a forkful of eggs, desperate to fill that hollow concaved feeling in his gut he knows is ravenous for something other than just food. But you nod solemnly, as if it were a thing of the utmost importance.

“I understand,” you say very seriously, still nodding. 

He swallows, tipping his head to look at you. And he realizes you’re right, in the obvious way of all such designated things, that you do understand him, and perhaps, for reasons other than just that mere designation. And on the tail end of that realization, another: he feels suddenly, starkly, like a victim. A victim in the same way you were, are, would have been, would no longer be. That same white box, that same perilous ledge, both of you trapped between precarious truth and free will. Both of you the same, and sitting here, side by side, now free, as well. Even despite your ties to each other. Of course you understand each other, you’re the same.

“How ‘bout we go down to the beach?” And your eyes go bright as that glowing comet, immediately throwing your arms around his neck and taking a bite at his ear, excited as a puppy. 

Oh, please, please, please, yes. Yes, let’s go, you squeal and strangle him, almost rip his hair out of his head, but it feels good. It makes him feel real. 

-

He’d dressed you in too many stupid, stifling layers, buttoned to the chin. Long thermals beneath your jeans, a sweater, a large puffer jacket, two pairs of socks, ridiculous, scarf wrapped around your throat you’re sure he’d use as a leash to stop you from galloping so far ahead of him across the wet sand if you gave him the chance.  

You want to run naked and reckless and free down the cold, battered shoreline. 

Everything is gray, everything is dark and cold and wet and so very unlike you. But you feel like it all allowed you to shed that blanket of shyness you’d donned at breakfast, after the kiss. All this: vast and endless and huge in a way you’ll never be. It makes you feel, for some reason, very steadfast in your smallness. Like, look how large the world is, look how unending, look how the sea crashes and prepares to strangle anything that would fall into it. What does it matter, my size in the world, my significance, when faced with all this? I might as well just be. 

You turn back to look at where he meanders slowly in the imprinted path of your bootprints, laughter in your throat you can’t help, holding the pail he’d brought down for you to collect treasures out of the sand. The sky is angry, and from this distance, lashed by the wind as he is, he looks as small as you feel. This is comforting; the two of you are the same.

You are the same. 

Standing still, you wait patiently for him to reach you, rolling the laugh like a stone over the surface of your tongue, enjoying the hurt of the saltspray, the biting wind that penetrates all the layers he’d insisted on. Soon there’ll be no part of you left unpierced. 

And when he finally reaches you, he pauses but two steps away, and God, he has eyes like mirrors, staring down at you from his great height, and silently puts the pail out for you to drop the new additions for your hoard, a sparkling shard of blue green sea glass, a two halved clamshell, the inside: a star hued lavender, cream and silver glow. Surely what the flesh of a dream must look like were it to come alive. 

Your thoughts turn suddenly, you spit the laugh out into the world and watch as it jars him, remembering how you’d read once, in all the many things you’d read in your many years of not life, that when a chest is split open during a traumatic emergency, that the procedure of splitting both halves of the sternum and ribs is called a clamshell thoracotomy. The process allows for access to both sides of the thoracic cavity – full exposure. 

And you can’t, for the life of you, explain why the thought comes into your mind now, staring at that little purple dream as you watch it fall from your sand wet fingertips into the pail he holds poised for you, but you’re sure that whatever the connection might be, it lies only with the idea that you’re prepared for him to do the same to you, that you’re ready for anything when it comes to him.  A splitting, a keeping – what more could be done to a creature used to only half measures? Half life, not life, half omega – not mated, full omega – mated. The intricacies of it all no longer matter, only the yes or no. 

“Will you still send me away?” He’d said he’d changed his mind, but you still ask anyways, voice sliding over the screaming of the sea, throwing him off kilter. You want to hear the words. It’ll storm soon, the waves tell of this by the way they throw themselves against the sea stacks. Poor things, you think, nothing but beaten. 

But you’re not like that. Let him say what he will, you feel buoyant and helpless and completely uncaring. 

And he’s very silent for a long moment, chewing on the possible rejection that you’ll spit right back at him if need be. But then: “Don’t you want your own life?” He asks, and his tone makes you pause, the look in his eyes makes you pause for the fear in it all, for the trepidation it’s made up of. You tilt your head at him this way and that, inspecting him very closely, reading him for all he’s worth. You wonder if he realizes how transparent he’s suddenly become to you. All his hurts, faults, strengths, nature, revealed to you with one question. 

Choice.

He’s asking you what you want. 

“Can’t I make a life here with you?” You counter. 

“Wouldn’t you like to see the world as only yourself?”

Further clarity – the marrow of all he is: afraid. 

You go very soft on the inside, all you are in light of all he is. “I already am myself, Joel.” The sea lashes and howls, his name off your tongue does the same. “Can’t you understand that? This is me, this is what I am.”

He frowns so darkly at that, “I do understand, but I–”

And you step to him, reaching up to cradle his face in your hands, size dwarfing you, fear not: “No. You don’t. But it’s okay, I’m going to show you,” and you turn to continue your path along the water, secure in your certainty now that he’ll follow regardless of anything else. 

Joel wants you to have choices. You’d failed to realize this before, you’d seen only his withholding. 

He moves alongside you after a while, after you’ve allowed him a moment of consideration, idling patiently while you dig through the sand, crouching down to hunt for shells and rocks and glass, fingers wriggling deep beneath the freezing cold sand to feel the burn of it. And after a distance longer, and with much bravery, you clasp two of his too big fingers in your sand crusted fist and hold his hand as you walk together, gently leading him down the path you choose, and he’s so grumpy, and you can’t help but be endeared. 

“I think that's the end of the world out there,” you say, pointing to that stopping point where your eyes won’t go any further.

 He looks out at the sea, eyes stopping as far as the world allows, swings back to your face. And you clutch at his arm, pressing your cheek against his bicep, taking in his scent which has deepened and swelled and grown a body within the last hours – the musked cardamom of him – staring out at all that immensity, personification of all you feel for him, this want that is violent and grown teeth, that exists as nature exists. This want that, yes, perhaps you did not choose, but is still what you want, is still what’s right. 

“The sea is so beautiful, and I’m so happy to be here.” No, you don’t want to go out and find another life. You want to find life here. 

You already have. 

When you turn your face up to his again, he’s staring down at you with that strange look from before, but changed now too. Devouring. No one has ever looked at you like this, and you don’t think anyone else besides him ever will. It’s only him, you see, with eyes like mirrors that reflect back your shared sameness. 

“Is that what you came out here for? To find the end of the world? To hide?” You don’t care if you shouldn't ask, you don’t care about any of the things you shouldn’t do, only about what you want in this moment here and now. 

Selfish, selfish, selfish. Yes.

“What does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “But it does.” It means everything.

He doesn’t respond, only more of that unfathomable look. You don’t care about this either, let him have his silence like a weapon or a punishment. 

“How old are you?” You ask now, realizing that no one had ever told you, that you’d never even cared to ask – bad of you. But not that it would have mattered or made a difference. 

“Too old. Old enough to be your father.” And this makes you angry, sparking angry. Your father – you’d had a father. A stranger father, but still yours. Joel is not that. So, this is anger like Leo’s. Anger at his offhandedness, anger at your own want, despite his words that sit like rust over your skin, anger at the violence of your own want. 

You fight to swallow it, roll your eyes at him. Insist: “How old?” 

“Forty eight.” And he says it like an admission of guilt, which you snort at blithely. 

You flash two held up fingers at him twice, mouthing the words, twenty two. 

His gaze is sad again, and you rub his arm gently, soothing. “I know.” 

And yes, you think, he surely knows so much, but not everything. “I’m not anything else but what I am, you know? What I want to be.”

“Too young–”

You ignore him, voice insistent, “And neither are you.” You turn to face him full on now, taking two steps away so you’re not forced to crane your neck up at him, he cants towards you as if he can’t bear the distance. Nature: he surges toward it hungrily, and just as quickly, surges away. The wind buffets his scent against you, washes you in it. “You can’t make me any of these things you’d thought I’d be. I’m only what I am, and you’re only what you are. Whatever the rest of it is you want to force, or the world wants to force, or the white box says I should be– I don't give a fig for any of that.” You swipe your hand in a cutting gesture through the salted air, and he looks like he might smile first, lands on a flinch instead. “I am not ornamental, Joel.” 

And he flinches again, jarred by his name, but then seems to remember himself, to be reminded of himself by the sound of it, and musters his strength, tightens his seams and says, “‘Nd I’m not here for you to impose yourself on. I’m going to make my own choices.”

“So will I,” you say slowly, and you suddenly want to cry. “So do I. This,” you, “Is my choice because I’m also an omega.” You suck in a tremulous breath. That truth, like a sea between the two of you. You’d thought he’d seen, understood, that he wouldn't have touched you as he had this morning, as no one else ever had, if he didn’t understand the gravity of that. “And if I’m not scared of that, you shouldn't be either.”

He swallows once, twice, devastated mask in place. He looks so forlorn, bearing a weight beyond his years on his shoulders. He turns out to face the water and asks it, “But what about what I want?” Not what he needs.

You close the two steps of distance, pressing against his side, circling his thick wrist in both of your hands, feeling the weight and strength of the bone beneath fevered skin. His sweater is thick, cable knit, soft and worn, a tiny fray at the edge of the sleeve, and a deep navy color, layered over a blue green flannel. No jacket again, he’d donned the colors of the sea instead, but you know now that he isn’t cold. It’s almost time. 

You’d felt so shy after this morning, as you’d walked out to face him in the light of day, sat in his lap and kissed him, newly made, newly minted. Now, you feel as if you know everything you could ever need to know about everything there is to know about you and him. 

“What about what you want? What do you want? Tell me,” you beg. “Say it out loud so we can both hear the truth of it no matter what it costs you.”

“Sweetheart, please,” he begs for mercy, looking down at you again, standing within the confines of your shackle, something further than devastation on his face now. Something like shedding years against your will, going back in time, stepping within a vehicle that would take you to the worst of it all, that point at the end of the world which he already stands on. 

The two of you feel, very much, like two unexploded bombs, existing with great care beside each other. 

The highs of his cheekbones and the tip of his nose are cold reddened, wind lashed, curls damp from the spray of the waves, burning with that dogged nature he fights and fights and fights. And he’s such a part of the world, standing here like this, tall and broad and vital. You want to be like that too, you think, large in a changing way. And he’s strong, strong in a way other creatures aren’t, strong in a way you aren’t. 

But weak in others. 

You release his wrist, forgo the shackle, remain in place. There’s a desperate plea coming from either of you, which though, you’re not entirely sure. 

And then suddenly, and you can’t even be sure from where it comes from because really, if you’re the most honest you can be, you know nothing of this thing. “Have you ever been in love?”

He goes so still that the sea seems to grow more violent in comparison, an offset to his freeze. “Yes. I have.”

“Will you–” swallow your fear, be the brave girl, “Will you ever love me?” You must ask. There’s no other recourse for you in this, you want all of it or nothing.

He bends to you suddenly, getting right in your face, cold nose to cold nose, teeth bared, animal. “I am selfish and jealous and cruel. And I will keep you in a strangle. Do you understand that? Can you even understand what it’ll mean to belong to me? To belong to a thing like this? Yes, I will love you.” So then there’s nothing else to care about. He spins away from you, paces, paces, “I’ve– I… fuck–” fights the dog fight – you wonder how long he’s waged it for, maybe his whole life – turns back to face you, and there’s the look of a boy now too, like Leo, lost and angry and faced with what he is in an insurmountable, unwinnable way. We are what we are, truth impossible to ignore. 

And then finally, fight lost, his face does a funny thing, a strange fracture and decision happening across the canvas of it, all at once. “I used to be a father. I used to have a daughter,” he tells you. 

Entirely unexpected. Entirely terrifying. “Used to?” You take an urgent step toward him, use an urgent tone, the memory of your aunt and of would-be parents flashes in your mind. You don’t want him to say what you know he’s about to say. “Where is she?” You aren’t so naive.

“Sarah,” and he says her name with so much love. “She died.”

You shake your head no, tears swept away with the wind, freezing salted on your lashes. “No,” you say again, louder. 

“When the outbreak happened – in the confusion. We were attacked ‘cause of what I was,” and he shakes his head once, hard and fast as if trying to jostle the confusion out of his mind, or perhaps knock it back into coherence, “Am,” voice limp at the end.

And then he’s the one coming to you, taking you up into his hold, cradling you more gently than the world could ever imagine a thing like him capable of. He finally understands what you are, you can feel it in the way he holds you. “Oh, no, Joel,” you cry into his neck, hugging him to yourself, pulling his head down to rest on your shoulder. “Oh, no. Oh, no.” Your poor alpha. Your poor alpha, he’d been so alone, so hurt and so afraid, and you realize now that you’ll have to be strong for the both of you, that you need to help him in ways only you can, that you need to be strong when he can't. And there’s only sameness here, of the most important sort. Both of you together, equal. When one could not, the other would. 

It’s obvious the way all truths are. 

“If I care for another thing…”

“I understand,” you tell him. It’s obvious the way all truths are: he’s afraid. 

You kiss his face, cup his ears to warm them, bring one of his too big, rough hands to your mouth, pressing your lips to his knuckles, letting him know you’re here now to protect him in the ways he’d never been and had always needed and would never want for again. 

-

He pulls you against himself in a hurt lock, tight enough he lifts you straight off your feet, face buried in your hair, teeth at your neck, biting hard enough you let out a bay of hurt. He can’t explain it, but there is so much care in the words you choose to wield against him, so much wisdom despite the innocent naivety, a clarity about the way you see him and all the rest of the world that sends him into such existential vertigo, makes him want to take a bite out of you so that he might swallow some of that innocence, some of that wisdom down for himself. An honesty about you that gives him no choice but to choose that which he knows he’s always wanted but has never let himself need. 

“I understand,” you’re whispering, letting him savage your throat as he needs. “But everything is going to be okay now–” a moan of pain, “–that we have each other, don’t you see that? We’ll take care of each other.”

He digs his teeth deeper at the fine tendon in your neck, and then slides his tongue up and over your gland, tasting the leak of pheromones there. It’s time now, he can feel it pulse and beat, glowing bright within you. He had been stupid and carelessly blind. He’d been a liar. “I see now – I see. It’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t cry. I’m alright now.” But you wrap your arms around his head, comfort and cradle him, and he has to have you with a desperation that brandishes teeth and boils. 

He shoves you back by your hips, keeping his grip on you steady, and turns to push you back down the beach the way in which you’d come. “Home. Now.” But you push back against him, rubbing your ass against the heft of his cock, presenting him with that cunt that belongs to him. 

“No. Here.” It’s a demand, you have an instinct for this. 

“Absolutely not,” but he’s gripping your hips hard enough to bruise anyways, grinding against you, tension vibrating his too big body, as if he were actually considering it, taking you here and now. 

Please.

“You’d let me knot you right here on the beach with the whole ocean and God watchin’?”

“Yes. Yes, I don’t care.” You try and turn in his arms, head craning back, hungry mouth seeking his own lips.

The insanity of the fever. Now, omega, he rumbles, and there’s no mistake in the burr of his tone, his nature on display, loud and clear – an alpha ordering his omega back to her nest so that he might have her there. He shoves you forward gently, setting you on your way, and picks up your pail full of treasures to stalk after his own. He takes in the sparkle of seaspray like gems in your hair as he follows, the shiver of your frame beneath the too many ridiculous layers he’d forced you into, the stumbling of your feet as you turn back to spy him hunting after you.  There’s wet on your face, and he doesn’t know if it’s the salt of your tears or the salt of the sea, and he wonders if when he drags his tongue across it he’ll be able to tell the difference. He’s sure he will. 

Your scent like a leash leads him, stronger and fuller and warm enough to burn. His gut is tight and aching, cock so hard he feels he can barely stand up straight. He’s sure he can smell the pouring of your slick from your finally readied cunt, the bloom of it obvious in the air around you, juniper berries everywhere – something warmer, spiced vanilla, earth. It’s so good he wants to swallow it down like liquid, drink from your well. 

He follows and follows, and if you weren’t already at the end of the world, he’d follow you there too. Up the stone steps etched into the cliffside, the steep incline sending you to huff and puff in strain. He’d feed you more, make you strong, feed you his cock and fill your belly with his come like honey. His breaths are bullish, bursting out in white clouds of steam, his neck hot and damp, skin boiling beneath his clothes. 

You keep turning back nervously, your left hand stretching back as if to reach for him, and then speeding up again in agitation, going as fast as your much shorter legs can take you compared to his. But he measures himself, lets you get there in your own moment, and eventually, he’s pushing open the cabin’s front door and shoving you inside, forgetting to measure his strength, lost in his delirium as he is, so that you’re stumbling, being snapped back like a rubber band with his fist wrapped in the back of your jacket. 

He rips it down your arms, uncoils the scarf, pulls the sweater over your head, hair a mess, all disoriented and malleable, and yanks you back and into his chest, heaving you up into his arms so that he can clamp his teeth at your throat again, laving his tongue over your gland, slicking you in his spit, sucking hard at the patch of skin, the burst of flavor on his tongue now, bubbling, carbonated almost, so strong his knees buckle and his cock is surely leaking a stream of precum down his leg. So fucking sweet, he’s growling, murmuring like a madman, grinding his erection into the lush of your ass, fingers sneaking under your shirt to squeeze hard and tight at your little tits. Your belly is a ball of embering fire, like you’d swallowed a comet, and he presses down on it gently, hand low on your pelvis over where your little womb is, this place he’s about to fuck full of his spend. 

“The way you smell – your scent – I’ll go fucking crazy, I swear I will.” His voice sounds not his – coming from some source outside of his body, ringing hollowly in his head empty of everything else except you. 

It’s started, it’s started, it’s started. 

You’re full of glorious heat, and he soothes at the soft swell of your belly with gentle circles, hand sliding down to cup the little palm-full of your cunt, rubbing back and forth over your jeans, and then goes to his knees behind you, pawing at the button, ripping them down your legs along with the leggings he’d forced you into beneath them, panties and all; the popping of seams – his or the clothes he can’t be sure. He traps you in the tangle, leaving them around your ankles, boots still on and takes a too sharp, too aggressive bite of your ass cheek, leaving teeth marks, leaving Joel marks, enjoys the sound of your baying that ends on a shocked little squeak, a little ah, ah, ah. He grips your asscheeks too tightly and spreads them wide, watching the delicious little wink of your holes provoking him, and licks the broad flat of his tongue from cunt to asshole, finally, fucking finally tasting you. 

He’s entirely lost to his madness from that moment forward.

He licks your ass again, again, pushes you forward to deepen the arch of your spine to eat at you better, and you mewl, whine, Joel, I’ll fall, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “Fall,” he tells you, “I’ll catch you.” But he spins you in his hands, fast and stumbling, trapped as you are, to face him on his knees before you as he is, as he should be, and you’re so small, morsel sized, perfect for swallowing whole, and open mouthed, he inhales at the mound of your cunt, tongue swiping out to find your clit swollen already. 

You smell like nothing he can describe, too delicious to allow him the choice of clear thought. He pulls you down to the ground, rips your boots and pants the rest of the way off, and right there on the floor by the front door, he spreads your legs wide and eats your cunt. 

Eats it. 

Nothing gentle or restrained about it as he probably should, this being your first time a man licks your pussy, small and innocent as it is, he fucks his tongue inside your shaky hole, sucks hard and sharp on yor clit, your first orgasm, sensitive as you are, trembling through you already. More, more, more, he wants more. He hunches over you like the beast he is, tiny thing, pulls you up, palm cupping your bottom, one knee knocking against his ear, the other leg splayed wide, sliding down his arm, so he can suck, suck, lick at your clit, a gentle kiss as a prize for taking it so well, and then his tongue is back into your cunt to taste the river of slick you’re spilling just for him. Your flavor, so musk heavy, sweet and thick like honey; he feels full and set to burst, no more hollow pit. And he wants more, to gorge and gorge like a glutton. You come again, a splash against his tongue, so wet you’re slipping and sliding in his grip. He can hear your high pitched cries and whines, your Joel, Joel, Joel’s he shushes, soothes with his tongue, little kiss to your little clit that pulses against his mouth. 

“Y’taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” He lets you down, crawling over you, pushing your shirt up to get at your tits, sucking and biting hard enough to hurt. He wants you to feel it all for days after the heat’s over, to leave marks, to make sure he’s left in your skin forever. Forcing your jaw wide, he slicks his tongue along yours, feeds you the taste of your own cunt, salty, sweet, his, and you take it so well, half limp and yet still clinging to him weakly, two orgasms forced on your virgin pussy back to back. 

He scoops you up, belly to belly, spider limbs around his neck and waist, grabby hands yanking at his hair like you’re angry he’s not put you on his knot yet. His knees pop, his back aches something fierce as he heaves the two of you up, muscles in his thighs bulging to support you – he’s fucking old – and walks you over to your nest, setting you down on your back, spreading your knees wide, cunt ripe and blooming, so red, a wound of all the world says you’re meant to be.

Slicking his thumb over the soaked curve of it there’s a sticky string of omega drool that leaves him connected to you when he pulls back. He presses again at your swollen clit, thinks he can almost see the pulse of your rushing blood beat here at your spread cunt, slides down to the tiny winking hole and circles his finger there, giving you the slightest pressure, pressing in a tiny bit, up again to tease your clit. 

“I’m gonna fuck this soft little hole until it’s so full of my come I don’t fit inside no more. Would you like that, sweet baby?” He asks so gently, don’t spook the fawn, don’t spook the beast. 

Your eyes are fevered, face covered in a shine of sweat, your belly glows with heat, and you nod slowly, little smile playing tricks with him whispering across your face. His hands slide up, circle your waist, squeeze and squeeze and squeeze as if he could watch you burst, witness all that heat explode like a comet, then further up to your chest, two big hands covering two little tits.

“You’re so pretty, little omega.” And you preen, you glow, suffused with such vulnerable, honest pleasure. Joel has to be so careful, he has to be so good for you. He will be. You circle one of his wrists, tender little hand, fingers of vapor, he has to be so good for you, he has to be so careful. Again, remember, remember. He bends to press a soft kiss to the pretty tip of each nipple. 

“They’re too small,” you whisper in an even smaller voice. 

“No. No, baby, no.” He presses another kiss, drags his teeth over a peak, sucks on the other, switching back and forth. “They’re fucking perfect, so pretty and so soft. I love them– I’m fuckin’ obsessed with you.” He opens his jaw wide and takes the whole soft mound of it into his mouth, sucking on the whole thing of it. He probably shouldn’t say such things, he doesn’t give a fuck. “Look–” he says around the little globe, “Whole thing fits in my mouth.” He bites some more, kisses some more, sucks on them until you’re whining and pushing him away, until they’re sore and stinging and still he doesn't stop. He shows you just how obsessed he is.

He kisses you all over, your belly, your waist, the soft spot beneath your ribs, your thighs, and the pulse between your collarbones. Slow, slow. He has to be slow and gentle and patient for as long as his looming rut allows, he needs to ease you into this. Taking an ankle first in one hand, he presses a kiss to the gland just there on the inside of it, suckles a little, then the other, and watches as your cunt becomes more and more needy and swollen, red as a bloom, until you’re so desperate for it you’re writhing around wantonly in the nest of blankets, almost entirely lost to your fevered delirium, but not just yet, not just yet. 

“Will you– will you put your big thing inside me now?” You slur innocently.

And he laughs gently, a tenderness pinching his heart which if he was less lost to himself, he might cry for. “My big thing?”

Oh, please. “Please, I– I think– please, I think I really need it now.” You twist this way and that, pulling the blankets up to your face to hide yourself away. 

“Almost, sweetheart. Almost.” But he feeds you two of his fingers then, playing in your slick, the sticky wound of softness, and crooks his fingers to wedge them just inside of you. “Like that– oh, isn’t that nice?” He croons, pressing a little further in, feeling the stretch of you around him. Your eyes go wide and shocked, your back arching in a taught curve, hips opening for him to sink deeper until he’s palm to cunt. He leans over you, watching the place where his hand disappears inside and hooks his fingers, petting at the textured little place at the front of you, so, so sensitive. You keen loudly, a warbled sound that’s all fucking his. His control is so close to snapping. 

He pulls his fingers from your cunt suddenly, watches how it shudders while you screech at the loss, looking up to search for him with bleary eyes as he rips his shirt and sweater up over his head, and then he’s pressing his two fingers back inside, thrusting into you a little harder, the splash and slap of your cunt as he fucks in and out of your tight hole. “Perfect little thing that's all mine.” He has nothing but praise for you, his good girl, taking him so well. 

He pets and pets at that soft spot, molten heat pouring from your cunt, and when he starts to shake his hand, a little jiggle to knock your next orgasm loose inside of you, you give it up so, so nicely. Pussy going tight as a fucking fist, strangling his fingers, and then spilling loose and soaked, flooding his hand. When the contractions of your little womb have abated he stuffs a third finger in, forgoes some of that gentleness, and pressing a hand low on your pelvis, he shakes his hand hard and fast inside of you. “Want’cha to fuckin’ soak me,” he grits through clenched teeth, head slightly dizzy, slightly faint with want. And with pressure both from the inside and out, you do. Gush of come following your high pitched moan, tears soaking your hairline as much as your pussy just soaked the lap of his jeans. He pulls his fingers from your gaping hole, bends to lick through all that glorious omega slick and swipes his fingers through it from side to side, tapping on your clit harshly, slapping it a little, sucking on it again, fast, fast his fingers from side to side, forcing you into just one more little climax before he lets you rest. 

You’re all twisted in the blankets, face turned and buried in the pillows. He crawls up over you, contorted as you are, cunt splayed wide and pulsing, and unbuttons his jeans as he goes, finally, fucking finally letting his raging cock free. It hurts, it needs you so fucking badly, leaving a sloppy trail of drool slicked along the already wet curve of your belly as it drags heavily against you, bobbing obscenely from his open zipper. He buries his face in your neck, kissing and licking up the taste of you, sucking on your gland. 

“Please, please now. Please, now,” you keep mumbling into the blankets where you’re hiding. Please, now. Begging for his cock and his knot, so ready to take your first fucking like the perfect omega you are. 

“Not yet,” he soothes, petting your hair back from your steaming face, pressing a kiss to your sweaty hairline. Please, you whine high, and he lets his cock rest heavily against the curve of your red cunt, slicking it there, dragging it back and forth, giving you both the weight of what you’ll have so soon. You kick one leg out weakly. “Not yet, it’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he pitches his voice low, soothing, gathers you to himself. “Let’s rest a little. No, no – just for a little bit,” he says over your whines and cries. You cling to him weakly, hips rocking against him. “I know, baby. I know,” he hums, letting you rub your sticky, sore cunt against the wide head of his cock, nothing but a boneless little mass of omega, stuck to him with tears and slick and sweat. 

He rolls over with you on top of him, the brand of your cunt enveloping his erection between swollen lips, and his knot is ready to pop, it fucking hurts, his rut is near too. But he can tell you just need a little more time – a few more hours to soften and ripen just that little bit more, to lose yourself a little bit more so that he might fit himself inside of you, his too big body in your too little one. 

He gets up eventually, shucking his jeans, and getting a glass of water to force you to take, and leaves the large, cold glass near for when you’ll need it again with all the slick you’re producing. So much that it runs down your thighs, slides up your back and all over him and the blankets and everywhere; everything sticky and heady with your scent. This is, he thinks, right before he succumbs to sleep too, head and balls throbbing from not having come yet, the most singular way an omega claims ownership over an alpha. That scent like a shackle that would keep them together at all times, that scent that after long enough, is impossible to be without. He buries his face in your hair and breathes deep, letting your smell move through him like a tangible thing, a kaleidoscope through his mind until he finally falls asleep. 

-

Your hips move in a slow rocking swing over his belly, slicking the curve of it, making the hair covering him here clump sticky and soaked in this stuff that will not stop coming out of you. There’s so much, and you feel so empty, your head, your head is full of nothing but heat and bubbles and a throb that glows, and you don’t know why, but– oh, finally, he’s waking up. Yes, yes, alpha, wake up now. 

He shifts and rumbles deep in his chest, and you feel his big thing poke you in the butt; it’s so heavy and so thick and it smells so good. You’d sniffed it, and you’d tasted it a little too when you’d first woken up, but you need to make sure to remember to taste it more later again because it had been so yummy, and long too. You can’t understand how it’ll fit, but you’re sure you’ll make it somehow. And it has a funny soft bit of skin at the end, and thick veins that pulse under the warm, incredible softness that covers it. 

His left arm stretches out and over his head, he’s thick here too, big muscles under his skin that’s so burning hot it hurts to touch and feels good all at the same time. He has a dark vein that runs from his shoulder over the bulging muscle, and you’d tasted that too, then pressed your face into his hairy armpit to sniff him there also; gone all drunk and light headed at the scent.  You rock harder; the little nub at the front of your cunt – it belongs to him – it hurts and it’s swollen and when you press your fingers to it, it has a little tiny heartbeat that you’re sure beats to the sound of his name, Joel, alpha, Joel, alpha, and everything is so, so hot. 

You whine that sound you know he likes, the one that you know provokes him, rubbing your slippery cunt all over his stomach, grinding and sliding against him, trying to make the throb go deep and hard again like he’d made you do with his mouth. And oh, he’s so– he makes you so upset, and you feel big and little all at once, and that stretched soreness of your cunt, it’s all his fault, and the bruising around your nipples too, and he needs to put it inside. 

He stretches again, blinks open slowly, long lashes, dimple beside the corner of his mouth, and you dig your nails into the hard muscles of his chest, dragging your blunt edged fingernails down his skin as you slide lower, over his big cock – that’s what it’s called, and you love the sound of the word, think it sounds how you imagine it’ll feel, cock – and try to put it inside, shifting and rolling over it, trying to impale yourself on it. It’s so heavy, and you know the heaviness will make the hurt inside you, the bruised feeling inside you, go away, if only he’d just do it. 

You huff at him, cry a little, whine a lot, try and make it go inside again, slipping and sliding in all the slick that won’t stop coming out of you all while he blinks slow and patient at you, a little smile on his face, and he’s so pretty he makes you so, so upset. You bend forward suddenly and bite his nipple hard, yank on the hairs on his chest and thighs. Hard enough to hurt. He grunts, but lets you, only twinning his fingers in your hair tightly, letting you chew on him until you’ve released his skin on your own. 

“You upset with me ‘cause I haven’t fucked you yet? You gettin’ impatient with me?” You huff at him. “Think you’re ready, sweet thing?” Oh, please, please, please. 

You know that you’ve never been more ready for anything in your entire life. 

He rolls you over, spreading you wide to play with your cunt again, and you start crying for real. “It hurts, alpha, please. It hurts, and I glow.'' It's so hot everywhere. 

“You’re full in your heat now, baby. Don’t worry – knot’s gonna make you feel all better. You’re gonna be so full.” And his voice is so soft and deep and hard too, all at once. It floats away and it comes back, and he sounds like all the things and all the sounds that can have ever existed in the whole world, and also, just right enough to let you remember, only for a second, very calmly and in a moment of bright clarity, that you’d always known he’d come to fix it all. This is only the last part of that at last. 

“My brave girl,” and he pauses a beat above you, between your spread thighs, his cock hanging heavy, tip-slicked between his thighs, giving you a sticky kiss every time it bobs against your tummy. He drags the pad of his thumb at the hollow beneath your eye, catching fallen salt water there, only of desire, not the sad sort, you know the difference so very well by now. And his own eyes, they’re so dark, so full of all that heat that’s so chock full inside you too, but also different, something like cool and serene and full of knowing, full of patience. Eyes like mirrors. The two of you are the same. 

He wraps his big hand around his ever bigger cock, and smears the tip against your swollen, needy sex, pressing hard at the aching nub, sliding down and pressing hard at the bruised little hole. You growl an impatient quipping noise at him, but he returns it in kind, deeper, scarier, full of an order to settle. 

“We have to go slow,” he says, “It won’t fit just like that.”

But you rock your hips in hitching jerks anyways. “No, I’ll make it fit,” you promise, clawing at his chest to achor yourself, find the right angle, find relief. 

He shakes his head, continues to smear and press against you, and then oh, oh, oh, he’s just there, first a big stretch like from the morning, and it hurts, it burns, but not as bad as being without, and you make a sound like you’ve never made before, feeling a feeling you’ve never felt before and had waited your whole life and a year for. Inside, please, please, inside, alpha. He feeds you himself, makes the heat brighter, fans the flames and soothes them all at once, and oh, it really does hurt and feel so good. 

He’s panting like a bull above you, sweating and groaning, and the sounds he makes, the sounds he makes, rough and wounded, like you’re wounding him, like you have the power to wound a great thing like him. “Ain’t that so fucking good?” He coos and croons and pets at you, feeds you and feeds you and feeds you. It’s so big and it splits you, cleaves you wide and forces you into the place and thing you’d lived your whole life waiting to be. “Look at my girl,” he’s saying, “Look how well my little girl takes my big cock in her tiny cunt.”

He pushes a little more, touches a thing inside of you that is swollen and bruised and so sensitive, and, “Oh, you’re in my belly,” you gasp when he finally stops pushing in. You cup your hand over your tummy, pressing down. “I can feel you,” there are tears slipping form the corners of your eyes, and your cunt feels so full it’ll burst or swallow him whole or a little of both, “I can feel you from outside.” You press down harder, rub over the bulge of him inside you; a cock in your belly under your palm. 

So good, just like that, he’s murmuring and you close your eyes to better listen to the dip and hum of his voice. “I am. I am – gonna fill your little womb. And we’re gonna do it just like this for now,” he starts to move, “Just half so you’ll let me in all the way.”

“There’s so much,” you hitch, breath quivering, chin trembling, tears leaking, cunt leaking even more. 

I know, I know, he rubs your belly, soothes you so well, rocks and rocks and rocks, a cock rocking inside of you. He kisses your jaw and your shoulder and your breast, and then changes something, and you finally open your eyes. He touches something so raw inside of you, something that screams and sings and throbs, and there’s something going swollen inside. He’s so beautiful, silver streaked, creased, lines over his forehead, alongside his eyes, his whole life painted in roadmaps and metallic patterns across him. Other places slicked and wet, red and flushed and sun touched, and you make him look like this, and then he presses the swollen thing again, and it bursts. Your cunt flutters, goes so tight it hurts, forces more tears out of your eyes, you claw at him, your body feels not your own, only his. Oh, fuck yes. Good girl. Fucking come for me. For him, for him, for him. 

You shiver and shiver, there’s only hot air and the rocking cock in your belly, the heartbeat inside of you everywhere, and when he finally presses once more, finds the end of the world inside you, he’s all the way in, making a sound that you’ll have to force out of him for the rest of forever; a perfect sound. He tugs you up onto his thighs, sits up, belly to belly and heart to heart and glow to glow, and he fucks you like he said he would. Hard. You finally understand what it means. His cock punches the bruised thing that lives inside, that has you keening a wounded sort of noise, clawing at him, mouth searching for his gland, sliding across his clavicle, up his neck until it’s there, swollen and throbbing and it tastes so, so good you can’t help it when you sink your teeth into the softness of it, the salted rust of his blood sliding over your tongue, down your throat and into your belly like a promise. He makes that glorious sound again, and he fucks you so rough it hurts in only the way fucking a man so much larger than you can hurt. He splits your cunt wide and ruts into you like a beast, and you take it because you want it, because you were made for it, because it’s so right. And you suck on the pierced gland, swallow the taste of him and when a pressure worse than what you could have ever imagined starts to swell within your battered and bruised opening, he pulses and pulses and spills inside of you, filling your womb like he’d said he was going to also. 

Then there is his knot, finally, within you. “Again, baby. Come on my knot, sweetheart. You’ll feel so much better if you do.” And he’s right, as you shiver into it once more with only his command to prompt you, his knot swollen like a lock, connecting you together, it soothes the bruise and the heat from the inside out. He rips your teeth from his neck by your hair, swallows your protests, tasting his own blood on your tongue as he comes inside of you, fills you with a heat more potent than anything the glow had ever made you feel. 

When you fall together like felled weeds, knot tugging gently, mewl falling from your lips, he soothes you so patiently while he continues to spill inside of you, all plugged up as you are, belly set to burst full of semen. He suckles at your nipples, bites and pinches and makes them hurt, and you can do nothing but let him do as he pleases. And you don’t sleep this time, for the throbbing is so strong inside of you, his soft groans sometimes turned to whimpers so wonderful you need to be awake to listen to them forever.

 There’s nothing of the not life anymore, there’s only him here with you. 

He does sleep though, after a while, or he goes very still and very quiet. His lashes quiver and his eyes move beneath their lids as if he were watching a dream, and his body steams and shudders, but eventually, the knot softens enough that you can shift and wiggle over him, and his eyes flash open, predator gaze zeroing on the little omega trying to leave her trap, he presses a big hand down on your tailbone, grinding your cunt that feels raw and full and bruised and right against his pelvic bone. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Voice a deep burr. 

You give him a shy, appeasing look, nuzzling his belly, his thick pectoral and shift and shimmy up towards his face, feeling the heavy weight of him fall wetly from your bruised sex. It stings and flutters madly, clenching around the too large space he’d made inside you. Shuffling up on your knees, you peck at his chin, his mouth, suck on his lip. And when you look down between the two of you, there’s a puddle of thick white semen slowly drooling from between your legs onto his belly. 

You shuffle down now, licking up the mixture of slick and sweat and come, tasting the crease between his thigh and pelvis. You move lower, and resting your head on his thigh, you mouth at his cock, wet and slobbering, pressing a kiss, tasting the flavor of your cunt. 

“I feel so lovely,” you sigh dreamily, pressing another kiss.

He groans low, “A little more tongue– there you go. Oh, fuck– omega, that’s so good.” He threads his fingers through your hair. “It’s because you’re full of everything I just gave you. You’ll need more soon.”

You open your mouth wider, try to swallow him down, enjoying how his come slips out of you, making the tops of your thighs, your ankles you’re sitting on, all sticky wet. All mine, you mumble around his thick length, and his answering laugh is so vital, oh, everything really is so wonderful. He tugs you up by the roots of your hair, jaw hanging wide and spit slick so he can stick two big fingers in there and rub at the slimy surface of your tongue, grunts a hungry sound. 

-

He pushes you back, hand still fisted in your hair to spread you wide and inspect the wreckage he’d left between your thighs. “Lemme see–” he murmurs. “Look at how red and swollen you are, baby. Little cunt’s all fucked open.” He gently scoops his come back inside, smearing it along your cunt. 

Ah– Ah– You protest when he presses his fingers inside to feel the slip of his semen along your walls. Poor, baby, he coos. His cock stirs at your little sounds of hurt, soaked as it is, streaked with come and slick and a little pink tinge of blood. The sight makes him fully hard again. “You did so well, first time taking a knot. It’ll be easier next one.” You writhe and arch as he pets your cunt, spreading your legs wider despite your limp sounds of protest. Head rolling back against the blankets, you grip your tits in both hands and squeeze, whimpering at that too. 

