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bimrwolf · 2 years

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The Things We Don't Say

steve harrington x afab!reader words: 17,418 warnings: smut ! 18+ (minors dni) summary: Steve Harrington once was the bane of Y/n's existence. He had always been an arrogant asshole and a terrible kisser. She never understood how others fell for the boy's eye-roll worthy charm. Now it seems like he will do anything to prove her wrong about anything. a/n: this is my first steve fic and it turned into a very long one shot

There was something sweet when it was the time of year that it wasn’t too cold to be winter nor too warm to be Spring. The leaves on the trees began to grow back to their vibrants green. Dandelions started to sprout on the side of the roads. Lawns needed to be mowed from the cool showers that casted over Hawkins, Indiana.

Sweaters, cold cheeks, and hot tea, sitting on her porch swing, watching the sunset and streetlights cast their glow on the streets, telling children it’s their time to retreat back into their homes to get rested for the next day— to do it all over again. In Hawkins, it sometimes felt like the day repeated itself.

Graduation was creeping around the corner. College rejection letters flooded her mailbox. Choices were slimming down every week.

Maybe if she had focused better in school.

That’s why she found herself on a chilly Saturday evening with her friend, Heather Holloway, at Daniel Brown’s house.

It was a small gathering. Soft music, beer, and the smell of weed and cigarettes. A few couples making out in dark corners. People who would never interact at school making out in the backyard next to the crackling bonfire. High school was weird.

Heather only wanted to come because Daniel and her had gone on two dates and now suddenly she believed the two of them were going to be married.

Y/n didn’t despise parties, she always went to them if she were invited, but they only seemed fun when she was plastered and couldn’t remember anything. Too bad she was the designated driver tonight.

She pulled at the shirt she wore as the two of them stood in the corner, silently gossiping at who was there, and who was with who. Heather swatted her hand. “Stop. I told you already. You look great.”

She groaned. “You’re legally obliged to say that because you’re my friend.” She didn’t care what she looked like, but today was a day where her clothes seemed to snug her, making her feel uncomfortable and awkward.

“Wasn’t Billy with Vanessa on Monday?” Heather motioned toward the couch. Billy Hargrove had his hand dangerously close to Penny Melton’s privates, nibbling her ear.

“Are you that surprised?” She gave Heather a knowing look.

The front door opened, bringing in a wave of cold air that stung her cheeks. She rolled her eyes at who walked in.

A perky boobed brunette with rosy cheeks and small hips sauntered in. Right behind her, Steve Harrington, his hand around her shoulders. His dark locks were styled in his signature updo, a tiny loose curl clinged to his forehead.

The couple walked past them, and she couldn’t help but smirk at their visible similarities. “Hey, Harrington. Didn’t know you had a sister.”

The girl looked up at Steve, gasping, tearing away from him and storming off. Steve threw his head back. He looked at her, not amused. “Can you not be unbearable for once?” He asked her.

“Be careful not to step too close to the fire outside. Hairspray is flammable, y’know?” She gave him a cheeky grin.

Steve paid no mind, storming off to find his date.

“Remind me why you hate Steve so much?” Heather asked in amusement.

“Since he ditched you to swap spit with Kelly Sullivan.” She answered.

“That was sophomore year.” Heather stated.

“Freshman.” She corrected her.

Heather held out her arms dramatically. “See! It’s not a big deal. I don’t even remember. If I kissed him now, I feel like I would be kissing all the girls in Hawkins.”

Y/n gagged at the description. “Ew. You dodged a bullet.”

“Rumor has it that he’s not a douche anymore. I don’t know what that Nancy girl did to him, but apparently he’s a saint now.” Heather’s words sounded like a joke.

Y/n nudged Heather. They watched Billy grab Penny’s hand and led her upstairs.

She wished the couch hadn’t been infested with sex germs so she could sit down. Her feet were killing her.

Heather took a sip of her beer she had in her hand. Wiping her mouth, she then tapped her chin, thinking. “He was your first kiss.”

“Who?” Y/n was caught off guard. “Oh. Well, that’s a memory I suppress into the back of my mind. Worst kiss of my life.”

“Not what you said in eighth grade. I can’t believe he took your wet dream virginity.” Heather sighed. “I remember my first like it was yesterday. Harrison Ford could do anything to me.”

“I’m never telling you anything again.” She bounced off the wall and walked to the table full of beverages and snacks. She picked up a bottle of water. Heather had followed her, leaning against the table.

“Admit it. You have no reasonable explanation to hate Steve Harrington.” Her friend took a chip out of one of the bowls, popping it in her mouth.

“I don’t even hate him. He’s just insufferable, arrogant, and a bad kisser.” She needed fresh air from this interrogation. “Don’t you need to go find Daniel or something like that.”

“Your lack of knowledge about flirting is astounding. My plan is to be here, look cute, and then leave. When he sees me Monday at school, he’ll ask me why we didn’t talk tonight.”

Y/n was grateful that the conversation had moved elsewhere. “That’s not even flirting.” She led them to the backyard where most everyone was. She noticed Steve had made up with his date— his tongue was down her throat.

“How would you know?” Heather questioned, scanning the yard, smiling when she noticed Daniel over by a group of his friends. She pushed up her boobs and laughed loudly like Y/n had said something hilarious. She frowned when he didn’t look their way.

As the night went on more laughter and conversations were told into the chill air. It felt good to be young.

—

Y/n was not having a good summer. Heather was the only one between the two of them who was hired at the pool.

Summer was now the last bit of time Y/n would get to spend with her before Heather went off to NYU.

Y/n’s grades only managed to get her into a community college about forty-five minutes outside of Hawkins. So, she felt like she wasn’t even leaving.

Although she managed to get a job at the Gap at the newly opened Starcourt mall, their schedules seemed to never align.

It was one particular day that Y/n finally had a day off. She didn’t feel like going to the pool. Or doing much of anything. She wanted to lie in her room and read her newest magazine with a cold glass of lemonade. But instead she found herself in the parking lot of Starcourt.

This was her new hobby. She would browse all the stores, pick up things she wanted and place them back because she was saving her money. Then she would go bother her co-workers for a few minutes, sometimes buying an item she had been eyeing for the past few weeks. She did get an employee discount after all. Then she would head out and go home to get ready for the next day.

But on this particular day as she passed the food court, one of the shops caught her attention. It was a small shop, decorated in red, white, and blue. The front of a boat was next to the entrance. Y/n had heard good things about Scoops Ahoy. Some even rivaled it with Baskin-Robbins.

She entered the shop, eyeing the striped walls and checkered flooring. The theme was cute. She had seen a glimpse of their uniforms when workers would walk by the store, and she was glad the Gap let her wear what she wanted.

She got behind a girl with curly blonde hair, and she was giggling at whatever the cashier was saying. Five minutes had gone by and the girl hadn’t moved yet. Y/n peered over the girl’s shoulder, and nearly doubled over in laughter.

Steve Harrington was on the other side of the counter, leaned over, and wore that silly sailor uniform. He looked ridiculous. It almost made up for waiting almost seven minutes to get a damn scoop of ice cream. Y/n sighed. She guessed she would have to take matters into her own hands.

She pushed past the girl, who let out a large huff, almost dropping the ice cream cone in her hand. “Stevie!” Y/n squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck, planting a wet sloppy kiss on his cheek.