When you lift your head to look down at them, lifting the two little handfuls in your palms to take in the sight of your chafed, swollen nipples your eyes go wide. “Look’t what you did to them – they hurt now.” And although he’s sure you intend to sound like you’re cross, the moan you end on, the way you’ve begun to rock your hips, tells of different things. 

“My poor girl, lemme kiss ‘em.” He stretches over you, taking your hands away to press a barely there kiss to the tip of each breast. “Poor little tits – poor little pussy too, all split open.” And he bends to kiss your blood tinged cunt, the flavor of lost innocence and come on his lips. 

He kisses you again, nibbles on your thighs, and your eyes are hazy, fever full, and you sigh a fluttering sound of oh, “Everything’s so lovely,” you say again. “And you’re so beautiful, alpha. We should eat green apples. I love green apples so much.” Delirious, a little nonsensical. 

“We will. We will– whatever you want,” he says, but he’s already mounting you again, wedging his fat cock into your tiny, battered hole, enjoying the sound of your half pleasure, half pained keen. And he doesn’t give you the grace of going slow, the rut is full on now – he fucks you into your nest hard, fucks against your womb until he’s filling it again. Only gentles once when you mumble into his ear, slurred and almost drooling, I want to watch it go in and out of me.

And despite his ferocity, the way he uses and abuses your cunt, he knows you need it from the way you open that little blossom mouth and try to swallow him whole, hungry thing. You yank at his beard and pull on his hair and scratch at his skin, bite his gland again and again, and he shocks himself by being nothing like afraid, nothing like uncertain. No, he only feels settled now. Joel only feels himself. 

He realizes that he had always needed this, but now, he wants it too. The distinction is stark and important beyond measure like some sort of primordial state of consciousness. He is only himself, dog fight lost and left victorious for it. 

You pass the days of your heat and his rut locked on his swollen knot, a steady stream of his come being pumped into you constantly. There’s no way he hasn’t bred you by now, and it makes something pleased and terrifyingly savage swell within him. 

He’s forced to shove an ice pack between your legs on the third day, between bouts on his knot, during a moment of clarity for the both of you while he feeds and waters you. But then later, after he’s given you one of the strawberry cream popsicles he’d made and frozen for you the day before you’d arrived, you sit, swollen cock buried deep, slowly rocking back and forth while he watches with an almost sick sort of rapt fascination as you eat the popsicle in little kitten licks, leaning back on his lap ever so often to bare your cunt to his gaze, slick and split wide, red as the strawberries in your sweet treat. 

“How is it?” He doesn’t specify which, the popsicle or the cock rocking inside of you, but you peer at him with the brightest and keenest sort of gaze, a look that tells him all he needs to know about himself, all that you see within him which is everything. You flash him a huge, cheesy grin, all the answer he’s getting, and you’ve got a tiny gap between your two front teeth that he finds so, so endearing, and his answering laugh is so vital, so alive, it’s like he steps into himself again after twelve years of vacancy. 

And with that bright light of clarity, a blink, blink, you seem to come fully awake for a moment. “Tell me of the things you like,” you order, taking a large bite of the iced treat and pressing your cold mouth to his, passing the flavor of strawberries onto his tongue.

He takes the moment and tastes it, pulls you close, “I like how the fire plays over your skin,” a palm ghosting down the slope of your naked back to the place where you’re connected. “How it makes shadows and shows me that glow inside.”

And as the fever fades, he switches to handling you with carefulness, gently stroking at your sensitive, come-filled pussy, careful of the stretched soreness of your little hole and the bruising around your nipples. With more awareness you remind him that he’s a big, stupid alpha with a big, stupid knot and that you hurt and want more.

But there’s still time and heat to take advantage of, and on the day he knows will be the last day of this animal lust, he stretches you out flat on your belly, his weight completely over your back, and he fucks you prone and immobilized, caged in by his bulging arms, telling you of how you own him now, how he belongs to you, how he’s going to keep you full and happy forever. “Make me come. Clench – good girl. Again,” he orders, and when his knot swells for what he knows will be the last time of this rut, relishing in the last whispers of your heat filled belly, he sniffs through the curtain of your hair and finding the still swollen gland at the nape of your neck, he slowly sinks his teeth into the vulnerable patch, binding your mating. 

-

Dawn peeks over the horizon like a faint suggestion, and you’re married on the cliffside one bitingly cold winter morning, the sea as your witness. Ellie and Dina are there, and they’re your friends now. You have friends, real friends, no more half life, no more half friend.You have friends, and you are important and significant and as vital and alive as Joel is. You’re real, and he helped make you so, yes, but really, you always had been. 

You wear flowers in your hair and a dress the color of the sky, and he has mirrors in his eyes, and the two of you are the same. Equal and only yourselves, and you love each other more than anything in only a very true way, nothing soft about it. 

When you know you’ll have a baby, he swallows your fear and your worry, marks your gland again as a reminder of all he is, all you are. And when you ask, for you can’t not share with him, “Will they come one day, to check if we did what we were supposed to? To see if we had a baby?”

He tells you, “Yes, they might,” very solemnly.

“What if–” a difficult thing to say out loud, now that you understand the thing you are and the way of the world so well, now that he’s shown you all there is to be shown, “What if they’re an omega like me – will they take them?” Give them their own white box and a not life to be nurtured by instead of a mother. 

But like all obvious things, he shares with you, always, only truths. “Never.” And the look in his eyes is so serious, eyes like mirrors, that you know his words are fact. “I’d never let that happen, I swear to you.” 

And the glow still comes, and the heat still takes you, but he’s always there now and nature is still an inescapable thing, but the perilous edge is no longer such a danger when you’re protecting each other. 

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[sara-scribbles]

The Littlest Dragon (Part 1)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Malleus Draconia/GN!Reader Summary: Your quiet life as a herbalist is disrupted when you take in an injured dragon Word Count: 5,768 Notes: I just really want a mini-dragon Warnings: None

Part 1, Part 2 Part 3

You almost mistake the bundle of black for a pile of cloth. Upon closer inspection, you can see shiny obsidian scales that shimmer in the light. The creature is larger than a squirrel but smaller than a house cat. Unsure what to do, you approach him cautiously but he doesn’t move.

Gently turning him over, your eyes widen. “A dragon?” Despite his small size, he has definite features of the powerful beasts just squished together in a smaller form.

A quick once over, you can see a twisted front leg and one wing bent at an odd angle. The creature's chest moves up and down but you can almost make out a pained gasp. Making a snap decision, you carefully wrap the dragon in your coat before rushing back home. Your half filled basket of herbs forgotten.

Bursting through the gate, you startle the three chickens resting nearby. The cluck loudly as you give a quick apology. Setting the dragon down on your table inside the cottage, you wash your hands before grabbing what you need.

Setting the armload of potions, salves and bandages, you get to work patching up the dragon. Thankfully the little guy stays passed out throughout the process. You clean and disinfect the wounds before applying salves. You create a makeshift splint for the front leg and wing. After finally satisfied, you slump down in a chair.

Watching the creature curiously, you decide to let him rest until he wakes up. You aren’t sure about the healing rate of dragons let alone such a small one.

Resting your cheek on the table, you gently stroke the top of his head. You’re fascinated by the two horns that curl back into his head. “I didn’t realize they could be so small,” you mumble.

Letting out a deep sigh, you take the dragon upstairs to your bedroom. You place a pillow on a chair in the corner of your room and set him down. Recalling a lesson on dragons, you bundle a spare blanket around him for a makeshift nest. Leaving the creature to rest, you return downstairs to clean up.

---

A few days go by but the dragon remains asleep. You periodically check in on him to change the dressings and reapply the salves. You’re happy to say the wounds are healing nicely. However, you’re starting to worry if the dragon will ever wake up.

It’s the middle of the night when you’re roused from sleep. Blearily opening your eyes, you meet the deep green gaze of the dragon. He stands on the pillow next to your own. His tongue flicks out making you flinch.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” you mutter. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sit up, which causes the dragon to step back. “How’d you even get over here?” You finally notice the bandages on the wing missing, but he seems perfectly fine.

He tilts his head to one side. Dragons are said to be intelligent creatures, you recall. “Do you want something to eat? I assume you’re probably hungry after sleeping for five days.”

Without waiting for an answer, you get out of bed and head downstairs with the little creature flying after you. You manage to make a simple plate of beef and vegetables. Watching the dragon attack the meal with such ferocity, you realize he must have been starving despite seeming so calm. Once he finishes the meal, he sits back with his claws on his stomach.

“Satisfied?” You chuckle as you notice food all over his face. He stays completely still as you clean his face.

Leaning an elbow on the table, you both stare at each other. “So… what do I call you?” He only lets out a gurgling of growls in response. “How about Tsunotarou?” He seems to nod as if your silly name is an acceptable one for a dragon.

“Well, it seems like your wing is healed, but your front leg still needs a bit of time. If you want, you can stay here until then,” you offer.

He says something you don’t understand once more, but looks satisfied as he decides to perch on your shoulder. “Alright, let's go back to bed. I have an early morning.” Yawning, you head back upstairs for some sleep.

---

You live in a cottage away from others. It was a gift from your late parents. Small but cozy, you don’t mind the solitude. In the front, you have a chicken coop with three hens. You also have a small barn for your goat, Phillis. In the back, your garden grows a few vegetables, fruits and herbs. The woods nearby provide you with wild herbs and berries. Anything else you need, you can go into town or ask Ace and Deuce to bring them.

As a herbalist, you create salves and potions, which you sell in town once a week. Unlike most herbalists, you lack magic. However, that’s never stopped you from doing your job. Plus you were taught by the best of the best, so the quality of your work is great. 

The usual day consists of you getting up early to feed the chickens and goat. Then you take stock of your inventory. After, you usually head into the woods to gather herbs. The rest of the day consists of brewing potions and salves, and tending to the garden. At night, you make dinner, make sure the chickens are in their coop, and do some light reading before bed. Rinse and repeat.

It may seem dull to most, but you enjoy the routine. Sometimes your day is broken up by a visit from Ace and Deuce, an adventuring duo, who you’ve known since school. They argue and fight, but ultimately work well as a team when needed. Their antics never fail to make your day entertaining.

Today when you get up, the dragon follows you. In the kitchen you make a breakfast of eggs and a fruit bowl. It seems Tsunotarou isn’t too picky on what you feed him as he gobbles everything up. After a quick cleanup, you and your new companion head outside. Your three chickens are already awake. They strut around the front yard as you grab a bag of feed.

“Alright, ladies, time for breakfast,” you call. Sprinkling the food, the three descend near you in a flurry of white and brown feathers.

Tsunotarou, who perched himself on your shoulder, leans forward watching in rapt interest. “Do you want to try to feed them?” you ask, holding the bag of feed up.

Using his good claw, he picks up a small handful before tossing them in the air. Most of the feed falls on the ground, though some does fall on the chickens. “Maybe aim a little more toward the ground,” you chuckle.

The three start trying to eat the feed off each other's backs, which causes a lot of squawking. One pecks another on the head rather viciously. “Flora, that’s not nice! Now apologize to Merryweather,” Scolding the chicken, she seems to deflate a bit before sulkily wandering off with a sad cluck.

Shaking your head, you set aside the chicken feed to grab food for Phillis. “Those two always seem to be fighting,” you tell Tsunotarou, who continues to watch the three hens. “Fauna is the mild mannered one of the group, thankfully. I guess she balances them out.”

Phillis comes trotting over the moment you're within sight. Patting her head, you scratch her behind the ears. “Morning, princess.” She bleats happily at the attention. The little dragon flies off your shoulder to get a better look at Phillis. She noses his stomach curiously as he reaches out to pat her on the snout.

“She’s a gentle one.” You smile as she nudges your side to hurry you up on getting her breakfast. “Okay, okay! I’m getting there.”

Once you give her food and water, you head back inside to your work room. You go through your current stock of ingredients while Tsunotarou flips through the thick tome of recipes. You wonder briefly if dragons can read, but knowing how highly intelligent they are, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.

“That was given to me by my former teacher, Crewel. He taught me everything I know about brewing potions,” you explain as you check things off. “He was a tough teacher, but I learned from the best. I still have nightmares about that riding crop…” Not that he ever used it on you, but when he wanted to make a point, he made one.

You continue, “The potion and salve I used for you is for speeding up the healing process. It supposedly works on all living creatures, so I was hoping it would work on dragons.”

Tsunotarou leaves the tome to come over to your side. You shake your head as you reread your lists. “I seem to be out of a lot of stuff,” you mutter to yourself.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh. “I’ll have to make a trip into town.” Glancing at the creature on your shoulder, you regard him silently. His intelligent green eyes stare back as he stretches his wings.

“So, I either have to leave you here alone.” He bristles, eyes narrowing. “Or, you have to stay hidden until we get back from town.” You aren’t sure how people would react if they saw a small dragon on your shoulder. It would be better not to take the chance of possibly causing a commotion.

He agrees to your second option as he flies off your shoulder and lands in the satchel you keep hung up near the front door. His head pokes out when you don’t move. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

You leave for the main shopping center with the dragon in tow. A bit nervous, you try to calm yourself through the walk. Tsunotarou pokes his head out taking in the scenery. At least someone is feeling fine.

The hustle and bustle of the town can be heard as you near the gate. The guards let you through without much of a glance. Here, adventures and merchants can check in the numerous guilds while stocking up on supply. It’s always busy as people move in and out. You only really stop here every few months to get supplies. By now, the shops you frequent are familiar with what you need, which makes shopping a little easier.

First stop is to pick up some herbs. Looking at your herb list, you easily weave your way through the streets. “I was dangerously low on four leaf clovers and died mandrakes…”

“Hello?” The greenhouse is quiet as you don’t see anyone. “Jack?” You tap the little bell on the front counter.

Finally, someone comes to the front. “Hey, (Y/N),” Jack greets with a nod. Though just a part-timer, he knows the greenhouse inside and out. 

Smiling, you point to your list. “Just need to restock a few things.” Handing the list over, he quickly looks everything over.

“I’ll be right back with everything.” He’s gone in a flash.

You feel Tsunotarou wiggle around in the satchel before poking his head out. “You have to stay hidden,” you whisper, placing a finger over your lips.

His head turns this way and that way before he retreats back into the bag. Just in time too as Jack returns with your things. Scratching his head, his ears twitch. “Uh, sorry we’re out of powdered death caps. We oughta be getting some next week.”

“That’s fine. I don’t think I’ll be needing them right away. Can you put me on the list to set some aside when they come in?” He leans over to hand you the other items. He pauses for a moment, his brows drawing together as his eyes dart around.

“Jack?” You inch back a bit. You can only hope he’ll ignore whatever he’s smelling.

Seeming to remember himself, he pulls back with an awkward cough. “S-sorry…” He hastily scribbles your name down in a small book. “That’ll be thirty-three for the rest.”

As you reach in your satchel for your coin purse, your hand brushes against the dragon hiding there. Freezing up, your gaze darts over to Jack, who thankfully is busy doing something else. You feel coins being pressed into your hand. Glancing inside your bag, Tsunotarou looks up at you expectantly. He flicks his tongue out a few times.

Counting the coins in your hand, you can’t help the grin spreading across your face. He had given your exact change. “Somethin’ up?” Jack inquires, noting the way you’re looking down.

Snapping your attention back to him, you shake your head. “Nope. Here’s the money.” You hurriedly hand him the coins. “I’ll see you next week, Jack.” Giving him a rushed wave, you quickly leave the greenhouse.

Once a good distance away, you let out a deep sigh. “I think that went well.” Opening your satchel a bit, you’re met with judging green eyes. “Don’t look at me like that! I panicked!” 

Shoving the bag of herbs into a corner of the satchel, Tsunotarou curls deeper into the bag. Letting the satchel bag flap fall back down, you return to the other lists you made. “Guess we’ll visit Sam’s shop next…”

Sam’s is busy as usual when you arrive. Pushing through the throng of customers, you make your way to the shelf filled with bottles. Picking out a few that you need for potions, you move on to the jars. By the time you go to checkout, you can feel Tsunotarou squirming inside the satchel. He pokes his head out every now and then, but only does it when there aren’t many people around. People are too busy with their own shopping, they don’t even glance your way. 

“Welcome back, little imp!” Sam greets.

You return the greeting with a wide smile. “Hey, Sam. Just the usual.” As Sam wraps each glass bottle in brown paper, you mentally do the math of how much you owe.

He carefully splits your items into two bags. “That’ll be one-hundred unless you’re looking for something out of stock?”

“No, I’m good for today.” You reach into your satchel and Tsunotarou presses the coins into your hand. “Here you go.”

Sam eyes your bag with interest but doesn’t say anything. “See you next time!”

You’re thankful that Sam doesn’t pry. The next stores are all uneventful. By the time you’re walking back home, you have an armload of bags. Your satchel can usually hold more, but the extra guest makes it difficult to fit anything beyond the herbs in there.

Once home, you put everything away before feeding everyone. Later, you’re stretched out in front of the fireplace with a botany book in hand. Tsunotarou is curled up on your lap while you read and take notes along the pages. Though you’re used to being alone, it’s like a familiar comfort to feel his weight on your lap. 

When it’s time for bed, you carry the still sleeping dragon upstairs. Putting Tsunotarou in the makeshift nest, you climb into bed. However, before you can fall asleep, Tsunotarou flies over with the blanket in his mouth. Standing at the edge of the bed, it’s almost like he’s giving you puppy dog eyes.

Rolling your eyes, you pat the empty spot near your pillow. “Fine, come on.”

He lets out a satisfied chirp. He wraps the blanket in a neat pile before laying down. Laying on your side, you chuckle while scratching the top of his head. “Good night, Tsunotarou.”

---

At the end of the month you’re preparing a few potions that need to be bathed in moonlight. Tsunotarou sets down the vials you’ve finished in the rack on the windowsill near the front door. You're grateful to have the extra…claws while juggling a few other things at once.

“One more glamor potion and that should be the last of the orders,” you tell Tsunotarou as he perches on your shoulder while you’re stirring the cauldron. “Thanks for the help.” You give him a little scratch under his chin. 

You swear he purrs with the way you feel his body vibrate. “I swear you’re a cat disguised as a dragon,” you chortle while bopping him on the nose.

He stares back at you before slowly blinking in return. “You can’t blame me for making the connection. You even caught a snake and left it as a gift,” you continue while sprinkling in some crushed rose petals. “Also, you shouldn’t do that again.”

The dragon grumbles deep within his chest. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but let's leave the wildlife alone.” 

Pouring the potion into a vial and sealing it, you hand it off to Tsunotarou, who takes it into his paws before flying off to put it in the rack. Taking a seat, you lean back with a deep sigh. 

Tsunotarou returns, taking a seat on the table. His front paw is fully healed and is no longer wrapped in bandages. Despite being back to full health, it doesn’t seem like he plans to go anywhere.

Suddenly there’s a commotion of loud squawking before the front door is thrown open. “Oi! (Y/N), we’re back!” Ace shouts while letting the door bang.

You tumble back in the chair and hit the ground. “Ahhhkk-ow!” Your head rebounds off the floor with a loud smack.

Two things happen at once. Deuce, who’s behind Ace, rushes over to help you up; however, he’s met with a hissing dragon blocking him that spits red flames at him. His sleeve automatically catches fire and the cottage is filled with panicked, confused screaming.

“Ahhhahhhhhck! Put it out!”

“Is that a dragon!?”

While the two run around screaming, you stare in a daze at the ceiling. Tsunotarou’s face suddenly fills your vision. He chirps a few times before you finally respond with a pat on his head. “I’m okay…”

Slowly sitting up, you notice the two idiots are now quiet. Deuce is no longer on fire, thankfully. However, they take in the sight of Tsunotarou sitting on your shoulder from a safe distance. You wince when you touch the already forming lump on the back of your head.

You huff before glaring at the redhead. “What did I say about suddenly bursting through the front door, Ace?! Can’t you knock like a normal person?”

“Well…I-I…!” Ace sputters unintelligibly before he jabs a finger at the dragon on your shoulder. “Forget about me for a second! What’s that thing?!”

Tsunotarou bares his teeth with a low growl. “We are going to have this conversation later,” you tell him before shifting gears. “This is Tsunotarou. I found him in the forest a little over a month ago.”

“Is he like a baby dragon?” Deuce asks, eyes wide.

Picking up the fallen chair, you shake your head. “I don’t think so. Anyways, baby dragons are much larger. Maybe he’s just a special type of dragon?”

Ace leans closer but pulls back when Tsunotarou snaps at him. “Kinda vicious. He almost barbecued poor Deucy.”

“You also busted in here suddenly. He probably thought you two were threats,” you point out. “Anyways, What trouble did you get into this time?”

“Psssh! Why’d you think we got in trouble?”

“Because you have an infected, bleeding wound on your arm, Ace.” Rolling your eyes, you go to your workroom before returning with a handful of potions, salves, and bandages. “Sit.”

As they plop down, you hand them each a potion. “We had a commission to take down some orcs that were terrorizing a small village,” Deuce explains. “But, uh, turns out it was actually a colony of orcs.”

“So you got beat up?” You clean Deuce’s cuts, which are mostly minor. A few do need some salve and bandages.

You move on to Ace, who looks the worse between the two. “We didn’t get beat up,” Ace grumbles. “We took them down! Aaaa-ouch!!” Biting your lip, you continue to dab his infected wound. 

“You two get into more trouble than anyone I know. Did you at least get a good reward?”

“Of course!” Ace pulls out a hefty coin purse and lets it fall on the table. “All in a day's work.” He grins smugly with his nose in the air.

Flicking his nose, you shake your head as he covers his face. “Don’t freely show that off or you’ll get mugged. Again.” Finished with his wounds, you place a small container of salve in his hand. “Use this once a day until everything is gone. It should, hopefully, not scar.”

“Um, (Y/N), can we crash here?” Deuce asks. He shrinks back when you give him a look.

Rubbing your temples, you sigh, “Fine. But one of you is gonna be sleeping on the floor cause I only have one couch.”

Ace jumps up. “Dibs!”

“Wait, you got the couch the last time! It’s my turn!” Leaving the two bickering adventurers, you head upstairs to find some spare blankets.

Tsunotarou gives you a questioning look as you rummage around in your closet. “They’re good friends. A little annoying at times, but they’ve always had my back.” You can’t count how many times they’ve slept at your place.

“They’re just as rowdy as they were in school,” you mutter as you head back down with two pillows and some blankets.

---

You can’t sleep. Tossing and turning, you finally settle on your back to glare at the ceiling. Ace and Deuce both snore loud enough to be heard from your bedroom. Tsunotarou had disappeared though you weren’t too worried. He would sometimes leave in the middle of the night, most likely to hunt, but he would always return by the time you got up.

Sitting up, you carefully make your way downstairs. “Maybe something to eat will help,” you mumble. You spot Ace hanging off the couch, so you know who lost the argument.

Just as you’re about to tiptoe around Deuce, you hear some loud clucking. Eyes furrowing, you wonder why the hens are up at this hour. Forgetting about your midnight snack, you head to the front door. Stepping outside, the air is warm but nice enough for early summer. Before you can move, you notice a figure standing near the chicken coop.

Not only is it strange to see a person at this time, but there’s also one other thing making you pause and rethink your plans. The moon hangs large in the sky and bathes the world in an ethereal silvery glow. The stranger stands there, head tilted upward to the sky, completely still.

And completely naked.

Slowly closing the door, you slide the deadbolt in place with a muffled click. Hopefully the naked stranger will leave. You doubt the deadbolt would keep anyone out if they actually wanted to break in. However, the act of using it at least gives you a small peace of mind.

Deciding the hens can take care of themselves, you head back to bed. You’re far too tired to deal with whatever nonsense is happening outside. As you drift off to sleep, your last thought is of Tsunotarou. You send a small prayer to whoever is listening that he’s alright.

However, you're woken by a loud crash. And then. “AHHHHHH!!!” “DO SOMETHING!!!”

Bolting out of bed, sunlight filters through the window. Despite feeling like you didn’t sleep at all, it’s morning. You grab the nearest object, a broom, before rushing downstairs. In your haste you nearly slip but manage to catch yourself. Wielding the broom, you’re ready to smack whatever intruder is causing trouble.

Instead of a naked intruder, you witness Ace trying to put out a fire with one of your spare pillows. Deuce is rushing over with a cup of water and dumps it on the flaming blanket. It goes out with a loud sizzle. Both boys let out a relieved sigh as you set the broom down.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” you ask, not amused.

“Your overgrown lizard,” Ace jabs a finger at Tsunotarou, who is sitting on top of the table, “tried to set me on fire! He tried to murder me!!”

You glance at Deuce, who is still clutching the cup, then back at the frazzled redhead. “Did you do anything to him? Tsunotarou doesn’t just attack people out of nowhere.”

Ace rubs the back of his neck as he suddenly loses the fire in his eyes. “I…I might have said he got fat… And that you should get rid of him,” he admits. “B-But! I’m not wrong! He’s gotten bigger overnight. Soon he’ll be too big for your house!”

Your attention goes to the dragon, who sits patiently while watching the scene. You can’t deny that he’s gotten bigger. Now he’s the size of a large cat, possibly even bigger. “Do dragons usually have growth spurts?” you wonder aloud.

“I don’t remember reading about this at school,” Deuce says, nodding thoughtfully.

“Would you two think about the bigger issue!? He’s gonna grow too big and probably eat us all! That’s what dragons do!” Ace shouts, waving his hands around wildly. 

Walking over to Tsunotarou, you gently stroke his head. “You wouldn’t do that would you?” He gurgles happily, leaning into your touch. “See. He wouldn’t eat us. We’re not very tasty anyways.”

Ace slaps a hand over his face. “(Y/N), he’s a dragon! Not a pet!”

“I know. And dragons are highly intelligent, which means they can understand us.” You chuckle when he rubs against your arm. “I’m pretty sure if Tsunotarou wanted to eat us, he would’ve burned us all alive by now.”

Deuce shudders. “Morbid…”

“Oh yeah!” You completely ignore the last comment. “There’s possibly a naked stranger wandering around this area. I saw him standing near the chicken coop last night.” Tsunotarou makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“...what?” Both boys stare at you before scrambling for the front door.

“Pretty sure he left already!” They don’t hear you as they race outside still in their sleepwear. Lifting Tsunotarou into your arms, you huff, “You’ve gotten heavier too. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to fit in my satchel now.” He only nuzzles your face with his scaly snout.

Coming outside, the hens are just fine. Tsunotarou flies out of your arms to grab the bag of feed. Deuce watches in rapt interest as he throws chicken feed in front of the hens. “He actually helps out?” he asks, surprised. 

It really is a sight to see. “Yup. He’s been helping with small things here and there. He even hands me ingredients when I make potions.”

Once the hens are properly fed, he flies off to take care of Phillis. Despite her initial fear of him, Phillis seems to have gotten used to him. You two follow behind to Phillis's pen. Tsunotarou pats the top of her head while she eats.

“I never thought I’d see a dragon taking care of a goat instead of eating one…” Deuce looks both perplexed and awed.

“Hey!” Ace storms over with twigs and leaves in his hair. “What the hell, Deuce!”

“Huh??”

“I thought we were looking for the weirdo (Y/N) saw. Instead you leave me to do the work.” he grumbles.

Deuce gestures over to Tsunotarou. “I-I got distracted,” he sputters.

The redhead barely passes a glance over to the dragon. “Excuses like always, Deucy.”

“Did you find anything,” you ask, distracting Ace.

“Nah. Think whoever it was left.” Ace shakes his head.

Resisting the urge to say “I told you so” because he didn’t listen, you head back inside. “Come on, unless you wanna stay in your pajamas.”

While Ace gets cleaned up in the bath, Deuce helps with getting breakfast ready. “Hey, do you want us to ask Riddle to come over?”

You hand a plate to Tsunotarou to bring to the table.“Why?”

“To get some protective runes made around the perimeter of your place. Maybe it’ll keep the weirdo you saw out.” There’s a huff and light growl from behind him. “Uh… is he okay?” He inches away from the irritated dragon.

You scratch the top of Tsunotarou’s head, which causes him to almost vibrate. “Something wrong, Tsunotarou? Are you worried about the weirdo too?” You chuckle when he butts your arm with his head.

“You don’t seem too worried,” Deuce points out.

“Milk or orange juice?” You hold up two jugs.

“Milk, please.”

“I mean, I think if that stranger wanted to hurt us, he would've broken down the door. The deadbolt doesn’t do much,” you say while setting down glasses. “I’ll be fine, Deuce, so don’t worry.”

“...sure,” he agrees hesitantly. You can still see the concern on his face, but before you can say anything more, Ace comes down.

“Breakfast ready?” He slides into a chair looking around expectantly.

You hand him a bowl of fruit. “No thanks to you.”

Breakfast is a lively affair with the two extra guests. Ace and Deuce keep the conversation going as they regale you with their latest adventure in detail. It goes by far too quickly for your taste. Sure your days aren’t so quiet with Tsunotarou, but it does get somewhat lonely having a one-sided conversation.

“Well, Tsunotarou, it’s just you, me and the girls again,” you say with a deep sigh. You set him on the ground with a groan. “Okay, buddy, you’re a little too heavy to hold for long periods now.”

He lets out a pitiful sound before rubbing his head against your thigh. “Come on, let's get the rest of the day started.” As you go back into the house, Tsunotarou doesn’t immediately follow.

His sharp green eyes survey the area around your home. Tongue flickering out, a low snarl starts in his chest. Something catches his eye in the trees just beyond your fence. His back bristles as he opens his mouth. Green flames swirl around his mouth as his eyes narrow.

“Tsunotarou, are you still out here?” you call, coming back outside. Lifting him up, you don’t notice the way his gaze is focused on something else. “Are you mad that I can’t carry you?” you ask with a chuckle.

The dragon doesn’t respond as he rests his snout on your shoulder. As you close the door, his gaze never leaves the line of trees. There’s a flash of yellow before the door is firmly shut.

---

To your surprise Ace and Deuce return a few days later. And even more of a surprise, Riddle is with them. You nearly slam the door in their face when you see them. Nervously looking between the two adventures, you can feel heat prickling the back of your neck. Ace avoids eye contact while Deuce sheepishly mouths an apology.

Riddle is the first to speak up. “These two let it slip that you’re harboring a dragon. Being the head of the Heartslabyul Guild, I thought it would be prudent for me to check. Rule 134 states no unregistered magical creatures within 10 miles of the guild are allowed. They must be taken to the appropriate handlers.”

Casting dirty looks at the two, you open the door wider. “Please come in, Riddle.” You rather like having your door on its hinges.

As he enters, he looks around before his gaze zeroes in on the dragon resting on the couch. “It really is a dragon…”

Ace and Deuce carefully slink past you before you shut the door. “As you can see, Riddle, he’s not a danger to anyone.” You try to smile as innocently as possible.

He turns to you. “I realize the rules may not apply to you, (Y/N), since you’re not a part of  our guild, but a dragon is dangerous regardless of its size. Ace mentioned he grew bigger last night. Who’s to say he won’t stop growing and then lay waste to everything?”

Said redhead suddenly has a keen interest in your hanging herbs. “Tsunotarou isn’t like that,” you argue. “He’s never hurt anyone and he’s been living with me of all people.” The magicless human who would be a prime target for magical creatures.

Riddle walks over to the now awake dragon. Tsunotarou regards him with keen interest unlike Ace and Deuce. They both size each other up. Riddle’s brows draw together as he continues to observe him.

“Everything okay?” you ask when the staring seems to drag on.

“Did you know there’s a curse on him?” He walks around the couch to observe Tsunotarou on all sides. The dragon doesn’t move an inch but seems fairly relaxed despite Riddle being a complete stranger.

You and the two boys share a look. “No, I didn’t. Is that why he’s so small?”

“Maybe.” He’s unsure. “It’s old magic and very powerful. I honestly don’t know what kind of curse it is.” Standing in front of Tsunotarou once more, Riddle sighs while touching his head. “This is more complicated than I thought. I’ll need to do some research before trying to determine the curse. I might have to ask Vil for his help on this.”

Sitting on the arm of the couch, you stroke Tsunotarou’s head. “Are you cursed?” you ask him. His head bobs up and down. “How come you two didn’t notice?” Your question is directed at the two bean spillers.

“They probably wrote it off as the creature's magical powers leaving a residue,” Riddle answers. He gives them a stern look. “They’ll need to go through more training later.”

Both stiffen as the color drains from their faces.

“So what now?”

Shaking his head, Riddle glances at his pocket watch. “I need to head back to the guild for tea. I’ll look into curses and consult Vil about this as well. For now, just make sure no one else sees him. We don’t want people to think a dangerous creature is on the loose and panic.”

“Alright. Thank you!” At least he’s going to try and help. You know Riddle could have decided Tsunotarou was a danger and taken him away. 

When they’re gone, you plop down on the couch. Tsunotarou immediately climbs into your lap and makes himself comfortable. “Cursed huh?” You lift his face so you can look into his eyes. “Are you secretly a prince who got cursed by an evil sorcerer and only true love's kiss can break the spell?” you ask with a teasing grin.

He stares back before blinking slowly. Laughing at the ridiculous thought, you bop his nose affectionately. “I hope Riddle figures out your curse. I’d love to see your full form.” 

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.64)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: “Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.” “Shut up Jimin you are not going to die.”

Tags: Angst, Blood, graphic depictions of violence, dead bodies, Gore, Maiming, violent acts described perpetrated by loved ones, near death experiences, near death experiences, No one dies, Jimin does not die, Hurt with just a little comfort, implied sexual content,

W/c: 8.6k

A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual after such a long wait. i've been going through a rough patch™ which is why recently the updates have been 3 weeks apart instead of just 2 like usual. When i tell you the end of this chapter has a fucking twist to it that i love, you're not prepared!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

“I shot Minnie.”

It takes you a breath for the words to sink in. Standing in the bathroom in the half-grey darkness golden hallway light streaming in through the open door. It’s strange how inside of your body you feel at that moment.

That frantic fever urgency of your pulse, your breath, your everything when traumatic things are about to happen and when they’re happening.

For a moment you’re keenly aware of every molecule of your body. The tacky-sweet feeling of slick drying between your thighs, the cold smoothness of the slate tile beneath your feet, the too-long press of your fingernails as you grip the bathroom countertop to keep from falling to the tile floor. Everything in feverish detail.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the light from Yoongi’s phone screen illuminates your face in blue. You look at the mirror, then down at your hands.

Minnie, a gun.

A bullet, Jin.

Your brain is whirling. Putting two and two together is like putting together a recipe. Only now you have the result and have to backtrack. How did you get here? Jin keeps talking, word vomiting down the line, and you miss a few sentences while you’re trying to put it together.

Butter, cream, sugar.

You, Jin, Jimin.

Jimin.

You think you might vomit tiramisu all over the bathroom floor.

You close your eyes, thinking hard while Jin talks. His words run over themselves with worry. “I discharged my weapon if we go to the hospital- they’ll- they’ll know and I don’t know if I can cover this up with just lies-”

“Is he dead?” Your voice is lethal in its quiet, so quiet that you think it might not go through the phone. Jin doesn’t hear it- too preoccupied with his own terror.

You close your eyes, quietly begging anything or anyone who might be listening. If god is going to take so much from him- the least she can do is give jimin this. One simple measly miracle is all you're asking for.

“Jin- tell me right the fuck now- Is Jimin dead?”

“Pup.” Jin sounds like he’s just been strangled. Like all the wind has just been knocked out of him. “Put Yoongi on the line.”

“No.” You're shaking, your heartbeat in your ears louder than your lofty hopes. Hand digging into the counter so hard that you feel it in your bones. “No, not until you tell me right now- is Minnie-”

“Hey pup.” Jimin’s voice is a quiet croak. You sag against the countertop and slide to the floor. It’s barely a weak whisper on the other side of the line. You’re glad it’s not a video call. You’re not sure you could handle seeing him if he sounds so raw. “Minnie- Minnie are you? does Jin?”

Does Jin know?

Jin must have taken back the phone because- “I need you to go get Yoongi. Now. We can’t be here any longer than necessary.” there's the muffled sound of shuffling, of hair grating against the speaker. "We're vulnerable here, I don't know if more people will come."

You move, leaving the bathroom and thundering up the steep stairs to the bedroom. There's the distant sound of Hoseok in the kitchen probably putting away the tiramisu. You head for the nest, rushing, falling to your knees in front of it, phone pinned between your shoulder and your ear.

“Yoongi isn’t here. He’s with Jungkook and Tae and Namjoon.”

“Hang up then and I’ll call Namjoon.” You peel back the nest skirt to get under it, where Jimin keeps his gun cases. They're there in the shadows, three of them black and plastic. A photocopy of his concealed carry license is taped to each on top. No one had been particularly happy about him storing them there (Namjoon especially) But now you’re glad to have them close on hand.

“No, not until you tell me where you are.”

“Pup this isn’t- you can’t-”

“Jin, please.”

You try the same code that Jimin has for his cellphone. You know it because you have a habit of going through his after your dates for some of the photos that he takes of you and Tae.

8-7-5-8.

The box clicks open and you roll your eyes. Alphas.

“Pup” you wait for him to say that he needs more help than you can offer, that carrying Minnie and keeping him alive is more than you can help with. You wait for him to say that you’re neither strong enough mentally nor physically to handle this.

But it doesn’t come. Jin’s tiny fraught sigh is there, but then-

“Alright.”

There are spots for five different handguns inside. Two missing vacant cuts into the foam. You take the smallest one, checking stock to make sure it's got bullets in it. You fumble with it, unsure and unused to this. You make sure the safety is on before you tuck it into your waistband.

“Send me your address. And if you need to- get rid of Jimin's gun- god only knows whats on that.” To Jin’s credit, he hardly splutters, hardly takes in another shaky breath.

“How do you know-” You descend the stairs slower. Screwing your eyes shut tight to keep from crying, leashing your voice into something gentle.

“Jin, Minnie is bleeding. You have more important things to worry about right now. We need to figure out how to keep Jimin alive and undiscovered.”

“You know-”

“Yes, I fucking know about Jimin, okay? We’re wasting time. Bye.”

You hang up on him. Your hands are still shaking and you spend a breath looking at them. You want to call Yoongi. Your body aching for your mate's touch, for how steady he makes you feel just by being there. the way he tucks your hair behind your ears, the way his hand is always hovering near the small of your back to guide you- to options that won't hurt and secrets that won't damage things.

You need your mate for this, already your pulse is hammering. The haze of a panic attack on the edge of your vision. One second foggy fear, the next heartbreaking clarity.

Maybe you know how this ends, you know why this is happening even if you try and ignore it. Maybe you realize just then what's going to happen. Not today but eventually, it turns you cold from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

You might not lie to the pack (lying by omission doesn't carry the same weight) but you lie to yourself often.

You will call Yoongi, you decide. You pick the phone back up and navigate towards Tae’s contact. Your thumb hovers between her name and Jungkook’s. You don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your voice steady calling her but Jungkook will almost certainly be able to tell something's wrong just from your tone alone. He's perceptive like that.

Before you can make the call something moves in your peripheries.