Steve’s face was priceless. His eyes nearly popped out of his sockets and mouth agape. “Wha-”

He didn’t even get to finish because Y/n pushed his jaw back up. “Sweetheart, you’ll catch flies.” She turned around to face the girl who looked pissed. “Sorry, haven’t seen my boyfriend in a few days. He’s getting over mono.”

The girl let out a sound of disgust, pivoting on her heels and stormed out of the ice cream parlor.

Y/n’s face fell and quickly let go of Steve. “Okay, now that the horrendous sight of Steve Harrington trying to flirt is over with. Can you tell me the specials?”

Her attention was dragged to a pair of tiny doors opening behind him. A girl with medium length brown hair held a board with one side being You Rule and the other being You Suck. There were three tallies on the You Suck side. She drew another, making it four. “Some girlfriend, dingus.”

Steve looked embarrassed and livid all at the same time when he turned back around to look at Y/n. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Is this you breaking up with me?” Y/n clutched her chest.

“Isn’t there a sign outside that says no pests?” He asked her.

“Didn’t know they were so desperate for workers they allowed dipshits to apply.”

His co-worker let out a cackle. Y/n noticed her name tag said Robin. “Oh, I like her, Harrington. Can I keep her?”

He growled, moving over to the freezer that held the ice cream. “Just pick a flavor.”

Y/n ignored Steve and focused on the girl. “I can’t believe someone took my job on being the bane of Steve’s existence.”

Robin shrugged. “He makes it so easy.”

“I know, right?” She laughed with her.

Steve coughed.

She rolled her eyes and looked at him. Robin retreated into the backroom. “So, is it true you’re not a pretentious dick anymore?”

“I guess you could say that.” Steve answered, averting his eyes elsewhere. There seemed to be a shade of pink that pricked his cheeks and nose.

“Does that mean you bring girls back to your place on the second date instead of the first?”

He didn’t answer.

She sighed, looking up at the menu above him with all the flavors and combinations. “I would ask what you would recommend, but I feel like it’s vanilla.”

He gave her a sarcastic ha.

He thought for a moment before taking a scoop and making a cone of a golden brown ice cream, dark chocolate pieces poking out. “Here.” He walked to the cash register and held it over the counter.

“What is it?” Y/n narrowed her eyes.

“Ice cream.” Steve replied in a “duh” tone. He pushed it closer for her to take.

“Obviously.” She mumbled, taking it out of his hand. His fingers grazed hers, and she swore she felt a tingle. “Peanut Butter Cluster Delight.” He stood back, crossing his arms. Y/n took note on how his biceps hugged the sleeves of his uniform. She took a bite, the many flavors almost seemed overwhelming at first, but then they melted together smoothly against her tongue. She wouldn’t admit it to Steve, but he chose something delightful and delicious.

His face was scrunched up, cringing. “You bite your ice cream?”

“Shut up. How much do I owe you?” She dug into her back pocket to pull out some money.

Steve held out a hand, stopping her. “It’s on me.”

“You poisoned it. That’s what’s going on, isn’t it?” Y/n was somewhat convinced he had done something to it. Yet, she took another bite.

He smirked. “No, but what kind of boyfriend would I be if I made you pay?”

She almost smiled. Almost.

—

Y/n never expected to find herself physically fighting her best friend. She tried her best calling her name, reminding her who she was. She recounted stories and memories, but when she looked into Heather’s eyes. There was nothing but a cold dark stare.

Nancy Wheeler tried to warn her Heather would come after her. But she didn’t believe her.

When she arrived home after work, there Heather was, sitting on Y/n’s bed. Everything about her was different. Her stoic expression, straight posture, the black protruding veins in her neck.

“It will only hurt a little.” Whoever was possessing Heather said, as it pinned Y/n against her bedroom floor.

Y/n turned her head, sobbing, staring at the shaggy carpet. She could see dirty socks and loose change scattered. Would the old pink nail polish stain be the last thing she saw when she died? She closed her eyes, thinking about her favorite things. Hot tea with honey. The warm buttery vanilla smell that engulfed the house when her mother made cookies. The cold nights she spent on her porch swing. Peanut Butter Cluster Delight flavored ice cream. The smell of sea salt soap that reminded her of the beach. Laughing with her best friend about stupid boys. Crying with her best friend about moving off.

She snapped her eyes open. This was not Heather. Y/n screamed, lifting her hand up and whacking the creature’s head, forcing the thing to fly off her body.

Almost on cue, her bedroom door flew open. Nancy and her boyfriend Jonathan Byers stormed in holding weapons. She was dragged out of her house and forced to hide with them in a cabin in the middle of the woods with a bunch of kids. She tried to wrap her mind around this world they had been living in while she was worried about simple things like what to wear and who was kissing who. The life she had been living suddenly felt mundane and meaningless compared to theirs.

It was even more mind boggling when a slimy creature broke through the cabin and this girl– Eleven– used her mind to fight off a slimy tentacled creature. Y/n felt dazed as she stood off to the side, watching these people fight it so nonchalantly. Like it was their job.

They made a new safe haven in the supermarket so they could clean Eleven’s very large cut on her leg. Y/n felt queasy as the blood oozed and sputtered out. She broke off with Nancy and Jonathan, off to find soap and water. “So, this thing,” Y/n began. “You’ve fought it before?”

Nancy shared a look with Jonathan. “Listen, you’re just here so we can protect you from becoming like Heather. Possibly, from turning into that thing you saw.”

Y/n’s jaw ticked. “That didn’t answer my question.”

Nancy sighed, handing the water and soap to Jonathan and motioning for him to keep going. “No. Well, maybe. But it’s different now. It’s too complicated, and it’s best if you don’t get involved.”

She scoffed. “It’s a little too late for me not to be involved.”

Before the oldest Wheeler could answer, sounds of Mike yelling could be heard. The two of them jogged over to see what the issue was.

Next thing Y/n knew, they were heading back to the one place she felt like she couldn’t escape.

She led them through a secret hallway to the upstairs when they noticed a group of men dressed in black with guns. Mike whispered he could see his friend that they were looking for, and the gunmen were going straight to them. There was a look of relief on the group downstairs when El made a car crash into the strangers.

Although she had just seen a real life monster and a girl with superpowers. Nothing shocked her more than seeing no other than Steve Harrington in his stupid little sailor uniform, arguing with the group, letting Y/n know this wasn’t his first time either.

When he noticed her standing meekly behind Nancy, he pointed at her, shaking his head. “Who the hell brought her along?”

“Nice seeing you too, Harrington. What happened to your face? Lost a fight to a revolving door?” She shot back quickly. The kids all looked at one another. They were at a loss for words.

“Jesus.” He groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Cut me some slack. I was just drugged and beaten to a pulp by Russians. I don’t need your shit today.”

Y/n let out a sorry. They all stared at her awkwardly, and suddenly she felt out of place. She excused herself and walked away.

Robin had come after her a few moments later, a sympathetic look on her face. They weren’t exactly friends, Y/n would say, but they’ve hung out for a few weeks while on breaks. It was enough for Robin to make sure everything was okay.

“You should have seen the shit I saw.” Y/n blew out a puff of air. “I think if I survive this, I’ll have to start smoking cigarettes.”

“That’s gross, Plus you’ll ruin your beautiful teeth.” Robin chuckled. “You missed it though. That El girl… some weird ugly slug came out of her leg.”

“Isn’t this all crazy? Like it’s almost unbelievable.” Y/n put her face into her hands. “And Harrington. Oh my god. He’s been through this before.” It hit her like a truck. His overnight shift in personality made better sense to her. There was a time when he probably was hanging out in the streets, playing baseball with a neighbor, waiting for the street lamps to turn on, telling him to get back home. He might have turned into a douchebag, but when his life was threatened, he was reminded he was just a young boy. That’s what he was. Just a young boy learning to survive.

Her new perspective on the brown eyed boy with stupid hair forced her to be silent around him. She didn’t even make fun of him when he called himself daddy as they piled into a sweet looking car to drive Dustin so he could make a large range radio signal.

Y/n felt like helping fight the monster was more bearable than sitting in the backseat and occasionally making eye contact with him. However, Nancy convinced her she didn’t want the chance of Heather finding her. Deep down, Y/n knew Nancy didn’t think she could fight off her best friend again.

She was probably right.

—-

There was a feeling Y/n had never experienced before. True gut wrenching heartbreak. The news that her best friend had perished in the end of the fight was like a knife had been twisted in her heart. She tried to remember quickly what Heather’s voice sounded like or the last time she had actually called to check on her. Her clouded mind failed her as she sat on the sidewalk, hugging herself.

She didn’t realize Steve had sat down next to her, until he offered her a bottle of water.

“Do you think they’ll mind if I call in sick tomorrow?” Y/n smiled weakly at her poor attempt to joke.

Steve let out a breathy laugh.

She noticed the blood on his face had dried, caking on his skin. It reminded her of last semester when he came to school with a black eye, and the year before that. She assumed it had been him fooling around with a girl that he shouldn’t have. Never did the idea of monsters from another dimension cross her mind.

It was at that moment that her dislike for him bubbled down. She now felt respect. She wouldn’t tell him that though.

Instead, she told him goodbye and got up to leave. She didn’t get too far before Steve called her name. “The first night is the hardest. When you’re all alone. It sucks.” He told her.

To be honest, she hadn’t thought of it that way. Alone in her room— the room she nearly died in. Even when she blinked, the nightmare she had lived flashed before her eyes. “What do you suggest I do?”

She wasn’t expecting a serious answer. She noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. He was nervous. “You can stay with me. So you won’t be alone.”

Y/n smirked. “I had it all wrong. Steve Harrington doesn’t even wait until the first date to invite a girl over.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Don’t cream your panties. Robin will be there too.” He started walking, leading her towards Robin.

“This is your evil plan. Comforting us tonight so we'll play out your wildest fantasies?” It felt somewhat normal again, bantering back and forth. She knew he secretly enjoyed it by the way his lips tugged into a grin. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but she enjoyed it too.

——

Y/n had only been to Steve’s house a handful of times. He hasn’t hosted a party since last year, and now she knows why.

Although she was familiar with the living room, and swimming pool in the backyard, it felt different stepping into his room. It was tidy besides the clothes strewn across the floor. It was funny watching him quickly running around the room to put it in a laundry basket in his bathroom.

They all took turns taking a shower, Robin, her, and then Steve. As soon as the water hit Y/n’s skin, it felt like the tension in her shoulders relaxed. It only took a few minutes for her to wash off, but she stood there, letting the warm water hit her back. She had picked up to read the different bottles in the bathroom. Tucked away in the corner, there was a soap bottle of Sea Salt Breeze.

When she walked out of the bathroom, Robin was already passed out under the covers of his bed. Steve trekked inside the bathroom.

Y/n sat with her back against his bed, knees against her chest, listening to the soft snores coming from Robin mixed with the patter of water coming from the shower. She heard him turn the shower off, his heavy footsteps padded around the bathroom. She heard a few curses and something clatter on the floor.

It took her a moment to make the decision. She got up and softly tapped on the door. “Come in.” His voice was weak and hoarse.

She opened the door slowly, revealing Steve in a pair of grey sweatpants and a navy sleep shirt. His hair was damp and brushed back out of his face. He had his palms against the counter, looking at his swollen eye and busted lip more closely. “Everything okay?” She sounded different to him. Concerned and gentle.

He turned his head. “Yeah I’m fine.”

She didn’t seem convinced by the way she crossed her arms against her chest and her eyebrow raised slightly. Steve sighed. “I just… I’m having a hard time getting this stupid contact lense out of my eye.”

Y/n had to refrain from laughing. Not only for Robin’s sake but not to upset him even more. Her pinched lips made him groan. “I’m sorry!” She walked up to him, climbing up on the counter to sit. There she saw the case that held glasses with black frames, contact solution, and the contact holder. He must hide them from the wandering eye. “Do you need help?”

He didn’t answer.

He stood up straight and moved in front of her, leaning forward and widening his right eye. He winced because his left eye tried to widen with it. She told him to relax. Opening the eye up with her thumb and pointer finger with one hand, she used her other hand to pinch the contact out of his eyes, setting it in the holder with solution. When she turned her head back to face him, she realized how close he was.

The last time they were like this was at Carol Perkin’s birthday party in eight grade. Y/n was more than nervous when the bottle landed on her in a game of seven minutes in heaven. He had a stupid grin plastered on his young freckled face. At that age, Steve had been everyone’s first school girl crush. He was goofy and charismatic. There was also that time in seventh grade he returned that pencil he borrowed. No one had returned her pencil before.

Who wouldn’t want to kiss him?

He still had those few freckles on his face. His breath still smells like mint toothpaste. His body still smelled like she was walking along the beach. His lips were chapped and cracked. She brushed her finger over the cut dangerously close to his bottom lip. “You need to clean that. You don’t want it getting infected.”

He moved away from her, and she felt cold.

He opened the mirror above the sink, pulling out a first aid kit, coming back and handing it to her. When she gave him a look, he shrugged. “Can’t see. Remember?”

He stared at her as she took care of the wound. She knew he was. She could feel the hot blazed glare burning into her skin. It made her itch.

When she finished, he stepped back and looked into the mirror again. “I won’t be able to step outside for weeks.”

“Wear the glasses. People might be too distracted by those than your black eye.” She slid off the counter, patting his shoulder. No, she didn’t do it just to see how his muscles felt.

Before she pulled away, Steve’s hand came up and was placed on top of hers. It was large and calloused, yet it was also gentle and warm. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she answered.

“Does this make us friends now?” He asked, taking his hand away, facing her, leaning back onto the counter.

Her eyes scanned over him, thinking to herself how odd the question was. Why did he care if they were friends? “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Harrington.”

But when she laid on his bed that night, too afraid to sleep, her mind couldn’t help but think how her only friend was gone. She wouldn’t tell him, but maybe the idea of calling Steve her friend wasn’t as absurd as she thought.

——

Winter had always been Y/n’s favorite season. The white glow of fluffy snow when she stepped outside or how icicles hung from above. Her house always smelled like gingerbread and pine needles.