There is a dark figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the light coming from the front door and the bay window. It makes you startle but at second glance it’s just Hobi. You look down at him 3 steps up the stairs. Yoongi's phone in your hand and a gun at the small of your back, covered by the fluff of his sweatshirt.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask who you were talking on the phone with. He just tilts his in question, eyes teaming with that warm sort of playfulness.

You have a decision to make; let his opinion of the pack remain what it is or change it for good. In an irrevocable way that you won't be able to take back. It feels like too much change too quickly. Barely an hour ago he was telling you he loves you and now-

The thing about secrets is that they’re terribly hard to keep.

Hobi notices, because Hobi always notices when there’s some sort of change in you or a shift in your mood- call it a survival instinct if you won't call it love.

The set of your jaw is less pouty neediness and more leashed discomfort. Your expression is the same one you had when tae came out and you sat with them at the table and told them for you. You'd think that telling other people's secrets would be easier but it isn't.

Hobi knows your tells. What it looks like when you're about to play your hand. Ace's and all.

You descend the last few steps, each one thudding, making sure you're on the same level before you slowly wrap your arms around his waist. You do it slow even though you feel every second like a gunshot wound. Like every second could be Jimin’s last heartbeat.

(thump thump thump)

Pulling yourself in tight. His hands smooth up and down your back. You could call Yoongi but-

Hobi looks down at you, pecking your forehead. He smiles softly, his lips twisting into something like a grimace because you smell a little bit sour. Doesn't mean he's not going to kiss you but-

You wonder how many times he’s kissed you already, it's only been a day but you’re already losing track of how many, maybe 2 dozen now. His eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes then back again.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong? Or are you just going to pout at me until I go get Yoongi?”

You shake your head and close your eyes hard. "Don't get Yoongi."

Stealing yourself just a little and hold Hobi a little closer, a little harder. But there’s nothing you can say, no lie that you can tell that will make this better. No secret that you could confess either.

“Jin called and something bad has happened.”

You feel more than see the goosebumps on Hobi’s arms as you pull away, the visceral hard swallow as he looks at your face again, waits, expecting you to pull back say-“It’s a joke it’s nothing-“ But it doesn't come.

“You have two choices Hobi, you can go to the pizza shop, and hang out with Tae and Jungkook and Namjoon and Yoongi or-” Hobi searches your face for something he knows; the darkness in your eyes, the vague tremble in your arms around his waist. “Or you can help me and be scared. I kind of-”

I kind of need you

But Hobi should have agency in this and shouldn't just take this path because of you. After Yoongi, you've learned when and where to give people the choice to be dragged into things they'd be better off sidestepping. You don't say it but Hobi hears it all the same.

Hobi looks so earnest but asking this of him is no easy thing. It would be easier if you weren’t so keenly aware that you’re taking away something from him. You’re giving Hobi the choice you never got that Yoongi never got, and he'll choose the same path anyway.

He cups your face, skimming his thumb up and down your cheek.“I’m okay with being scared.” I'm okay with being scared so long as it's for you.

“This is serious, this is- you can’t ask questions until I have time to answer them, you just have to listen, understand?”

“Okay.” He nods, tousled hair fluffing, looking so innocent and eager to please that you almost tell him to just stay home.

But as much as you hate to admit it. If Jimin is injured, there’s a chance you and Jin might need a second pair of hands.

It’s a blur. Tugging on your shoes- the same ones Yoongi got you ages ago for your first date with Jimin and Tae. And when you stand, he’s holding out your jacket for you to step into. When you nuzzle into the collar there's the scent of vanilla there from where Jimin rubbed his nose to your throat when you were at the hospital. It doesn't seem possible that it was only yesterday. Everything is Jimin Jimin Jimin.

“Thank you,” you say, sounding vaguely hollow. He kisses the nape of your neck and you put your hand over it.

You point your feet in the direction of Hobi’s car and get in the driver's seat. Taking his keys from him because you need them, need to be the one who drives right now. Holding the steering wheel and controlling the acceleration. Pressing down as fast as a heartbeat.

Thumpthumpthump.

You pull away from the house with a screech hitting the curb with a bit of flying sparks. you don't even wait for it to warm up. Hobi’s hands are on the plastic console of the driver’s side, holding it to keep himself from bobbing before he's belted in. He looks over at you startled. But he doesn't ask you to slow down.

You keep your eyes on the road, blinking back tears. Controlling your emotions because you can’t drive through blurry eyes. Every inch, every tick of the needle, every second of pavement screeching tire means you're a second closer to jimin.

"Jin’s going to send you an address in a few seconds, and I need you to tell me which way to turn.”

Hobi looks at you and then looks at the phone. He doesn’t try to put on a playlist, he doesn’t try to do anything just stares at you and bobbs in his seat when you take a corner too fast.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Nothing; you’re just driving like if we don’t get there in time, someone is going to die.”

~-~

Hoseok remains remarkably calm for the drive, barely saying anything except for the winces he lets out every time you do something risky with the car like take turns at 30 miles an hour or evade a break check by driving along the shoulder.

You start to pass by empty factory buildings. The wheels of his car thudding over cracks and dips in the road until it becomes dust and gravel and the smell of gasoline permeates the interior of the car. Questions building like the heat pumping from the vents.

But he did promise not to ask until later.

The fog covers everything like a balmy damp shadow, the snow going straight to sublimation. Pockets of old street lamp lights punctuate the darkness. Husks of metal rise like soldiers from the shadows. The sky burning rust orange from the distant lights of the city. Not a single star in sight.

Jin’s car is there; Hobi spots it. Its blue paint stands out through the overlap of grey brush as the car's lights roll over it. Jimin's car is another 50 feet away and buried in the darkness. Shiny and black like the husk of an insect.

You're about a mile away from where they must be doing demolition. A singular crane and floodlights shine across a narrow tributary casting everything; the river and the buildings, into a grey-slanted light.

You pull around in the yard in front of the largest and most intact building. You leave the keys in car tumbling out the second it glides to a stop.

“Stay here.” You say, but Hobi gets out anyway. He hasn’t noticed the gun tucked into your waistband until now. It makes his pulse tick higher when you take it out.

"Hobi, sink or swim?"

He looks down at the gun in your hand, "Swim." You shake your head like you're angry with yourself, not him but you don’t waste another second arguing. You head off following the disturbed dust and Hobi trails behind. Ducking from pocket of light to pocket of light.

He always wondered what happened to the gun you’d pointed at him that night you’d run away. That train ticket that still burns a hole in his pocket, a distraction maybe from larger questions he should have been asking.

The way you hold the gun is not practiced; and why should it be? The only one who knows how to handle guns in the pack is Jimin. But the way you walk; completely silent is heartbreakingly familiar. Hobi knows how and why you've learned to move quietly. It's almost a dance; the way you glide across the floor. The gun is an extension of your arms. Spreading and flaying like a wing. Pinky to trigger, your index finger balanced along the barrel.

Hobi had always assumed that it belonged to Yoongi. It was almost 6 months ago now, wasn’t it? Hobi had almost forgotten about it.

There are some things that you never forget. Trauma makes his bones quiet. He's not as good at walking silently as you are but if the crunch of his red Converse against the gravel bothers you; you say nothing.

Hobi feels like he should have asked more questions about it at the time, but now he just bites his lip and stays quiet. You'd promised. You'll tell him in time. Hobi trusts you.

That's the worst thing, isn't it? That Hobi trusts you.

Jimin is sitting in one of the puddles of light, leaning up against one of the containers on the ground floor. Alone. You let out a quiet bereft when you see him. You and Hobi pause in the doorway. Your hand on the gun goes slack

“Minnie!”

you run to him, tucking the gun back into your waistband and falling to your knees at his side. Fingers finding wet-dark fabric. Not water but blood.

Hobi stays there in the doorway, his pulse thudding through his ears, an odd sort of peace to him as he takes in the details. The blood that pools dark on the dusty floor.

Jimin’s half covered with dust himself. Something wooden and red in his lap. The blood that’s dripped down his shoulder gathering there. There is a dragged-through patch of dirt a few feet away, more blood, and Jin is nowhere to be found.

Minnie’s eyelashes flutter. “Alpha-” you say. Almost sobbing in relief that he's alive. Alive you can handle. Alive you can work with. You bend down, getting your hand on his cheek. "Hey- wake up for me a sec okay? We're gonna get you out of here-"

“Hey pup” he laughs half delirious with pain, wincing like making the sound hurts him. “You came to the party" he coughs. "Did you bring Tae?”

You pull back to look at him. “Tae?”

Jimin grins, eyes fluttering closed and his pretty face tipped up against the light. His lips have blood on him- and it looks like a disturbing imitation of Tae’s lipstick. The shadows she leaves on your mouth, on his.

“Yeah- wanna tell her I love her. Wanna tell her I’m sorry. Could you tell her for me?”

This is something Tied tourniquet tight around Jimin’s shoulder to keep him from bleeding out. something you didn't immediately notice. You stare down at the vest now- at the yellow patch letters slowly darkening with blood.

FBI, and then in smaller letters; Organized crime division, Dir. Kim.

Jin appears from around the corner, covered in dust and blood across his thighs, and his throat. So quick you barely have time to raise the gun and then put it down when you see it's not some stranger- someone sent from Yoongi's family to tie up loose ends.

Your hand tightens on the gun as you stare at Jin.

The sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up to his forearms and black nitrile gloves cover his hands; same as Jimin's- although one is ripped. His eyes flick from you to Hobi and he almost flinches.

“Jesus fucking Christ-” Jin looks back at you. “Did you have to tell Hobi?”

You bristle “I didn’t tell him anything yet. That’s how you properly protect people. Instead of you know-” The insult doesn’t make sense and neither does your anger. Jin is your pack omega but it doesn’t feel like it when you grab his lapel and shake him a little. He doesn’t move, You’re too slight to alter his course.

Hobi stumbles to your side, hand on your shoulder and Jin's. The pack omega almost flinches at the touch.

“Will both of you swallow your god damn pride and-”

The three of you fall silent when Jimin reaches up to grab your thigh.

Jimin's hand on your wrist goes vice-tight, and when you look down at him, he's more lucid. More there through the haze of pain and blood. "If anyone has any right to be mad at Jinnie- it's me."

You stare Jin down, and after a breath, he's the one who looks away from your glare, taking your hands from his coat and gently detangling them.

"Let's just get him to the fucking car." You bite out. And you get back on your knees to gently guide Jimin away from leaning up against the metal. Get your hand around Jimin’s good arm and start to try and tug him to his feet. His eyes follow you fever bright. “Tell Tae that yourself when we get you out of here.”

the three of you get jimin on his feet. Jin under his good shoulder and Hobi by his hip you there, grabbing Jimin's gun and the mask from the ground. Hobi almost trips on a piece of metal.

He’s being so good with this so- so normal. Making pregnant and stressed eye contact with you when you look at him but stay mostly silent.

Jimin’s car keys fall onto the dusty earth just as you get to Hobi’s. placing jimin gently into the backseat before you stop to pick them up.

“My car; they can’t find it here.” You glance at Jin, then Hobi, looking grey.

“Someone needs to be in the back of the car to stabilize you. you can’t just be flopping around when we drive to the-” You break off because oh this just got so much worse; there’s no way that Jimin’s going to be able to go to the hospital. Even with injuries like this.

You make eye contact with Jin again, and both of you realize at the same time, the mountain of evidence that must be inside it, but you're only the three of you- if you take Jimin's car and Hobi takes his and Jin takes his own- no one will be there to hold Minnie and keep him stable. But who knows when you'll have a chance to come back and get Jimin's car.

If the authorities find his car and the body still inside that building. There's no shortage of what they might be able to convict Jimin for. If there was ever a time that you needed another person it would be right now. You should have called Yoongi.

You look up at Jin, “Get rid of it, we just have to-”

“The river-” You stand there, two opposite sides of the same coin both grinning because it's a good plan.

“If we sink it, they’ll never find it.”

A couple of miles away where the floodlights shine, they must knock over something large because you hear the boom and feel the tremble in the earth.

You take everything out of the car first, throwing it into the front seat of Hobi's car. Hobi tries not to think about the items too hard. The sniper rifle, the 3 bulletproof vests, or the ski mask. There's a variety of other equipment underneath the false bottom, arranged perfectly, everything has its spot. An empty tranquilizer gun. Ropes and black trash bags.

The three of you work like a polished team. Moving the car as close as you can to the water Near an old dry dock that flooded, where the soil turns soft and spongy.

It’s hard to push even though you put the car in neutral. the three of you still have to put all your weight into it. Jimin waits in Hobi’s car, parked on the edge. Watching your sluggish procession.

“Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.”

“Shut up you are not going to die” You snap. The line of the doorframe digs into your shoulder as you push with all your might, putting all of your anger and betrayal behind it because it has nowhere to go otherwise.

Jimin really isn’t helping. Hand pressed over his bullet wound, blood slowly dripping from between his fingers.

Your feet fight against the muck, sliding through it, cold and gross around your ankles. Water soaks your socks.

“Seriously I’m bleeding all over the interior. gonna have to get it detailed after i'm gone.” Hobi picks his head up from the other side, grinning at you. You think it’s the first time you’ve even felt a ghost of a smile grace your face since you got the call. He has no idea how much you need that smile.

“It’s red, won’t stain. Don't worry minnie.”

“Your concern for me is glowing.” He's smiling but Jimin’s hand is knuckle-tight over his shoulder.

“Shut up.” you grind out.

Once you get going downhill it’s easy to push the car, down down down until you hit the muck, knee-deep in the fowl-smelling stuff. You walk with it into the icy water. Hobi’s sweatshirt is so big on you and it billows around you in the brackish water. Weighing you down like an anchor in a storm. You guide the car and the cold water is up to your waist. The car thuds and then shudders, bubbling as you get it deeper and deeper.

"That should be good. Come on."

You think you’re fine until you try to pull away from the side of the car and can’t.

Hobi is already cutting through the water back towards the shore, his back to you. You can’t move, and the car is sinking inch by inch. Slowly dragging you along with it. Some corner of your sweatshirt snagged on the doorframe or hooked.

Your hands move scrabbling. Trying to find the spot at your hip where you’re caught. But you can’t see, the water is so dark you can't even see your hands below the surface. Is it terror or just the cold that makes your hands so uncooperative?

You haven’t even had time to cry out before there is a body behind you, hand closing around the spot where you’re snagged under the water, ripping the fabric with strong hands.

Jin’s hands don’t leave you once he’s untangled you, grabbing your hips and dragging you back, back through the mud and up to the embankment. His hand on the back of your neck, “I’ve got you pup, you’re okay, you’re fine.”

Hobi’s already standing up there, soaking wet too. The dust pills on your pant legs and behind you, the car gives one last gurgle. Disappearing for good.

In the dusty darkness, you look at Jin. His gaunt face, soaked with muck like you are. The ends of his hair clumped together, muddy. You blink up at him and he blinks down at you, water in his eyes.

Jimin and Hobi wait, watching you both stand there. Suddenly the gun in your waistband feels too heavy to carry any longer.

Jin closes his eyes, screwing them shut tight like he's waiting for you to shove him again. “Before you yell at me, you should know that Yoongi already knows, about me being an FBI agent. He's known since the beginning."

there is a moment of silence where hobi looks from you to jin. But then You collide with Jin burying your face in the front of his shirt. He swallows past the lump in his throat. One bloody hand comes up to touch your hair and cradle the back of your head.

“Pup- we don’t have time, we have to go. Minnie-” You pull back, eyes wet.

“Alright- alright- just- we’ll meet you at home?”

Jin turns to Hobi, nodding. Hoseok stoops, putting Jimin's legs in the back of the car, they're shaking. All of Jimin is shaking. His body is in shock from losing so much blood and from the cold.

“Don’t speed, I’ll be right behind you. Don’t give anyone a reason to pull you over.”

~-~

(Namjoon.)

The inside of the pizza parlor is balmy with the smell of cooking dough, garlic, parmesan cheese, and Jungkook's happy sunny scent. So at odds with the cold outside.

Namjoon watches Tae and Jungkook giggle and act like pups. Heart clenching the way it always does when he looks at the pack. They smell like roses and honey, like spring days far away now in winter but Namjoon can already feel the spring warmth thawing his tiredness left over from work. A haze to the edge of his vision like he's feeling bumble-bee fluff and sucking honey from the air.

Hope is hot and necessary like sunlight, and Namjoon has a whole lot of it for the future right now. and good for him honestly- it's the last easy breathes he's going to have for a good long while.

He can't believe it. You and Hobi. His body gives an involuntary happy shiver.

Yoongi catches it and raises a knowing eyebrow.

The pack is willing to wait here and give you and Hobi a little more time to sort things out. They've given you hours, they'll give maybe one more. They've already taken Tae and Jungkook out for ice cream. Dessert before dinner has both of them sugar high and hyper.

The pizza parlor is mostly empty- there are no glares or looks as they laugh loud and try to imitate a dance, jungkook's phone propped up on a napkin holder.

Namjoon and yoongi don't join in, they just stare at each other. Yoongi looks like he might be a little bit in shock, the scent blooming every few seconds, sweet chocolate cocoa when he thinks of it, and salty worry when he reaches over to check Tae's phone- just to see if you've texted.

Namjoon knows, and so does Jungkook because Jungkook knows everything.

“I can’t believe they actually-” Jungkook snorts, this isn’t the first time Yoongi’s repeated those words, he’s been muttering it under his breath every few minutes for the last few hours, mostly to himself. Jungkook indulges him this time.

“I know- I thought they’d be emotionally constipated for at least another month.”

Jungkook’s hand is nearly permanently glued to the back of Yoongi’s neck, squeezing reassuringly every few seconds. Even as he and Tae giggle and fall into each other, watching back their video on Tae’s phone. Her sparkly phone case catches the light, and little bits of glitter fall and trickle slowly just like the snow falling outside.

Namjoon's thoughts slush slowly.

Namjoon feels settled down to his bones, in that deep-seated alpha way that he’s not sure he’d be able to articulate even if he tried. Nesting tonight is gonna hit so fucking well. Namjoon is going to scent both you and Hobi until he can feel the sex and pleasure on his teeth and tongue, might just need to taste your arousal for himself. He'll be sweet about it and give you a little wiggle room just to put you back in your places. He feels half feral wanting it already. If he's not careful a scenting like that might send Hobi into rut or you into heat.

Namjoon's almost trembling at the idea of it.

God fucking damn it, he's so in love it hurts a little. He’s sure that Yoongi feels the same deep calmness, the sense of rightness, thinking about you and Hobi.

Yoongi’s lopsided grin says It finally fucking happened. Namjoon’s dimpled smile says, I know, I’m surprised we didn’t have to orchestrate it. They don’t have to say it, the soft words would be swallowed up under the music playing over the loudspeaker (the idol group that Jimin guards- their newest hit).

Their knees are nested between each other’s on the too-small table and too-small seats. Namjoon’s big palm on Yoongi’s knee all tight. His hand over the pack alphas, tangling and playing together in a way that Jin would call flirting without words and Tae might call poetic.

The pack took one car to the pizza place, Namjoon's, gathering snow outside. Probably a bad move honestly because Namjoon is on call. The surgery this morning went off without a hitch, clipping aneurysms on a middle-aged alpha usually goes off without a hitch because Namjoon is quite good at his job. If anything happens post-op Namjoon will have to leave them stranded here.

As Namjoon watches something crosses Yoongi’s face that looks a bit like confusion, his hand leaves Namjoon’s to settle on his hip. Eyebrows pulling together.

Huh? Is it the mating mark?

Their food has just arrived, cauliflower pizza for Jungkook, a messy calzone for Yoongi, and his own meat-filled slice when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Namjoon smiles seeing Hobi’s contact, and answers it. It’s you on the line when he picks up.

“Whatever you do, don’t put me on speaker. Don’t react. Just go somewhere where you won’t be overheard by anyone.” Namjoon's smile falls instantly.

Something about your tone has goosebumps rising on his arms. inexplicable, whether it's instincts or just the fact that Namjoon knows your voice and has never heard you sound like this that tips him off he's not sure.

You’re in the back of Hobi’s car, Jimin sprawled across your lap, your fingers stroking down his cheek, your other hand putting pressure on his bullet wound. Jimin lets out these little hiccupping breaths and in the front seat, Hobi’s eyes flick to the two of you. Your pause your call to soothe him, letting him inhale big settling breaths of your scent. Nose and mouth pressed hard to your wrist. Teeth biting down because Jimin needs something to muffle his pained growl.

"Just hold on Minnie, I know it hurts. We’re almost back to the house."

Namjoon hears it, and his whole body goes cold.

You can say many things about the pack, about pack alphas and pack omegas, but listening goes both ways. Namjoon would never dream of disobeying you when you talk like this. Namjoon stands and walks to the door mechanically. Only when he’s outside, cold air swirling around him, does he speak.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s happened," Namjoon closes his eyes "-and I need you not to tell the others. I need you to come home and leave Jungkook and Tae. Jimin's hurt and we need you.”

Namjoon feels the moment the tense breath in his chest sticks there and he realizes you’re not joking. Jungkook looks up, furrowing his eyebrows at Namjoon in the dark window. The snowflakes falling catch the lamplight around him, dotting his red sweatshirt like the reverse of blood on snow.

There’s a pause and then, “There’s a lot you don’t know, but I need you to hurry.”

Namjoon nods then pauses when he realizes you can’t see. He’s not sure he’s ever heard you sound so serious.

“Do you understand why I’m asking you this Namjoon?”

Namjoon has always been an honest alpha, even when it doesn’t stroke his ego. “No.”

“Because if Tae sees what’s happening, she’s going to need someone to comfort her, and everyone needs to be focused on mini right now.” Your voice trembles, breaking. Below you, Jimin smiles, leaning into your arm. Babbling little and delirious from pain and blood loss.

“Love you so much Tae- wanna be your mate- wanna marry you too if y/n lets me- wanna have your pups."

"Jimin. You are an alpha. You can't get pregnant." Hobi says dryly from the driver's seat, making a very careful left turn that's so slow that it garners a honk from the people behind him.

"But Tae could at least try-"

You close your eyes against the lights of the highway, and across your lap you feel wet soaking into your pant legs. You don't look down, You know it’s blood. It’s so warm, spilling across your knees like sunshine. Bubbling up with every heartbeat.

You don’t know how much more blood Jimin can lose before it’s critical, which is why you need Namjoon.

“-And if Jungkook finds out the stress could make him have a seizure.”

Namjoon is silent on the other end of the line. Completely quiet. Frozen on the sidewalk outside of the pizza place. Above him, the pastel blue pizzeria sign buzzes and flickers. Namjoon inhales the cold air, his exhale coming out warm and steamy visible. When he turns to look inside Yoongi is already staring.

Namjoon must look devastated because Yoongi shoots to his feet. Saying something to the others before he heads out after Namjoon. The bell clinging until he's right there reaching for the phone.

“I’ll see you at home.” You shut your eyes tight. “Bring Yoongi too. I need him.”

The phone in Namjoon’s hands buzzes and when he looks the call has disconnected.

~-~

It's a good thing that most of the snow has melted off or else you’d have a harder time concealing Jimin’s bleeding form as you pull into the driveway. You’re barely outside for a handful of seconds. No curtains move in the shuttered windows of your neighbors. No one is in the cul-de-sac, not even Noodle is waiting for you on the rock wall.

There is no red trail in the snow, just a few drops that land on the dark slate walkway that you’ll clean up before morning. The porch light is off and Your hand leaves a dark imprint on the railing as you rush to open the door for Jin and Hobi, supporting Jimin between the two of them.

But the door opens before you can get to it.

"Joonie!” Jimin's tone drips with false cheer, grinning at the pack alpha and your mate standing just inside the house. As Jin and hobi half drag and half carry Jimin inside and out of sight. Blood dripps down the side of his face from his temple to his chin.

“Holy fuck” your mate mutters. Out of Jin and Hobi and you- you easily have the most blood on yourself. Your pants are soaked through with it and muck from the river, even your hair feels wet and sticky. You must certainly look like a sight, like something out of a nightmare or a bad memory- yoongi can take his pick.

(In truth, the sight of you blood soaked brings up only one other night in yoongi's memory; a night just as tense and pain filled as this. the night you killed Geumjae. This won't be the last time Yoongi sees you soaked in blood either. But at least next time the blood you'll wear won't be the packs and you'll be wearing it as a king and not a pawn).

The drive must have truly taken a toll on him because the second the door closes behind you Jimin’s knees give out and his eyes roll back, passing out as the last bit of energy vanishes from his body. Hobi almost falls with him, but Namjoon and Yoongi are quick to come to his aid.

“Quick- the table.”

Yoongi clears the dining room table with a simple swipe of his hands, sending the bowl of tangerines scattering, rolling like many mini suns across the hardwood floor. They put him down as gently as they can, but Jimin's a puppet with his strings cut. Namjoon swoops in, more trained than any of you, grabbing Jimin’s ankles and holding them up above his heart.

"Come on- Minnie- come on " Namjoon reaches over to tap Jimin’s cheek, gentle once and harder the second time, more of a true slap. Jimin gasps awake, but he’s only half conscious. It’s twilight, his eyelashes fluttering face pale. Mumbling Tae's name over and over again.

"Jin, hold his legs up for me- here"

You’ve never seen Namjoon move so mechanically, so professionally. He's already wearing sterile gloves. His black doctor’s bag cracked open and full of gauze and other medical paraphernalia. The skin around the bullet wound is pinched with blood. Gushing fresh as Namjoon cuts away as much of the tourniquet as he dares with a pair of kitchen shears.

Jimin’s head lolls to the side.

Namjoon lets out a single wet noise. You haven’t heard him cry in so long, you don’t realize that’s what it is until you look at his face.

Your mate’s face is pale and gaunt as he looks at you over the dining room table. “Didn’t you tell him anything?”

“No- I wasn’t sure what to say, I-” Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to Minnie, then up at Jin who looks like he might be about to pass out himself. Holding himself away.

“Who shot him? Did someone corner you? Jin-”

Jin lifts his chin about to confess but before he can Namjoon snaps “Everyone needs to be quiet- please.”

Namjoon places his stethoscope oh so gently to jimin's skin Even the slight action makes Jimin’s face twist in pain. The whole pack is quiet and still, like statues.

The moment passes syrup slow, And Namjoon moves his stethoscope an inch to the left, then the right. Only then does he toss it down onto the floor. Grabbing a sterile towel from his medicine bag and presses it hard over the bullet wound. Closing his eyes and grimacing before he stuffs it, fingers and all into the bullet wound.

Jimin jerks violently, howling, nearly thrashing in pain if it weren’t for Namjoon and Yoongi and you holding him down. He flails, hitting you in the face knocking you back.

Hobi catches you before you fall. “I’m fine, it’s okay just- help them hold Minnie" your hand over your hot cheek. It will probably bruise- but you don't even care as you watch as Namjoon pulls himself onto the kitchen table, putting his full body weight over the bullet wound to try and stem the bleeding.

“He needs a hospital. We need to pack it and then take him there. He’s lost too much blood.”

"We can’t- all bullet wounds need to be mandated reported.”

It’s not all that large of a hole to be honest. Maybe a finger with on the back side and a little smaller at Jimin's front because Jin shot Jimin at such close range. It’s a threw and threw. Even though Namjoon packed the front his back still leaks steadily.

“But Jimin will live, whatever’s going on-” Namjoon shares a glace with Yoongi Jin, then you- and you watch as it dawns on him. “wait- You do know what’s going on, theres something you're not telling me.”

It's accusatory but you nod while Jin and Yoongi stay placid. Namjoon looks once at Jin again then at you, deciding who he trusts more to correctly gauge the odds.

Namjoon looks at you, waiting.

“If the wrong people find out Jiminie is- that he’s-” you pause, and Jimin grimaces, there is blood on his teeth, in his mouth. “It might not just be him hurt by the end of it.”

“But we can’t just let him die.”

Hobi just stands by the couch, your nest just tousled as you’d left it what feels like a lifetime ago. for the first time that night- hobi breaks.

"Oh my god Jimin's going to die-"

Jin's hands are in his hair, yanking, "Tae is going to kill me-"

“Shut up, no one is dying yet. If he dies on us I’ll kill him myself.” you scoff, holding Jimin’s wrist, his hand. “I won’t even bother with a gun I’ll just..."

You fall silent with a sudden intake of breath. Yoongi's head whips in your direction. Jin too looks up from where he was just bowed, realization lighting his eyes up bright.

The three of you share a look and for a second, the only sound is Jimin's blood dripping. A little faster with every heartbeat. Down the leg of the kitchen table onto the floor in red rivulets.

Drip drip drip.

(What you don’t know about Jin and Yoongi’s tentative agreement is that even though they know about each other- they've still been on either side of this. They’ve never worked with each other, never shared querying glances like this. It's a special secret language that thieves and secret killers share.)

Yoongi follows your line of sight to the kitchen. The knives sit sheathed in the knife block. The same ones that he bought Jin as a fancy courting present years ago. The same one's Yoongi sharpens before he cuts the meat that the pack eats for samgyeopsal and bulgogi and shabushabu.

A sharp cut is an easy cut to fix, unlike a blown-apart cavernous bullet wound.

“No.” Is your first reaction. Even though it was your idea. “It’s too dangerous.”

"It won't work." is Jin's response. Namjoon glances from you to him. He hasn't yet realized what you're talking about. doesn't posess the same finess for bloodshed that the three of you do (the three of you could conquer the world, you just haven't' realized it yet)

"It will work." Yoongi straightens. there are whispers of darkness on yoongi's face. a childhood he doesn't talk about in his eyes. a childhood filled of blood and less kindness than you'd think; for it to have made a man like yoongi; who knows how to be gentle because he's felt every kind of unplesantness there is.

"I've seen it done before. A long time ago but still- it works."

“What,” Namjoon snaps. "Are you guys fucking talking about?"

“There’s another option.” Yoongi’s hands are on Jimin, holding his wrists down. his other hand tucking his hair behind his ears and kissing his bloody cheek. His hands are getting colder and there isn’t much time. He’s quiet for a moment, lips pressed to jimin's skin, before he looks up. None of you want to say what you’re thinking.

“A good stab wound with a larger knife, through and through will disguise the bullet wound. It will stop him from bleeding any more. No one will know that Jimin was shot and we can take him to the hospital."

Namjoon’s scent is sour, sour, and acrid and it makes Jimin arch in pain, face twisted. He still doesn't understand why no one must know that Jimin was shot. Still doesn't understand that it was Jin who shot him. He'll learn later over hospital coffee but for now, he misses the blood-soaked and cut up FBI vest laying in a heap on your dining room floor. No yellow left on it- just red.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m not letting anyone stab anybody."

Jimin’s head lolls on the table. His mumbled words fall on deaf ears. “Stab away….might as well…already stabbed through the fucking heart from Tae" (how could Cupid be so cruel?)

"Joonie look at me." Your hand is on Namjoon’s arm, his shoulder, the back of his neck and he rounds on you. Alpha aggression striking before Namjoon can reign in his instincts. He almost snaps his teeth at you. You don't react at the alpha baring his teeth in your face because underneath it all is the panic of a child, a pup who's terrified he's about to lose his family (a sinking feeling in his gut that says maybe, he already has.)

You understand, you know what it's like to feel that way.

Your voice is so calm and gentle. “Namjoon- you just have to trust me. If we take Jimin to the hospital and if they have a reason to take his fingerprints. There is a very good chance Minnie will go to prison. That I will go to prison- that Yoongi will too.”

Jin blinks, eyelashes fluttering. And Namjoon is silent, Hobi's silent too. All of them watching you. Your hands are steady, and your eyes are clear. The clearest they've ever seen.

“There is a lot we haven’t told you. But you need to trust me.”

It’s then that he spots it. Yoongi’s tone is dark as he yanks the wooden mask out of Hoseok's hands. Yoongi would know those masks anywhere; the one that the family gives its employees. This specific type is to delineate a non-relative. The specific kind is the mask that killers wear.

“Where the fuck did you get this?”

You look up at him, “it’s Minnie’s.”

Yoongi’s chest heaves, breath coming quick and fast. “No, it’s not- it can’t be.”

Namjoon’s teeth look particularly sharp when he snaps. “Does anyone but me give a fuck about Jimin right now? Or do you guys only want to pretend that you do?” The rest of the pack watches Namjoon as he ties a new tourniquet. A better one. he can't meet your eyes. quiet and furious as he pulls the knot tight.

“There are too many ligaments in Jimin’s arm, you could cripple him.”

“What other choice do we have?"

“So thats it?” your voice is a shred past hysterical, “we just take him to the hospital and let him go to jail, or let him bleed out and die here?”

The four of you stand over Jimin, on the kitchen table, the spot where you’ve eaten dinner and broken bread and loved each other for the last year. A place of nourishment and love now a place of pain and terror.

You walk three strides to the kitchen and grab the largest steak knife from the kitchen block. Your eyes dark and determined as you stare them down.

"I'll do it if you won't! I'm not letting Jimin go to prison!" you blink tears out of your eyes and there is a moment of silence, a moment where everyone just looks at you.

There is a warm body at your back, a strong chest and long arms that you know circling your waist to pull you back against them. Rubbing soft down your stomach as another comes up to guide your hand. long fingers that curl around your small fist. Grabbing the knife and guiding it, syrup slow out of your grasp.

"There we go" hobi says, words whisper soft.

It's like his words break the spell. “Give me that thing before you hurt yourself.” namjoon snaps.

Namjoon holds the knife and everyone watches as he walks to the pack's liquor cabinet. grabbing the nearest highest proof bottle that he can find and pouring it over the kitchen blade.

“If anyone’s going to do it, it should be me, because I know where Jimin’s joint is.” The pack nods, agreeing. Scattering.

You toss a rag to Jin. “Wipe the gunshot residue from your hands before we get to the hospital. Wipe Jimin’s too while you’re at it. Just in case.”

Namjoon holds the knife in the kitchen. You all have some amount of Jimin’s blood on you and he blinks from the table lucid.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon asks, staring down at Jimin, knife in his hand. “Go outside and warm up the car. You’ll drive because you have the steadiest hands besides me.”

You and Jin and Hobi are silent, everyone just watches namjoon for a second. Yoongi hesitates, turning back in the doorway. "Do it from behind that way Jimin can say he didn't see who stabbed him."

Namjoon nods, looking down.

There is Jimin’s blood on the doorknob and the floor. You wonder who’s going to clean it up.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon asks, and your mate starts, running out the door, leaving it open so that the cold can slip in. Namjoon’s hand tightens on the knife.

Jimin grins up at him from the table, eyelashes fluttering.

"Do it."

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 Every little bit of encouragement helps <3

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

the line "A faceless god, if you’re going to take so much from him- the least you can do is give me this." is a call back to a line all the way in the beginning of the series where tae writes "the least you could have done was leave me whole" about yoongi.

the beginning feels a little drawn out but honestly i feel like it's such a traumatizing moment that it makes sense. the beginning was one of those cases that i read it so many times i can't tell if its ass or gas- so it's up for you to decide. i like the later parts of the chapter a lot better.

All things said, hobi is taking this incredibly well.

I was such a sleepy bunny editing this this morning! i'm sorry if there are more errors than usual.

ooh they fighting~ this might be a little bit of a /oh shit/ confession- but i greatly belived that the m/c would have killed jin had she thought that he was actually trying to kill jimin for being involved with the mafia like- one wrong move on his part and she might have shot him. they're gonna forget about it and nothing will change between them but god- that moment where he comes around the corner could have gone so bad if she was a little more trigger happy.

honestly i started to hate this chapter halfway through editing it, if there was ever one that i needed you to show love to its this one god 😮‍💨 i never thought i'd feel out of practice writing this sort of thing.

are the funny parts out of place? do they break up the terror too much or just the right amount?

I cannot take credit for the methodology behind how they hide jimin's bullet wound. i will confess this is copied from an episode of Elementary- ie the american version of sherlock. i tried to look it up if you could possibly conceal bullet wounds this way and didn't find anything so you're just gonna have to trust me.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Forgotten Nest (Part 4) - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 4.0k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Father Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles; Crying; Arguing; Verbal Altercation; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: Rooster seeks to make amends with Cora. Chaos ensues when Nickie doesn’t listen to his mom.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Master List

The sun was starting to set in the distance as Rooster and the other members of the newly formed Dagger Squad made their way off of the sandy beach and back to the Hard Deck as it opened for the night. They had an early morning the following day and lots of training to make up, but for tonight, they were going to enjoy the moment.

Penny had already left with Maverick, so Rooster didn’t have an opportunity to talk to her about Cora. He could have asked Maverick about Cora, but Rooster was always cautious, even before the whole Academy papers incident, about bringing up his relationship with Cora to Maverick. There was a reason why they hid it from him when they were teenagers.

But who the hell wanted to talk about their ex with their ex’s dad? Definitely not Rooster.

While he looked around the Hard Deck and briefly dwelled on the photo of him and Cora on the piano in the old bar in town, Rooster found himself focusing on Cora yet again. He still hadn’t completely shaken off the last interaction that he had with her outside of the diner.

He wasn’t expecting her to be that angry with him. Not even a fraction of that angry. Disappointed, sure. Unhappy to see him, definitely a possibility. Looking like she was holding back the urge to knock his lights out? He wasn’t expecting that.

And part of him felt like something was off. He hadn’t contacted her since he left, meaning that whatever anger she had for him was approaching on seventeen years now. And Cora wasn’t the type to just hold onto every little thing. She was pissed at him. For some big reason that Rooster had no inkling towards. And his brain was screaming at him to figure out what she was mad at him about.

After all, he was getting along better with Maverick than he had since before the Academy papers incident. Maybe that was a good sign. Or a source of false confidence. Either way, Rooster was determined to settle whatever his relationship with Cora entailed before they shipped out for the uranium facility mission.

“You want another one?” Phoenix asked Rooster, who shook his head in response after a moment.

“No, I think I need to figure some stuff out,” Rooster stated, getting up from his seat.

Bidding goodnight to the remaining Daggers, Rooster paid his tab, and headed out of the bar. Pulling out his keys, he slid into the Bronco. Bradley typed Cora’s address that she sent him years ago into his navigation and started for Cora’s house with a focused expression on his face.

He was going to get to the bottom of this. Whatever this was.  

~~~~~

“Nickie, dinner’s done!” Cora called up the stairs before turning back for the kitchen.

Nickie got up from his desk, leaving his math homework for now, and left his room. Gently trotting down the stairs, Nickie paused at the base of the staircase and noted that there were only two plates set out on the dinner table.

“Gramps isn’t eating with us?”

“He said that he’d probably be home later,” Cora replied, moving to fill up a glass with water. “I’m pretty sure him and Penny are—”

“—Mom!” Nickie interjected, practically going green.

“I was going to say catching up!” Cora defended herself, smacking her son lightly on the arm.

“I feel like I should warn Amelia,” Nickie sighed, pulling out his phone and clicking on Amelia’s name. “No one should have to walk in on their mom in that situation.”

Shaking her head, Cora went about cleaning and setting up the table. Nickie was about to grab his plate when he noticed a car pull off the road in front of the house. And that instantly caused a warning siren to go off in the back of his mind.

The street that the Mitchell family lived on was quiet. There was barely any through traffic besides residents in the area, so Nickie was automatically suspicious. Walking over to the windows with the shades drawn, Nickie stared out the window as Rooster stepped out of the car.

Was that . . . was that the guy from the Hard Deck? What the hell was he doing here?

“Mom,” Nickie called, causing Cora to immediately turn to him.

“What, Nickie?”

“There’s a guy outside,” Nickie stated, causing Cora’s face to immediately draw.

Concerned, she immediately rushed over to Nickie’s side to peek out the window at the invader. But unlike Nickie, she recognized Rooster in an instant. Breathing out sharply, Cora subconsciously reached out and grabbed the back of Nickie’s shirt as if to steady herself. Nickie turned to his mom with greater concern than before.

“Who is he? Do you know him?”

“Nickie,” Cora whispered, her voice shaking a bit. “Just . . .” Glancing between Rooster and Nickie frantically, Cora struggled to find her words. “Just stay here.”

“Who is he, Mom?” Nickie asked, a bit more demanding as Cora stared to walk towards the door.

“He’s . . .” Cora trailed off cautiously.

Slowly and skittishly, Cora turned and looked up at her son. Her son that looked so painfully similar to the man right outside her front door that it killed her just a little every time that she noticed. It killed her when he opened his eyes for the first time and she saw Bradley’s staring back at her. And it killed her now when those same eyes were staring at her with confusion and deep concern.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She was supposed to have time to prepare. She was supposed to break the news gently, when Nickie was ready to hear it. When Bradley was ready to hear it. Did she tell Nickie now? Did she tell Bradley now? Did she hide it for just a few more hours or for the rest of her life? Should she call her dad? Ice? Penny? Someone, anyone who could mediate?

Caught up in a momentary panic, Cora flinched when the doorbell echoed around the house. She looked over at the door before slowly returning her gaze to her son. To her baby. The first person that she would do anything to protect.

“Just stay there. I’ll handle it,” Cora promised, trying to put up a brave face for her son.

Turning for the door, however, that brave face quickly fell off and shattered on the floor. Nickie peered curiously after his mom and made sure to move so that he was out of view of the front door. Just because his mom said she had it handled didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to standby and let her face it all on her own.

Cora reached for the door knob and paused for a moment to compose herself, before unlocking and pulling the door open. Bradley looked up from the porch as the door swung open, revealing Cora dressed casually with a clear skittish look in her eye.

“What are you doing here, Bradley?” she asked softly, blocking Rooster’s view into the house. Of Nickie.

“I just . . . I felt bad about our conversation the other day,” Rooster stated, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting his weight around on his feet. “You were right, I . . . I was just trying to bring myself closure. And I realize that probably doesn’t make a lot of sense to you since I was the one who left in the first place, but . . . I’m sorry, Cora.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cora replied, shaking her head, already moving to close the door. “It’s fine.”

“Is . . . are you okay?” Bradley questioned, noticing just how distraught Cora looked.

The fire that had been behind her eyes when he ran into her outside of the diner was gone, replaced by a rabbity barely-contained fear. Was . . . was she scared of him? He knew that he didn’t leave on the best of terms, but he never thought that he made her that uncomfortable. That much unlike her usual confident and poised nature.

“Did I . . . I probably should have called first but I didn’t know if your number changed—”

“—No, it hasn’t,” Cora interjected, pursing her lips together. “It’s the same as it’s always been.”

Nickie took a step closer to the door, more than intrigued about the situation now, and more and more concerned about his mom. He swore that he could see her shaking and even though the man at the door—Bradley was his name, apparently—didn’t seem to be an outward threat to her, Nickie was still on edge by his presence.

“About that, I . . . I feel like you’re still mad at me about something and I was trying to think through everything and—”

“—Don’t worry about me, Bradley. I can take care of myself. I’ll be fine,” Cora stated, gripping the doorknob tightly. "And I don’t need a therapy session with you tonight.”

“Can you at least tell me why you’re mad at me?” Rooster asked, causing Cora to grip the door knob just a bit tighter. “I mean, I know that we didn’t leave things anywhere near a good note, but I didn’t realize that I hurt you that much. That deeply.”

“No, you didn’t,” Cora replied quietly, glancing back into her house briefly. “But I can’t—I don’t want to talk about it right now, Bradley. Maybe later.”

“Cora—”

“—Bye, Bradley.”

“Cora, please, wait,” Rooster practically begged her, placing his hand on the door.

And that one little action set off an immediate chain of events that Cora knew were out of her control.  

“She told you to leave,” Nickie snapped from behind the door, causing Bradley and Cora to freeze.

Should he have realized that Cora was probably not home alone? Definitely. There were two cars parked in the driveway, after all. But if Rooster was expecting anyone else to emerge from Cora’s house, it would have been an adult. Or maybe a little kid.

That voice sounded like a teenager to Bradley’s ear.

“No,” Cora whispered to herself, turning back to her son, and trying to keep him hidden from Bradley. “Nickie, I’m fine. Just go back to the kitchen.”

“Nickie?” Rooster repeated, frowning slightly with confusion.

“Mom, who the hell is he?” Nickie demanded, finally stepping into Bradley’s view.

Bradley immediately recognized Nickie as one of the kids at the Hard Deck when he went to try and find Penny. But it wasn’t the kid’s familiarity in that sense that startled him nearly out of his skin. It was what this Nickie kid, who just so happened to apparently share a name with Rooster’s deceased dad that Hangman just brought up yesterday, called Cora, ‘Mom.’

“Mom?” Bradley repeated again, turning to Cora with sheer incredulousness in his eyes.

Glancing between Cora and Nickie quickly, Rooster swore his brain short-circuited. Was it a possibility in his head that Cora had kids of her own? Absolutely. Had part of him expected her to already have kids? Absolutely. But Rooster was expecting them to be babies or young kids.

Not a teenager. Rooster was horrible at guessing kids ages, but this Nickie kid—Cora’s kid—had to be somewhere around . . . sixteen years old.

And the more that Rooster stared at Nickie, the more familiar he got. The brown eyes, the nose, the shape of his chin, the way that his hair curled at the ends. Nickie got the slope of his cheeks from his mom and the darker shade to his hair too, but other than that, Rooster swore that he was staring out of a window into the past.

His past.

“You have a son?” Bradley asked Cora quietly, who seemed to have stopped breathing in that moment.

“You need to go,” Cora told Bradley a second later, trying to salvage some control in the situation.

She moved to shut the door again, but Bradley held firm, feeling like he was on the edge of a mental breakdown. Running through the numbers in his head, Bradley tried to cling to his sanity. He fled the Mitchell house about seventeen years ago, if you rounded up. If Cora was pregnant when he left, the kid would have been sixteen or on the cusp of sixteen now.

And one look at Nickie felt like it was equivalent to a paternity test at this rate.

“How old is he, Cora?” Bradley demanded from Cora, feeling like he was in some fever dream.

“Bradley,” Cora pleaded with him, “please, just go.”

“How old is he, Cora?” Rooster demanded louder than before.  

“I’m sixteen, fuckwad, what’s it to you?” Nickie snapped back, causing Bradley to turn to him.

“Nickie!”

“What, Mom?” Nickie scoffed, walking over to the door. Tilting his chin up to try and match Rooster’s height, since Rooster still had a few inches on him, Nickie glared up at the aviator. “And she told you to leave. So, I suggest you start moving.”

“Nickie, honey, please just—”

“—Is he mine?” Bradley interjected, turning to Cora, who had a deer in headlights look about her. Taking a step out in front of Nickie, Cora gripped the door so hard that her hands were shaking from the sheer force of it. “Is he my son, Cora?”

“Bradley, please—”

“—Who the fuck do you think you are?” Nickie snapped, causing Bradley to turn to him with a softer expression than the one that he reserved for Cora. Nickie scoffed when he noticed Bradley’s expression, shaking his head in disgust. “What? You think you get to just show up after sixteen years and start demanding shit? That’s not how this works!”

“Nickie—”

“—You know that I’m your dad?” Bradley asked Nickie, straightening up again.

“Bradley—”

“—I don’t give a shit who you are,” Nickie growled back at Bradley, causing Bradley to reel back a bit, as if he had been smacked across the face. “All I care about is the fact that you’re upsetting my mom, so get the fuck out of here.”

“Nickie—”

“—I didn’t—why didn’t you tell me, Cora?” Rooster demanded, turning to Cora once again.

However, that was perhaps Rooster’s biggest miscalculation of the night so far. And, really, he should have known better. He was a mama’s boy when he was Nickie’s age, after all.

“Don’t blame her!” Nickie snapped, causing Rooster to turn back to him. “You left! You left her alone with a baby! You didn’t answer her calls! You didn’t answer her letters! You didn’t give a shit about her! She raised me without you and you don’t get to just show up when I’m almost grown up and start demanding shit from her or me! And you’re definitely not going to blame her for your fuck ups!”

Stepping around his frantic mom and standing toe to toe with Rooster, Nickie bit back his own fear and his own resentment in that moment and tapped into the pool of anger that had been simmering in his stomach for what seemed like his entire life. And once the cork was popped, there was no way to put it back again.

“If you have a goddamn handful of respect or love left for her, you’ll turn around and you’ll never look back. You’re not my dad, you’re just some asshole who I share some DNA with. And you’re not going to ruin our lives any more than you already have!”

“You . . .” Bradley trailed off, trying to find his words.

“What part of ‘leave’ don’t you understand!? Go! You’re really good at that whole disappearing act anyways,” Nickie snapped, causing Bradley to noticeably shudder.

While Nickie was yelling at Rooster, Maverick rolled up to the scene. He was returning from Penny’s, assuming that he would arrive at a calm scene of Nickie doing his homework and Cora resting on the couch, watching TV or reading.

He was definitely not expecting to roll up to this shit show.

“Fuck,” Maverick cursed under his breath, sliding off his bike.

Sprinting up the walkway, Maverick grabbed Rooster by the arm and pulled him away from the door. Rooster didn’t fight him, seemingly still in shock about the information that was just thrown at him a thousand miles a minute. With Maverick on the scene, Cora seemed to snap out of her own trance. Yanking Nickie back into the house, Cora shut the door and locked it.  

“Bradley, you need to go,” Maverick stated, leading him away from the door.

“No, I—” Rooster started to say, weak from the emotional whiplash of the evening.

“—You need to go,” Maverick interjected more firmly, causing Rooster to round on him.

Yanking his arm out of Maverick’s hold, Rooster turned to square off against the man who practically raised him as his own. Tears stung Rooster’s eyes as he shot absolute death daggers at Maverick, who seemed prepared to handle the situation. And, after all, he had about sixteen years to prepare for this exact confrontation. Rooster had about six milliseconds.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Bradley hissed at him.

“You need to go, Bradley,” Maverick repeated, not reacting to Bradley’s words.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me!?” Bradley demanded, his voice growing a bit louder and breaking off at the end. He turned for the door again, but Maverick jumped in front of him and grabbed him from knocking on the door again. “I need to talk to her, Mav, I can’t—”

“—You’re not the kid anymore!” Maverick snapped, holding Bradley firmly, shaking him a bit. As if to snap him out of whatever trance he had fallen into in the last few minutes. “You’re not the one that I need to protect here. And you need to go back to base. Now.”

Rooster smacked Maverick’s hands away from himself and took a step back from the stairs. Sniffling, Rooster shook his head and shot Maverick a look that Maverick could only describe as the look of death. And Maverick took it while standing firm on the front stairs, protecting his daughter and his grandson from another confrontation that night.

“Fuck you,” Bradley cursed at Maverick as a tear slipped down his cheek. “Fuck you to hell, Maverick.”

And despite the way that those words dug straight into his heart, Maverick did not change his stance. Rooster glanced back at the house, probably searching for any sign of Nickie or Cora, before turning and stumbling for his car.

Maverick watched Rooster drive away before he slowly closed his eyes and let the weight of the day finally hit him. Rubbing his face slowly, Maverick headed inside, unlocking the door with his keys. Closing the door behind him and locking it once more, Maverick followed the sound of sniffles and choked sobs into the living room where Cora and Nickie were sitting together.

Nickie was resting his head on his mom’s shoulder, his bravado gone and replaced with that childish fear and anxiety that was only natural given the situation. Cora looked like a shell of herself as she held her son close, trying to soothe him while also failing at finding any comfort of her own. Taking a breath to steady himself, Maverick walked over to the couch to comfort his family.

~~~~~

Phoenix, Payback, Bob, and Fanboy were laughing and sitting around the coffee table, playing a game to pass the time when Rooster came stumbling into their shared house. In an instant, Phoenix stood up and stared at Bradley with clear concern. He didn’t look drunk but he looked absolutely out of it.

“Bradshaw, what—”