It wasn’t until she sat against hot concrete, feet dipped in the pool, watching Steve and Robin argue about diving techniques. It wasn’t until three weeks ago when Steve had asked the two of them to come over to swim and he had answered his front door in only his swim trunks. It wasn’t until this was now a ritual— every day she and Robin would arrive at Steve’s door, wearing their swimsuits under their clothes, holding a pack of beers from the corner store, carrying mischievous smiles. It wasn’t until some days, they would venture inside and put on a movie. Robin would make claim to the loveseat and Y/n had the couch. Steve laid his back on the floor, but on one occasion he plopped on the other side of her, propping his feet into Y/n’s lap.

Although she was sad, and experienced something so traumatic, summer seemed to be irrevocably irreplaceable. The warm sun, melting popsicles that ran on her fingers making them sticky, staying out too late were all the things that made her feel young and in love with summer again.

It sucked that they all were jobless, but none of their parents pushed for them to get a new one after everything that had happened. Also, it was Hawkins. The job market was slim to none.

It was good to just be a kid again.

Y/n laughed as Robin and Steve had gotten into a heated childish argument that resulted in her pushing Steve off the diving board. Y/n felt the drops of water hit her face and legs, but she didn’t care. Steve came back to surface, wiping his stinging eyes, swearing words that even sailors would wince at. He turned towards her, pretending to be angry that she was laughing too hard, swimming towards her. She yelled at him to leave her alone, kicking the water so it would splash him. He grabbed her ankles so she would stop.

She leaned her head forward, peering over the Ray Ban sunglasses she had– borrowed– from Steve. Water beaded on his forehead. His wet hair clung to his face. His nose was pink from the sun, exaggerating the tiny freckles that kissed his face. The sun cast a golden glow on his tan skin. “Help me out.” He stuck his hand out for her to take.

“There’s a ladder over there.” Y/n replied, kicking her free foot slightly against his chest.

Robin had made fun of him earlier today on how hairy it had become.

“If you don’t help me, I’ll pull you in.” He threatened.

Y/n watched as Robin cannonballed off the diving board, causing the pool water to ripple into tiny waves. Steve gave her a toothy grin. She didn’t trust him one bit, but she knew he would keep bothering her if she didn’t give in. She rolled her head back, sighing, taking his hand in hers. As she expected, he used all his strength to pull her arm and leg, placing her over his shoulder. His hand was settled at the back of her thigh, and a little too close to the bottom of her ass. The sunglasses had fallen to the bottom. She didn’t even try to fight him as he threw her into the middle of the pool. By the time she had come back up, he was climbing out before she could get revenge.

“You guys want some pizza rolls?” He asked, picking up his towel off one of the pool chairs, shaking his hair in it.

When he received a yes from both Robin and Y/n he retreated into the house.

Y/n seemed to let out a deep breath, as she watched him. She swam back under the water to retrieve the sunglasses, surprised when she resurfaced to see Robin looking at her smugly. “What?”

“I used to think you were cool.” Robin said, propping her elbows up on the ledge.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/n asked.

Her new-found friend shrugged. “When I first met you, I thought you found him as irritable as I do. But the rest of the summer I’ve had to endure the two of you disgustingly flirting all the time. You’ve fallen under his spell.”

Y/n scoffed. Robin sounded ridiculous right now. “Robin, I am not flirting with Steve Harrington.”

Robin hummed, clearly not believing a word.

“Even if I did flirt with him. It’s not like I’m the one he’s interested in.” Y/n gave her a pointed look. She had noticed Steve and Robin were closer and seemed to come to an understanding of one another. He always had a smile on his face around her and even touched her a lot more than he did Y/n.

Robin nearly choked on her own laughter. “Me? Oh my god. No no no no. Never. Nope. Trust me on this one, Y/n.”

“Why not? You’re pretty and… you get along very well.”

Robin closed her eyes, biting her lip. The look on her face was serious. “I don’t like Steve. If I did like someone, it would be someone like you.”

Y/n raised her eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m a lesbian.” Her voice was soft, but Y/n could still hear the raspy words loud and clear.

There was a sudden shift in her perception on the both of them. It wasn’t bad. But the secret whispers if the three of them had gone out made a lot more sense. Y/n smiled at her. Not one of those smiles full of pity. A real genuine friendly and encouraging smile. “Is that why you never argue when Steve puts on Risky Business?”

Robin splashed her and told her to shut up.

The rest of the day, now that they were dried off and back inside, Y/n couldn’t help but think about what Robin had mentioned. It was like she had to analyze every single move that Steve made or said. When they settled in the living room and he settled on the couch like last time, Y/n quickly slid to the floor, nervous that he might put his feet in her lap again. She looked down at her fidgeting fingers when she noticed Robin gave her a strange look.

Really, the entire night she had brushed him off or barely spoke to him.

It had gotten late. Robin decided to spend the night. Steve offered an invitation to Y/n, but she quickly rejected, making a lame excuse about waking up early to do chores. She said her goodbyes, quickly walking out of the house to her car.

“Y/n!”

Steve’s voice called out to her when she made it about halfway. She turned around. “Yeah?”

“Everything good? You seemed… off tonight.” His porch light shone on his face. She could still see the faded bruise underneath his eye.

“I’m just tired is all.” She lied. Although, she didn’t know the entire truth to what she was feeling.

“You coming by tomorrow?” He asked her.

“If I didn’t know any better. You sound a bit obsessed with me, Harrington.”

She was too far away to see the pink that spread across his cheeks. “No,” he sputtered out. “You wish.”

There was a beat.

“I have a date tomorrow. That’s why I asked.”

Robin had been wrong to assume anything more was going on between the two of them. She relaxed her shoulders, feeling at ease that Steve was interested in someone else. “Who on Earth agreed to go on a date with you?” It was a joke. Only a joke. That’s why he scoffed and flipped her off before going back inside without saying goodnight.

Maybe she should go inside and apologize. Maybe she should even tell him she changed her mind and wanted to stay.

She didn’t.

She thought Steve had been lying about his supposed date. But after she had called his house two days later, sobbing that her car wouldn’t start, he had pulled up and in the passenger side was a freshly permed redhead. There seemed to be a scowl on her face as she watched Steve look under the hood of Y/n’s car.

“Date go well yesterday?” Y/n gave her a taunting wave.

Steve shot her a warning look. “Yeah, I guess. I was um… about to take her home when you called.”

“Gonna see her again?” Y/n kicked at the pebbles on the ground.

“I dunno.” He answered, tinkering with something Y/n had no clue what the name was. “She wasn’t too happy that I had to come help a friend who is a girl.”

“Did I interrupt your morning coitus?”

Steve quickly straightened up, hitting his head on the hood. He backed up, clutching the spot, cursing. He sat on the ground in pain.

The girl quickly jumped out of the car and ran up to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Sweetheart! Are you okay? Why are you just standing there and laughing? Go get him an ice pack or something.” The red haired girl glared at Y/n.

“Don’t worry. I think his hair prevents any trauma to the skull.” Y/n snorted.

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Some friend you are.”

“Harrington, tell your girlfriend to relax.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

The red headed girl huffed, pulling away from Steve. “I’m walking home.”

She must have expected Steve to come after her, because she turned around twice to see if he would let her. But he just sat there, watching her walk away.

Without another word about the redhead with no name he finished working on her car.

—

Y/n shrugged off her jacket when she walked into the video store, placing it on the counter. She could hear quiet arguing from the backroom. The voices got louder as they ventured into the store.