Rooster didn’t listen to her and instead stumbled straight up to his room. Slamming the door shut, he locked it behind him. Leaning on the door, Bradley slowly slid down the door—or perhaps collapsed was a better term—until he was sitting on the floor. And then he held his head in his hands and sobbed like a little baby. Like he hadn’t since his mom died.

~~~~~

Maverick closed the door to Nickie’s room, since the teenager finally fell asleep, before heading downstairs to check up on Cora. She was still sitting on the couch with a blanket over her legs and her head in her hand, the glass of water that Maverick got her untouched on the coffee table. Silently, Maverick moved to sit next to his daughter.

“How are you holding up?” Maverick asked softly.

“Oh, you know. One of my biggest nightmares just came true and now I’m certain that I’ve fucked up my son for the rest of his life, so I’m doing fan-fucking-tastic, Dad, how about you?” Cora replied, her voice coming out as more of a whimper at the end.

“Cora, you didn’t fuck Nickie up.”

“I didn’t? Did you see him?” Cora stressed, pointing over at the stairs. Holding her head in her hands, Cora let out another pitiful sob. “I failed. I failed him, Dad.”

“No, you did not,” Maverick insisted, grabbing Cora’s shoulder so that she looked up at him. “You did not fail Nickie, Cora. You’re a great mother to him.”

“But what if I could have done something differently? Reacted differently when Bradley showed up? Hell, what if I drove around the US when I found out I was pregnant until I finally tracked Bradley down and told him to his face? Hell, what if I just shoved Nickie into his arms until he gave in?”

"Cora," Maverick began softly.

“I mean, what am I going to do now? Bradley knows and Nickie knows and they both hold such a fucking grudge that I swear it’s genetic and—”

“—Cora, sweetheart, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Maverick stated, trying to calm his daughter down. “Just breathe. Breathe.”

“What am I going to do?” Cora sobbed, lowering her head again.

Maverick pulled his daughter into a tight hug, letting her latch onto him like she did when she was small and there was a thunderstorm outside. He rested his head on top of her own and just let her cry, trying to absorb her fear and concern with his comforting hug.

Because if there was anyone who failed in this situation, it was Maverick. At least, in his own opinion. He should have been a better father. He should have kept Cora and Bradley apart and actually had a talk with them about safety. He shouldn’t have pulled Bradley’s papers. He should have gone after Bradley when he left the first time.  

If there was anyone to blame for this mess, it was Maverick.

“Don’t worry about Bradley. I’ll try and talk to him,” Maverick stated, causing Cora to pick her head up.

“He hates you,” she pointed out, sniffling a bit. “And with this, I mean . . .”

“That’s for me to worry about. Not you,” Maverick assured Cora, squeezing her shoulder. “And as for Nickie . . .” Maverick trailed off, glancing up the stairs for a moment. Turning back to his daughter, Maverick sighed. “Maybe it’s best that he takes tomorrow off from school. And then the two of you can talk. Or just rest.”

“Yeah,” Cora agreed, nodding along. “That’s a good idea.”

At the thought of her son’s crumbling expression the second that the door slammed shut, Cora let out another whimper and covered her face with her hands. She never wanted Nickie to find out like this. She never wanted Bradley to find out like this. And it all just went up in a big ball of flames in just a matter of seconds right before her eyes.

“It’s going to be okay, Cora. Everything will be alright,” Maverick told his daughter once more, though his confidence didn’t meet his eyes.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Tags: @xoxabs88xox@eternallyvenus @mygyn @kmc1989 @thegoddessc @midnightmagpiemama @badasspizzalover @praline357 @oatmealisweird @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @abaker74 @avengersfan25

[scar-lie]

Might we maybe pretty please get a chapter 4 of Omega?

Omega Pt. 4 [Natasha]

Summary : Natasha’s keeps getting nightmare of you

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings : Gun, syringe, nightmare, let me know if I miss anything

Word Count :  1,140

A/N : I think this one is kinda boring, for me, I just rally need to write this plot to add understanding the story, I’m gonna make it up in the next one

{OMEGA PT. 3} {OMEGA PT. 4} {OMEGA PT. 5}

No one has my permission to repost my work in any social media and writing platform, if you see it, please let me know

"MMhhppp," you've been whimpering for the past 2 hours. Your body is weak.

"Need you, Alpha?" You're releasing pheromones in hope of bringing comfort to your uncomfortable state now, but you didn't release that the pheromones you're releasing are for calling your Alpha, who's away from you, to get the signs.

With you calling your Alpha, it makes your body weaker than you already are, and even if Natasha wants to fulfill her duty to be your Alpha, she can't.

"Y/N...." she whispers, standing a few feet before you. Her legs are numb; they wouldn't move even if she tried.

Her body is frozen in her spot where she's watching you suffer from the chaos she makes, and she can't do anything about it.

"Na-Natasha......" You purr in anguish, curling on your nest that you make in the corner of your room that's full of your pheromones, not that you have someone to coat your nest with their scent.

And that's when Natasha saw someone outside of your balcony door, tall, wearing all black from their shoes up to their cap. The only thing she could picture is the smirk that the mystery guy has with a gun in his hand.

Natasha watches in horror as his grin gets wider and he starts to point the gun where you are.

"No-........NO!" Natasha tried to save you, but with everything she did to try and take the bullet for you, she couldn't get out of where she's standing.

Slowmo. Everything in that moment is getting slowmo for Natasha until the guy finally pulls the trigger.

"NO, no, no, no, no." Natasha keeps chanting the same word every millisecond, terrified of what she's going to witness.

"This smells wonderful," you whisper, smiling while picking flowers at the back of your house, which is full of flowers, fruit, and vegetables, all according to what type they are.

Fear are evident all over Natasha's face when she again saw the same men, standing a few feet away from you, hiding on a big and tall tree.

Natasha's eyes are blinded by the light coming from behind the man, making her see him impossibly clearly, but again with a grin.

He took a blue liquid inside a syringe out of the front pocket of the hoodie he's wearing.

Natasha gasped, breathing heavily while she jolted up from her bed, waking every cell on her body of the nightmare she had.

Natasha has been having the same dream for over a few months now; it's a cycle whenever she closes her eyes: the same nightmare, the same place, and the same people in one nightmare.

"Again?" Natasha Pant, waking up to the same nightmare

Her eyes are full of horror, her body is shaking, her throat is dry, and tears are rolling down her cheeks while she looks around, hoping she will see you, but to her dismay, she saw no one.

So she stood up, wiping her sweaty forehead, and ran down, wishing that either Wanda or Yelena were around the compound, and she hoped that Wanda was the one she could find first.

So she quickly runs outside to look for Wanda or Yelena. She goes to look at their room, the gym, kitchen, and lounge, but the two aren't in the areas she looked for, so she runs down to the lab, where she sees the two in front of the computer, chips in their hands.

"Wanda...." Two women look through their shoulders; Yelena's expressions quickly change.

"Natasha wh-" Wanda got cut off by Yelena.

"You have the audacity to show your face to me!" Yelena growled and was ready to attack her sister, but Wanda quickly stopped and locked her in the room while she took Natasha up into the lounge.

"Please tell me you've found her, please." Natasha's heart beats faster every second.

"I'm sorry, Nat, but there is no update on where she is." Wanda sadly announced that Natasha nearly broke

She needs you, not because she claims you and she's your Alpha, but because you're you, and she loves that about you.

Wanda can feel something's wrong with the other Alpha; she can feel how loud her thoughts are.

"What is it, Nat?" Natasha looked Wanda in the eyes while picking her own skin.

"She-She's in danger; I saw it... in my dreams." Natasha started to pace back and forth in front of Wanda.

"Nat......Nat, listen." Wanda made her stop by grabbing her shoulder.

"Wherever Y/N is, she's fine; we both know her, and she's not going to compromise herself; it's just a dream, Nat." Wanda tries to reassure the redhead, but her alpha instincts are kicking in, and Natasha can't seem to shut her mind up.

"Bu-but it. It feels true. I-I feel it........I have to find her, Wanda.........I-I'm going crazy." Natasha rumbled, tears running down her cheeks. Her weak body is now starting to gain strength.

"Nat stop, stop it, Natasha stop it, okay?" Wanda needs to raise her voice to stop Natasha from rumbling, taking the older Alpha by her bicep to look at her.

"I can assure you that Y/N is ok, wherever she is; if this helps you to calm yourself, Y/N is in the forest; we don't know where, but she's not in the city; we look in every surveillance and around the city; and you know Y/N pretty well. She would rather stay away from the city. Natasha nods, even if she's not fully convinced, but at least she knows that somehow you're okay and already have a place where you could be.

Then Natasha wiped her tears and tried to run out to start looking for you, but before she could do that, Wanda stopped her.

"Where are you going?" Natasha looks back at her, and determination can be seen in her eyes.

"Out, I'm going to find her." Wanda shook her head. She knows that Natasha isn't fit to look for you; at the moment, her body is shaking, and she knows that Natasha and Yelena are kind of similar at times like this, reckless and stubborn, except Natasha has a higher chance of getting herself out of what she's done than Yelena.

"Go get some rest; you're shaking and your mind is clouded with bad thoughts. You can look for her tomorrow morning, but now you have to rest and clear your head." Natasha shakes her head no, disagreeing with Wanda.

"You can't command me; I'm the head Al." Before Natasha finishes snapping at Wanda, Wanda stops her.

"I know, and I'm not commanding you; I'm just stating the facts because I know how you will do out there in this kind of state, and it will not help us to find her." Natasha just looked down to the floor. Knowing what the younger Alpha meant, she sometimes got out of control, leaving her injured when she came across another Alpha.

Natasha doesn't have any choice but to follow what Wanda said and go back to bed to sleep the night away and start to look at Y/N tomorrow morning.

"Help...........help me........."

Taglist : @marvelogic @paufox @natashaswife4125 @rain-mikaelson @whitewidowsbite @taylorscat1989 @julz2000 @annalestern @wandanatsgirl @alphamclees

[haleyrude]

My Raffle Ticket

Pairing: Jake Webber x fem!reader 

Disclaimer: Cute little idea that I had. This just includes some fluff. Love Tara, no hard feelings on her. Enjoy!

Words: 1.9k

Materlist

You were very excited for tonight. Once a year the fair comes to town and you and all your friends get together and just have a night of fun. The nights are usually chilly around this time of year, so you opted to wear jeans, combat boots, and a tank top with a light blue hoodie over it. Putting your hair up in a high ponytail knowing that the rides will make your hair a bird's nest if you were to keep it down. Your phone dinged and you walked over to pick it up off the bed while it was still charging. It was Kat saying her and Tara were outside. You were driving with the girls tonight, so you took your phone off charge and grabbed your wristlet wanting to travel as light as possible and left your apartment making sure to lock it and heading down to the car.

Parking and getting out, the air was crisp and there was that faint smell of buttered popcorn from the food stands and hay from where they keep the petting zoo. You had always wondered why they included a petting zoo at the fair but you didn’t let it bother you. Purchasing your ticket they offered you a raffle ticket which you bought because why not. You never won anything, sure you had a fair share of raffle tickets and some scratch offs but you never won. That’s why you refused to get into gambling at the casino. By all means you would join your friends if they wanted to go but you’d bask in the atmosphere and drinks they offered instead of wasting all your money to gambling. 

You saw Tara and Kat had made their way to the group of guys which consisted of Colby, Sam, Johnnie and Jake. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you walked up to them and greeted them. “Did you guys get a raffle ticket?” you held up yours as well as Johnnie and Colby, “Why would we get them?” Tara motioned to her and Kat questioningly. You shrugged because you knew they liked to participate in stuff like that. Jake chuckled and you looked up at him since he was next to you, he wore jeans and combat boots as well, with a multi-colored long sleeve shirt. You’ve always had a crush on him but would never pursue anything because he was with Tara when you were introduced to the friend group. It’s been a little over a year since the breakup and you were nervous to pursue him as it went against girl code.

“So what’re we doing first?” Colby broke you from your thoughts, rubbing his hands together and smirking. You were a little dare devil and loved all the rides so Colby’s smirk did not scare you one bit. Unfortunately, you all only had time for the Gravitron ride before Jake excused himself from the group. You didn’t have time to ask where he was going as you heard that the raffle ticket winners were about to be called through the speakers. “Wow this is early” you said giddily and you took your raffle ticket out standing with Colby and Johnnie. “I mean it makes sense, you need time before the fair closes” Johnnie said laughing. They called out the numbers for the Tier 3 and 2 prizes. One was a 50” flat screen TV while the other was a weekend trip cruise. Waiting for Tier 1 one you crossed your fingers. They started calling out the numbers and your eyes widened. “I won, I won!” you jumped up and down. The two guys gave you a smile as the speaker said you had to head to the main stage to claim your prize. You turned and started heading towards the stage as Colby and Johnnie followed. “We had our suspicions but didn’t realize you felt so strongly about this” You raised a brow at Colby, “I never win anything this is amazing!” “Wait, did you not read what the raffle tickets are for?” Johnnie asked but that’s when you arrived at the main stage holding your ticket up smiling big. You were confused because Jake was standing there next to the speaker. 

“Come on little lady” the speaker put his hand out to help you on stage. You looked at Jake curiously and he had a huge smile on his face. “Congratulations for winning a date with Jake Webber, I hope you two have a wonderful time at the fair tonight” You couldn’t help but cover your mouth with your hand, eyes wide. There were cheers around the stage and then everyone mostly dispersed to go back to the rides or food. “I didn’t know it was to win a date with you” You didn’t want to look to the ground just in case Tara saw this, but she probably knew already. “You didn’t want to go on a date with me?” Jake frowned, stepping closer. “No I.. I mean yes, but what about Tara?” He rested a hand on your shoulder, “What about her? We’re friends and have been broken up for over a year now.” You nodded as he took a hold of your hand making you blush, “Shall we go princess?” your heart stopped at the nickname and Jake helped you off the stage. The group came up to you. Sam, Colby and Johnnie high-fiving Jake. You looked at Tara and Kat. You let go of Jake’s hand to walk over, “I’m sorry I didn’t know..” Tara cut you off, “It’s okay, Jake deserves someone who will treat him right and I have full faith that you would treat him the way he deserves, if that’s what you two want.” You smiled at Tara and brought her in for a hug, “I was so scared you’d be upset” she shook her head, “I was surprised but no I’m not mad, now go have fun!” she laughed as you turned, seeing Jake’s eyes on you. 

“So, why were you up for grabs tonight?” You asked, walking hand in hand with Jake to the next ride. “It was a promo video for the fair and my youtube channel” you nodded looking around, “So the date is being recorded?” You got in line for ‘fireball’ “No, everything is recorded excluding the date. Which I’m happy about” he gave your hand a squeeze. You couldn’t help but laugh remembering Colby and Johnnie with their raffle tickets, “Colby and Johnnie wanted to win a date with you” still laughing Jake motioned to himself “Can you blame them, I’m irresistible” You blushed again as you and Jake started getting on the ride. Jake made sure you were buckled properly, pulling on the strap before getting in and buckling up himself. You chuckled at him, “The workers make sure we’re strapped in” He smiled finishing his buckle, “Just want to double check and make sure you're safe” You smiled at Jake after the worker walked away from checking your buckle. Jake found your hand and unclenched it from the handle to hold. You were grateful that Jake had long arms. 

The ride started and you both laughed and screamed enjoying the ride holding each other’s hands the whole time. Walking off the ride you shook your head and Jake fixed the stray hairs from your ponytail, you were grateful for that. You both went on several more rides while holding hands and Jake making sure you were secure before the workers did. On the last ride you both went on it was a two seater cart that went around in circles forward and backwards. As the ride sped up you were smushed to Jake’s side, not being able to scoot away. He put his arm around you and pulled you closer if that was even possible as the ride kept spinning. You accepted defeat and snuggled into him as the ride started going backwards. His scent of lemon musk was comforting. When the ride ended Jake kept you close to his side as you both decided you could eat. “Let’s do a smorgasbord.” You laughed agreeing with him, “let’s do it” 

You knew Jake was a foodie and you loved trying new things so you walked around to various food stands and ended up with a funnel cake, fried oreos, chicken tenders, gator bites, and two big lemonades.”I’ve never tried gator” you said picking up one of the bite sized pieces. “It tastes like chicken, try it!” Trusting Jake you put it in your mouth and it did indeed taste like chicken, just a bit chewier. “This is great, you have one” You picked one up and Jake opened his mouth, you stuck it in his mouth and he closed his mouth on your two fingers swirling his tongue around them before letting them go. Your face felt hot as you lowered your hand and looked away. Jake put his hand gently under your chin to make you look at him, “Why don’t we go on the ferris wheel after we finish?” You nodded, not trusting your voice as you both continued to eat and feed each other. 

 Once getting enclosed in the cart to the ferris wheel you leaned into Jake as he put his arm up in invitation. “Have you always had a thing for me?” Jake bluntly asked, you looked at him to try to determine his emotion but he was being completely serious. “I’ve always thought you were cute but never pursued anything because you were with Tara and I’d never do anything to sabotage that.” He nodded in understanding, “I’ve been single for over a year now though” you smiled softly, “Just like you have bro code we have girl code” He rubbed his thumb in circles on your arm as the ferris wheel circled slowly and you both talked. “When did you have a thing for me? If you do” you frowned. “I do” he assured, “It was probably after I fully moved on from Tara and could keep her as a friend without wanting to die everytime I saw her” You understood where he was coming from wholeheartedly. After being together with someone you love for so long and finally breaking out of that routine is hard no matter who you are. 

The ferris wheel came to a stop at the very top. The air is colder up there which makes you snuggle into Jake closer. A boom made you jump, not realizing that fireworks were going off. You leaned off Jake to get a better look at the fireworks. The sky lights up in different shades of color. “Wow, this is so beautiful. '' The fireworks started taking shapes which you don’t see too often. You gasped seeing a firework burst into the shape of a pink heart. “Jake!” you turned around to see if he was looking but instead he was staring at you, a slight smile on his face, and his eyes lighting up everytime a firework burst in the sky. “Jake?” he blinked a few times, “Yes, princess?” “Are you watching the fireworks? They’re beautiful” He put his hand out and you grabbed it as he gently pulled you into him again, using his other hand to make you look up at him, “Yes, but they’re not as beautiful as you.” He leaned a bit and you took the hint to close your eyes and meet him until your lips touched his. Soft and warm, familiar but electrifying. You’ve kissed guys in the past but nothing ever felt the way you felt now with Jake. 

Breaking the kiss, Jake leaned his forehead against yours. “I’m glad you won this date” he whispered. You couldn’t agree more, “My winning raffle ticket” you kissed him once more. 

[jarofstyles]

Flame 5- Crackle

Hellooo! Here is part 5 to Flamerry <3 I hope you all enjoy so much.

Let us know what you think!

Check out our Patreon for exclusive writing and early access!

—-

They didn’t talk about it yet.

The most intense night of sex, not physically but emotionally, and they hadn’t touched too much on it. Besides Harry coming to her house with a shit eating grin, a paper showing his results to confirm he was clean from any STIs. Going bare was something they both really wanted to do.

It was a shame that shit had gotten so stupidly busy.

Y/N was studying like mad. Harry was a bit, but he mostly sat with her as she studied and stared at her. Lots of coffee dates to study, library dates, even a few days of sitting in the park with a blanket on the grass and their books sprawled out, a plethora of highlighters and pens littering in between. It was comfortable, really, like it w always was.

The changes were more and more obvious the more that he had looked at it. The cuddles and chaste kisses and the way that they’d holed off into their own little nest like a couple in a somewhat honeymoon stage. Y/N was still a playful bully but she would kiss his pout away when she would make it appear and crawl on top of him to lay down, her cheek against his chest while he stroked her back.

It just.. didn’t seem like it was two friends fucking around. It was clearer to him the more he spent time with her, the more the touches became natural, the more his heart would speed up when he got texts from her. He’d always been excited to spend time with her but this was a new level. His throat would dry when she would tenderly brush the hair from his face, her quiet contemplation making him want to beg to know exactly what was going on in that pretty little head.

Harry had definitely made himself out to be a goofy, funny, horny man, sure, but he had layers. Layers Y/N was peeling back at a pace he hadn’t really prepared for. The anticipation of getting to see her next was almost irritating. How has it changed so rapidly? And why didn’t he care as much about feeling all these things? The complexity of their changing relationship had made him feel like his head was scrambled. She was seeing the parts of him he had kept back, the softer bits that were genuine pushed back until now.

The thing that really sucked now was the time apart, how antsy he was to actually see her. Sure, he had been anxious to see her when they’d just been friends but now that they spent the majority of time together and she had study groups and such, really needed to focus, he had to step away and do his own. It sucked. The bed felt cold. Something he thought to be a huge red flashing light. He tended to ignore those:

H: I miss you. :(

🍑: hi hi. I miss you too.

H: you didn’t put the frown face. So I tend to believe I miss you more.

🍑: :( :( :( :( :(

H: that’s betterrrrr. This book is making my eyes bleed.

🍑: I know. This intro course should not be an intro course. What are you studying rn?

H: one of the business courses. To be honest it’s all bleeding together and I can’t rlly tell what I’m reading, half my page is highlighter.

🍑: h… darling… that is not good study technique. I’ve told you this.

H: so come over and show me :) :) pleaaaaase.

🍑: do you know how bad I want to

H: then do it!!!!! what’s stopping you!!!

🍑: 1. You’re a dork. And an enabler.

🍑: 2. You know what's stopping me. If I come over there will be no studying done.

H: untrue and rude.

🍑: no, no. I tell the truth. You’ll be like

🍑: ‘let’s take a break! Let’s lay down! Let’s make out! Let’s have sex :)’ and then pout n blink your lashes the way you do when you think ur fluttering them but it looks like u got something in your eyes.

H: now… what the hell did I do for you to attack me like that

🍑: is it an attack if it’s the truth? 🤔

H: yes. Especially that.

Harry rolled his head on the back of the couch, groaning as he stretched his limbs like a cat. Y/N wasn’t going to budge. He knew it and he didn’t want to push too far to actually get her mad, but he really fucking missed her. Enough to drop the silly act and text her seriously.

H: but I really do miss you. It feels empty when you’re not here.

H: like I understand why, don’t get me wrong. I’m not blaming you, sweetheart. Just… idk.

🍑: :/ I’m sorry. I miss you too. It stinks less here though…

H: Har Har. I’m being serious though.

H: your smell isn’t on my sheets anymore.

🍑: h… :(

🍑: i can come over tomorrow. Okay? I can at least come to sleep. Or you can come here. Exams are only a few days away but I know I’ve been a bit strict when it comes to seeing you.

H: it wasn’t like this before. Guess I’m just adjusting.

🍑: I know, but last time we weren’t doing… this stuff. The intimate stuff. It’s hard to be around you and not end up on my back. Lol.

H: yeah… I dunno. It’s just never felt so annoying being away from you.

H: sorry if I’m sounding weird. Lol. Just like… got used to you being here and sleeping with me.

🍑: it doesn’t sound weird. It’s what we’ve been doing for a bit now and it is weird. I miss it too- you know I’m just shit at expressing it.

H: Mhm. I miss kissing you.

Harry exhaled as he switched apps, thumbing through their photos together and the ones he had taken of her when she hadn’t been looking. Surely she would kick his ass for doing so but he knew she didn’t love photos and he selfishly wanted some for himself. They were some from brunches they went to, walks they went on, nights out. One in particular called to him, her in his tee shirt and leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee she nursed in her hands. It was his ‘H’ mug, her sleepy eyes and messy hair evidence she had been very comfortable in his bed. A peek of a love bite could be seen under the collar of his shirt, making him smile a little bit.

It wasn’t just him that was comfortable. She was too, especially in those vulnerable moments. Before she caught herself and tried to joke it off. Usually that was his job, but lately it hasn’t felt like a joking mood anymore. He wanted to curl himself around her and bury his face into her neck, listen to her breathe. It wasn’t a joke anymore.

🍑: I do too. A lot. Which is why I can’t come over tonight. You wouldn’t have any lips left </3

H: I don’t think I’d mind if it meant I got to kiss you

🍑: since when have you gotten romantic on me? That was cute and slightly disturbing .

🍑: I like your lips a bit too much anyways. Don’t let them go anywhere.

H: they won’t. They’re yours ;)

🍑: there he is.

How could he express these differences in feelings without making it weird?

It was obvious something had shifted. Something had been different, and it wasn’t just fun anymore. Harry knew that he was going to have to be the one to bring it up to her but he wasn’t sure exactly how to do it. He had tried in a way, during sex. The most vulnerable place to be. But he wasn’t sure if he tried again he wouldn’t ruin it. He just needed a little more time.

Yes, time. All he needed was more of it so he could strengthen whatever the hell this was and point out the obvious.

—-

“You quite literally have not let go of me since I walked in the door.” Y/N had an amused tone to her voice, laying naked in his bed with his arm sloped around her stomach. His face was in between her breasts, breathing lowly as they recovered from sex. Going bare was the best thing to happen to him, really.

“Haven't seen you in 3 days.” He muttered against her skin, pressing a soft kiss to the hot skin. “Missed you. You’re gonna disappear on me soon anyways to study.” The grumbles made her chuckle, petting his slightly damp curls with her fingers as they listened to the low buzz of the playlist Harry had put on.

“It’s only because every time we get together we end up naked, H. I’d much rather be hanging out with you than studying but you know I need to keep the grades up to keep the scholarship.” Y/N had worked incredibly hard to get it and Harry knew that, his resigned nod making her aware he did respect that. Academics were important to her. He’d never want her grades to suffer because of him, but sometimes he was selfish with her attention.

“I know. M’so proud of you for that, by the way.” He looked up at her. “S’fucking wicked that you got such a good one. I’d never want to put it in jeopardy. But I… I’m capable of keeping it in my pants if it means I get to have you around.” He felt her go to laugh by scowled up at her, shaking his head. “M’serious. I just miss you a lot when you’re not around. Like having you here even if I trip over your shoes and you don’t rinse out your mugs. You make it feel more… I dunno, more like home.” His face dropped back into her breasts, not wanting her to see the flush on his skin.

Y/N paused her hand in his hair, making him tense slightly. He didn’t meant to fuck up if he did. If it was too serious of a thing to say- but her hand started up again, a little sight leaving her swollen lips.

“Well.. we can trial run it in the morning.” She decided breeze past what he had said. Harry wasn’t sure why that had made a bit of disappointment settle in his belly, but it was overturned with the excitement at the idea of her staying around during the day. “But that means one thing.”

He peeked back at her face to see her mischievous glint. “Means you have to get all of it out of your system now. All of the filthy, dirty stuff.”

Harry caught her drift just fine. It was one condition he was happy to have. His recovery time with Y/N was insane, actually, and he could feel himself twitch at the idea of being inside of her again.

“Mmm…”’he moved down, pressing a few kissing down her stomach. “Well… I have been thinking about cleaning you up.”

He had cum inside of her and the mere sight of it had made him feel like he could go again. There was something about being bare like that, being raw and vulnerable, knowing he was the only one allowed inside of her that got him off. It was the entire thing. Exclusivity, marking, claiming. Possessives, sure, but he already accepted that.

“What?” She asked breathily, watching him sink down and spread her thighs open. A little squeak left her lips followed by a laugh as he spread her open, looking at the mess he made. He’d gone a bit hard and he could tell, the remnants of his cum dripping down her slightly swollen cunt. “You’re not seriously going to- oh, fuck.”

Harry did as he pleased, pressing his tongue flat and swiping it over her cunt. Tasting the mix of both of them, letting it coat him, lapping up what he could just on the first pass. His eyes met hers, watching her look down at him in slight shock.

“Jesus- H, I thought guys thought it was… y’kno, gross.” She panted, though obviously proven wrong. “We can just wipe it up, it’s okay.” Y/N didn’t want him to think he had to do it or anything like that- but his immediate second pass sign his tongue had her exhaling sharply, gripping the sheets next to her. It was obviously sensitive and his wet, hot tongue was making it hard to talk.

“Tasting us together is the best thing I’ve gotten to do- besides getting to cum inside this pretty pussy. M’gonna clean it all up and fill you again.” Harry murmured, kissing the top of her mound. “We taste so good together, angel. Like we were made to be like this. Think that’s the truth.” He taunted, spreading her cunt open further with his fingers and kissing right over her clit. “This cunt was made for me. You were meant to be mine.”

He had enough words, deciding to channel his passion into her again. Lapping her up with a fervor that made her tremble, licking up bit of their orgasms that he could get with pleasured groans against her. Her clit pulsed against his thumb as he rubbed it, getting her cunt wet in a much different way than before. Keeping his mouth busy was better than blurting out that he was pretty sure he was in love with her. Probably wasn’t the best time being between her thighs but, he had managed to stop disaster.

When he finally felt her orgasm, her moan of his name and grip on his hair keeping him right on her cunt as she bucked her hips into his face and pleaded for him not to stop, he knew his words were true. Even the ones unsaid.

He was definitely in love with Y/N. And he had no idea what to do about it.

[urfavstargirl1]

time after time - finale

Part 7 and FINALE to the series Chemistry, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6-- Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

stranger things masterlist | Spotify playlist

summary: Y/N stands up to her parents with the help of her friends, Eddie, and Uncle Wayne, plus an epilogue at prom

cw: angst, fluff, anxiety, hurt/comfort, shy/nerdy!reader, pre-ST4, cocky!Eddie, swearing, strict parents, sex and smut 18+, minors dni,

a/n: sorry for the wait and the minimal editing and heres a happy ending i hope u love it bye

The next morning, Y/N wakes up to sunlight peeking through the blinds in a lazy haze. Birds nesting in the tree outside her bedroom window chirp peacefully. Y/N softly opens her eyelids, letting them flutter as they adjust to the light. 

She turns her head to the side and reads the time on the alarm clock resting on her nightstand. 

“Today’s the day,” she whispers determinedly.

After weeks of seemingly never ending isolation and misery, Y/N decided that she would no longer say goodbye to romance. That she wouldn’t let the broken wings her parents clipped hold her down. 

And what better time than now? She has to take what might be her one and only chance before it fades away. There’s only one way to know if the sun may shine again.

On that electric Saturday morning filled with hope and possibility, Y/N eats breakfast in a hurry and gets ready to surprise Eddie at the trailer. 

She knows she’ll have to bike the whole 7 mile ride there, but it’s her only option. She needs to do this on her own terms, and avoid the risk of anyone finding out. It’ll be much easier to figure things out with Eddie before they get anyone else involved.

An hour later, she walks down the stairs and towards the door to the garage.

“What are you doing,” her sister calls out.

“I’m going out.” 

“Going where?”

“To make things right.”

Y/N walks out the door and grabs her bike. She opens the garage door and hops on. She rides her bike onto the street and pedals furiously, leaving her parents and sister in the dust. 

She turns on the same streets she’s always known. She pedals hard and fast. Her breathing harsh and visible in the unseasonably cold November air. 

She pedals and pedals and pedals, body growing warm with heat. Her only focus? The road before her. 

There’s no turning back now.

She passes the neighborhoods of two story colonials and onto the neighborhoods with single story homes and chain link fences. Soon, she’s on the main road with nothing but trees and the occasional car to keep her company. 

For a moment, she almost wishes she had asked someone to drive her there, growing slightly weary from the bike ride, but there’s enough adrenaline to get her there and the allotted time gives her space to think about all the things she might say.

Eddie, I came here to talk to you. I want to… apologize. I’m sorry for all the running and hiding. I thought I was doing us a favor. Saving us the trouble. But, in the end, you were right. 

And now, all I know is that I need you in my life. It hurts more to be without you and that terrifies me. I don’t know what to do.

After several miles and an almost collision with a runaway deer, Y/N turns into the trailer park. 

She scans the beige metal buildings till she finds the one she recognizes as Eddie’s trailer. She presses the brakes on the bike and slows to a stop in front of it. 

She sits on her bike for a moment, catching her breath from the ragged breathing pattern she acquired along the ride. 

Too lost in thought and anxious about what will happen next, she barely has enough room in her brain to observe the rather empty surroundings of the trailer. 

She hops off and kicks the kickstand. She takes a moment to breathe deeply. Despite being in the zone only moments before, she is now acutely aware of how shallow her breath is. How sweaty she is under her jacket. How rapidly and violently her blood is pumping. 

She catches her breath for a moment and smoothes her hair. She walks up to the front door and pauses a moment before lifting her fist up and knocking.

She waits a moment for someone to answer the door, but no one does. When the moment grows a little too long, she decides to try again. 

She brings her knuckles to the door and knocks. She looks around and realizes Eddie’s van is gone. She takes in her surroundings. She could have sworn this was Eddie’s trailer. Is she at the wrong one? Is Eddie not home? This early on a Saturday morning?

“Hello? Is anyone… there?” She asks. She waits for a moment, nerves flowing all throughout her system, but nothing happens. 

What do I do now?

She sighs, and is just about to turn on her heel when the doorknob turns and the door opens, revealing an older man with worn down features and graying hair buzzed closely to his scalp. 

“Hello?” He asks, not having expected some teenage girl to knock at the door.

Y/N’s eyes widen and she steps back. This must be Eddie’s uncle.

She blinks before shaking her head. She pants between sentences, “H-Hi, I’m… Y/N Y/L/N... I’m a friend… of Eddie’s… is he… is he home?”

Wayne quirks an eyebrow. So this is the girl Eddie’s been so worked up about?

“No, I’m afraid not. You just missed him,” he answers, concerned about her frazzled and breathless state. 

“Oh,” she wheezes as she puts her hands on her hips and doubles over. 

“Are you alright, darlin’?”

Y/N nods. “Yeah… I just… I biked over from my house… and car rides… they make the distance… seem a lot… shorter.”

“Uh huh,” Wayne nods cautiously, “Well, I’m Wayne, Eddie’s uncle. Come on in. Let me fix you up a glass of water.”

Y/N stares blankly as Wayne turns over his shoulder and heads into the trailer. She cautiously considers the offer for a millisecond, before instantly taking him up on it, too thirsty to even really care.

“Thanks Mr. Munson… It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Please, Mr. Munson was my father, call me Wayne,” Wayne roars a laugh and smiles at her as he pulls a glass cup out of the cupboard. “And it’s nice to meet you too.”

“Take a seat,” he gestures to the dining table. 

Y/N catches her breath as Wayne fills up a glass with water. He sets it down in front of her and takes the seat across from her.

“Thank you,” she whispers before beginning to chug.

Wayne crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, “Listen now, Eddie didn’t tell me where he was going so I couldn’t really tell ya when that boy’ll be back. But you’re more than welcome to stay until then if ya like.”

Y/N’s eyes widen as she jerks her head forward. For all they know, he might be out all day. 

Wayne looks at her dismayed demeanor and sighs.

“May I ask,” He looks at her curiously, “What exactly brings you over? I know my nephew wouldn’t make a young girl like you come all this way by bike. Or leave if he was expecting you.”

Y/N looks up at him, “Oh, no, he wasn’t. I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this. But I came to surprise him. I was really hoping I could, um, talk to him, and maybe-maybe even apologize.”

“Apologize? Shoot, must be something serious I reckon. I love my nephew to pieces but I know he ain’t exactly a saint. Usually the one giving the apology, not gettin’ it.”

Y/N inhales through her nostrils, feeling the tension in her shoulders as they climb upward, “Yeah, I’m not usually the one apologizing either, but… I think I might’ve messed things up.”

Wayne nods and looks at her in understanding, silently inviting her to go on if she so wishes.

“You see, the thing is…I really like your nephew. A lot. More than I’m allowed to. Boys are sort of… off limits at home.”

“I see,” Wayne nods.

“We’ve been working together on this assignment at school and it was surprisingly a lot of fun. We would spend a lot of time together and I didn’t even get the chance to realize just how strong my feelings for him were before my parents caught us together, and I got in a lot of trouble for it.” 

Wayne lifts a hand and strokes the stubble on his chin with his thumb and forefinger, “Eddie’s no stranger to trouble, but I reckon you are, aren’t ya darlin’?”

Y/N nods sullenly. “Yeah, it’s awful. And now, I just feel stuck. Like I’m in this game of tug of war and on one side is being with Eddie and on the other is not letting my parents down but I can’t have both.”

Wayne looks at Y/N, worried she might start crying on him. Barely accustomed to Eddie’s own emotional waves after so many years, he’s ill-equipped to handle this.

But then, Y/N takes a deep breath and looks up at Uncle Wayne. “Hurricane Eddie came into my life with no warning and turned it all upside down,” Y/N nervously jokes.

Wayne chuckles, “Believe you and me, I see the aftermath of Hurricane Eddie everytime I walk into his room.”

“I know right? I love Eddie but that boy is such,” Y/N laughs before pausing a moment and quietly adding, “a mess.” 

Love?

Her heart skips a beat and she looks up at Uncle Wayne with puzzled eyes as he warmly smiles at her.

She shakes her head, “Anyways, I just… I don't know what to do. At first, I thought, if I had to choose, I would choose my family. I would always choose them, even when it meant being under house arrest for a month and cutting Eddie out of my life. But after all was said and done, it didn’t seem to change much. In fact, it only made me more miserable.”

Wayne nods as he processes her words.

“And no matter what I choose, there’s no going back. All my life, I’ve been the good girl with good grades who never misbehaves. And after what happened, I know I’ll never be that girl again. Not to my parents and not to myself. But I don’t know who else to be.”

Wayne sighs and smiles at her, “Take a load off sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about carryin’ the weight of the world on your shoulders ‘round here.”

Y/N nods patiently and makes a show of exhaling and dropping her shoulders. 

“Have you ever heard the sayin’, Rome wasn’t built in a day?”

Y/N frowns and cocks her head to the side, “No, not really.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Took the Romans years to build everything they write about in them history books.” “Okay?” Y/N responds, not entirely sure why he’s bringing this up.

“What I’m tryna say is, there’s things in life that you just gotta take day by day. You won’t solve the conundrum of forbidden love by tomorrow.”

Y/N nods and blushes, feeling sheepish that she hadn't made the connection sooner. 

But even still, it feels like if she doesn’t figure this all out now, she never will.

“Yeah, that makes sense. I guess it just feels like we’re running out of time, you know. We only have so long before we graduate and I go off to college.”

Wayne nods contemplatively.

“And what about my parents? Am I just supposed to accept the fact that they may not be happy with me right now, but as time passes, their anger will just fade?”

“That’s exactly it,” Wayne smiles.

“Now that’s science fiction if I ever heard it,” Y/N mutters.

Wayne laughs. Yeah, this girl’s been hanging out with his nephew alright. 

“Believe me, if you’re anything like Eddie says, I’m sure your folks know just how great of a daughter you are, they just wanna keep you safe. I wanna do the same for Eddie sometimes, but I know I gotta let him be a kid and make his own mistakes. It’s the only way to learn.”

Y/N pouts as she nods and looks into her lap. “I know, but I don’t like making mistakes. It feels awful.”

“It’s a part of life sweetheart. You’re gonna fall. But the real question is, are you gonna stand back up?”

Y/N’s shoulders loosen and her eyes soften, “I want to, I just don’t know how.”

Wayne examines the puzzled look on her face. It oddly looks like the same one Eddie has when he’s off in his room, frustrated with a chord he just can't seem to get right or he comes across a roadblock in that D&D game he loves so much.

Wayne sighs and places his hands on the table and clasps them together. “Listen, how ‘bout I tell you a story?”

A story? Isn’t Y/N a little too old for story time? What’s next, a bit of milk and cookies too?

Despite biting her tongue, her thoughts must be evident on her face.

“Don’t deny an old man one of the few pleasures he has left in life,” Wayne says in a joking tone, but Y/N’s immediately softens her shoulders and gaze, almost apologetically.

“I see how you kids these days seem to carry a lot of burdens on your shoulders and I ache for ya’, I really do. You’re too young to be this cynical.”

Y/N shrugs, not sure how to respond.

“Sometimes I worry about what this world is coming to, but at the end of the day, I know I can only control so much. And what I can control is having a loving home for Eddie and his friends. And that includes you too darlin’.”

Once Wayne’s put it into these words, Y/N immediately understands what Wayne is building up to. He’s about to share some generational wisdom with her.

There wasn’t a whole lot of that to go around in her own family, so there’s something to be said about the subtle buzz of excitement Y/N’s feels. Perhaps, her situation is just a tale as old as time. One she’ll never be alone in because generations of people before her have also been in her shoes.

“Now, I know things are different these days, but you remind me an awful lot of someone I used to know. Someone I met back when I was about your age.”

“Who?” Y/N cocks her head to the side and furrows her eyebrows.

“Well, back in the fall of 1837,” Wayne starts, making Y/N chuckle. 

“My parents had just moved my sister and I to Hawkins. We’d spend the better years of our youth growing up down south but then my daddy went and got a job at one of them new automobile factories up here.

I had just graduated high school and without fail, my mama and daddy made it loud and clear, I was to work and work only. Anything else was a waste of time and money. 

Now, for a while, I firmly believed in this. I figured it was more important to help make ends meet than run around with some girl or go out partying with the big boys.

So I went and got a job at the local lumber yard. It wasn’t nothing fancy but it was good work. Pay was decent. For a while I could focus on that. Helped having enough food on the table, newer clothes, a few more presents at Christmas time, things like that.

I had a duty to my family, and I had no problem fulfilling it.

I’d spend all my hours at the lumber yard and was content with it. I’d made friends with some of the other boys that worked out there. We’d horse around on the job, but after work was done, I’d go home to my family like I’d always done.

Sort of like a routine for me. Safe and reliable.

But then one sunny June day, I met this girl. Mind you, I wasn’t even looking for her or nothin’ like that. But she sorta just found me. And my life was never quite the same after that summer.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. She gazes at him curiously, imploring him to go on. 

“Her name was Sally. She was a beauty, I’ll tell you that. I can still see her pretty golden hair and big brown eyes. 

On our first date, I had learned that she came from a good family. A real good family. She was a descendent of some of Indiana's first settlers. Her daddy was a big shot in local government, and her mama an heiress. She lived in a big house with some of the finest china you ever did see. What’s more, she was set to go off to Yale for college, just like her parents did. It’s where they met, after all.

But you never woulda really guessed by the way she carried herself. She was beautiful without letting it go to her head. She was sharp as a wip but never held it against ya. And she was the kindest person in the whole world. She was unlike any girl I’d ever met before,” Wayne says wistfully.

Y/N clutches her empty glass, “What happened?” 

Wayne sighs longingly, “We fell in love. She made me laugh and she opened my eyes to a whole world I never even knew existed. She was a wild card, that one. I was always in for a surprise with her, but I could never seem to get enough. For the rest of the summer, I went and saw her anytime I wasn’t working. We talked on the phone all night. We even thought about running away together, starting a new life.”

“Really? Why?”

“Our parents didn’t approve of us being together. Hers said I didn’t come from the right kind of family. Mine said I was wasting time.”

Wayne pauses for a second, but a look of pain never crosses his face.

“What did you do?”

“All we could do,” he shrugs, “She’d be off to Connecticut in the fall, so we made the most of what little time we had left together that summer. ”

Y/N furrows her eyebrows in confusion. She was almost expecting him to say he stood up to their parents and fought tooth and nail to be with her.

“What?”

“Listen darlin’, I knew I couldn’t change her folks’ minds and I wasn’t gonna kill myself trying. I knew I could either spend the summer with her and nothing more or I could simply leave it at that.”

“What about her parents? And yours? Didn’t they still object to you spending the summer together?”

“They did at first, but then they got over it when they realized how temporary it was. At the time, I wasn’t even thinking of marriage. All I knew was that I was young and in love. I didn’t know how long it would last and I wasn’t very interested in planning it all out. I just wanted to enjoy it for what it was. And I promised myself I wouldn’t let things get in the way of taking care of my family.

As for her parents, well, they never liked me or even respected me, but they came around to tolerating me. I was like a stray dog that made their little girl happy, coming around sparingly but one they would never come to call their own.”

Y/N frowns at the thought. It breaks her heart to hear Uncle Wayne refer to himself like that. And if that’s what she and Eddie are going to be like, she doesn’t want her parents to just tolerate Eddie… but would that be better than nothing?

“Were you happy? Even though you knew it was short lived? And neither of your parents supported it?”

Wayne takes a moment to think about it, reflecting on the long lost memory. 

“I don’t think we thought about it that much. We were just a couple kids trying to have fun. Life’s too short to take it so seriously. We had the rest of our adult lives to do that.”

Y/N frowns, not too satisfied with his answer. How is any of that supposed to help? The only reason she’s gotten this far in life is by thinking about things too much.

“But to answer your question, we were happy. We were happy the whole time, but it helped not having so many people breathing down our necks by the end.”

Y/N nods contemplatively, a bit more content with that answer.

“What happened after the summer was over?”

“Well, just as you might expect. We said goodbye and went our separate ways. She went off to start her first semester of college and I stayed here. I kept working at the lumber yard for a while, taking care of my family.”

Wayne looks away, slightly forlorn and Y/N feels slightly guilty for making him relive some of these memories.

“Was it hard? Saying goodbye?”

“The initial time apart was tough. I’m not gon’ lie to you. I could hardly look at any other girls ‘cause in one way or another they never compared to Sally.”

Y/N frowns. To her knowledge, there’s never been a Mrs.Munson in the picture. She wonders if Sally was his first and only love.

“We wrote to each other for a while, but after a certain point, the letters stopped. Years later, I found out she had gotten married to some senator and started a family out in Virginia.”

“Wow,” Y/N says painfully, “I’m so sorry.”

Wayne shrugs, “That’s life darlin’. It keeps going on whether you want it to or not. But it’s important to not let the tough stuff like pain and heartache keep you from living it.”

Y/N nods and fidgets with her fingers.

“I knew it’d be worse to let my life pass me by just because things didn’t turn out like I’d hoped. So once my sister had gotten older and my family was in a better place, I picked up and left town for a while. Sorta like my daddy, I thought the change of pace might help.”

“Did it?”

Wayne nods, “I held odd jobs in different towns across the state. It wasn’t much, but enough to get me by. What’s more, I got to meet a lot of new people. People from all walks of life with all sorts of different problems. And somehow it made my problems at home seem a lot smaller, more manageable to deal with.”

“Did you ever fall in love again?”

Uncle Wayne squints his eyes for a moment before opening them again and shaking his head.

Y/N exhales and slumps in her seat.

“Alright now, don’t you go on and worry about me darlin’. I’m still alive and that’s one of the greatest gifts of life.”

Y/N nods, feeling as though her foot has been caught in her mouth.

“I’m sorry Mr.Munson, I mean… Wayne. I just, I hope you can experience love again someday.”

“Listen sweetheart, I’m gon’ be alright. Ya hear? I’ve got all the love I need right here in this home.”

Y/N nods sheepishly.

“The world works in mysterious ways, but don’t you ever be mistaken, love is always there.”

Y/N nods again, reflecting on the ways she finds love in her life. Her parents, in their own weird way, come to mind, and even her friends.

“As for your predicament with Eddie. Well, if you two are anything like me and Sally, then all I can really tell ya is that relationships are either a lesson or a blessin’. Period. You don’t get to choose which one it is. The only thing you can choose is whether or not you want to experience it.”

Y/N thinks about the new choice laid out upon her: She could choose to be with Eddie.

It would be hard. It would mean defying her parents. It would even mean having her heart broken when she leaves for college. 

But, it would also mean she could be happy. It would mean he could be happy too. It might even mean truly and deeply falling in love.

“It all just seems so risky,” Y/N huffs as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“That’s life darlin’, always gonna be a little risk for something you love.”

“Wow, I’ve never thought of it like that.”

“It’s all about perspective, sweetheart.”

At the mention of the word sweetheart, Y/N’s mind runs to Eddie, and suddenly, it clicks.

She gasps. 

“That’s it,” she scoots her chair back and rises, smiling at him triumphantly. “I know just what I need to do! 

Before Wayne can even say something, Y/N moves away from the table and pushes the chair back. “I need to go! Thanks… Wayne!”

“Uh, glad I could help,” Wayne replies with an earnest smile and a chuckle. 

Y/N nearly races out the door and Wayne follows her, standing in the doorway. “Wait, do you want a ride?”

“No, it’s ok,” Y/N calls out as she mounts onto her bike. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for all your help!”

Wayne yells something back, but Y/N is too lost in thought about her course of action, so she just waves him off as she rides her bike into the distance, fueled by adrenaline.

She pedals and pedals and pedals, preparing to make her mighty rebel yell. 

She has one big decision to make and only seven miles to figure out how she’ll spend the rest of her senior year without any regrets.

***

 Y/N pedals down the same roads she came through no more than an hour or two ago. Halfway along her route, a random thought pops up into her head that she should stop by Michelle’s house before she goes to speak with her parents.

She’s not sure why. Maybe Michelle could give her a pep talk. Or maybe it would help to talk to someone about how she’ll convince her parents to let her date Eddie. Even then, it’s not like either of those things seem dire, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that she has an inexplicable gut feeling that she needs to go to Michelle first.

As she makes her way through the neighborhoods of Hawkins, she mulls it over and figures that it wouldn’t hurt to run things with Michelle. Facing her parents is a daunting task and maybe a friend who can lend an ear will help.

But as she reaches Michelle’s street, her house visible in the distance, she finds an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Perhaps it’s an illusion and the car is in the neighbor’s driveway.

But as Y/N’s pedals and comes closer, she begins to recognize the big beige van that is definitely in Michelle’s driveway.

No, it can’t be.

But as soon as Y/N approaches, she knows for sure that that is Eddie’s van.

The shock of seeing that Eddie is at Michelle’s house is enough to make her sharply press on the brakes with a death grip that sends her jolting to a stop, propelling her to fly off her bike, into the air, and onto the pavement. 

She whines at the screeching noise and a loud thump can be heard when she hits the pavement. Her palms dig into the street to break her fall and she curses aloud.

She slowly pushes herself up to sit on her bottom and brings her palms forward. Her knee is throbbing and her palms are all scratched up and swelling, blood threatening to burst at the seams.

She didn’t even realize she was crying till a few hot tears slip from her cheeks and onto her asphalt dusted, very scratched up hands. 

“Are you okay,” an authoritative male voice asks.

Y/N avoids looking at whatever good samaritan has approached her. She’s about to graduate high school and she's sitting in the street crying after falling off her bicycle like some child.

Y/N waves him off, “I’m okay sir, I just fell off my bike.”

“Sir? Don’t give me any ideas now sweetheart,” the same voice replies, somehow sounding younger and much snarkier.

Just as he lays a warm hand on Y/N’s upper back, between her shoulders, Y/N looks up into the sweet pair of big brown eyes she loves most in the world.

“Eddie,” she cries out as she wraps her arms around him, pulling him close to her.

Eddie lets out a yelp as though the action knocked the breath out of his lungs. But as he processes the feeling of her body against his, he instinctively returns the gesture and kisses the top of her head. 

“C’mon, smartypants, let’s get you inside,” Eddie whispers in her hair as he keeps one arm wrapped around her midsection and the other under her knees as he picks her up and carries her to the house.

It’s all happens so fast  that Y/N can barely keep up as Eddie walks across the lawn, carrying her bridal style as the rest of her friends come pouring out the front door.

“Y/N!”

“What happened?”

“What’s going on?”

Eddie explains that he saw her fall off her bike as he takes her inside, leaving the other girls to bring her bike inside and turn the bathroom into a full on operating room.

Michelle goes to grab the first aid kit while the other girls find something in the freezer to use as an ice pack while Y/N sits helplessly on the bathroom sink.

“I’m fine really, it’s just a scratch,” Y/N mutters as Eddie inspects her hands, feeling somewhat exposed as she sits on the counter of the bathroom sink, despite the layers of clothes she currently has on.

Eddie cups her cheek, wiping away the remaining moisture from the tears that had slipped away only moments ago. Even in an emergency, he can’t help but sarcastically say, “Mhm, I’m sure it is.”

Once the girls have brought in the supplies, Eddie politely asks them to wait over in the living room, leaving some privacy to complete his very important medical procedure. Y/N can’t tell if he’s being serious or just joking, but the girls follow his order and give them their space.

“Seriously, you guys are overreacting. It’s just a few scratches and probably some bruises. I’ll be okay.”

Y/N hisses as he tenderly applies antiseptic treatment to the cuts on her hands.

He glances up at her through his eyelashes, giving her a knowing look only for her to stare blankly back.

Y/N watches him as his eyes are lost in focus, in the zone of caring for her.

“Why are you so good at this?” Y/N softly asks. 

Eddie smiles and chuckles, “What? Being your little nurse?”

Y/N pouts but nods.

Eddie looks up from her hands and into her eyes and in a low voice says, “Well, let’s just say I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Y/N frowns at his answer and Eddie could just kiss the little wrinkles in her forehead away, but he can’t. Sure Y/N is at least talking to him and smiling in his presence, but there’s still a wall between them, one he wishes he could just break down with a wrecking ball.

“From what?” Y/N whispers.

Eddie carefully wraps her hands in bandages. He holds Y/N’s hands in his, palms up so his thumbs can gently brush across them.

Eddie shakes his head and forces a smile trying to say in the most light-hearted way possible, “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

“Eddie,” Y/N softly whines, bringing her right hand up and gently cupping his face with her fingertips,”I’m going to worry about it.”

Eddie looks at her with a hardened face, but in his eyes, Y/N can see the softness. She can see the struggle in them.

She gently pulls away as she realizes her mistake. 

The two look at each other for a moment, wanting to say so much, but afraid of saying the wrong thing.

“Let’s just worry about your recovery, huh?” Eddie jokingly diagnoses as he places a gentle hand on Y/N’s knee for comfort. But instead, she winces in pain. 

He immediately grabs the frozen bag of peas wrapped in a dish towel and he instructs Y/N to hold it on her knee to ease the swelling.

After an awkward moment of silence, Eddie decides to diffuse the tension by teasingly saying, “So was that your first time riding a bike or something?” 

Y/N huffs and rolls her eyes, “No, Munson.”

Eddie can’t help the small smile that forms at hearing her call him by his last name.

“In fact, this is all your fault!”

“My fault?”

“Yes! I just came to see Michelle and then I saw your car in her driveway. I almost thought I was hallucinating.”

“Well fear not sweetheart, for it is I, the humble Lord Munson, here in the flesh,” Eddie dramatically says in his D&D voice as he bows in front of her. 

He peers up at her through his lashes, finding her to only glare at him. 

He stands back straight and leans forward to whisper in her ear, “If you really want to make sure you’re not hallucinating, feel free to touch as you please, princess.”

“Eddie,” Y/N scolds as she uses her fingertips to push him away. 

Eddie snickers and smiles at Y/N, heart warming to find her smiling at him too. 

Even Y/N can feel a warmth in her chest despite squirming under his gaze. 

For a moment, she looks away. But when she looks back at him, she properly takes him in for the first time that day. 

Now that the adrenaline of the moment has passed, suddenly a million questions overcome her.

What are Eddie and her friends doing here? And why is Eddie dressed like that? 

 He’s wearing a maroon cable knit sweater and a cream colored carpenter’s jacket over it. It’s sort of weird seeing him out of his normal clothes, but, unsurprisingly, he still looks hot. 

It’s like he’s unlocked a new superpower to her. He could pull off any look besides the rocker type if he ever wanted to.

And his hair! She’s never seen it like this before. When his hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, it feels like she can see his face in a way she never has before. Maybe it just looks more complete now that she can see his ears too.

But the question still stands: what is happening right now?

It takes everything in her not to just reach out and grab his hand or something when she asks, “Seriously Eddie, what are you doing here?”

Eddie exhales and looks her square in the eyes. There’s no use in even pretending, is there? 

“I’m here… for you.”

“For me?” Y/N asks simultaneously, surprised and confused.

Eddie looks down and nods as he begins twiddling his fingers, lacking the chunky metal rings he usually fidgets with.

“We, uh…” Eddie momentarily looks up at Y/N and his breath gets caught in his throat. 

Y/N doesn’t understand what’s making Eddie so nervous. 

“You can tell me, you know that right?”

Eddie looks down and Y/N reaches forward and gently twiddles her fingers with his. It should be reassuring. And Eddie shouldn’t even be afraid to tell her this. But for some reason, actually saying his plan out loud suddenly feels ridiculous.

Eddie gulps, “Your friends and I- We were supposed to go over to your place.”

Y/N smiles and her eyes widen in amusement, as if Eddie had just told her a joke. 

Eddie looks at her with a sense of guilt written all over his features. 

“Eddie, why?” Y/N asks as she realizes he’s being serious.

“We were gonna talk to your parents.”

“Wh- My parents?!”

Eddie takes a deep breath and interlaces his fingers with hers. He squeezes her hand and tries too hard to make a joke of the words, “We thought we could try talking some sense into them.”

He offers her a lopsided grin. Y/N’s eyes widen as she squeezes his hand bone-crushingly tight. 

“Eddie, what are you talking about?”

Eddie looks down at their hands and loosens his grip to withstand the near pain hers are causing. 

“Eddie!”

“I know, I know,” Eddie winces and Y/N loosens her grip. “We were all just worried about you. Your friends told me you won’t even talk to them. That you haven’t been not acting yourself. Not ever since that night.”

Y/N avoids his all encompassing gaze. 

“It’s not right what they’ve done to you,” Eddie mutters under his breath.

Y/N looks at him blankly and shrugs sullenly. 

“No offense, but, we just thought your parents ought to know the hell they’re putting you through.”

Y/N snorts and Eddie looks at her in alarm having never heard her make a noise and startled by the unnerving reaction.

“Is that why you’re dressed like this?” Y/N asks teasingly as she reaches forward and grabs the collar of the jacket. 

Eddie huffs and nods albeit displeased. 

“C’mere,” Y/N whispers as she lightly tugs him toward her by the fabric of his jacket. Eddie obliges and shuffles forward as Y/N spreads her legs wider for him to fit between them. 

Y/N locks eyes with Eddie and leans forward. She brings her arms to the back of his neck, gently taking out the elastic band holding his hair back. She removes it and places it around her wrist before fluffing his hair back out. She drapes a few strands over his shoulders and smiles at him. 

“There.”

Eddie looks at her cautiously, unsure of her actions. 

“I have to admit, this look is definitely doing something for me. But Eddie, you should know, I don’t care what you wear. You look hot either way”

Eddie crinkles his eyebrows and laughs at the sentiment. 

“Were you really going to barge up to my parents house like this?”

Eddie looks at her sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed at the idea that seemed so fool proof only moments ago. 

“With a huff and a puff you were gonna glow the house down?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and places his hands along her thighs for leverage. “Again, what else was I supposed to do?”

“Let me handle them,” Y/N says as she runs her hands over Eddie’s. 

“You don’t have to handle them alone. You know that right?”

Y/N bites her lip, unsure of what to say. 

“Hey,” Michelle pops by and leans against the doorframe. 

Eddie immediately retracts his hands, as if it were Y/N’s parents he was being caught by. 

“What’s the verdict, doc?”

He recovers by putting on a solemn face and placing a hand to his heart. “I’m afraid I have bad news… She only has six hours to live!”

Michelle dramatically brings the back of her forehead and cries “Oh God, why?”

Eddie and Michelle proceed to crack up at each other's silliness leaving Y/N to watch in nothing but utter confusion. It’s sort of nice but mostly foreign to see her best friend and her… Eddie to be bonding like this.

“Nah, she’s just a little scratched up on her hands and bruised on her knee, but she’ll make it out alive.”

“Thanks Eddie,” Y/N squeaks as Eddie helps her off the bathroom sink and leads her to the kitchen and dining room where all the other girls are milling about snacking on chips and soda.

“Hey,” Y/N awkwardly waves as she walks in the room. “You guys having a party or something?”

“Basically,” one of the girls says jokingly.

“We were just about to take it to your house too,” another adds.

Y/N looks over to Eddie and Michelle, “So I hear.”

“Eddie ‘Blabbermouth’ Munson told you how we wanted to go ambush your parents, didn’t he,” Michelle asks as Eddie shoves a handful of chips into his mouth. 

“Hey!” He grumbles with his mouth full.

“I love you guys, but that was a murder-suicide mission waiting to happen,” Y/N jokes as she reaches into the bag of chips Eddie is holding. She looks pointedly at Michelle, “And you! I told you talking to my parents wouldn’t do anything.”

Michelle sighs, but before she can say anything, Y/N adds, “Seriously, I appreciate the lengths you guys would go to do something like this for me. And I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting these past few weeks. It wasn’t very cool of me. But, a wise man once told me that relationships are a lesson or a blessing.”

Y/N looks at her friends, “You guys are my blessing.”

“And you,” Y/N looks over at Eddie and takes a few steps towards him. She points a finger to the middle of his chest, “Well, I’m still trying to figure out which one you are. But I know now that I can’t choose which one you’ll be. I can only choose to find out. And I do. I want to find out.”

Eddie’s eyes gleam as he looks at Y/N. He could just kiss her, but he can't. There’s still a wall. Sure she’s knocked down a few cinderblocks already, but it's still there.

Before he can even decide, Y/N turns on her heel and walks back to the table where she grabs a bottle of coke, “I’ve been thinking a lot about it and I got some good advice from Eddie’s uncle-”

“You talked to Wayne,” Eddie asks as he places a death grip on his bag of chips, resulting in a pronouncing crackling noise.

Y/N takes a swig from the bottle, “Yeah. You weren’t home, and he was. He ended up having a lot of good advice to give.”

“When did you go over to the trailer?” Eddie asks firmly as he takes steps in Y/N’s direction, unnerved by her casual demeanor.

“This morning. That’s actually where I was coming from before I fell off my-”

“Why didn’t you call?” Eddie asks with shock and frustration.

Y/N scoffs, “Because I wanted to surprise you. And don’t even be mad at me Munson because it looks like you had the same idea.”

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. Too many questions whirl around his brain for one to get out. But he knows that she’s right. He can’t get mad at her for having the same idea as him.

“So what did he say,” one of the girls asks.

Eddie looks over from her to Y/N, awaiting the answer to one of his many questions.

“He told me a story about his first love. How they were sort of like Eddie and I.”

Eddie looks at Y/N as if she had just said the same sentence in fluent french. He’s never been one to pry when it comes to his uncle. They had this unspoken rule where the less they knew about certain things, the better. 

But Y/N must’ve done something special to make him open up like that. The thought makes even more questions come to mind.

“His was more of a summer love, but talking to him made me realize that I was putting too much pressure on myself and what this relationship could be. And that it doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t know how long it’ll last but for the time that it does, it makes me happy and I’m not hurting anyone, so why should I deny myself.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Michelle asks. 

“Well, for one, I have a very important question to ask,” Y/N says before turning to Eddie and reaching forward to grab one of his hands in both of hers. 

Y/N looks into his eyes and says, “Eddie, I know I haven’t been very nice to you. I said some things and did some things I’m not proud of. I know it was just because I was scared and angry, but that doesn’t make it okay. And I’m sorry. But if you’ll have me, I’d really like to see what this could be.”

Eddie stares at her for a moment, trying to convince himself this isn’t just a dream and that he needs to say something.

But when he takes a moment too long to respond, Y/N casually turns around to face her friends and say, “And secondly, you all have given me the confidence I need to do what’s right. So now, I’m going to talk to my parents. I’m not sure what I’m going to say. If I'm just going to ask them or tell them, but all I know is, I’m not going to be their puppet anymore. Starting today, I’m gonna start pulling the strings in my own life.”

***

Later that evening, Y/N sweatily stands in the kitchen at her parent’s house, laboring over the stove with a variety of pots and pans in her wake.

Back at Michelle’s house the girls and Eddie helped Y/N come up with a plan to make the grand declaration to her parents. 

Y/N was adamant that this was a conversation she needed to have alone. And that when the time was right, she would bring Eddie into the same picture as her parents. 

They figured if Y/N buttered them up a bit by doing some extra chores around the house and making dinner, they might be more receptive to her decree.

And by the end of the night, she promised she would call Eddie with the news of how things went and that the girls would all go out to the diner for breakfast tomorrow whether or not it was a celebratory meal or a time to comfort her if things didn’t work out.

So here she was, blasted with the heat of all the burners on and multiple aromas swirling around her nose.

Y/N hoped and even prayed that things would all go well, it was that serious. She braced herself for her parents to be mad or to not understand, but she didn’t know what she would do if they punished her again.

She prayed she wouldn’t have to find out either.

By the time dinner was ready, Y/N’s stomach was clenching and her heart was racing. Her parents were delighted by the surprise, blissfully ignorant to the request Y/N was about to make as they all sat around the table.

Dinner started with compliments by her parents on how delicious the food came out. Y/N just meekly smiled and thanked them, gathering up the courage to ask for what she wanted. 

Her parents talked about menial things like their plans for the next day and some of the errands they would have to run. But it all just became noise before Y/N couldn’t take it anymore.

Her silverware clanked against the plate as she loosened her grip, “I have something to say.”

Her parents and sister looked at her blankly. Her parents looked at each other in confusion when Y/N opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“What’s wrong Y/N?”

Y/N looked at the three sets of eyes glaring at her and instantly chugged from her glass of water.

She set the glass down and cleared her throat, “Um, there’s something I wanted to, um, say.”

“Okay,” her mother said earnestly.

“I…I just, um…”

“Just spit it out Y/N,” her sister said before returning to her own plate.

Y/N glared at her before remembering the task at hand.

“I, um, I got an acceptance letter from Purdue in the mail earlier this week. And a waitlist letter from Notre Dame.”

That is not what Y/N meant to say, but for some reason it felt like she needed just a bit more ammunition.

“That’s great honey,” her mom said with a smile.

“Your mother’s right. We’re very proud of you,” her dad added.

“Thanks mom and dad. It’ll still be a while before I hear from U Chicago, but it’s good to have other options till then.”

Her parents nodded. And now, she has them right where she wants them.

“But in the meantime, there’s something I wanted to…”

Ask? Say?

“What is it sweetie?”

Y/N gulps, “I, um, I wanted to talk about, um, the house rule… about boys a-and dating.”

Her dad quirks an eyebrow at her as he brings a forkful of food into his mouth.

“Oh, well, what’s there to talk about?” Her mom asks casually.

“Um, I just wanted to say that I see the logic behind the rule, but, um, would like to counter with the proposition that even though I’m not in college yet, I will be in a few months. I’ve already gotten accepted to one and my grades are still good. And-”

“Y/N, we’ve talked about this,” her dad dismisses.

“I-I know, and I-I’ve learned my lesson but I think I’ve proven that I can be mature and not let boys distract me from my educational goals.”

Y/N’s dad chuckles, “Don’t be so naive, Y/N.”

Y/N’s stomach turns. “B-but I’m not. I-I know I’m capable of handling the demands of both school and a relationship on top of my family, friends, and everything else.”

“School comes first in this house, always. Relationships come and go, but no one can ever take your education away, you know that Y/N,” Y/N’s mom says.

“I know, but why can’t I have both? Why does it have to be one or the other?”

“Y/N this is about establishing priorities. We want you girls to place a high value on your education. For any young woman, it should take high priority over some short lived high school sweetheart.”

“I know. School i-is important. I’ll never lose sight of that. I’m just saying that, yeah, school will always come first, and family comes after that but, don’t you think third or fourth place are up for grabs on the ol’ list of priorities,” Y/N nervously smiles, feeling like she’s some kind of stand up comedian hoping the joke lands.

“Y/N, you know our decision was final. You made a mistake and you learned from it. Now it’s time to move on and focus on graduating,” Y/N’s mom counters.

Y/N presses her lips together and silently fumes in her seat.

It’s not a question about whether she will graduate or not. She’s on track to graduate as third in her class. What gives?!

Y/N’s parents look at her blankly and Y/N turns to her sister, pleading with her eyes to help defend her.

Her sister gives her a blank stare, but she can see something going on behind those eyes. Y/N can’t tell what it is or if it will even break the threshold of their dinner conversation. But she has to keep trying.

She didn’t want to have to resort to this, but she has one last card to play. She’s practiced this speech for a while now, but she never thought she’d have the chance or courage to ever actually deliver it. 

“Well, if I’m being honest, I think you should know that I love you both and I care a lot about what you think. But the truth is, for the past few weeks, I’ve been feeling like-like I can’t breathe. Like nothing in life even matters besides getting into UChicago. A-And that’s no way to live. 

And I know, there were things I did that weren’t okay, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I went behind your backs. And I’m sorry I broke the rules. 

But… But I’m not sorry about my feelings for Eddie. I like him a lot and I’m tired of hiding it. Eddie’s a good person. He makes me happy.”

Just thinking of Eddie makes Y/N’s lips quirk up slightly and she sits up straighter in her chair.

“I-I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and I’m well aware of what the consequences might be. I know the likelihood of heartbreak. But I'm willing to take that risk. And I know that longevity may be an issue, but I’m not too concerned about that. Whether this relationship lasts till the time I go to college or not, I think I’ll be okay–”

“Y/N, I know you must–”

“I’m not finished,” Y/N declares, looking her parents square in the eye despite the tremble in her fingers or the red hot fire flowing in the blood in her veins. Instantly she knows she’s set off a bomb in her parents by the look on their faces, but she has to deliver the rest of her speech before it goes off and demolishes everything in their wake.

“A-and I’ve made my decision. I-I’d rather take my chances and take months to recover than to spend years regretting what could have been. I’m determined to explore what this could be. I say this with all the love and respect in the world, but at the very least, I hope you can trust the daughter that you’ve raised. I know I’ve proven time and time again that I have a good head on my shoulders and that I’m on the right track, so I hope this choice doesn’t make you think any differently. Because I’m still the daughter you raised to be trustworthy, responsible, and a good judge of character.”

For a moment, all Y/N’s parents can do is look between each other and her. The smoke coming out of their ears has seemed to fade, so now, Y/N can’t tell if they’re only fuming inside or if the ice coating their hearts is beginning to crack. 

The silence continues as her parents ruminate over her proposition. But the silence is threatening to slowly kill any dream Y/N might have had about being with Eddie.

Right when Y/N’s parents are about to say something, Y/N’s sister clears her throat and the attention of everyone around the dinner table turns to her.

“I had a boyfriend in high school,” Y/N’s sister says casually before bringing a forkful of food into her mouth.

Y/N’s mom nearly chokes on her drink and Y/N’s dad bursts into a hearty laughter.

Y/N’s eyes widen as she looks at her sister in awe.

“I’m serious. It was Daniel. We dated for almost two years.”

“Daniel? Your friend Karen’s brother?” Her mom asks irately.

“Why is this the first we’re hearing of it,” her dad asks as he drops his silverware onto his plate.

Y/N’s sister shrugs and briefly makes eye contact with them, “Because I knew you and mom would act just like this. And unlike Y/N, I don’t need your approval to live my life.”

Her parents look from one daughter to the other.

“Did you know about this?” Y/N’s mom asks.

Y/N looks at her sister then at her mom but doesn’t say a word.

Y/N’s mom raises a palm to her face, “Oh, dear God, where have I gone wrong? What did I do to deserve such disobedient daughters.”

Y/N sighs while her sister rolls her eyes. 

Her dad softly calls her mom by her name and places a hand on her arm. Not as distraught, but newly concerned by all these skeletons making their way out the closet.

“Mom, please,” her older sister scoffs, “I may not be at UChicago but I’m at least in community college, I don’t do drugs, and I’m not pregnant. Y/N’s on a much better path than I am. I’m pretty sure you’re doing just fine in terms of parenthood.”

Y/N’s mom drags her palm down her face and looks between Y/N and her sister. She looks over at Y/N’s dad who subtly nods and shrugs.

“You’re right,” he says before Y/N’s mom can. “Perhaps your mother and I have been…”

Her dad pauses and looks over at Y/N’s mom, his own pride getting in the way of admitting his faults.

“We’ve been too hard on you girls haven’t we?” Y/N’s mom asks, as though the thought is revolutionary. But Y/N’s just relieved that her parents have come to this conclusion on their own.

Y/N’s eyes widen as she looks between everyone at the table, unsure if she’s dreaming or if the moment is just unfolding at light speed in front of her.

Her mom sighs and her dad grabs her hand.

“We just didn’t want to see you girls have to go through the same struggles your mom and I went through. We thought you'd be better off for it,” her dad says.

“But we didn’t realize how much it was affecting you. We never wanted you to feel like you had to lie or suffer in silence,” her mom adds.

Y/N squeezes the napkin in her hand. There’s no way this is real life. Her parent’s apologizing? Admitting their shortcomings?

Even Y/N’s sister looks at her in concern.

“We swore we’d never be like our own parents, yet here we are,” her dad says in a teasing tone.

Y/N feels a pang of guilt hit her chest, even though none of what her parents just said is her fault.

She always thought that her parents were so strict because that’s just how they are. Parents are supposed to be hard asses. But it never occurred to her that they act that way because of experiences they had in the past. That they had fears and dreams beyond parenthood too.

“It’s that MTV rockstar looking boy you want to date, isn’t it?” Y/N’s mom asks with no hint of disappointment or anger, only wanting to understand.

Y/N wishes she could shrink to the size of a mouse and just crawl in the cupboard, but now is her moment.

Even then, all she can do is meekly nod, but it seems to be enough when her mom says, “Well, if that’s the case, then you’ll need to bring him home so we can properly meet him.” 

“We’ll need to see if he’s good enough to date our little girl,” Her dad says and pauses before adding, “But if he can manage to get in our good graces, then we might just see about you two dating.”

What?

Is that what Y/N thinks it is?

Is this her in?

Sure she’ll have to bring Eddie over and he’ll have to meet her parents. Face to face. And make a good impression. 

But her parents are theoretically almost okay with her dating Eddie! And somehow that was more than she was expecting.

“Really,” she squeals as she clasps her hands together.

Her parents nod and Y/N practically shoots out of her seat and runs over to give each of her parents a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She yells in their ears as she wraps an arm around each of their necks, pulling them closer to her.

“Slow down, honey,” Y/N’s mom says.

“We’ll have to lay some new ground rules,” Her dad adds.

She squeezes them tight and holds on for a second before letting them go, resulting in a loud and exasperated sigh from both of her parents.

She pulls away and looks between them, “May I be excused from dinner, please?”

Her dad looks at her in confused amusement while her mom also amusedly asks, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to make a phone call,” Y/N says cautiously, trying to subdue the excitement bubbling in her stomach. “Pretty please?”

“You can call after dinner okay, missy, we need to discuss new ground rules,” her dad orders.

Y/N pouts and reluctantly returns to her seat. As she finishes the rest of her plate, her parents begin throwing around ideas like how Eddie won’t be allowed upstairs, how they’ll need to meet Eddie’s parents, to which Y/N has to correct them and say they’ll meet his uncle, how her sister will have to chaperone their first few dates, and something about a new curfew.

It’s not music to her ears, but it’s waayyyyy better than a big fat NO.

After dinner, Y/N runs to place her dishes in the sink and zips her way up the stairs and runs to her room. She softly closes the door behind her and practically gets carpet burn from sliding across the floor and over to her nightstand.

She picks up the phone and dials Eddie’s number before flopping onto her bed and sighing as the phone rings.

Eddie picks up on the first ring and frantically answers, “Hello? Y/N?”

“Eddie, baby, it’s me,” she answers in a honey sweet voice

Y/N doesn’t know where that came from. She’s never called Eddie, baby, before. She’s never called anyone that before. Before Eddie, she might have thought it cringey or grounds to throw up on whenever she heard anyone else say it to their significant other.

But, now, it’s like the word was invented for her and Eddie. Like no one was ever anyone’s baby till Eddie and Y/N were.

And if Y/N’s not mistaken, she hears the sound of a muffled groan over the receiver before Eddie’s gruff voice says, “What happened?”

Y/N pauses for a moment, not to give Eddie any further anxiety from the anticipation but to figure out how to describe what just transpired.

“Th-They said yes. They’re letting us date!”

“Fuck! Are you serious? They really said that,” Eddie asks and Y/N can hear the excitement in his voice.

“Yeah, well, on one condition though.”

“What is it,” Eddie asks in alarm.

“They want to meet you.”

“They… what?”

“They want to meet you and get to know you. You know, properly interrogate you to make sure you’re good enough to date me,” Y/N says in a naive attempt at a joke, making fun of her parents words and easing the tensions from the daunting proposition. 

But it doesn’t land, and all she hears is silence from the receiver.

“Eddie,” Y/N asks in concern.

“Yeah,” Eddie responds neutrally.

“Doing alright over there?” Y/N asks as she twirls the cord of the phone with her fingers

“Mhm, juuuust trying to figure out how I can spontaneously transform myself into whatever Prince Charming your parents want me to be,” Eddie sarcastically responds. 

“Michelle and the girls seemed to do a good enough job of that this morning,” Y/N teases again, but it’s as though she can hear Eddie gulp over the phone.

“Baby, it’s gonna be okay,” Y/N says, surprising herself with how natural it feels to say the term of endearment but also hoping he’ll like it enough that hearing her say the word will help soothe him. “Look, we both know that you’re the perfect guy for me. There’s nothing you need to prove to them, you know that right?”

 “Kinda feels like the opposite if we’re being honest here princess,” Eddie says teasingly, hoping it hides the nervousness he’s feeling.

“I know Eddie, but I promise it’s not. My parents just want to know you. I know you, but to them, you’re still a question mark, you know?”

Eddie barks out a laugh which takes away the tension in Y/N’s shoulders.

“And besides, I wouldn’t change a hair on your head. If they have any shit to say, they’ll have to get through me first, okay?”

Eddie makes a noise between a laugh and a sigh before tauntingly saying, “Yeah tough girl? Gonna talk back to your parents for me?”

And sure, the words Eddie says aren’t meant to be menacing but by the way he says them? They are most certainly a threat. And Y/N can feel their impact in the sudden fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Now it’s her turn to audibly gulp over the receiver. “I think my good girl wants to bring her bad boyfriend home, doesn’t she?”

“E-Eddie,” Y/N asks as she clutches the phone in both of her hands, her mind entering a haze. She takes a breath and Eddie can hear the shakiness over the phone.

He hadn’t meant to turn the phone call in this direction but by god is it sweet sweet music to his ears to hear her react this way, just for him.

It’s relieving to know that even after all this time, it didn’t have to take much to know he still stands right where he wants to be.

But as much as he wants to be the biggest tease in the world right now, he knows he has time for that. 

He’ll have plenty of time to find out how to make Y/N’s skin crawl in the best possible way or discover just what makes her tick. 

Little does he know, he’s giving Y/N plenty of material to report back to the girls over brunch tomorrow.

***

May 3rd, 1986

Y/N looks at herself in the mirror, swiping on a coat of lip gloss on her lips and adjusting the wisps of hair framing her face. She takes one last look, searching for any other imperfections.

Tonight's the night. If she plays her cards right, something very big could happen. 

This sort of thing used to frighten her, but for him, she welcomes the possibility. She wants it to happen with him. There’s no one else she’d rather do it with than him. They’ve even gotten close, but it hasn’t happened yet. And it very well could… tonight.

Ding dong.

Y/N hears the front door open and a series of muffled voices.

“Y/N,” her mother calls out from downstairs, “Your date is here.”

Y/N takes a deep breath in and smooths out her puffy light pink gown. The smooth satin above layers of tulle run under her soft fingers. 

Y/N smiles at herself and takes one last look around the room, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything. Her eyes land on her shimmering silver heels set out next to the door and she walks over to put them on.

She leaves the room and slowly descends the stairs, clutching onto the railing so as not to trip and fall. She’s too lost in concentration to focus on the party’s reception of her below.

As she makes the final step, she looks up into a familiar pair of warm brown eyes who look like they’ve just landed on an angel, sent straight from heaven.

Y/N’s eyes meet his and her smile widens from ear to ear.

He’s wearing black jeans and a soft white dress shirt with a black bow tie to match. The ensemble is complete with his signature leather jacket sans jean vest, chain hanging from his hips, combat boots, and silver jewelry adorning his skin.

His hair, as beautiful and long as ever, with wispy bangs covering his forehead, is organized in loose neat curls falling down his back.

“Hi,” Y/N says breathlessly as she takes the final step on the ground floor.

“Hey,” he whispers, simply gleaming at her. 

Y/N slowly walks toward him and stands arms length away. She could just kiss him or hug him, but she isn’t quite comfortable doing that sort of thing in front of her parents. 

Even though they’ve been dating for almost six months now, Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever feel comfortable enough to put on a public display of affection in front of her parents.

But for now, the two smile and gaze into each other's eyes until a bright flash and the sound of a snap can be heard from the polaroid, Y/N’s mom is nearly shoving into their faces.

“Agh, mom,” Y/N whines as she brings a hand up and blinks to regain focus from the dizziness of the bright light.

Eddie takes this moment to also snap out of his gaze. “I, uh, I brought you this.”

Eddie holds up a plastic container with a rose the color of her dress.

“Is that a corsage,” Y/N smiles and cocks her head to the side. Her eyes land on the boutonniere placed on the lapel of his jacket, matching the corsage in the box. 

She smirks, as if to taunt the freak for going so conformist on her. And sure, it isn’t very metal to be doing the tux and prom thing in front of mommy and daddy, but love has made him do stranger things.

Eddie nods sheepishly, unaware of the subtle pink tint to his cheeks as he shakily reaches for her wrist and places the corsage gently along the soft delicate skin.

Y/N gleams at him, feeling like an absolute princess, “I love it! Thank you, Eddie.” 

Eddie sighs and smiles in relief.

“Alright you two,” Y/N’s mom coos from the side, “Let’s get some more pictures.”

Her mom whips out the trustee Polaroid camera and begins snapping a few more photos. The unexpected flash startles them.

“Mom,” Y/N complains.

“Okay, now Eddie, put your arm around Y/N,” Y/N’s mom smiles while her dad supervises from her side.

Eddie awkwardly places his arm around Y/N and the two forcibly smile. The flash nearly blinds them again.

“Ok, another one!”

Y/N and Eddie resume their smile as the flash pops again.

“Okay, mom we gotta go,” Y/N grabs Eddie by the wrist and nearly drags him out the door.

“Wait,” Y/N’s mom calls out and Y/N and Eddie freeze in their spots, hand just about to touch the doorknob.

  “Here you go, Eddie,” Y/N’s mom says as she hand’s one of the polaroids to Eddie and smiles at him, “For a night to remember.”

Y/N’s mom hugs Eddie and then turns to hug Y/N. Before she pulls away fully, she raises her thumb to Y/N’s head and does the sign of the cross while saying, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” in Spanish.

“Mom,” Y/N whines as she flushes underneath, knowing her mom only ever does the gesture before any major life event or if she does something risky like when she took the SATs or went off to summer camp for the first time.

“You two be safe out there, okay,” Y/N’s mom pleads.

“Have Y/N home by midnight, you hear,” Y/N’s dad orders and Eddie straightens his posture, nodding profusely. 

Eddie opens the front door and ushers Y/N to walk through first.

“Bye you two, have fun,” Y/N’s mom calls from the front door as Y/N and Eddie make their way over to his van.

“But not too much fun,” her dad forcefully adds.

“Bye,” Y/N turns over her shoulder and waves.

Eddie opens the passenger door for her and helps her into the van before closing it and jogging over to the other side.

He puts the key into the ignition and turns it on, making the van roar to life. He’s just about to lean over the edge of his seat to give her a kiss when she gently nudges his shoulder and pushes him away.

She shakes her head and looks over to the open doorway where her parents are waiting for them to drive off, “Not till we’re out of sight.”

“Afraid we might get caught?” Eddie teases her.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “No, it’s just weird. I don’t want them to see me kiss a boy.”

“What about kissing, a man?”

Eddie closes his eyes and leans forward, puckering his lips to a comedic extreme.

“Shut up,” Y/N shoves him away harshly and laughs. “Just get us out of here and then we’ll talk.”

Eddie backs out of the driveway and turns onto the street, pausing to wave to Y/N’s parents who are still waiting in the doorway.

Eddie smiles and leans close to Y/N’s ear to huskily say, “Oh trust me sweetheart, we won’t be doing much talking if I can help it.”

Y/N tenses and her smiles fades, arm frozen mid-wave.

And then Eddie drives off and before they know it, they’ve arrived at the Hawkins High School gym.

Trust a town as small as Hawkins to have an event as big and extravagant as prom to be held in the town’s only high school’s gym.

But as Y/N and Eddie meet up with Y/N’s friends and their dates, they enter the gymnasium and are welcomed by a space absolutely decorated to the nines.

There’s no way this is the same place that’s home to sweaty jockstraps and musty basketballs. 

Instead there are dozens of lights strung about the ceiling, twinkling like stars above them, with a disco ball as full as the moon in the center of it all, reflecting light onto the blue and cream colored streamers hung in waves all around them.

Y/N and all her friends' dates run off to get them punch while the girls find a place to sit. They find a table at the edge of the dance floor and gush over how pretty they all look in their dresses or how well their dates, especially Eddie, cleaned up.

When Eddie arrives with a cup for Y/N, he takes a seat next to her and Y/N looks at him as if he hung the moon up in the night sky.

Eddie smiles in confusion as he settles in and wraps an arm around her, “What?”

Y/N smiles and shakes her head. Without warning, she leans forward and presses a loving kiss to his lips. And for the first time that night, she can smell the cologne he’s wearing. She’s used to him smelling like cigarette smoke and irish spring soap, a scent she’s come to love, but something about the cologne ignites something animalistic in her.

When she pulls away, it’s the second time tonight Eddie’s blushing. He lightly chuckles and squeezes the hand placed on her shoulder, “What was that for?”

Y/N leans forward and chastely kisses him again, “Nothing.”

“Feels a little more than just nothing,” Eddie innocently teases, attempting to read the look in her face or gleam in her eyes.

Y/N places a hand on the top of Eddie’s thigh, close to his knee, and gently runs her fingers along the fabric. 

Eddie knows whatever it is, she must be feeling good. It took him almost three months to get her to initiate any sort of PDA and even then, she only ever does it first whenever she’s really in the mood, always preferring for him to lead the way.

Y/N shrugs but the grin never leaves her face, “I'm just really happy we’re here. That I get to share this moment with you.”

Eddie almost wants to give her some smug look and tease the hell out of how gushy she’s being right now, but he can’t even properly make fun of her because he feels the exact same way.

So his only natural response is to lean forward and let his lips do the talking, and by talking, they practically give a speech dedicating his devotion to her, even though it means he’s gotten some of her lipstick on him. But it’s okay, he’ll be sure to give her a good amount of hickies later tonight to get even.

Midway through practically making out, the DJ plays Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy” and Y/N breaks away from the kiss and shrieks.

“I love this song,” Y/N squeals and shoots up from her chair.

Eddie, still lost in the haze of the kiss, looks up at her in confusion. Y/N grabs his hand and drags Eddie to the dance floor. 

Eddie stumbles along with her, wondering how the moment got away from him.

As they make their way across the waxed wooden floor, Eddie leans close to Y/N’s ear and yells so she can hear him say, “Uh, I don’t dance.”

“Well, sweetheart, you are tonight,” Y/N smirks back at him as she continues to lead the way to the pit of students smushed together moving their bodies to the beat of the song. 

And now he really knows she’s so far gone. This is Y/N’s night now and the last thing he wants to do is get in her way. 

As they find a spot on the dance floor with her other friends and their dates, Y/N faces Eddie and starts swaying her body to the rhythm.

“Uh,” Eddie says under his breath but it’s too loud for anyone to hear. He looks at her and forcibly smiles while mechanically trying to mimic her movements. He figures that if he can focus on her, maybe he can forget about the many pairs of eyes staring at him right now.

“You’re too stiff,” Y/N huffs as she places her hands along his biceps and squeezes them.

Eddie tries to loosen his limbs but the apparent lack of alcohol or THC in his system is making itself a problem right about now.

“I told you babe, I don’t dance,” Eddie says apologetically. 

“Edward I’ve seen you dance, you just didn’t know it,” Y/N says with attitude. It should be annoying that she’s calling him out like this, but it’s kind of hot when she gets feisty, especially since it doesn’t happen so often.

“Just pretend you’re doing a set with Corroded Coffin. Move your body to the rhythm. Let the music flow through you,” Y/N says as she guides the movement of his arms to the guitar solo at the end of the song.

Eddie starts to loosen up a bit and then the song transitions to “If You Leave” by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark and that’s when things really click for Eddie.

Y/N loved that Pretty in Pink movie so much, she made Eddie watch it with her in theaters three times. Against his will, he knows the song like the back of his hand. But it’s proving to come in handy right now as he slowly starts to loosen up and match Y/N’s energy as she dances along to the beloved song.

Months ago, he never would’ve expected to see Y/N like this. Back then, he never would have thought it possible for her to be able to just let go and have fun, but he likes to think her ability to do it now is partially his own doing.

Even as “I Melt With You” by Modern English comes on next, Eddie can’t help but laugh and smile as he terribly dances along with Y/N and her friends.

Never in all his years did he think he would ever even go to prom, let alone have fun at it. But Y/N seems to be his lucky charm in that way.

He thrashes around with Y/N as “Blue Monday” by New Order comes on next and the rest of the crowd has been long forgotten at this point.

Y/N does zany silly moves to make Eddie laugh, not even caring what anyone else thinks. And Eddie does the same, knowing there’s only one person he would be willingly looking like an idiot on the dancefloor with. 

From “Rio” by Duran Duran to “Come On Eileen” by the Dexys Midnight Runners, Eddie would never admit to any of his friends just how fun it is to dance to stupid Top 40 stuff. 

In a way, he’s sort of relieved that none of them came because they’re too young or didn’t have a date. This is a side of him that he isn’t ashamed of, but is much more comfortable showing knowing he won’t be teased.

But another part of him knows he and the boys would absolutely demolish the dance floor without a regard for what anyone thinks. It would have been so much fun to show up to prom with his boys and prove high school didn’t break them.

He hopes that no matter what happens, his younger friends can have the time of their lives like this too. That they can experience more joy than what Eddie’s had over the past six months. 

High school was a shit show for him, but it’s ending on a pretty high note. But the night isn’t over just yet. 

When the DJ plays “Footloose” by Kenny Loggins, a song that apparently annoys Y/N for some reason, as though it isn’t the same flavor of bubblegum pop as the other songs, at least to Eddie’s ears.

But Y/N tells Eddie she wants to take a break and get some punch so Eddie walks her over to the refreshments table.

The chaperone behind the table, undoubtedly some member of the PTA, smiles at Y/N and hands her the cup of punch.

“Hey Munson,” someone calls over from the other side of Eddie.

Eddie turns in the direction of the voice, leaving enough room for Y/N to see a face that’s familiar but she doesn’t exactly remember why.

“Carver, to what do I owe the pleasure,” Eddie asks with gritted teeth.

Y/N doesn’t know the blond boy or how Eddie knows a guy who would wear a varsity jacket to prom, but the tension in his shoulders and grit to his voice say it’s not for a good reason.

Y/N takes the opportunity to snake her arm around Eddie’s waist and hold on to him, leaning into his side as she gazes at the boy across from them, hoping to comfort him from whatever is unfolding.

The sudden motion catches the boy’s attention and his eyes move from Eddie to Y/N. If Eddie’s not mistaken, Jason’s eyes seem to widen a bit and linger on Y/N for more than he’d like, so instinctively, Eddie wraps his arm tightly around Y/N, pulling her into him even more.

“This your girl,” Jason asks as he juts his chin out in Y/N’s direction.

The motion isn’t threatening but something about it makes Y/N want to crawl out of her skin. 

Y/N and Eddie look at each other before looking at Jason.

“Yeah, what’s it to you,” Eddie asks menacingly. 

Jason throws up his hands in mock surrender, “Nothing man, she’s just pretty is all.”

Jason continues to oogle a bit longer at Y/N but she can’t even figure out what to say to make him stop.

“How’d a freak like you manage to get a girl like her?” Jason asks with a sense of genuine curiosity. Like their relationship is the big bang theory and he needs to ask questions to make any sense of it.