Robin was the first to walk out with a stack of VHS tapes. “Thank god you’re back.” She proclaimed when she realized Y/n was there. “Your hair is shorter.”

Y/n couldn’t help but touch the end of her hair, smiling bashfully at her new decision. She looked over at Steve who hadn’t acknowledged her presence. “Hello to you too, Harrington.”

The duo had finally found themselves a job towards the beginning of the school year. Y/n had tried to convince Steve to apply to the community college she attended, but he pushed it aside. He said that he needed to figure himself out first. She wondered what he even did when Robin and her were gone during the day and if it involved “figuring himself out.”

He grumbled, putting his own stack of tapes on the cart. Robin rolled her eyes. “He’s trying to play it cool, but he missed you. The entire week you were gone he kept whining and asking me if it was Saturday yet.” Robin whispered to her so he couldn’t hear.

Y/n had gone on vacation during Thanksgiving break to Florida at her aunt’s beach house. It was only a week, but it felt like a lifetime being away from Hawkins. Being away from them. Robin. Steve.

Y/n watched Steve roll the cart over to a shelf, wordlessly putting tapes into their rightful place.

Robin tilted her head towards him, silently telling Y/n to talk to him. She slowly made her way over to him, leaning her body against the side of his body, propping her hands on his shoulder, and resting her chin on them. He didn’t flinch or budge. In fact, she swore he moved closer into her touch. “Guess what.”

“Hm?” He continued to put the movies in their place.

Y/n moved off of him, retrieving a folded envelope from her pocket, pushing it in front of his face. He backed his head up so he could get a better view. “Is that…”

Y/n nodded.

She bit her lip as he took the letter out of her hand. “Why didn’t you open it?”

“I couldn’t do it myself. You’re the one who stayed up with me every night to make sure I finished my homework and helped me study. If I failed my midterms, I want you to be the one to break it to me.” She motioned her hands, encouraging him to open it.

Steve set a copy of Jaws on the shelf. He dragged his finger slowly against the seal. Y/n bounced on her feet in anticipation, leaning forward as he took the piece of paper out. His eyes scanned the contents of the paper. He shook his head, giving her a disappointing smile. “I can’t believe you managed to pass all of your midterms.”

Y/n’s eyes bulged, quickly snatching the paper out of his hand to see for herself. Sure enough, she had managed to get a passing grade in each course. “We did it!” She proclaimed, wrapping her arms excitedly around his neck.

It took Steve a second before he hugged her back, patting her. “No, you did it yourself, Y/n.”

She couldn’t help it. She gave him a tight squeeze, burying her face in his neck. “Thank you.” She muttered. When she pulled away, he ran hand through his hair, smiling awkwardly. “We should celebrate or something.”

Steve leaned his elbow on the shelf, but it hit the tape he had just set down, causing it to flip. Luckily he caught it as it tumbled in the air. “Yeah. How about pizza and a movie at my place?” He suggested as he set the tape carefully back on the shelf.

“As long as I get to pick the movie.”

“Anything for you. Tomorrow at nine sounds okay?”

“Good with me.”

“Great. It’s a date.” Steve picked up Jaws and pushed it between the row of movies. He then rolled the cart to a new shelf, leaving Y/n frozen in place. He didn’t seem to notice the choice of words he had used. He’s used it before. But somehow his tone of voice felt different.

Shaking her head, she turned around and walked over to her who was leaning over the counter. Y/n picked up her jacket. Robin gave her a smug look. “What?”

“A date, huh?” Robin had lowered her voice.

Y/n looked at the floor. “You know it’s not like that.” Normally, these “dates” included Robin. Yet, she acted like she knew something Y/n didn’t.

“Do you want it to be like that?” Y/n was used to Robin questioning her feelings for Steve.

Y/n could admit that the two of them have gotten closer but there was nothing more. When he touched her it was nothing more than a friendly squeeze. When they spoke it was always friendly banter. He never had any hidden reasoning behind it.

“He’s just Steve to me.” Y/n replied.

Robin was not convinced.

The next day, Y/n arrived at Steve’s house. When she walked in the door it felt weird and quiet. “Where’s Robin?”

He plopped on the loveseat that Robin would normally take over. He was wearing his glasses and his hair was messy. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap. “Not here.”

“Obviously. Why didn’t you invite her?” Y/n went over to the television, popping the movie she had brought inside the player.

“I did invite her. She said she couldn’t make it.” Steve threw the remote towards her.

Y/n let a deep breath out. Robin was a conniving sly mischievous sneaky bastard. Y/n wondered if she should turn around and tell Steve that their mutual friend was trying to parent trap them. She didn’t though.

Steve and her had hung out plenty of times by themselves and nothing happened. This was no different.

Although, she did have a difficult time paying attention to the movie, glancing over periodically as he had his knee in the air and hand under his head, parading his bicep. It would be so easy to go over and sit between his legs and lay down on his stomach. Her thoughts were distracted when his doorbell rang. She paused the movie to allow him to get up and answer the door, walking back into the living room with a box of pizza. He set it on the coffee table in front of the couch, grabbing a slice, and took a seat on the other side.

Y/n had to keep repeating to herself he only sat there because it was easier to share the pizza that way.

She must have been staring because he looked over at her, making a face. “You gonna start the movie back?”

She had a hard time focusing, and Steve looked nothing but bored out of his mind and they still had about thirty minutes left of the movie. He must have sensed it. “Guess who came into the store this week?” He said, eyes still focused on the screen, taking another bite of his third pizza slice.

“Who?” She asked him.

“Tommy. Haven’t seen him since graduation.” Steve answered. There was a glimpse of sadness in his eyes. Tommy used to be one of his best friends. It shocked her and Heather at the beginning of senior year when they barely acknowledged each other’s existence. “Him and Carol split up. Crazy right? He said she went off to the University of Texas.”

“I never really spoke to her before except in eighth grade.” Y/n wiped her hands clean on a napkin, bringing her knees into her chest.

“I remember you two belted out Call Me at her birthday party.” Steve laughed. His attention was finally on you.

She laughed at the memory of her and Carol Perkins standing on top of Carol’s mother’s expensive new dining table, singing horribly out of tune to Blondie. “Oh my god. I completely forgot about that! How did you even remember?”

“I remember a lot of things about that night.” Steve’s face had changed into something she couldn’t quite place her finger on, but it disappeared as quick as it came. He smirked, nudging his foot on her leg. “Even the kiss.”

“I didn’t think you would remember that happening.” She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that they were talking about it almost six years later.

“Why would I forget my first kiss?” Steve chuckled.

The comment was almost unbelievable. Surely he was lying. What about the rumor that he kissed Betty Wyatt’s cousin in seventh grade? “I try to forget it.” She teased him, hoping it would distract from the shy look she was giving. “You were a bad kisser.”

Steve scoffed, but the smile stayed. He leaned over and hit her knee. “I was not that bad.”

She nodded her head violently. “Yes, you were. It felt like you were trying to suck a straw.”

“I’m sorry I was not born with natural kissing abilities like you. I bet you only knew what to do because you practiced on a poster of Donny Osmond.” He yelped when she kicked her foot against his.

“That is just not true. It was Kevin Bacon.”

“Yeah, well unlike you, I was not a weirdo.” She tried to kick him again, but grabbed both of her calves, pulling her towards him. “Had to practice the old-fashioned way. No other girls have complained so far. Must be doing something right.”

“Then why haven’t any of your relationships lasted?” She raised an eyebrow. She opened her mouth, gasping in revelation. “Maybe it’s not your commitment issues but your terrible lip-action.” She poked his forehead.

Before, when they hadn’t been friends yet, that comment would have pissed him off. However, instead, he rolled his eyes, jabbing her side so she would yelp in laughter. “A lot has changed since eighth grade, Y/n. My kissing skills are phenomenal.”

“Then show me.”

Shit.

She didn’t mean to say that out loud. She didn’t even mean to let the thought cross her mind. By the look on his face, eyes wide, lips parted as if he was unsure what to say, he was just as taken aback as she was. But she couldn’t help it.The glow of the television screen gleamed on his glasses. The light danced on his face, defining his jaw line. He didn’t look like the eighth grade boy she fancied. Nor did he look like the high school boy she despised. Now, he looked pretty and grown up.

She gulped at his lack of response. “I… I was kidding, Harrington. Don’t cream your pants.” She playfully shoved his chest, looking anywhere but his eyes.

“Oh.” He said.

“Even if I wasn’t kidding. It would be no different than in eighth grade. It wouldn’t mean anything. It would be just for fun.” She should probably just shut up now before he kicked her out of his house for crossing the line.

“Okay.” He shrugged.

Her eyes met his again. Slanted and hooded. Not phased at all that he was agreeing on kissing his friend. She crossed her legs and he mirrored her. Their knees touched.

There was no slow build up or lingering looks. Steve quickly leaned in, giving her a chaste kiss.

When he pulled back she frowned. “Really?”

“What?” He shrugged. He was holding back and she didn’t understand why.

“That was barely a kiss.” She crossed her arms.

He took a deep breath and removed his glasses, setting them down on the coffee table. He turned back towards her, running his tongue along his bottom lip while staring at hers. He placed his hand on the side of her face, thumb brushing over his cheek. This time, he leaned in slowly, until their lips met once again.

Her hands laid stupidly by her side as their lips melted against one another. She was afraid to touch him. She was afraid if she did touch him this friendly kiss would become more.

She wasn’t sure when his hand came to the back of her neck, pulling her deeper. She was the one who invited his tongue in, parting her lips, allowing it to glide over the roof of her mouth before dipping it against her own.

Maybe it was the guttural moan that came out of him that she found herself climbing into his lap, hands finally touching him. She broke away. He tried to chase her lips, whimpering. “I should probably go.”

Steve looked over at the television. “The movie isn’t over.” The movie had been long forgotten.

“I have class tomorrow.” She argued.

Steve gripped her sides. “Please stay. At least until the movie is over.”

Her lips found his again. More greedy and intense than the last time. She couldn’t help but grab a fistful of his hair, tugging it. That same moan from earlier came back. He came up for a breath of air like he had been drowning for hours. Y/n herself felt like she was in a whirlpool. Her head spinning, stomach flipping.

Their noses bumped into one another as he angled his head. His lips moved to her jaw then to her neck. Licking and nipping the soft skin. “Harrington.” She sighed.

“Hm?”

“You know this isn’t going to be a thing, right?” He looked up, lips pink and swollen. His eyes clouded with desire. “I don’t like you or anything.”

“Okay.” He tried to lean back in, but she stopped him. He rolled his eyes. “What do you want me to say? We both agreed it’s only for fun.”

A part of her wished she hadn't said anything. A part of her wanted him to argue and tell her it wasn’t just fun for him and he liked her.

She was ready to get off his lap again and run out of his house. The air was suffocating. But then he shifted, and she felt the hardness under the soft cotton of his sweatpants, brushing lightly against the back of her thigh. She hitched her breath.

His fingers pushed the hem of her shirt, brushing her bare stomach. “You know this only confirms that you don’t wait until the first date.”

“Do you believe the only thing I think about is sex?” He quizzed her. There was the playful smirk on his face that he always gave her when he wanted her to pick on him.

“Actually, yes. Probably the longest committed relationship you’ve had.” The anxious feeling gnawing on her brain loosened. She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I can also feel your dick.”

He flushed.

“Look at you getting all flustered. You’re too pretty for your own good, Harrington.” She smiled smugly when he grew redder at the compliment.

She squeezed his warm pink freckled cheeks, making his lips pucker out. “Do the other girls get you worked up like me?”

He shook his head. He didn’t need to though. She knew the girls he brought home didn’t speak to him in such a way.

That was one thing about her that Steve found most enthralling. She was never different around him. Even when he makes a comment that flustered her, she could come back with full force. It was like they were on opposite ends of one of those Newton’s cradles.

“I’m not expecting to have sex.” He assured her.

“I know.” She was ready for him to shut up. She bucked her hip.

“Shit.” Steve groaned from the pressure in his pants. His palms ran up and down her bare sides, thumbing the fabric of her bra underneath. There was a shaky breath he let out when she grinded against him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you expecting to have sex?”

She dipped down, kissing his sweet lips. “I’m just having fun before the movie is over.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” His hands were still now, resting on her ribs.

She threw her head back, agitated. “I dunno! I’ve never even had sex before. I don’t know what I want to happen.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, quickly removing his hands from under her. “But you acted like you’ve done this before.”It came out as a question.

“Confidence gets you a long way.” She mumbled. “Now you’re treating me like I’m going to break if you touch me.”

“No. No! That’s not… I don’t want you to feel like you are making a mistake.” Steve’s face softened with concern.

“We’re already making a mistake. What’s one more? Show me what I’ve been missing all these years.”

This wasn’t what she had imagined her first time. It had always been someone she cared about deeply. There was a trail of rose petals and satin sheets. Her lips would taste of the red wine she had just drank with maybe a hint of strawberries. She would wear a well thought out lingerie set which would slowly be taken off her and her body would be ravished, idolized, relished. She had always thought those were the things that would make her first time perfect.

Never did she imagine it would be Steve Harrington, laying her on his couch after he had just taken her shirt off, her bra not long after. Her breasts in his mouth, sticky and wet as he lapped his tongue over her nipples.

More clothes seemed to disappear between them. The glow of the television melted into his skin. She brushed her fingers over the freckles on his ribs. It was something she wanted to do months ago when they were swimming in his pool.

His hand slipped between her thighs, sliding up. She was only wearing underwear now, and embarrassingly enough, it wasn’t anything cute or fancy. “Who’s the worked up one now?” He commented as he slipped his hand inside her underwear, feeling the wetness.

“Can’t help it. You’re so pretty, Harrington.” She mewled. She was happy to discover the compliment made him red-faced and clumsy. She was going to use that to her advantage.

“Can I touch you?” He asked.

“You are.”

“Not what I meant.”

His fingers felt like electricity. Gliding, massaging against her sweet area. His lips were on hers again, sucking, nibbling her bottom lip. He was hungry for more.

When he removed her underwear and kissed her pelvis, it began to hit her that she was naked and about to sleep with Steve Harrington. Her– unlikely– friend Steve Harrington. “Steve.” She let out a wanton moan as his tongue made contact with her swollen clit.