And then it hits Y/N that she does know him. It’s Jason Carver and she tutored him before basketball season in junior year. He was struggling with physics but would spend half the time flirting with her even though he had a girlfriend on the cheer team. It always made Y/N uncomfortable, no matter how nice it was to hear that she was so smart and pretty.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out, Jason. But for you, maybe a little tutoring might help,” Y/N says with a smirk.

Eddie looks at her in confusion while Jason looks just about like he’s been caught red-handed, realizing just where he knows Eddie’s girlfriend from. All the embarrassment from her rejection comes back to him in waves.

“Newton doesn’t have any laws of physics to explain it, but I’m sure it can’t be that hard to believe a smart girl with a pretty face could be into such a hunk with a heart of gold like Eddie,” Y/N adds before innocently taking a sip of her punch.

Jason’s jaw drops and is rendered speechless as Y/N smirks at him confidently. 

Eddie has so many questions but more than anything he just wants to take Y/N to the back of his van and have his way with her, but there’ll be time for that later. For now, he kisses the top of her head and smirks back at Jason.

The instrumentals to “The Promise” by When In Rome begins playing from the sound system, prompting Y/N to let her fingers drag behind Eddie’s back down to his hand. She holds his hand but walks forward to Jason

“If you’ll excuse me,” She says as she hands the cup to Jason, “I’m gonna go have the time of my life with, the freak, out on the dance floor.”

Jason looks at her as if he’s frightened by any move she makes. 

Y/N takes another step and whispers into his ear, “And by the end of the night, he’ll probably take my virginity too. And I don’t know if that’ll make me a freak or not, but all I know is that if you ever have a word to say about Eddie Munson, I can promise you, I will hunt you down and make you regret ever using your tongue against that boy. Am I clear?”

Y/N pulls away slightly, just enough to be within earshot and still look into Jason’s blown out dark blue eyes. 

“Say you understand,” She yells at him authoritatively, still close enough to hurt his eardrums.

“I-I I under st-stand,” Jason says as he winces.

“Now apologize to Eddie,” Y/N commands.

“I-I’m sorry man,” Jason blinks nervously.

“Say it like you mean it, Carver. I know you can do better than that,” Y/N goads.

“I-I’m sorry Munson. For everything. Really.”

It’s taking every fiber of Eddie’s being not to bust out laughing at the sight of a flustered Jason Carver. It’s not even like he’s dreamed of this moment either. He wasn’t exactly banking on ever seeing remorse from one of his bullies, but he sees the effort Y/N is putting into getting justice for him and he couldn’t be more head over heels in love with this girl.

 Eddie tries to hide his smile and nods but he can’t even bring himself to thank Jason or accept the apology. 

Y/N’s the one to thank here. He does so by leaning forward and capturing her lips in his.

Y/N kisses him back before pulling away and saying, “C’mon baby, let’s go dance.”

Y/N takes his hand and leads him back to the dance floor where the DJ has now transitioned the set to play “Hold Me Now” by The Thompson Twins.

Y/N and Eddie join the other couples slow dancing and Eddie is grateful the positioning is hiding the front of his pants. The scene back there kind of awakened something in him.

Y/N wraps her arms around Eddie’s neck as Eddie wraps his arms around her waist before slowly dragging them to her hips and landing on the softness of her behind.

“Goddamnit sweetheart, I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight but I’m fucking obsessed with it,” Eddie groans in Y/N’s ear.

She can feel something hard against her leg and the resulting heat it brings to her cheeks. She nervously giggles, unsure of how to acknowledge his words or his body’s reaction.

Eddie moves his head back to look into Y/N’s soft eyes. Y/N smiles shyly at him and he wants nothing more than to make her smile like that for the rest of his life.

But now that the heat of the moment is over, Eddie’s mind won’t let him get past the thing we’re all wondering: What the hell was that? How does Y/N even know Jason?

So as they slow dance, Y/N explains everything. She even mentions how she remembers Jason teasing Eddie in the cafeteria at lunch. She always knew Jason was a dick, but at the time she never knew Eddie and now that she does, she wanted to do what was right and stand up for him.

“It was fuckin’ hot baby. I’m pretty sure you either made him jizz or piss in his pants. I was trying so hard not to laugh”

Y/N rolls her eyes and smiles, flushed at Eddie’s crass words, but agreeing with them nonetheless. 

“I love you Eddie,” Y/N says as she holds him tighter, “And I told you, I won’t let my parents or any high school dickhead get in the way of that.”

Eddie chuckles and holds Y/N tighter against him, firmly squeezing her ass in the process.

Y/N lets out a small yelp in surprise as Eddie smirks at her. 

It’s not long before one of the chaperones, Eddie’s English teacher, scolds him and commands the two to be “arm’s length apart.”

But as soon as she’s out of sight, Eddie resumes their position and Y/N lays her head against his chest. 

Eddie and Y/N hold each other and sway in silence till the song ends and “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper is played next.

Y/N stiffens slightly and pulls away to look into Eddie’s warm brown eyes.

“What?” Eddie asks in concern.

Y/N lets out a small breath. The first few notes of this song always take her back to when she was grounded for going out with Eddie. The Dark Ages.

She would listen to this song and think about him. She would imagine what it would be like to ever talk to Eddie again. What she would say or how she could ever move forward from the time they spent together. 

But in the end, she always had hope that she could have a somewhat happy ending. That with time, things would get better, even if it meant not being with Eddie in the way she wanted.

And then it played on the radio that one day he gave her a ride home. And just like the song said, Y/N was lost but Eddie looked and he did find her. Time after time, Y/N fell but Eddie caught her and waited for her to return home.

Time after time, Y/N never would have thought she could make it to this moment. After all the sleepless nights and headaches and puffy eyes. She can’t believe she’s here with Eddie at prom. They’ll be graduating in a few weeks. And in a few months, she’ll be headed off to Chicago.

“Baby, what’s wrong, why are you crying,” Eddie asks as he cups Y/N’s cheek and wipes away the stray tears slipping down her cheek.

Y/N leans into his touch and closes her eyes as a few more sobs escape her.

“I’m sorry Eddie,” is all she can manage to choke out.

“Don’t be sorry princess. What’s going on?”

“I’m just,” Y/N sniffles, “I’m so happy. I can’t believe I get to be here, with you. It feels like a dream come true. I love you so much, I can’t handle how happy I feel.”

Eddie smiles, feeling that same wave of unbridled emotion wash over him. Now, it wouldn’t be very metal of him to be crying in front of all these people, at prom no less, but when the girl he loves is crying before him because she’s so happy to be with him that it feels like a dream, well he’ll be damned if that isn’t enough to make a grown man cry.

Eddie pulls away slightly and looks Y/N the eye, “Let’s get out of here.”

Y/N pauses for a moment and looks around. Some of her friends have started to leave and a few couples are walking out the gym doors.

Y/N looks down at her wrist and realizes she left her watch at home.

“What do you say, Cinderella, it’s only 9:30,” Eddie adds.

Y/N looks at him and wipes a tear from her cheek and nods.

Eddie wraps his arm around her waist and leads her to the doors of the gymnasium. Before they walk out, Y/N looks over her shoulders and looks at the room one last time.

A night to remember.

And then Eddie whisks her away to his van and the two go for a drive. Eddie puts in a tape and Y/N is sure he must have made it for tonight. It isn’t playing the normal zany stuff he likes. It’s slow and melodic. Borderline sensual but still with that rock edge.

Plus, there’s a bit more Journey and Foreigner than she imagined Eddie would have listened to.

Among the myriad of questions in her mind, “Where are we going,” is the first to come out of Y/N’s mouth.

Eddie briefly looks over at her from the driver's seat as “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner comes on next.

“I thought we might make a pit stop at the trailer,” Eddie says casually as his gaze returns to the road before him. “Wayne’s got the night shift, so it’ll be just us.”

Y/N looks at him nervously. This isn’t the first time she’s gone over to Eddie’s place at night when Wayne wasn’t there. But none of those nights ever had the kind of possibility tonight has.

Before she can even begin to think or overthink the events of the night, Eddie pulls up to the trailer and turns off the ignition, effectively killing the song before it has the chance to reach its prophetic chorus.

Eddie gets out of the car and walks over to open the door for Y/N. He holds his hand out for her to grab as she carefully steps out of the vehicle. 

He cautiously leads Y/N to the front door and nervously fumbles with the keys before unlocking the door and holding it open for her to go in first.

Y/N steps in and awkwardly stands in the kitchen, watching as Eddie closes the door and locks it before mechanically taking off his jacket and hanging it on the nearest chair.

He walks over to Y/N and gently caresses the skin of her cheek before leaning forward and kissing her.

Y/N feels stiff against him and he can feel her try to loosen up, but something won’t let her so he pulls away.

“Sorry Eddie, I-”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Eddie reassures her as he runs his hands up and down her arms.

He looks into her eyes and says, “This is just like any other night, okay? I’ll only go as far as you let me.”

Y/N looks away and nods.

Y/N and Eddie hadn’t exactly planned to have sex for the first time on prom night. Neither really acknowledge the possibility in the weeks leading up to it. Eddie has been respectfully going at the pace Y/N is comfortable with, but the tension has been running high. 

Y/N wants to and he knows it too. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it either. But in Eddie’s mind, tonight may be the night, or it may just be another night. If she feels up for it, that’s great, but he doesn’t want her to feel any pressure just because it’s prom night.

“C’mon,” Eddie says as he grabs her hand softly and slowly guides her to his room. He flicks on the light of one of his lamps and motions for her to sit on the bed.

Y/N follows his silent command and watches as he puts in a tape in the sound system in his room. It has the same tape from the car and is now playing “Fluff” by Black Sabbath, one of their favorite songs.

Eddie smiles shyly at Y/N and walks over to her. He kneels on the ground before her and gently takes her left foot in his hand. He slowly undoes the strap of her heel and removes the shoe. He lightly massages her foot and Y/N softly groans.

Eddie smiles and moves on to repeat the process for her right foot.

“Thanks Eddie, my feet have been killing me,” Y/N says appreciatively.

“Anything for my princess, so pretty in pink,” Eddie teases and Y/N blushes.

Eddie rises to his feet and proceeds to undo the bowtie around his neck. He moves down to unbutton the buttons of his dress shirt when Y/N rises to her feet and makes a closed-mouth noise. 

He looks at her in confusion but she just waves away his hand and starts undoing the rest of the buttons herself. Her nimble fingers shake as she breathlessly undresses him.

Eddie can sense her nervousness as says, “It’s okay baby, you’re doing great.”

Y/N slightly chuckles and whines, “Eddie, this isn’t…”

This isn’t some marathon race she needs to be cheered on for. It’s just a normal night at Eddie’s trailer. She’s been here hundreds of times. She’s made out with Eddie on his bed hundreds of times before. 

Why is tonight any different?

“C’mon, let’s just lay down for a bit and cuddle,” Eddie offers.

Y/N weighs the proposition and decides to accept.

“Should I take off my dress?” She asks as she looks down at the layers of fabric.

Eddie shrugs, “If it’s more comfortable.”

Y/N looks at him and nods. She turns around and asks him if he can undo the zipper. As he does, he can feel shivers run down her spine as the skin of his fingers brush against her back.

The dress pools down to her ankles, revealing her in a matching white lace bra and panties.

Eddie hisses at the view from the back, trying to contain himself knowing it’ll be even better from the front.

“C’mon,” Eddie’s voice cracks as he closes the door to the room and walks over to the bed.

Y/N mechanically mimics him and the two get under the covers. Eddie shimmies off his jeans and moves closer to Y/N. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her close to his side. Y/N snuggles him, but stiffly drapes an arm over his warm and bare stomach.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Eddie asks as he draws small circles into her arm.

“Mhm,” Y/N responds with her cheek pressed against Eddie’s chest.

“What was your favorite part?”

“Seeing you dance,” Y/N giggles.

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes even though she can’t see from her vantage point. “I told you sweetheart, this body was not made for dancing.”

“No, but it was so good. I don’t care if you’re a good dancer or not. It was so much fun. All my favorite songs were played. All my favorite people were there. Tonight was perfect,” Y/N says and then shuffles to look up at Eddie. 

Tonight has been perfect and it’s not over yet. And as she looks into his eyes, she realizes she has nothing to be afraid of. It wouldn’t be the perfect end to a perfect night without the perfect boy to be a part of it.

So she grins from ear to ear and leans forward to kiss him. Eddie is slightly taken off guard, so it takes him a moment to readjust to her lips, but when he does, it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. Like he’s kissing her for the first time all over again.

He brings a hand up to cup her cheek and kisses her passionately back. Without breaking the kiss, he gently nudges her to lie back. He rests his forearm against the mattress for leverage and leans over her. 

As Y/N lies back on the mattress with her head resting against the pillow, she brings her hands forward to cup Eddie’s cheeks, his soft lips never leaving hers.

Eddie uses his other hand to gently trail from Y/N’s shoulder to her arm, and lowers down to her waist. He moves his touch to her lower back and firmly presses her body against his.

Y/N gasps in the kiss and Eddie smiles, using the moment to slip his tongue past her lips, wanting to taste every bit of her he can.

Y/N whimpers, quickly turning into a puddle of goo at the lightest touch. She lowers one of her hands onto his shoulder and uses the other to slide past his scalp and run through his hair, tightening the hold on particularly pleasurable moments.

Eddie continues to touch along her skin and feels a sense of pride whenever her body reacts to it. The squirms and moans all rev his engine to the point where Y/N can feel him against her.

Without breaking the kiss, she reaches down and touches him, making him groan and fall out of the kiss.

He hovers over her breathlessly, his curls hang in a curtain over her head. 

“Hold your horses there princess,” he says in his theatrical D&D voice making her giggle. “We’ll have time for that later, but tonight is about you.”

“I want it all Eddie,” Y/N replies simply. It’s simultaneously a plea and a command. “I want to feel it all with you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie asks incredulously. 

Y/N nods underneath him and pulls him in for a chaste kiss.

“If at any moment you ever want to stop, just say the word and-”

“I know,” Y/N smiles at him shyly, grateful that he’s being so careful with her. 

“I love you,” Eddie whispers before moving down and kissing her with more passion and fever than he even knew was possible. Y/N returns the kiss in a similar manner, as though she were in a desert and Eddie was her lone source of water.

But the warmth of the soft touches and loving kisses doesn’t nearly compare to the heat of Eddie’s touch as it migrates south. Touching her in places she’d dare not let anyone else go. Pushing buttons only he knows exist. Loving her body the way only he can.

Eddie’s tongue and lips move expertly as he gives her the pleasure he knows she deserves. With Eddie’s head between her thighs, Y/N’s almost certain this must be heaven on earth.

That is until he begins using his fingers and the feeling is just too good, but she knows she wants more. No needs more.

She needs Eddie unlike anything she’s ever needed before. 

And as the night progresses to where Y/N and Eddie are joined at every possible place, she knows she’ll never get enough. To feel so full and complete with Eddie like this is a feeling unlike any other. 

Eddie’s own body is electric. Red hot blood pumping violently throughout his veins. 

He sloppily kisses Y/N between thrusts and Y/N can barely think or breathe. All she can focus on is Eddie and how good he feels and how much she loves him. 

Y/N’s arms are wrapped around Eddie’s neck and her legs lock around his hips, holding him closely to her. As though any inch spent apart is too far.

Something primal overcomes both of them as they consummate their love for one another.

With no one around to hear, they cry each other's names out with each rocking motion. The slapping of skin and sounds of haggard breaths fill the air. 

It all just feels too good, like unearthly good. Eddie’s never even felt this way before. Like he was just made for loving Y/N.

​​“It’s okay, let go for me baby,” he coaxes. Y/N is on the verge of tears. The pain and pleasure become all too much for her. 

The coil of tension within her snaps. She cries out Eddie’s name in release and soon he’s crying out hers too. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers into her neck. 

Y/N whimpers and shudders under his touch as she sees stars. He rocks her through her pleasure as she comes down. 

She breathes heavily and as the sensations slowly subside, she lays down blissed out with Eddie and his heavenly body lying next to her.

After a moment to catch their breaths, Y/N and Eddie turn to face each other. Eddie pulls her body against his. He wraps his arm around her waist to hold her close. 

Y/N closes her eyes and smiles in bliss. Eddie places soft kisses on her lips and ends on her forehead. 

Y/N hums contentedly and nuzzles her head into his chest. 

While trying to catch her breath, Y/N manages to say, “Oh Eddie, that was-that was so good.”

“Yeah? You liked it?” 

You run your fingertips along the plane of his shoulder, “Mhm. Did you?”

“Every second of it. You did so well, baby.”

Y/N’s heart flutters at his words. “I love you Eddie.”

“I love you too baby.”

Eddie says he loves Y/N all the time. It’s not like it’s the first time he says it at all. But after what just happened, Y/N feels like it has a whole new meaning. Like he loves her for the first time in a way that is much deeper than any other time he has ever said it before.

She looks over at him and admires his full lips or soft cheeks. She can’t believe she gets to be here with him like this. 

Far from her mind are the thoughts or what happened months ago or what will happen months from now.

All she can think about is how happy she is and how much she loves the boy lying next to her.

***

Taglist:  @dotslabyrinth @aedicn @fancyghosttrashhero-blog @churchmuffins @urallidjits ​​@delusionalbabe @astrolockley @ebueller @im-julessssss @kimmi-kat @protecteddiemunson4vr @littlestarfighter03 @rosie-posie08 @prestinalove @luvrsbian @tvserie-s-world

[starzzach]

this is probably chronologically the third part. and by probably i mean i don't know :)

part 1 here, 2 here, 3(?) here!

Charles has some doubts. Carlos is the answer.

—

Some days are good days.

Today, however, is decidedly a very shit day. In all fairness, it's another shit day in a never-ending saga of shit days. Charles wishes he could say he's surprised.

And, look, Charles knows. Of course he knows. The team had been understandably concerned after practice, worrying over him like a group of annoying mother-hens, asking him if he was sure he wanted to continue, over and over and over again.

Most annoyingly might have been Carlos, pelting reason after reason at him until Charles had nearly shouted him out of his room. Really, he hadn't meant to curse him into not being able to race, but at least then he had a reason to continue.

A little selfish, a little mean. "Ferrari needs to enter a car," he'd said.

Carlos' face had been unreadable. "Of course we do."

"Will you stay?"

"Who else will make sure the strategy doesn't fuck up your race?" he'd said jokingly, but he didn't look very pleased about it. Charles understands too much to be angry at him for it.

Realistically, they could have never gotten away with swapping out the drivers anyway. But, for a few fleeting moments inside the car on the verge of total exhaustion, he'd wished they'd found a loophole of some sorts.

How he regrets it now (not really). He's not confident he'll be able to get up ever again. He's completely drained down to his bones.

"Brought your favourite," Carlos announces, padding into the room and joining Charles on the bed, sitting cross-legged next to him, poking his side. "Come on, you need to eat."

Charles deeply inhales – the smell of the pasta carbonara, not Carlos, of course not Carlos – and decides he hasn't committed enough fuckery yet today. He eyes the box in Carlos' hand. "'S not my favourite."

Maybe it's a little mean, a little selfish for him to want Carlos' stomach to drop at least once today to Charles' fifty – but his words have his intended effect, because Carlos does, in fact, look crestfallen. "But, you said..." he falters, trailing off.

"You are my favourite," he says, trying to grin teasingly, though he's hardly sure he even has the energy left. It probably comes out as a grimace but Carlos looks at him... he looks at him as if he's the most beautiful thing in the world.

It's dangerous, the game they play, he knows. It's dangerous, the way Charles' omega soars when Carlos' eyes light up. And, yet.

Yet. They will have a baby. Charles will have a baby that looks like Carlos. If he had any doubts about it all, the time to bring it up would have been at the start of this thing, when it started two years ago. It would have been then.

The time isn't now, when Carlos' fingers are twisting themselves in Charles' hair, petting him in a way Charles has a hard time letting even his mother do. It isn't now, Carlos dragging him into his lap and feeding him slowly, free hand inching up his shirt to trace comforting circles on his back.

It isn't now, Carlos whispering "Want to nest?" into his neck, and it slowly dawns on him that maybe they're both needing comfort and Charles hasn't nested in months and never with someone else outside of his heats, but Carlos is asking.

"No," Charles replies, and just like that, his fingers start to itch with the urge– the urge to build a nest and curl up in it, and worm his not-quite-boyfriend into cuddling him in it, the urge to do all of the stupidly domestic things Charles has sworn he hates, has sworn he would never do. Especially not with Carlos.

Carlos is asking, and Charles has never wanted like this.

The urge itches, like a rash Charles just can't seem to stop scratching at, despite his fingers being perfectly still. He's sure if he closes his eyes again he could paint a very pretty, very tempting picture. Carlos looks at him knowingly, and, pathetically, it's all it takes for Charles' normally iron-strong resolve to crumble. "No, sure," he amends, his voice on the edge of pleading.

"You have an appointment in two days," Carlos says later that night, a note of regret in his voice. "I have to be in Madrid."

Charles' nose scrunches in distaste. He doesn't like going to his appointments in general, let alone the ones when Carlos can't come, but it's important to know the baby's health or something. "Maybe it died after the race, and I don't need to go," he suggests. "I know I almost did."

Carlos' fingers still in his hair. "Don't say things like that," he says tensely. "It's not a joke."

"Bad things happen to me."

"The baby isn't a bad thing."

"Of course not," Charles mutters, but he feels uneasy, too. The miscarriage scare a few weeks ago hadn't exactly provided comfort to his doubts. The fact that he'd never wanted a baby before Carlos hadn't helped either.

But, before Carlos is key. Because Charles does want a baby now, with Carlos. He wants their baby. And maybe he's a little scared as to how much he wants their baby.

(How much he wants Carlos.)

Charles feels his face get hot, and reminds himself over and over again it's just the pregnancy, it's just the race, it's just the damn baby.

Tentatively, he covers Carlos' hand with his, guiding it lightly to his stomach. Carlos takes the hint, intertwining their hands and gently caressing the skin of his belly. Charles' whole body starts to relax, their bubble of safe away from the rest of the world.

Two days later, Charles gets the confirmation that the baby is, in fact, not dead. It's healthy. Healthier than most. "Little baby," Carlos murmurs over the phone, far, too far, sounding fond. "Our little baby."

Charles' omega sings a happy song, and if he was far along enough for the baby to be kicking he's sure he or she would have. Like parent, like baby, he thinks faintly, closing his eyes and imagining Carlos beside him.

Some days become good days.

[conchcronch]

Making a Mess Part 3

Sanji x Zoro

Sanji’s vow to stave off drinking comes to a swift end when he finds himself in the red light district being handed free drinks. Yet another night of drinking with Zoro leads to them repeating their first night together.

If you haven’t already, please read part 1 and 2 before continuing, otherwise it won’t make much sense.

NSFW below the cut.

“Sanji, you’re gonna’ come ashore with us right?” Nami asked him as he collected the empty glasses he had served the girls’ drinks in.

”How could I turn down an invitation from such a beautiful lady, my sweet Nami,” He smiled.

”Even if you’re still taking a break from drinking it’ll still be fun to have you!” Franky added from where he was playing volleyball with Usopp, Chopper and Luffy on the deck of the Sunny.

”I was thinking of stopping at the night market, I’ve heard it’s got some rare ingredients I’d like to try to get my hands on.”

“Get me more sake, Curly,” Zoro called as he climbed down from the crow’s nest.

”Get it yourself Moss-For-Brains!” Sanji bit back, his demeanor immediately changing at the swordsman’s words.

“At least I’ve got brains, all you think about are tits and-“ Zoro expertly dodged Sanji’s first kick before grabbing his second one. He held it tightly, finally meeting the cook’s rage filled gaze, smirking for a second before lifting the leg he held as high as Sanji’s muscles would allow it. Clearly not expecting Zoro’s attempt at a counter, a gasp slipping past his lips as Zoro winked before letting his leg go with a slight shove to push him off balance, giving him time to walk away before Sanji could get another kick in.

Frustration built in Sanji but he opted to let Zoro be, choosing to silently collect the last few cups from his crewmates and hoping no one noticed the wink…or how flushed his cheeks were after.

They avoided each other like two positively charged magnets until they all went ashore. Avoiding each other wasn’t new, it had been a daily occurrence but after that night, things had changed. Sanji found Zoro sitting in his kitchen, sometimes even napping in the booth while he prepped in between meals. They hadn’t talked about that night, but it was apparent they both remembered it, the wink made that very clear.

Once everyone got to town, people began walking in pairs. As Sanji walked in the direction he was told the night market was, he felt someone close at his heels, turning to see Zoro. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he was, even more so when the man spoke “Want help?” They kept walking, now side by side as they maneuvered the growing crowds of this town’s tavern scene.

“N-No I’m alright, don’t let me get in the way of your drinking.” Sanji waved him off but Zoro’s pace never faltered.

“I’ll drink after, figured you’d need someone to carry your bags since you’re so dainty.” Sanji felt his brow twitch in annoyance but before he could come up with a retort they noticed the crowd thin. Zoro looked around, pulling Sanji to the side while he pulled a small notebook from his back pocket to look at the directions he had hastily wrote when someone a few islands over had told him about it.

“Says it should be around here,” Sanji looks up from the pages and scans the surrounding area. “I guess we’ll keep looking.” Sanji grabs Zoro’s forearm, knowing that if he let go now, Zoro would surely get lost. The swordsman didn’t fight this, not agreeing that he would get lost, but the feeling of Sanji’s hand wrapped around his exposed arm had his blood pumping more than he’d want to admit.

They kept walking, turning down an ally when Sanji thought he smelled meat being cooked. As the sun finally dipped under the horizon they turned a few corners and found themselves on the edge of town. The streets were lined with dim lanterns that cast a flickering red glow as they walked under them. Sanji still had his nose in his notebook, as though the directions would appear only for a second and he’d miss it if he looked away. A smile spread across Zoro’s lips slowly as he looked around at the bars and the people who were along the paths, taking special interest in anyone who would make eye contact with them. Zoro hastily wrapped his arm around Sanji’s waist, forcibly pulling him to the side of the path and coming to a stop. “Okay, not that I’m complaining, but this definitely isn’t the kind of night market you’re looking for.” Sanji looked around, it took a bit for it to sink in, but when it did his face flushed. “Come on Curly, we walked all the way here, might as well take in the sights.” Zoro smirked, grabbing the cook’s tie and pulling him towards the nearest bar. Sanji managed to wrench his tie from the other man’s hand, stopping just outside the threshold. There were a few scantily clad women walking along the building, trying to make eyes at Zoro who paid them no mind.

“I’m not sure I wa-“ Zoro grabbed the tie again.

”Stop doing that!” Sanji groaned, trying to pry the larger hands off the fabric while being led into the crowded bar. Zoro stopped and pulled enough Berries from his pocket to pay the cover for the both of them before tugging on the tie again. “I’m not a dog!” Sanji had to yell over the music, finally ripping the tie out of Zoro’s grasp and tucking it back into his buttoned blazer. They quickly found a pair of stools at the bar, Zoro immediately ordered two shots as Sanji was looking around the bar, but he didn’t know what or who for. He just wanted to look busy even though he could feel Zoro’s eyes burning holes into his back. Sanji’s gaze fell on a small stage that he could just barely see over the crowd that had gathered there, it wasn’t until he watched a woman wearing a dress that left very very little to the imagination that he realized the type of club this was. He watched as she dragged herself along the single golden pole before spinning around it as she ran her free hand up and down her body.

“Oi, Curly,” Zoro said close enough to his ear that he felt his lips brush along his lobe for a fraction of a second. He turned to look at the man who handed him a shot.

“So much for not drinking for awhile,” Sanji attempted to yell over the music that had suddenly gotten even louder. The drink burned the entire way down his throat as he tried to recall the last time he had done a shot…if ever. He hadn’t even been holding the empty shot glass for 10 seconds before Zoro replaced it with another full one before tossing back his own. “What’re you, made of money?” Sanji had to yell over the music but Zoro couldn’t hear. Just as Sanji was about to repeat himself, louder this time, Zoro pulled Sanji’s stool as close to his own as he could before leaning so close he could feel his breath on his neck. That, paired with the alcohol rushing through his system, was a problematic combo.

“They’re free,” Zoro yelled, voice gravelly. Sanji could just furrow his brow in response. Zoro nodded over his shoulder towards a guy sitting at the end of the bar, he had been staring since the two sat down. “Don’t put too much thought into it, just take it and say thanks.” Zoro put another glass in Sanji’s hand before holding his up towards the stranger even going as far as to shoot him a wink before tossing it back. Sanji mimicked him, minus the wink.

Sanji could feel the alcohol warm his thighs, his cheeks felt hot as he watched the woman spin around the pole. Zoro said something but Sanji didn’t catch it so he leaned into him, feeling his body sway into the other man’s who slung an arm around his shoulders and brought his lips right against his ear. “You wanna go somewhere quieter?” He nodded, forcing himself up, Zoro’s arm slipping down to his waist.

“Where would that be?” Zoro tugged him, leading him away from the bar and up some stairs. “How do you know where we’re going?” They got to another floor and the swordsman started peaking into rooms, ignoring the closed doors. The music thumped downstairs while moans could barely be heard from the closed doors.

“These places are all the same,” He muttered, finding an empty room and tugging Sanji inside, closing the door behind them. Both men flopped on the curved couch, Sanji’s eyes glued to the silver pole in the middle.

“You come to these places a lot?” Zoro picked up an abandoned glass of clear liquid, sniffed it before drinking it.

“Gotta’ blow off some steam sometimes, y’know,” Sanji nodded. “No you don’t.”

“The hell do you mean I don’t?”

“You never blow off steam.” Zoro leaned back against the couch before stretching his arms above his head, his shirt pulling up enough to show off his treasure trail.

“You don’t know what I do.” Sanji began digging through his pockets until he pulled out a cigarette from one and his lighter from the other, taking no time at all to light it and inhale deeply. Exhaling directly in Zoro’s face.

“I know that you popped a boner the moment I held you against that wall.” Zoro beamed with a cocky grin. If it hadn’t been for the alcohol coursing through his veins he would have been beyond flustered, but instead he felt a competitive burst.

“I had drank a lot.” Zoro reached both arms back, resting them on the top of the couch back, his knees spread wide as he smirked at the other man.

“Yeah, like it wouldn’t happen again.” He said sarcastically, Sanji opted to stay quiet knowing that Zoro was probably right. Sanji inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with smoke, holding it for a few seconds before pushing it out his nostrils. When a few more seconds went by Sanji finally met Zoro’s eyes,

“Why’re we here?” Sanji asked, resisting the urge to crunch the cigarette between his front teeth in frustration. The urge only growing when he watched Zoro shrug.

“You’re the one that dragged me across this town, I’m just trying to make the most of it.” Sanji’s eyes scanned over the other man, taking in the way his white shirt was stretched across his large chest, the fabric struggling to hold when his chest was at the apex of an inhale.

Zoro could barely handle the way Sanji’s eyes slid over his body, lingering on his thighs before slowly making their way back up to his chest. He watched as Sanji unconsciously ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip leaving a shine over them. It was becoming too much for the Swordsman who pushed himself up, the alcohol tingling in his loins as he used his foot to nudge the blonde’s knees apart enough to be able to stand between them.

Sanji would be lying to himself if he tried to say he didn’t love the way the other man towered over him. If he had a few more drinks in him, he’s fairly certain he would have leaned over and mouthed at his covered semi but thankfully for his ego he maintained his relaxed posture, puffing a cloud of smoke up at Zoro who remained unmoving. “What’re you waiting for? Or did you forget what you were doing?”

“Big talk from someone who can’t admit that they want me.” Sanji rolled his eyes, leaning forward and around Zoro to tap the ash from his cigarette in the ashtray before leaning back again, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Like you said, it’s just blowing off steam.” He knew it was probably more than that, he knew that it was something to do with who he was dealing with that made him keep putting himself in positions to repeat their first night together. But he would rather never cook again than admit that to anyone.

Something in Zoro changed but Sanji was too dumb to notice. Zoro reached out and grabbed the cigarette, pulling it from his lips and snuffing it out on the table before handing Sanji one of the shots that had been on the table when they got here. “Smoke tastes terrible.” Sanji begrudgingly did what was silently instructed to him before putting the shot back on the table. Zoro still didn’t move.

“Jesus Marimo, are you waiting for an invitation?!” Sanji was getting frustrated, his dick was half hard in anticipation and Zoro was fully aware of that, that was part of the reason he wasn’t going to give in so quick.

“I want you to say it.” He bent his leg just slightly so it could ghost over the bulge.

“Say what,” Sanji knew exactly what Zoro wanted, he wasn’t a complex person and even less of a complex lover. But Sanji wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be so free with his words, especially when it involved him admitting how much he craved the swordsman he swore to kill one day.

“Say you want me.” Sanji huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t need to say shit, I could go downstairs and find 5 people that do what you did ten times better.”

“That may be true but at least I won’t infect you with something that would give our poor doctor a heart attack.” Zoro reached behind him for the other glass of unknown alcohol and knocked it back. “Just say it and I’ll give you what we both want,” he reached his hand forward to grab Sanji’s tie, tugging him forward a bit.

When Sanji stayed silent Zoro shrugged as he stepped away from Sanji, letting the tie slip from between his thick fingers before walking around the table in the center of the room towards the door. “Have fun jerking off in a private room, I’m gonna go find a good fuck.” And just like that, Sanji was alone with his half hard dick and alcohol clouded brain.

He couldn’t force himself to get up yet, practically praying his dick would go down enough that it wasn’t noticeable so he could get out of the bar and back to the ship without risking unwanted attention. He carded his fingers through his hair, silently cursing himself for not being able to just swallow his pride and say something.

After a few minutes Sanji had finally deflated enough to start heading back to the ship, only half concerned about whether Zoro would find his way back or not.

But before he could even make it to the exit he saw Zoro with the guy who had been buying them shots earlier. The man was still sitting on the bar stool and Zoro was standing between his knees, arms thrown around his neck, eye staring at the stairs where Sanji now stood. He could tell Zoro saw him by the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk as he kissed the man.

“Fuck.” Sanji grumbled, balling his fists as he cleared the distance between them in a few long strides, he grabbed the front of Zoro’s shirt and yanked him away from the stranger. Zoro smiled the biggest Sanji had ever seen, knowing he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Sanji pulled him back up the stairs, but only made it to the landing before he slammed Zoro into the wall like the swordsman had done all those nights ago.

“Say it.” Zoro said, hands already on Sanji’s chest and snaking around to the back pockets of his pants.

“You’re a lot of work”

“Not what I meant.” Sanji used his height to his advantage and lowered his head so he could smell the gin on Zoro’s breath. Zoro’s hands on Sanji’s ass pulled him close, so their crotches were pressed together, neither of them surprised by the other’s hard on. “It’s fine,” Zoro nipped at what little of Sanji’s neck was exposed under his one undone button. “I’m sick of waiting, I’ll have you begging in a few minutes,” Zoro pushed him back with one hand before using the other to grab the front of his shirt and pulling him back to the room they had been in moments earlier. Zoro slammed the door shut and all but threw Sanji into the couch. He landed sprawled out, barely having a second to get his bearings before Zoro straddled his lap.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Sanji smirked, his bangs pushed out of the way of his eye so he could see Zoro in his full glory.

“Not a challenge, a promise.” Zoro leaned down and started to mouth at his neck, one hand gripping the back of the couch to hold himself up while the other worked on unbuttoning Sanji’s shirt. One of the lower buttons got stuck and instead of pulling back from Sanji’s neck, Zoro tore the fabric apart.

“What the fuck!” Sanji went to push him off but before he could, Zoro’s hands were all over his chest. They slide painfully slow up his chest, they were wide enough to almost wrap around Sanji’s sides. Zoro was sitting watching the cook’s expression as his thumbs brushed experimentally over each of his nipples, watching the way Sanji’s lips parted before he caught his lower lip between his teeth just in time to stifle a moan that was about to slip out. He kept his left hand where it was, lazily teasing the cook’s nipple while the other hand slid up to his neck as he admired the hickies from their first encounter that were just barely there. “If you think this will get me begging, you’re sorely mistaken.” Sanji managed to say without his voice wavering as much as he expected. Zoro huffed a cocky laugh.

“If you think this is me trying then you’re sorely mistaken. I’m just thinking.”

“Oh god, don’t strain yourself Marimo,” Sanji smirked half a second before Zoro’s grip in his neck tightened, his thumb biting into the chef’s windpipe just enough for him to feel it.

“God, it’s like you want me to leave you again.” Zoro adjusted himself on Sanji’s lap, making sure he was still painfully hard, earning a whimper from the man under him was just a bonus. Zoro leaned over Sanji, his lips a few millimeters away from the other’s and slowly began grinding against him. Zoro was quickly getting irritated the longer Sanji managed to keep his mouth shut. He could tell that he was enjoying this, he even felt his cock twitch every so often. Zoro dragged his lips along the chef’s cheek, along his jaw and down to his neck, hoping he would get some sort of reaction.

He began sucking the skin roughly, surly turning it red and purple. He could feel Sanji’s jaw clench and as Zoro shifted his weight and moved his leg from beside Sanji’s to between them, pushing his knee as high as it could go he heard the whisper of a moan. He kept going, doubling down with some moans of his own which worked wonderfully.

Sanji was moaning and whimpering like a whore, even when Zoro pulled away to look at him he kept whining, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Please,” Zoro grinned.

“Please what, Curly?” He asked while grinding more against him, groaning a bit while doing it.

“You know what.” He pleaded.

“I really don’t, remember I’ve got moss for brains.” He could hear Sanji whine a bit and just as he opened his mouth to speak, Zoro slipped his hand into his pants as if it were something he had done a thousand times. His hand was immediately covered in precum, he wrapped his calloused hand around Sanji’s burning hot cock and began to stroke him. Sanji all but cried at the contact before Zoro felt two sweaty hands grab his forearm, bringing his attention up to the other man’s face. His eyes were glassy, lips red from him biting them and he shook his head slightly. “You don’t want me to?” Sanji shook his head again but then swallowed hard and in a very raw voice said,

“I want nothing more than you to, but I’m gonna’ cum if you don’t stop,” his voice was shaky and cracked as he spoke. His grip loosened as Zoro pulled his hand from his slacks and sat up. There was a heavy silence as both men were trying to figure out what to do next, neither wanting to look at the other.

After a few minutes, just before Zoro was about to get up, Sanji sat up. He slowly pulled his legs from between Zoro’s thighs, unbuckling his pants and feeling relieved at the lessened pressure. He looked over, seeing the last of the abandoned shot glasses left by someone before them. He reached over, knocked one back before turning his attention back to Zoro who had become very invested in the cracks and dents on the wall behind Sanji.

It wasn’t until he felt Sanji’s hand on his chest, applying just enough pressure to tell Zoro that he wanted him to lay back. “I…I didn’t like the thought of you making me…and never offering anything in return.” His face was burning up but it was impossible to tell if it was from the alcohol or the sentence that left his bitten lips.

“You don’t have to…” Sanji was on top of him now, looking down at him. Zoro so rarely saw both of Sanji’s eyes that when he did he couldn’t look away.

“I want to, I know you’re dumb but you can’t be that dumb, right Marimo.” For some reason that name, that name that had always pissed Zoro off didn’t this time. The way he said it was different, the gentle touch of his hand in Zoro’s hair and the way his lips felt pressed against the Swordsman’s. It was sloppy, sure, it tasted of nicotine and gin but Zoro didn’t think he had ever been kissed like this.

At first, Zoro grabbed his waist, pushing his dress shirt up enough to feel skin. But as Sanji continued the kiss, the swordsman found himself wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him flush against him. His hands went from his waist to his ass, loving the way the muscle fit into his palms. Zoro barely registered Sanji’s hands pulling at the bottom of his T-shirt, signaling that he wanted it off. Zoro reluctantly let go of his ass so he could sit up, straddling his hips like Zoro had done only a bit ago to him. Sanji pulled his shirt off of him then struggled off the tattered remains of his own. While he was doing that, Zoro unzipped his cargo pants but didn’t take them fully off. Sanji reached into the open pants and only a bit clumsily groped Zoro’s aching bulge. Even though it was clear Sanji was unsure of himself a heavy groan fell from Zoro’s lips as his head fell back against the crusty cushion.

Feeling emblazoned, Sanji awkwardly tries to wrap his hand around Zoro’s cock through his underwear. He fiddled, hoping for it to feel right in his hand but without much overthinking he yanked the underwear down and under his balls so it would stay. His hand wrapped slowly around Zoro’s shaft, stroking it with unsure hands, trying to get used to the feeling. Zoro on the other hand, was trying to control himself. He wanted nothing more than to tell Sanji how to do it, tell him to tighten his fist, cup his balls and for the love of god go faster. But he resisted, knowing that Sanji was still getting used to this and was going at his own pace.

Sanji was quickly getting more accustomed to the feeling, deciding he wanted more than this, he crawled up from between Zoro’s thick sun kissed thighs. He moved up along his sculpted form, leaving a trail of wet kisses that turned into him dragging his tongue along the man’s salty skin. Without so much as a first, second or third thought, he latched onto the swordsman’s nipple, flicking it with his tongue and feeling Zoro’s cock twitch in his grasp. He looked up through his lashes at Zoro, pleased to see his head was thrown back and a heavy sigh left his parted lips.

While Sanji was distracted by teasing Zoro, his hand had slowed to barely stroking his aching cock and Zoro was boardering on feral the longer it went without any motion. Sanji detached his lips from Zoro’s nipple and nibbled his way up to Zoro’s chin, loving the way he could feel his laboured breath against his face. “Jesus, Curly,” Zoro all but grunted, causing Sanji to pull back and look at him with a slightly concerned expression. “You’re fuckin’ killing me.” Zoro reached down both of his hands, leaning forward a bit to reach, he covered Sanji’s hand with his own and started guiding him to a pace that was less frustrating. “Need you to go faster.” Sanji sat back on his haunches, giving the other man’s cock his full attention now. Loving the way the girthy cock looked wrapped in three hands. Zoro watched Sanji who’s breathing was quick and his cheeks flushed, when he noticed Sanji nod, he let go and leaned back. A long groan left his lips as Sanji maintained the exact speed and pressure Zoro had set, he couldn’t help but blindly reach out for contact of any kind. He managed to find Sanji’s face, pulling his attention up to his face he sighed out a “Fuck, just like that.” Sanji moved his head so he could catch Zoro’s thumb between his teeth before closing his lips around it and sucking, his eyes fluttering closed. “Such a good boy,” In any other situation, Zoro would never have said something like that so early in their sexual relationship, but when he saw Sanji’s clothed cock noticeably jump he made a mental note to call him that more often.

As Sanji kept jerking Zoro’s cock with one hand, he reached into his briefs pushing them down so he could finally give his dick the attention it so desperately craved. Zoro quickly notices, grabs the waist of Sanji’s now open slacks and tugs him a bit. “Come ‘ere,” He says, wanting Sanji to straddle him.

Once Sanji resumes his position on Zoro, Zoro bats away Sanji’s hand that was still on his cock and replaces it with his, encircling both of their dicks and holding them tightly against one another. With one hand occupied, he uses his free hand to grab Sanji by the throat again, pulling him down until their lips are smashed together.

Zoro’s pace is fast and rough, and the kiss mirrors that. It’s all teeth, tongue, and moans which normally Sanji would be against but he is reveling in it. “P-Please don’t st-stop,” Sanji whines into Zoro’s mouth, biting the swordsman's bottom lip instead of his own.

“Told ya’ I could make you beg.” Zoro grunted, the corners of his mouth upturned in a cocky grin.

“Fuck you,” Sanji says, his tone was meant to be harsh but it came out as a whine.

“Would love it if you did” Zoro growls out, his pace on their cocks increasing until Sanji finally snaps, his cock spilling on Zoro’s stomach. He goes as limp as he can without getting his stomach covered in their cum, Zoro lets go of his neck and very subtly moves over so Sanji can collapse onto Zoro’s side to avoid the puddle. Zoro loosens his hand enough that Sanji’s cock is freed from the feverish pace he is going at to try to reach his own peak. It isn’t until he feels Sanji’s hand replace his own, mimicking his pace bringing him closer to his edge. Zoro can feel Sanji’s warm breath on his neck, and paired with the attention his cock is getting he doesn’t last much longer, cumming with a groan from far back in his throat.

They both laid there for a bit, enjoying their afterglow together. Zoro fidgets enough that he can wrap his arm around Sanji, pulling him even closer than they already were, given how narrow the couch is. Neither of them commented on this intimate gesture, both chalking it up to the post cum fog.

Zoro gropes the sticky floor blindly until he manages to find his forgotten t-shirt, using it to wipe up the cooling mess on his abs. Sanji took this as a signal to squirm out of the cramped spot he had between the back of the couch and the larger man, sitting up and watching Zoro, taking him in for a few seconds. Loving the way he could see his tan chest, minty treasure trail that was now slightly crusty with dried cum.He could even see some prominent veins leading down to his cock. “You always leave your cock out after sex?” Zoro joked, lifting his ass up enough that he could pull his pants back into place before stuffing his deflating cock back in.

“Do you always use your clothes to sop up your cum?” Sanji countered as he sorted himself out, watching as Zoro stuffed his soiled shirt in his back pocket so it dangled as he walked.

They both made their way out of the bar, Zoro pulling Sanji through the crowd towards the exit. The moment they were out in the cool sea air, Sanji fished around his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it before having to quickly grab Zoro as he started off in the opposite direction of the boat. They walked silently back to the ship, neither of them bringing up the fact that their hands had been intertwined since they had left the bar.

The silence was broken by Sanji just as Zoro was about to start climbing the ladder onto the Sunny, “They’re gonna know.” His gaze following the trail of hickies he had left all over Zoro’s chest and neck, some even going down to his hips and below the waist of his pants. Zoro managed to catch the slight shake in Sanji’s voice, squeezing his hand ever so slightly before letting it go and shrugging.