He lifted her legs onto his shoulders, hands wrapped over her thighs, gripping the insides. He pushed his face deeper, moaning against her.

“You look so pretty between my legs.” She chuckled when he looked up at her, eyes hazy, drunk on her. He flicked his tongue faster, and she tried to clench her legs together but he spread them back apart.

He came up for a moment, a string of salvia between his mouth and her. “You okay?”

“Really? You’re checking on me now?” She complained, wiggling for him to continue.

There was a moment.

He looked at her intensely, watching her chest rise and fall. He took note of how her eyes glimmered. How beautiful she looked on the couch, the cushions enveloping around her bare body. Before his thoughts could stray further from just friends territory, he returned his mouth on her, taking one of his hands, he moved his hand off her thigh. “Eyes on me.”

He groaned when she parted her lips, a soft gasp escaping as he slowly slipped his middle finger inside of her. He pumped it in and out. Hot sticky sounds mixed with soft moans and grunts. “Jesus…”

“Feel okay?”

She nodded.

He slipped a second finger in.

Dear god, she felt she was floating in the air as his tongue lapped and circled her clit, sucking, and occasionally his teeth grazing. It all felt surreal like if she closed her eyes and opened them back up he wouldn’t be there. Maybe that’s why she tangled her fingers into his dark mop of hair, ensuring he was real and wouldn’t disappear. Maybe she also gripped his hair after he curled his fingers, hitting a sensitive spot. Maybe she held on tighter because that bubbling feeling at the base of her stomach appeared, her eyes watering, and her breath irregular, her walls tightened around his fingers, her high pouring all over them.

He kissed her thigh, letting her catch her breath and revel in the orgasm, fingers still inside of her. She stared at white the ceiling above her, trying to refocus her eyes. Steve took his fingers out, and crawled out from underneath her. His fingers were slick and wet. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, taking his tongue, licking them, putting them in his mouth, and taking them out with a pop.

He’s hovered above her now, and she’s happy. It had been too long since they had kissed. It felt like ages ago she had only asked him to kiss her as a challenge, to prove that he wasn’t the goofy freckled boy anymore.

He wanted to kiss her, she could tell by the way he leaned in. However, when she saw his wet depraved red lips, she found herself cupping his jaw, rubbing her thumb over them, brushing it against his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut for a second and she could feel him twitch against her. “Fuck.” He whispered. “Fuck… you. I need… you so bad.” When he opened his eyes, she noted the plea that shone in them. She could imagine he would hate her if she didn’t let him by the wrecked expression on his face. “I need to hear it from you.”

“Okay.” She tried to kiss him but he moved his head back.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He rested his tongue on his bottom lip, that smug look appearing, knowing it would piss her off.

“Just fuck me already, Harrington.” She threw her head back on the couch, exasperated.

It was a quick swift movement, him removing his underwear, his dick slapping his stomach.

She tried not to react. She had always assumed his size would not be disappointing. Sometimes he wore too tight of jeans and sometimes she found herself staring at the bulge it would make.

He took himself by the hand, sliding it against her folds, teasing her. He leaned in one last time. “It’s all yours. I just need you to say the words.”

She let out a laugh of disbelief, looking away from his intense gaze. “I need you.” She whispered.

“I couldn’t hear you.” Steve leaned his ear closer.

“You’re blind, Harrington. Not hard of hearing. I’m not saying it again.”

“Not the time to be stubborn, Y/n.” He tsked, caressing her breast, pinching her hardened nipple.

“I need you, Steve. Please.” She hated begging, but the pathetic look on his face when she said please, made her stomach swell.

He slowly inserted himself into her, sinking slowly. He made sure she was okay before he started to move his hips, slow careful thrusts, in and out of her.

She looked over at the television screen and almost laughed. The credits were rolling.

Steve grabbed her jaw, making her turn her face back towards him. “Look at me.” He bucked his hip, his entire length filling her. He did it again, and again. Y/n gasped, clenching her thighs against his waist. “Trust me, it will feel better to keep them wide.” He gently pushed them apart for her, continuing a steady rhythm. Marveling the fact his entirety was completely sheathed inside of her.

She could barely stand it, her shaky hands grabbed his arms, proving to be as strong and muscular as they looked. Her nails dug into his soft tan flesh when he rolled his hips.

“Feel good?” Steve asked.

“It’s alright.” Her mouth was wide, grinning. She knew that he knew she was lying. It was amazing, but it felt even more fun to tease him, watching his eyebrows crease when he was annoyed, trying to prove to her he was beyond just “alright.”

“It would feel even better if I wasn’t doing all the work here, sweetheart.” He used the nickname in a condescending tone, but it didn’t stop her stomach from flipping, and a breath hitching in her throat. He grabbed the side of her ass, pulling it up, allowing the tip of him to brush over her cervix. “Move your hips with me.”

She did as she was told, her pelvis hitting his, colliding together in a sound of sticky slaps. “Fuck. Yes.” He leaned down and gave a sloppy kiss. She took his bottom lip between her teeth. He couldn’t hide the loud moan. He gave her ass another squeeze. “Try to keep in rhythm with me, baby.”

His hooded eyes were half-closed, hypnotized and intoxicated. “You’re so gorgeous.” He mumbled, flushing his chest against hers, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck, placing tender kisses. “So beautiful.”

He sounded like she had broken him.

“How do I feel?” He asked again.

Her arms snaked around him, fingers brushing over his shoulder blades. “I told you already.”

“That answer wasn’t good enough.” He pulled his hips back, nearly completely out of her, before slamming back down. Her thighs came back around him, and he pushed them apart, giving unrelentless thrusts, groaning and grunting, her walls clenching around him, her body never wanting to let go of him.

Everytime he sank back inside of her, hitting the right spot, short whiny breaths of air escaped her.

“I like the sounds you make.” She admitted.

Although she was beneath him, she still felt some sort of power, knowing her words could determine his next move or destroy him. Like now, his eyes were closed, lips parted, cursing under his breath.

“I need to hear you again.”

“Hear what?” She asked in a sharp breath of air.

“Since you won’t say how good I make you feel. I want to hear it.” He quickly took himself out of her, and the sudden lack of warmth almost made her cry. He sat so his backside was against the back of the couch. He pulled her hand, motioning for her to come over, guiding her to straddle him.

She placed her forehead on his as he lifted her up and led her back onto him, swearing as she sank down. She placed her hands on his neck, his on her back, the two of them moaning and kissing as she rocked back and forth.

“That’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He murmured.

She shivered as his hand trailed down to her hips, grabbing the flesh. He began to harmonize with her rhythm. Her mouth found his neck, sucking a rosy bloom. She pushed herself harder against him, feeling his base brush her clit. “Y/n.” His voice was weak, pleading.

She pecked his lips. “It feels so good.” She groaned in satisfaction. “You make me feel so good.”

His composure faltered, her words sending him over the edge. His hips continued to buck up, but each one a little faster and a little harder, his cock unrelentlessly penetrating inside of her, hitting her G-spot.

“Steve.” She had said under her breath.

“Steve.” She moaned a little louder so he could hear her.

It was almost too overwhelming. “Steve.” She felt her climax wash over her, body falling forward, face in his neck. He continued to fuck her through it, making her cry from the intensity of pleasure pulsating throughout her body. It wasn’t long after her that he choked a groan, nails digging into her hips, one last deep thrust, releasing his own orgasm in her.