“We’ll just tell ‘em we found a set of twins or some shit. No one will ask you, and if someone asks me, I’ll make up something.” He started climbing the ladder, looking back at the blonde man who’s fingers were seconds away from getting burnt by the ash gathering at the end of his cigarette. “It’ll be fine, Curly” He winked and climbed the rest of the way up once he felt the other man begin to climb behind him.

[runaway-dreamers]

[Part 1, 2, 3]

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

At the end of all I knew I find the beginning of you and I.

The Everyday Life of Wally Darling

Word count: 1,302

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Papers covered in colorful ink lay in messy piles. A single lamp  light shined down on a notebook, and beside that  lay a crumpled figure curled up within a bundle of blankets. Among the steadily growing collection of notes and drawings hid the unspoken. It lingered between  spaces  floating at the top of white backdrop. It stopped your pen once or  twice. It roared high like a distant wave, but fizzled to a crawling lull of  rolling water failing to reach your feet before the ocean sucked it back in. 

It spoke when you waited for a response to flutter from within the ceramic pumpkin where reality split in two. The nested swirl of blue and black plunged the room into a damp chill. All was silent beyond the creaking floorboards as you adjusted your sore body. Your crying ceased, replaced with labored breath, your tears dried on your face. Hair stuck to your pallid skin. It itched along where the strands clung, but you were far too tired to care. 

Letters fluttered in descending on your figure. You choose to forgo the envelopes as it would slow your response. You printed your thoughts with careful lettering for fear of misunderstanding. Should the tenuous line of communication shudder and fall apart, you hoped your words would ring clear in his mind. Your rampant need for connection was tempered by the loss crushing you to the ground where you lay. 

His red crayon had worn down to a nub, his shared worry shaped his words. Each question was meant to impart something new, something sacred to be kept. There in his stretched thin j's did you find his fear guided strokes. There in your incomplete o's did he find the pains of your impatience. The conversation was one about walking. The discussion lingering on lengths traveled, on sights seen, on passing glimpses of ghostly shapes. 

From above came the darkness raking cold hands down your back. It pawed with clawless fingers in repeated succession. Each passing coaxing an ache that spread tremors all throughout. You sucked in a sharp breath as your writing hand dulled with a spreading tingle. It lay flat on the cool floor rushing its pass. And just before it becomes a memory the pen is taken up and your o's grow incomplete. 

Julie had given you a pressed flower, it lay melted between the folded wax sheet. Sally sent a speckle of stardust that dulled to golden glitter. From Howdy came a caramel apple, but from within worms squirmed in the flesh of sagging fruit. Eddie's colorful craft of construction paper rings had crumpled apart and faded to dull grays. Poppy's muffins had crumbled around the portal coming to you already dust. Frank had left Wally with the vortex swirling within the guts of pumpkins. Letters from moments ago were already running with ink pooling together in a congealed mass of putrid nothingness. Words soaked the pages erasing all that had been contained, eating them all without a moment's break. 

Still each word was crafted with care. Each line is dotted with varied punctuation enunciating poorly remembered jokes. Each smile, every question, and all the answers took shape as intended, as needed. Your arm has cramped again. Sweat ran down the back of your neck drying to your skin and shirt. With a panging ache you dragged yourself up onto your arms. Your knees wobbled beneath you, and soon you sat upright. With great difficulty you held yourself up as the ache thrummed from head to toe. Each breath rattled in your lungs, but it was easier to draw in without the pressure of you and the floor. A note dropped in from the void.

[Y/N]

My letters from you have rotted. My memories of you have flown away. From within, my mind has no doubt, the pieces of you have molded through. 

[Wally] 

Where you once stood has become a vacant space. Snatched from me, your fading voice lingers beneath hollow winds. A wordless voice, devoid of thought or refrain, becomes the whole of what stays. 

[Y/N]

Where I am, you will be. Where you are, I will stay. An endless conversation, an endless changing of hands.

[Wally]

And if an end draws near? 

[Y/N]

Never spare me from harsh realities. Let me know the course of change. 

[Wally] 

The pumpkin rots. 

And the silence began. The letters slowed. The topic ceased. You sat alone with puffy eyes watching the swirl of a fading rip between you and him. You measured the passing time against thudding heartbeats. Your eyes pulled away to the notebook resting among the piles. Pages had been torn away and reused in a bid to talk longer. With careful hands the book was lifted and came to rest on your lap. You flipped through the remaining curdled pages. 

Eyes peered back at you, vibrant and unseeing. The lines had taken on a watery look, but they had not muddled together. Your fingers pressed against the beading of liquid. It stuck to your fingers coating the crevices of your skin. It dried flakey and pigmented. It bled like a cut, you marveled. The book remained unchanged save for the slowly smearing lines. This book traveled with you from one place to the next, it had seen everything. 

Your eyes looked briefly at the soggy mass forming in the corner of your light. The floorboards swelled with rot. And here in your hands something had outlasted the younger papers. You inched closer to the portal, closer than you had gone before. A breeze parted through your hair. Your skin paled against it. Something tugged at the notebook. You inched closer and the tug became a strong pull. Yanked from your hand it leapt to the portal. Sticky tendrils latched onto it, drinking it into nothingness. You sat stunned by the vigor the spinning vortex showed. A bright light engulfed your room blinding you. Something dropped onto your lap. With blurry eyes you pawed at the paper. 

[Wally]

What was that?

[Frank]

What did you do?

Are you alright?

[Y/N]

It devoured our notebook. It devoured it and sprung back to life! 

[Frank]

Our notebook fed it? What else can we feed it? 

[Y/N]

I'm not sure, that was all I had except, except the earring. 

The ceramic pumpkin cracked down its side. The portal spun into a tight circle shaking against the sides of it. The sound of ripping ceramic filled the room before it shattered to pieces. Each jagged edge was caught in the pull of the growing portal. Your blanket had fallen from your frame as the burst of air filled your apartment. You stared at the massive hole forming before you. It glowed like vibrant jellyfish dancing down into the bottomless dark. 

"Amazing.." You whispered. The soggy pages squelched as the tendrils stabbed into them. They were absorbed by the mass. You stood on shaking legs as voices floated on the breeze. 

"Wh-What even is this!?" 

"Oh, my goodness! Look at how pretty it is!" 

"A vortex? Here of all places? Quite an old one, too. How perplexing…" 

"I-I heard screams and I- OH MY FEATHERS!" 

"Was that Y/N's mailbox?" 

"Y/N's mailbox?" 

"Y/N! Can you hear me?" 

You ran tossing yourself against the solid glass-like cover to the vortex. Your earring was lifted and gently tugged from the clip on your lobe, "I'm here! I'm here! Please, hear me!" 

"I want to come back Home!" 

You landed somewhere dark. The expansive sky above filled your vision. Stars shined brightly all throughout. The smell of pumpkins wafted in the gentle breeze that rocked bare branches. Around you came groans. Blue hair, undone and slightly dirty, tickled your nose. 

A familiar face leaned in close, "Welcome Home." 

[sweetheartmotives]

Spending Christmas with the yans!

Desc and possible Cw: Clumsy yan. None, wholesome wholesome wholesome! :3

Let me know if I missed any!

Micah, The yan Bartender: Micah was absolutely ecstatic about Christmas! They always over decorate (clutter their entire house with Christmas-related items) and it's a hassle to clean and put away when the holiday is over.

Beside that, Micah decided you two should make gingerbread men to go along with the little gingerbread house you made. It was messy yet fun, Micah made a little Kirby gingerbread man. Other than that, they bought you a bunch of expensive presents!

Jaakobah, Evil Yan Cupid: Jaakobah didn't know or really care for holidays besides Valentine's Day, but when you started decorating for Christmas, they got intrigued. You decided to have hot cocoa and watch a Christmas movie, not really expecting Jaakobah to care. But they did and they sat on the couch with you! It was a normal night, besides the annoying talking in your ear (Jaakobah).

Harper, The yan Eagle Hybrid: Another yan that didn't know what Christmas was! When they came up to their nest (the cave that's high in the sky), you were sad! After some pestering, you finally told them what was wrong. It was something along the lines of missing your family and wanting to be with them for Christmas. Harper was heartbroken but at the same time pitiful. Their mate is lonely and in need of comfort!

Harper decided to snuggle with you for the holiday. They can't do much else beside decorate the cave with leafs and red berries since you explained Christmas and what it's supposed to look like.

Damian, The yan deep diver: Damian was the one who came up with the idea of celebrating Christmas together. He bought and brought you new toys and treats as presents, he also tried to kiss you but obviously, you didn't let that happen. The bite mark on his cheek still hurts..

Taiyō, the Yandere Cafe Host: Taiyō bought you lots of expensive gifts as well! They decided to go look at Christmas lights on houses as a fun activity between you two.

Yumako, The yan magical girl: She was so excited for Christmas!! The Both of you went to multiple Christmas events on the 24th and after that, she brought you to her house to sleep over. When the both of you woke up Christmas morning, she made hot cocoa as you got comfortable. She handed you presents and watched you open them with a sweet and kind smile on her face. She also took lots of pictures! It's totally going in her album of you <3

Isla, the Platonic!Yandere witch: Isla doesn't celebrate Christmas but she'll drink hot chocolate with you and watch the Polar Express.

Kaan, the yan vampire: OH. MY. GOODNESS!! You jackpotted with them! They got you so many presents.. it took you 2 hours to open them all! Whatever you like and ever wanted, they got for you. They made a special dinner for you as well! It was so good... at the end of the night, they brought you (forced you) on their lap and cuddled you the rest of the day while listening to a creepy vintage song.

Tomen, the Clumsy Yandere: His stupid ass messed everything up. Burned the cookies, crushed the presents, etc.

Lelantos, the yan Stalker: They edged to your excited squeals of receiving presents. (presents from family, friends, etc!)

Apollo, the Yandere Otter Hybrid: They screamed with excited and pure glee at the mear sight of presents. Gifts?! From you?! What a wonderful day! They will remember and cherish this moment forever.

Yandere Arctic Fox Hybrid: Didn't do anything special for Christmas. But they bred you the entire day as a gift. 💀

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

Pheeewwww! It's done! Yay! :D I hope everyone has a good rest of their day!

I hope you enjoyed reading as I enjoyed writing! (^.^)

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

[eoieopda]

“tomorrow’s ours” by lights follow for dearest joonie, please<3

-> 🔭

hope you like it, my sweet sweet 🔭🌸

listen here

i wanna pull you out and set you in the sunlight / i wanna tell you that your dreams are worth it / it’s all good, don’t give up / you’re gonna be all right

You’d had bad days before, but this one was for the birds.

It started at 2:31 AM with your apartment building’s fire alarms ripping you from sleep. You then spent over an hour outside on a windy city sidewalk, burrowing yourself into your boyfriend’s side — for warmth and for cover — as he miraculously slept while standing up.

Looking your worst with a bird’s nest where your bun should be; Pikachu slippers where your shoes should be; and Namjoon’s giant sweatshirt covering the bits where your pants should be.

The worst part about it all wasn’t your now-public appearance; it was that the fire department dealt with this same situation on a monthly basis. To wit: Your ancient neighbor, Min Ji-soo, and her inability — or, more likely, her outright refusal — to use her electric tea kettle responsibly.

At a reasonable hour.

Like a human being who lives in a society.

This unfortunate embarrassment and lack of rest would’ve been manageable if the universe felt inclined to stop there.

It, of course, did not.

The minimal sleep you got upon returning to your bed wouldn’t be enough to save you from the subsequent horrors.

When your actual alarm insisted, you excavated yourself from Namjoon’s perfectly cozy embrace. After he unconsciously replaced you with a pillow, he went right back to snoring. You showered without washing your hair because you had forgotten to replace the shampoo you emptied two days ago.

Then, because why the fuck not, the dry shampoo you relied on left a cruel and unmistakable white cast in your hair. No amount of aggressive brushing could force it to dissipate. Eventually, you gave up and left for work; frustrated and on the brink of tears.

It wasn’t until you reached your office that you noted the absence of your lunch: the leftovers you were so excited about, which you were sure could salvage this horror-show of a day.

Perhaps you were being a giant fucking baby about it, but picturing that lonely, half-full container of vegetarian lasagna broke your stupid little heart in two.

As a result, you were now crying at your desk like there was no tomorrow.

“Oh, shit.”

Your eyes are faucets when your boss’ voice swings the focus to your doorway.

Kang Ji-ah’s horrified expression doesn’t pair well with her high-end blouse and pencil skirt. It certainly clashes with your desire to fly under her radar; seen, if absolutely necessary, but not heard. The mere thought of disappointing her — the undisputed bad bitch of Gyeonggi — makes you want to curl up in a ball and wait for the sweet release of death.

She slinks into your office like she’s walking on eggshells. To both of your surprise, she crosses to you and places one awkward pat on your shoulder. She grimaces immediately, “That was weird, right? Vulnerability gives me hives.”

You, an idiot, can only blink up at her. There are still tears streaming down your face, sliding over your cheeks and swerving around your wobbling lips. You’d pray to shrink, but at this rate, the universe was more likely to quadruple your size.

“A bit,” you concede with a sniffle. At this, she laughs breezily, but you can’t bring yourself to join her. “Did you need something?”

Ji-ah’s gratitude for the change in subject is written all over her face. She nods once, then says, “I need the designs for the Lotte account.”

You furrow your brows. “I thought I sent them two weeks ago. Did you get my email?”

“I did,” she sucks in a breath through her teeth, priming herself to rip off a bandage on the exhale, “They — well, they passed on them. They want new options sent over by the end of the day.”

You wonder if she can hear in your restrained tone how badly you want to scream until you pass out.

“The first ones took a week.”

Another shoulder pat, another grimace.

“For what it’s worth, I thought they were incredible,” she confesses softly with a smile. You can tell she’s not used to comforting her subordinates; and you wonder if she regrets encountering you like this.

The horrified expression was less jarring than this unexpected validation.

You scrub your hands over your face and keep them there even after you rest your elbows onto your desktop. A sigh withers and dies at the tip of your tongue, so you simply mumble, “Guess I’ll get started, then.”

She can’t get away from you fast enough — for her own comfort, or yours. When she’s finally out of sight, you fish your cell phone out of your blazer pocket.

[To: Joon 🌱] Did I recently acquire a cursed amulet or something…?

There has to be an explanation for the cartoonish awfulness of your day so far. It defies all known laws of nature, leaving you only with hexes and cosmic interference left to consider.

[From: Joon 🌱] Not that I know of. Unless you’re moonlighting as an archaeologist without me. In which case, rude 😒

He follows up immediately with his trademark sweetness.

[From: Joon 🌱] You okay, petal?

What your reply lacks in words, it makes up for in emojis — nonsensical and, frankly, a bit ominous. If he saw your flurry of sad faces, knives, skulls, and bombs, he doesn’t say so. In fact, he says nothing.

You stew over his radio silence for the next several hours as you toil over round-two of digital sketches.

With as hard as you’ve been gripping your iPad’s pencil, it’s a wonder you hadn’t yet drilled the thing all the way through the tablet’s screen. The updated logos you pull out of your ass are nowhere near as cute as your first offerings. This was the sort of generic, soulless shit your corporate clients ate up.

No character, no lovingly-crafted theme to encapsulate the re-branding — just unimaginative content, the graphic design equivalent of a stock image. These will pass with flying colors, you think with a humorless laugh as you email the files to Ji-ah; and drag your dejected husk of a body out of your chair.

It takes twice as long as usual to shuffle home because your first instinct is to give up and drop face-first onto the sidewalk. As you walk, you ruminate on the thousand different ways this day let you down — up to and including the way Namjoon ghosted you.

That tiny pebble of bitterness digs further into your heel with every step.

Finally home, you unlock your door and attempt to push it open — only to find that Namjoon engaged the chain which now prevented you from entering.

Glowering at this last, unbearable obstacle, you’re once again on the brink of tears. You pound your fist once against the door and whine, “Namjoon-ah! If this is you breaking up with me, your request is denied! You’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

He shouts from somewhere on the other side of the door, “Shit! I’m sorry!”

Instantly, you hear rushed footsteps; then the urgent clatter of the chain being pushed aside. His eyes are wide with a combination of panic and guilt when he cracks the door open.

But he’s still blocking your entry.

“I had to make sure you didn’t walk in ahead of schedule,” he offers without actually explaining a thing. “Close your eyes!”

Instead, you roll them.

“Please, petal?” He begs in that rare, breathy, needy tone.

Oh, he’s bringing out the big guns. Namjoon means business.

You finally acquiesce and he’s beaming down at you. The door opens fully and it only takes a millisecond for his large hands to envelop your small ones. He cradles them gently in his palms, leading you carefully inside like you’re the one thing he’d never allow himself to break.

You’re sad when he eventually drops them, but the faint clinking of glass distracts you from your disappointment.

And what is that smell? It’s heavenly: some sweet perfume with too many intricate and complimentary notes making it impossible to identify the source. Floral, but amplified in a way that puzzles you.

“You can open them.”

You cry immediately without any time to process your response.

Your living room and adjoining kitchen are fully canvassed in flowers; every type you can name and many more that you can’t. A gentle, artful explosion of color so breathtaking that you can only whimper:

“Joonie, what is all this?”

He hands you a glass of wine with a sheepish smile, blushing pink like the tulips on display beside him. When you accept your glass, he raises his and says, “Your Today is Over party!”

Oh.

He hadn’t ghosted you; he’d been purchasing every single flower in the city. Running around like a madman to fix what was never his responsibility in the first place.

You set your wine glass down on the counter gracefully, but fling yourself at him more desperately than you ever have. He easily accepts the weight of your jumping body and the legs you subsequently knot around him.

You cup his face in your hands and kiss him deep, with everything you have. He’s soft, he’s warm, he’s the porch light left on to guide you home safely. Most of all, he’s the sun that inspires you to wake up tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow, and every stupid day that dares to follow.

You’re breathless when you finally break apart, but you say it with your whole chest, “I love you.” You pause, then you quirk an eyebrow with a giggle, “But Joon, how do we — you know — move around and all that?”

He laughs so hard his eyes crinkle. Smiling sheepishly, he glances around at every beautiful, fully occupied surface.

“Honestly, petal, I didn’t get that far in the planning stage.”

[hexonthepeach]

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 17: chivalry

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security] [9: secret] [10: prisoner] [11: gambit] [12: haze] [13: shock] [14: feral] [15: release] [16: acceptance]

wc: 5k

chapter warnings:  none except mild xenophobia, racism (one use of an anti-japanese slur)

recommended listening: STREAM FACT CHECK BY 127 (in all seriousness, though, Misty is my favorite of the new b-sides and works well for this)

Doyoung's insistence that you move into his shared executive suite with Taeyong proves to be a challenge. For one, Taeyong’s nest horrifies you–a sentiment seemed to be shared by his mate.

"He spent most of his childhood in a bunker," Doyoung explains. "You don't have to stay in the foxhole." 

Taeyong had created the darkest, strangest abode possible: a closed space built into his half of the apartment that you have to almost crawl into. Deep inside it’s lit by a variety of warm lights set off by graffitied walls and a maximalist approach to bedding and adornments. You peer only for a few seconds into the abyss through the smaller entrance, sniffing at the faded musk scents before ducking back up and shaking your head. 

"It feels . . . Wrong to intrude," you state quietly. "Doesn't he need it right now?" 

Doyoung's sigh is palpable. "He’ll survive. Until you're ready he'll stay with the person who most closely matches your profile."

Of course, you think. Johnny. 

"I can be ready," you say. It's not a statement that extends to your heart, not after everything, but you'd been raised to duty. 

Doyoung drops your luggage to place his hands against your upper arms, touch featherlight to keep you from feeling caged. 

"Absolutely not. Not until Taeil clears you. Until then you are still in recovery. From here on you are not doing anything that isn't your heart's design and by your own will." 

You blink up at him, eyes blurring with tears. "I didn't know you were so nice." 

"Don't tell my enemies." He laughs softly, gaze a little sad. "It does seem you've been shown a woeful lack of hospitality, in addition to . . . everything else." 

You shake your head. "Let's not." 

"Right, you need to eat first. And then we'll talk about what comes next." 

You expect to be able to help him–almost want to serve him to see how he would respond–but Doyoung forbids you from the huge, open kitchen. He has a bit of an addled and untrained approach to his work that has you feeling a little lighter as you gently offer suggestions with suppressed laughter in your voice. 

"Taeyong usually does this," he says, unfazed by your amusement or the way you gently correct him before he can add sugar in place of salt.

"It means a lot to me to have a home-cooked meal," you counter. "No matter what, I'm sure it will taste delicious." 

You watch him grow a few inches, long back straightening as he preens under your attention. For a moment you are transported to a different life entirely–one in which you feel like the vagaries of your kind can be ignored. 

"Here," he says, pouring you something milky white into a bowl from a bottle. "Just something to dull the day."

"Rice wine?" You ask after taking a sniff. 

"We have a building resident who brews with a traditional process. It's not too heady, but take it slow."

"Thank you," you murmur, sipping. The taste is slightly chalky but sparkling with ferment, light and sweet on your tongue. "For everything."

Doyoung relaxes a little, as if already dancing on the same wavelength of your emotion.

"I wanted to spend time with you tonight, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind." You shake your head, drinking deeper.

Doyoung's dark eyes dart away, cheek pulled between his teeth as he thinks.

 "I will, of course, let you sleep here on your own–"

"Oh no. Please," you look up at him, frantically. "Please don't leave me alone." 

You quell your anxiety attack, rambling a bit. "Even just to sleep, I need someone. You smell . . . You smell very nice to me."

Doyoung's eyes grow wide, frozen in the act of capping the bottle. Remembering your first conversation at the dinner table has you second-guessing your words. 

"Not that way. I mean, I won't bite you, I promise. I just appreciate having you here."

He's just as startled by your response as you are to having it, diffusing the awkwardness by pouring you more makgeolli, a smile tugging at the corner of his prim mouth.

"You're very kind to worry," he says. "But I can manage myself. I'm honored by your trust and your willingness to keep me company."

You flush, face heating. "I'm not causing you any problems with Taeyong?"

Although your litany of failures was impressive, coming between a pairbond match was not something you could forgive yourself for. He smells deeply of your new mate, more fox than anyone here for the clinging of musk on his skin.

"Our arrangement is less than conventional," he says, clearing his throat. "In some ways we're lucky to have each other, in others . . . well. Like most partnerships outside the Dome's ours is driven by necessity. And . . ."

You glance up, catching the bob in his throat as he finishes swallowing whatever he was about to say. "Let's eat, shall we? Hopefully this is edible."

Thankfully, the tofu stew is perfect, otherwise the drink would easily go to your head. He keeps an eye on your indulgence but your cup is filled consistently. Doyoung sits beside you at the table rather than across, an arrangement that makes you feel safer eating without reservation, nose in your bowl.

The conversation melts away the tension and the occasional splinter of pain in your body, muscles easing with the wine and his company. He seems to have a boundless knowledge of court gossip, even details the years should have swept away, and you find yourself more you–more the person you remembered even if that had been its own kind of artifice. 

You avoid talking about anything personal until it can no longer wait, once he's finished with the dishes and brings your things to his beautifully clean and open bedroom. It's clear his aesthetic sensibilities are more aligned with your own–white and gray surfaces broken up only by the occasional houseplant or art piece.

Much more comfortingly, you are saturated in Alpha scent–a marine quality to it that shines through the wafting sweetness of his prey genome. 

"I have a favor to ask," you say, sitting on the edge of the oversized bed, holding yourself to keep the tremors fixed inside you. 

"Anything," he says, remaining at a distance. 

"I would like . . . " you begin, faltering. "If I'm chosen, I need your help. Integrating into this life. As this pack's omega."

The heaviness returns. You're tired, of course, satisfyingly full. But you feel better than you have in days. His response is a counterweight to that feeling. 

"Can I ask you something that may be too personal for you to answer?" Doyoung asks. 

Your heart sinks, recognizing the beginning of a difficult conversation. You had known there wasn't enough time to protest your inclusion–your acceptance of them did not mean they accepted you. No, that would be up for vote at the tribunal, if the pack even remained. 

"As it pleases you," you nod. 

Doyoung kneels down in front of you, the wide cant of his shoulders dipping as he takes your hand. Your heartbeat is racing, but not from fear. You fixate on the veins leading to the back of his wrists, and the tenderness of his thumb over your trembling fingers.

"I feel like I know everything about you, but we really haven't had time to talk without pretense," he says softly. "I want you to know that you're safe with me."

"I know," you say, not sure of it even as you speak it.

"Please be honest with yourself, if not for me," he says. 

Fear paces up and down your spine but you will your fox to relax, held still.

"___," he says. "If, in another world, another life, we'd been allowed to be the pack you chose instead of the one forced upon you. Do you believe we could have ever been worthy of you?" 

Worthy? Your ears flatten back, chin ducking autonomically in half-hearted submission. "I don't know what you mean."

"Imagine there wasn't a disparity between our numbers. You were free to choose any mate you desired. No designation even. Have you ever considered what you would look for in a potential partner? Or partners?"

You remember being a child, told you were something special. One worthy of being selected, and courted long before the ceremonies that preceded mating. Not a person or an equal, perhaps, but a prize to be treasured. 

The word worthy continues to prick at you, making you feel cold and more hollow.

"I hadn't considered it." You admit, peering up just far enough to take in his serious expression. "I think even if I had I would accept that whoever chose me would never know if it was . . ."

Just biology. Compulsion. Determined fate.

"What would be the point?" you say, airily. "It's not like any of us have a real choice in this world who we're drawn to."

Or what would tear you apart.

"Right," he says with a sigh. "But what about being loved?"

Love. 

That word breaks you in its own way, hearing it spoken aloud. It almost makes you sick. 

You'd never imagined being loved. Desired, yes–for what you represented or could offer. A conditional transaction, upheld through mutual courtesy if not mutual respect.

No, being loved–loving someone–is an ugly and messy thing, you think. 

"Why imagine something impossible," you say, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes are so dark you'd never noticed the lovely amber quality to them on the edges, the hare bleeding through.

"May I explain?" he asks.

You nod to indicate you're fine with whatever persuasion he's been mulling over, but inside you feel bolstered to defend your position. 

"Wouldn't you look for someone who treats you with loving-kindness? Someone who prioritizes your needs over their own?" he asks, tentatively.

You shake your head, lip trembling. "It sounds like a child's fantasy."

"It goes back to the ancient code of chivalry. Even Alphas are taught to protect those perceived as weaker–to give them aid without questioning it, to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Of course, you think, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. He's a Romantic. Chivalric dury was something you'd been immersed in since your first education in the Academy, but you'd yet to see it in action outside of protecting kin and country. No Alpha was capable of true sacrifice, to you it's just a mask to better humanize the ugly truth of a dominating and self-serving nature. 

"You find this droll," he says, understanding your disinterest. "I admit it's just a code of honor that no one really believes in, anymore."

"No," you say, shaking off your prejudices. "I think it has value. But I would rather have honesty."

Doyoung is surprisingly quiet, waiting for you to continue. 

"If someone considers me less powerful or something to be helped," you shudder at your own choice of terminology, "I would rather them be honest with their intent than to deign to show me mercy."

"Easier to judge the motivations of those who would do you harm, right?" Doyoung's smile takes on a wry edge. "I was raised in the Palace, too, you know."

"Oh, I know," you say. "I think I was a few years behind yours on instruction but Master Park Jinyoung did a number on us both, didn't he?"

You don't call upon your teaching in ancient history but rather etiquette, no class before yours or after insusceptible to a lesson delivered by a handsome Alpha who looked each of his subjects in the eye when delivering instructions. He’d drilled a great deal into you, much of it related to proper behavior. But especially that of courtship.  

He squeezes your fingers, rolling his head to hide his embarrassment. 

"Pardon me for preaching to the choir, I think it's easy to lose my point when you . . . well, you smell very nice to me, too."

Honesty, again. You feel a tingling sense of delight, seeing him with his guard down. For some reason you’d assumed he wouldn’t be interested in you, but this is an admission of sorts–an invitation. It’s a shame he immediately reverts to logician. 

"But you're operating on a false assumption. The feeling is genuine. Whether it's biological or conditional is a metaphysical argument no one should entertain. What matters is here."

He brings your hand to his chest, but doesn't make you touch him, hands enclosing your own. 

"You don't have to accept a match you are forced into by a scarcity of options. You deserve to be loved."

You’re not sure whether to laugh, or cry. For how similar your worlds should be he appears to not even be on the same planet as you are. 

"So Alphas think about these kinds of things, too?"

"Human or animal makes no difference. We both die little-by-little, day-by-day, when we're forced into a life we haven't chosen for ourselves."

"I was making a choice when I left for Strictland," you say, voice wry.

"Yes," he exhales. You feel those walls coming back up, watching the gears turn behind those narrow features as he decides how to dispute you.  

"If it wasn't Nyctos retrieving you, it would have been another. You don't know the level of attrition the Syndicate would be willing to subject you, or anyone who protected you to, to insure you weren't in the hands of one of the Free packs."

Suspicion makes you wary; this is much too close to an understanding yet unspoken between you. Had they made the contract with you, knowing this?

“Including Nyctos?" you ask, hoping he reads the double meaning in your words.

“We may be exiles, but we’re not Free,” he says, letting it sink in before he continues. “The Syndicate has allowed us to exist because Taeyong has never openly disagreed with the ideology his father enforced, and died for.”

“He’s not like him,” you agree, shuddering. 

Such a horrible lineage, millions dying just for one man to prove he could be king over the ruins. Even if the Second Prince had died uncrowned, he'd been the major force behind the worst of the burgeoning efforts of the Syndicate, to make sure the war was won in their favor. 

“No. Not at all,” Doyoung agrees, affection transparent in his voice. “Much like you, we are held hostage to our family’s sins.”

“So even if I weren’t bonded to any of you, you think this is the safest place I could be?” you ask. “Didn’t they try to kill you, too?”

Doyoung sits up, waiting for your permission to sit down beside you. Your hand is still captured in his, but you nod, sinking into his warm presence, his thigh pressed to your own. 

“There’s something we wanted to talk to you about–there’s a lot really–but something I think you might not know, yet,” he begins, warily. “The reason why there was never any question that you’d enter the Imperial harem. Even with . . . your genetics.”

You swallow, mouth dry. 

“Please,” you urge him to continue.

"Whether you like it or not, your existence is a potential spark for change. Your genetics aren't an anomaly, I believe they were deliberately developed and implanted within the Imperial bloodline to change the outcome of designated rule."

The words are a shock to you, the room suddenly frigid as your mind races to understand the implications beneath the rush of panic. "What?"

"If you followed in the footsteps of your grandmother and produced the next generation of heirs, you would be doing so with the ability to introduce the Nostradomina strain as a baseline for any future offspring,” he explains. “Your mother understood that if the elders found this out, you would be summarily executed.” 

"If you go back, you die. No matter what happens, you run."

You nod rather than speak, afraid your voice will betray you.

“It seems that where many are trying to kill you or use you, there are also forces still protecting you."

"My brother?" Your voice is tiny, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

"More likely someone within the palace itself," Doyoung says. He holds, but only long enough to clock that you’re not refuting it. "Do you have any idea who that could be?"

You clench your jaw, remembering the feeling of being shocked over and over again through the last line of interrogation. It keeps you from breaking, so tired of hiding but emboldened to shut this down before you can reveal anything outside the bonds of complete security.

“No,” you say.

Doyoung recognizes your discomfort, if not your lie, stroking your hand. 

"It's not important, right now. I'm sorry to overwhelm you."

"So that's what you really care about." You pull your hand back. "If you think I have anything to share that I haven't under torture than no, you are right. I do not think this pack is capable of being worthy of me." 

Whatever tears you've shed run dry, again. Best not to spend another moment being seduced into complacency by a man with a pretty voice and careful words.

"I think we need each other for survival," you say. "I am grateful that we can align on mutual interests. But please don't mistake me for someone who believes you would ever put my needs over those of this pack's or Taeyong’s. As long as we understand that, we don't need to pretend.”

It takes him a long time to respond, standing silently by the bed as you crawl into it, tucking your tail around you. 

"I'm truly sorry, ___."

You clutch the pillow beneath your head, smelling the melange of the other two who've shared it, a distant third scent making your heart stone. You know you're on your own tonight–you won't beg him to stay beside you. His hesitation is only as good as his retreat, watching you from the doorway.

"I'm ready," you say. "For the tribunal . . . and everything else. Are my terms acceptable?”

You’d had to write it out, unable to make your demands heard if they were in any voice but the one written in your own hand, words preserved with intent and simplicity.

“As you wish,” he says. “I’ll make the preparations.”

Yuta Nakamoto [puma concolor α] - assistant inspector second rank, Neo Seoul Police Response, formerly warrant officer rank junwi, Neo Seoul Military Response

There was a time back in the 2110's when Suh Youngho was just a reserve in the NG Foreign Legion, on the same misfit detail he'd been assigned to. A skinny NUSA kid with a tendency to smile and talk more than anyone was used to. 

A tall poppy just waiting to get domed, they'd said. No one who'd been in this shitass war more than five days would have cracked a joke about it–not after watching the newly-formed Syndicate's tendency to put fresh bodies into beachfront graves. 

Graves in this conflict were euphemistic: when you died there was no one to write home for you or carry your dogtags back, you were just a number on a screen for some scum who paid enough for the Millitech commission and maybe gave you a meal if they shot enough promotional footage to pay for it.

No, the war was already over and the remnants of it had taken them both as far as they could before armistice. Yuta remembers leaving the mess hall as the screens flashed white and the surrender was played, pretending he hadn't seen or understood the message as he carried two rations back to shared quarters.

It would be the first and last blissful journey he made back without having a tray upended, without hearing the spitting invective of another upjumped commissioned officer.

Or so he thought.

"Hey, jjokbari." Lieutenant Choi calls from behind him, a laugh and a whistle accompanying the slur. "That for your Yankee boyfriend? He think he can sleep in today of all days?"

Yuta resists the urge to flip him off, nodding politely in their direction as if he hadn't heard a word. It's not enough–has never been enough–but he continues on with ears pricked towards the sound of movement, hoping they choose the day's flavor of nationalism in the anthem blaring down the hallway instead of tormenting the foreigners risking their lives for them.

"Not gonna celebrate with us, Na?" His second-in-command, Ji taunts. "Enough omega girls to fuck waiting back home?"

Yuta can count the doors back to safety on one hand. Maybe it's a mistake he keeps going.

Maybe. 

There's the pounding of footsteps–someone much heavier and less graceful than the commissioned officer. He waits until they try to swing–too wide, too flailing–to duck under it and move back. Whatever response Private Bootlicker was hoping for it's not the subtle step-away that leaves him lurching into the metal deck.

"Did he even touch him?" Another grunt asks, forever denied a response by the voice that speaks next. 

"Attention." 

Instinct has Yuta turning, saluting, tray balanced in his rest hand. 

"At ease, gentlemen." 

The man stepping into the corridor is dressed in bright red military regalia fitting only the finest, upjumped officer. At least with this one he can count on some of the medals being earned rather than on account of being Daddy General Lee II's favorite. 

Despite the contradictory image of a bioengineered ears and tail and a teenager’s lanky frame, Crown Prince and Captain Lee Taeyong is well-respected within the ranks and twice as deadly as any of the assholes on the carrier. The stories that had come out of his Academy days painted him as unforgiving in hand-to-hand combat, enacting punishments on Alphas who tested him based on his smaller size.

Something is different today; Yuta has never seen him without a full retinue, has barely seen him at all outside of mission briefs. But here he is below deck–accompanied by an Imperial attache in an officer’s field uniform.

"Lieutenant Choi, you're needed for requisition of materiel in Zone 3. Report to Chief Petty Officer Ahn immediately."

"Aye, aye, Captain." The gang recedes, laughter booming off the ceiling even this far away.

"Private, you can either apologize for attempting to hit a superior officer or be gang-planked well before we reach port." The Captain addresses the man currently skulking away, before he can leave sight.

Yuta watches his would-be bully grovel, unable to respond for fear he'll be reported back on to Choi and his like. Even with the war over there would always be the clancorps to rely on for another boot upon his neck.

"Private Kim," Taeyong's attendant says, coughing. 

"You're officially free to go back to–" the small man reads through a specific address and name. "Busan. Placed your name on the first transport flight out as crew."

"I will throw you off this ship personally if I see your face or those of your compatriots, do you understand me?"

Taeyong doesn't have to bare his teeth for the threat to be made and understood. Soon they're alone, again, just two breakfasts and the most Yuta has seen of command since joining as a warrant officer.

"Fuck." The Captain says, bending over to the floor. He's shivering all over, scent blockers doing little to hide the cloying cinnamon and musk roiling off of him. Yuta thinks he’s lucky the majority of the remaining crew are Beta recruits or young enough not to know the difference in scents, true designated like themselves having been run through within the first years of the war.

"You didn't see this." The other officer on deck says, bent over a touchpad. Yuta finally notices the universal red cross of a medic along with the hangeul name badge: Moon. "Which way is 119?”

"That's my bunk, sir." 

Both of them look up, the Captain’s squinting eyes opened wide.

"Nakamoto Yuta, is your roommate Suh Youngho?"

"Correct, sir."

"Take me to your quarters and you'll never have to call me sir again," the Crown Prince says, on the floor, tail batting to and fro. 

"Discreetly, please," Moon adds. 

Yuta hadn't given a second thought to the command, still wouldn't years later. If anything they'd saved him the sole duty of escorting Suh in his first rut, 100 leagues from the nearest proxy hotel. No one else had their back until then. A stroke of luck, or fate–it didn't matter.

He’d chosen Nyctos, and the others, for life. 

Now he's in another foreign prison under the guise of conscription, resident of cell block C in what should have been his own home, receiving updates in morse code from Jungwoo tapping impatiently on the other side of the wall. 

Taeyong is the first to visit, posture bent by almost a week in recovery from whatever you have put him through, sweating through his suit. He waits for the others before speaking his piece over the door comms. Yuta has seen his commander in this state many times since that first encounter, but he can’t help but find it funny–the solution to his problem had been there from the start. 

"I take responsibility for everything that happened," Taeyong announces, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence and no sign of being joined by the others. 

Jungwoo's laugh can't be heard through the thick walls but Yuta echoes it, slumping into his cot. They’d made a bet that Taeyong would issue a formal apology on behalf of his mate, a fact that Yuta relied on enough he’d just won. He expects admonishment from Taeyong but instead the pack's omega reads something scrawled on ancient copy paper.

". . . Including my own death."

It's carbon-scored and dotted black with what looks like blood or water-staining, script tight and messy.

"I am a political refugee who sought asylum. I end my journey here. If this message reaches any of those who care for me, I am leaving as a final act of mercy. Please do not punish anyone involved, they did not know who or what I was when they took me in." 

Taeyong's voice chokes on that line in his reading. Yuta watches him sit cross-legged on the floor between cells, gripped by bodily torment or emotion–he cannot say.

"Signed Lee ____, last child of Lee Eunji."

The silence hangs over them through the static of the comm, until Yuta laughs again, much more darkly. 

"Mercy?" Yuta says. "That suicide note is a writ of execution to be carried out by whoever sent her here."

“She wrote this before we even brought her back,” Taeyong growls, low, standing up to stare him down. "She's not operating against us. Or at least she wasn't until you two began terrorizing her."

The gravity of that statement is wasted on him. 

“Pretty clear she was expecting someone to find it, then,” Yuta says. “Smart girl.”

The window slams with Taeyong’s fist, just a streak of red tail visible through the haze of dust. Yuta stands up to join him at the window, stretching against the day spent in solitary and yawning as if he’s more comfortable than stiff.

"Do you have any compassion?" Taeyong asks once he’s done, brows lowered as he looks at him through the barrier. "You took initiative to torture her without a directive or a lead. Left her unsupervised and unsearched. We could have had a dead omega on our hands."

An expensive mistake, Yuta thinks, but he knows better than to provoke the captain by saying it aloud. He shrugs.

"Johnny gave the order to investigate her," Yuta says, too defensively for his own comfort. "It's not my fault he didn't specify a methodology."

"Just how they do things in NSMP, right?" Taeyong asks, crumpling the paper in his anger. "Any means necessary, is it?"

He doesn't speak, denying him an emotional response.

"You haven't asked us what we found," Jungwoo says, his lilting voice distorted by the speaker. 

Taeyong's firm expression falters. Got him. As much as he enjoys seeing Taeyong’s attempts to interrogate them via emotional manipulation, it's better to use this opportunity to pluck out whatever card is hidden up the Vulpine’s sleeve. There’s been a woeful lack of transparency within the pack of late, compartmentalization of intelligence constantly invoked where the four in charge were concerned. 

If he’s going to be exiled over something as banal as a feral omega with a deathwish, it would be nice to understand why you’re considered more important than the pack itself. 

"You already know who’s behind this, don't you?" Yuta says.

He doesn’t mean the events, those were already reported. Taeyong knows exactly what he’s implied, his own slit-eyes breaking away to look at the floor. He’s quiet, smoothing the letter–which Yuta notes is much longer than what was read, text impossible to work out from this vantage. 

“It’s need to know,” Taeyong says, “until we have more information.”

Yuta smirks at him. “And why would that be? Someone worth protecting? Family perhaps?”

“The pack,” Taeyong snaps immediately. There’s an ancestral quality to his posture, head stooped and ears flattened, sharp little canines bared. Yuta registers the promised threat in that he finds it intriguing, but his cat ignores it entirely.

Thankfully Doyoung interrupts before the Captain can embarrass himself further with the jimseung-like lack of control, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

"We have a suspicion of who it might be after performing the decrypt. Yet another reminder that your little routine was completely unnecessary." Doyoung glances down at his agent with a bored expression. "You can't possibly think we'd share that information with you when you're threatening to leave."

Yuta nods in agreement, keeping his mouth shut.

"The tribunal will be held the day after tomorrow. I hope you reflect on your actions and get your affairs in order before then." 

He unlocks the doors to their cells, not waiting for them to join as he leads Taeyong away.

The strategist looks over his shoulder as he escorts the Captain out. “Oh, and if I were you, I’d avoid Suh tonight. No telling what he’ll do in his state.”

Yuta waits until they’re gone to tap a message back to Jungwoo, who he can’t help but notice hasn’t left his cell, either. Knowing the Canid he’s probably already locked the door again, from the inside. 

Tap tap tap. Thunk thunk thunk. Tap tap tap.

This time, he can hear the other Alpha laugh quietly at the joke.

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[corsair-princess-nenime]

NENI DM

officially dm'd my first dnd session :) using the final chapter of dragons of stromwreck (set in dragonlance, populated with red dragon enemies). Went well, brought 2/3 (lvl 5) players close to death like twice, brought one of them down, a good nights work for a one shot!

my players awakened (after a night of drinking) on a river boat to discover they had volunteered for a dangerous mission to stop a dark ritual. there was a beach map, then the dragons of stormwreck observatory map, all with around 2 dozen enemies total and the boss

player shenanigans included nuking a lot of enemies with fire spells

of note was the appearance of actual dragonlance NENIME, the character i wanted to make before i realized it would be an all elf-party

the boss was an armored kid WHOS ACTUALLY A RED DRAGON WYRMLING wearing a ruby imbued with change shape. she was gona stay out of the fight to mess with her relic-takhesis-holocron-rubix cube for 3 rounds, unless someone messed with her enough times to piss her off

feeling that my players needed some help, i had minotour guy try to repair a ' damaged' istarian drone - he succeeded. in the fight, the istarian drone would eventually go on to bind our boss, and the elf assassin got two back to back nat 20s on her with frost touch. with the relic finding her unworthy, our boss fled badly injured

here are some of my notes:

Nini sea elf (dimernesti) TALL STANDING AKIMBO bluegreen skin, frekled face w sunburnt cheeks, silver hair / green eyes bonespear - some hatchets , HER ARMOR IS a shirt of clam shells over a kalaman military TUNIC SHE HOLDS UP HER WEBBED HANDS > GREETINGS! Are you ready for the mission? > the highly dangerous mission we volunteered for?

(wizard elf tried to seduce her, he had to save it for after the mission, where i would have him do a charisma check w adv - he failed)

/////////////////

the chamber is bathed in a baleful, ruddy light. high in the air, a pyramid of red glass and red gold burns with a furious, suffocating aura beneath it, a pair of draconians flank not a grizzled warlord, but… a little girl, seething at this interruption as only a child can seethe > morons!

Ayveryhys head is a rats nest of black hair - bound behind her back her features are pale, shes unmistakably 9 or 10 years old strangely, her widdle eyes glow with flecks of molten light she even wears armor - exquisietely crafted, wraught in black steel and edged in gold, not unlike the votive images youve seen of Takhesis of course, the armor bears the dragon queen's clawed spiral a glowing ruby is set prominently in place of the claw representing fire dragons > YOU WILL NOT STAND IN MY WAY!

(despite previous hints, they did not see her being a dragon coming)