They stayed like that for what seemed like forever. Her face in his neck, panting, limbs numb. He was staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, running his hand up and down her back.

“That was fun.” He spoke out loud, not particularly to her, but to fill the silence.

“Yeah.” Her voice was shaky. She brought up her face, looking him in the eyes. She leaned in for another kiss, but that seemed too romantic. It was too much for just two friends that only had sex for fun and not because they liked each other. Instead of kissing his soft glossy lips, she kissed him on his cheek. Ignoring the feeling that she wanted to.

—-

Y/n couldn’t believe in only a few hours marked 365 days that Earth had gone around the sun.

It had been 180 days since Starcourt and Heather’s death. It had been 30 days since she had sex with Steve for the first time.

Nothing had changed. There was still bantering between them. They still hung out. Steve had even gone on a few dates after, but Y/n could admit something was different. Stolen looks, lingering touches, and maybe the fact they had sex three times after that.

It had been a week after the first time Steve showed up at her doorstep, a desperate look in his eyes. It didn’t take long for them to sneak up to her bedroom, his hand over her mouth, trying not to catch her parent’s attention.

The next was when he had gone on a date with Beth Newman. Apparently, it ended terribly, calling Y/n to come over. He kept telling her he didn’t ask her to come over for just sex, but a little part of her knew that was a lie.

But the last time felt different than any of the other times. There was no failed date, no desperation.

It was Christmas Day and Y/n had invited him over to celebrate with him after he had mentioned his parents were going to Las Vegas. Robin was in Indianapolis having Christmas with her grandparents. Steve was going to be all alone on Christmas and it bothered Y/n. Even though he showed up at her front door she had been shocked he showed up, wearing one of the ugliest brown sweaters she had ever seen.

They spent the afternoon eating and talking with her family. They even watched A Charlie Brown Christmas. It was tradition for the family to bake banana bread the night before and after their own festivities would go around the neighborhood to pass them out. However, Y/n and Steve stayed behind.

The house smelled of honey glazed ham and mashed potatoes that lingered from dinner. Y/n walked into the living room with two mugs of peppermint hot chocolate, warm enough for marshmallows to melt but cool enough to drink. Steve was staring at the Christmas tree decorated in lights and garland. He gave her a sweet smile, taking the mug from her. “I don’t remember the last time our family decorated the Christmas tree together. Usually, I’d come home to find it already up.”

She could tell he wasn’t telling her this to make her feel bad for him.

“I have a present for you.” He told her, setting his mug down, walking over to the coat closet her mother had told him to put his jacket in. He came back, holding a poorly wrapped golden box.

Y/n had sat down in front of the electrical fireplace, criss crossed, watching him walk to her. “I didn’t get you anything.”

He smiled, sitting next to her. “It’s okay.” He handed her the present, leaning back on his hands, arm brushing hers, watching her run her fingers over the wrapping.

“It’s a good thing you don’t work at a gift store. Your wrapping skills are atrocious.” She nudged him.

“Henderson wouldn’t help me.” He had grumbled, looking away so she couldn’t see his flushed cheeks.

She smirked, ripping the paper off, revealing a square black velvet box. She glanced over at him. He was chewing on his bottom lip, hitting the top of his feet together, and not looking at her. She opened the box, letting out a quiet gasp.

Inside was a dainty silver bracelet. There was nothing entirely special or spectacular about it, but the way the white lights from the tree shined on it and the fact it was from Steve, everything made it more special. “It’s beautiful, Steve.”

“Yeah?” He looked at her, noticing the gleam in her eyes.

She nodded, placing a quick kiss on his lips, taking it out of the box. “Will you help me put it on?”

Steve, still shocked from the kiss, coughed. He sat up and silently helped her clasp the bracelet on her wrist, looking up at her when he was done, hand still on hers. She called it beautiful again, only to herself, but he had heard it. “For a beautiful girl.”

She snorted, but couldn’t help but feel nervous. She still wasn’t used to the blatant flirting or compliments he gave her. “How long were we holding in that cheesy comment?”

His thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse. He took the leap and kissed her softly. So soft it felt like he wasn’t kissing her at all. She placed her hand on his face, pulling him in, deepening the kiss. There was no hesitation when she asked if he wanted to go to her room, leaving behind the now room temperature hot chocolate.

“Surprised you didn’t make fun of my sweater.” He had told her, smiling, between their heated kisses on her bed.

She smiled back, showing all her teeth, tugging the hem of said sweater, helping him tug it off. “It’s Christmas. Decided to be nice.”

All the touches and kisses he gave her that night were softer, longer, and slower than before. Like he was savoring everything about her. Marveling her in nothing but the silver bracelet on her wrist.

And now she had to sit in an uncomfortable dress at his parent’s New Year’s party, watching him talk to one of his dad’s co-worker’s daughters. She was clean, gorgeous and straight-laced. Her blonde hair was straight and shiny. Y/n couldn’t help but glare at the way she laughed when Steve told a joke, touching his elbow lightly.

They hadn’t talked about Christmas or acknowledged it. Not even two days ago when they had gotten high in her car and made out.

“These sandwiches are probably the best thing ever.” Robin commented, mouth full of the finger turkey sandwiches. “Steve’s parents might suck but they know how to throw a hell of a party.”

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Y/n asked, rolling her eyes when the girl brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Who?” Robin followed her gaze, trying not to smirk. “Not sure. She’s kind of hot.”

Y/n shot her a dirty look.

Robin laughed. “Not my fault you have a crush on him.”

“I do not!” Y/n’s voice raised and was higher than normal. A few bystanders gave the pair an odd look before returning back to their conversations. Y/n coughed, taking a sip of the sparkling cider in her hand. Steve had promised later he would sneak them some booze, but he was too busy flirting and the night was coming to a close.

“Hm.” Robin stuffed another sandwich in her mouth. “Don’t worry, if she sees that hickey he’s been trying to cover all evening, she’ll lose interest.”

Y/n choked, eyes wide, receiving a questioning look from her friend. “Hickey?”

Robin chuckled. “Oh yeah. He came to work yesterday and I pointed it out immediately. It’s kind of hard to miss. I had to come over an hour early to press some powder on it. Do you know if he has a secret girl?”

“Why would I know? You’re his best friend.” Y/n tried her best to play it off.

Robin shrugged. “You’re the one who hung out with him the night before.”

“I hope you’re not implying what I think you are.” Y/n nervously took another drink, looking away from her. She could easily tell when someone was lying by just the scrunch of a nose.

“I’m not implying anything.” She answered.

There was a beat.

“I’m just one-hundred percent sure I saw him touch your butt the other day when you came into the store.”

It wasn’t that Y/n was hiding the fact that she and Steve had hooked up… multiple times. But she assumed since Steve had never told Robin about them, that it was a silent agreement they wouldn’t tell anyone at all. Y/n gulped. “He did not.”

“Mm, yes he did.”

“He probably just grazed it when walking by, Robin.”

“Y/n, that was not just a graze. He went like this.” She held up her hand, squeezing the air. “His hand was full of your ass.”

“That’s so gross. Never do that again.” Y/n elbowed her friend, laughing.

Another moment of silence.

“We’re not together or anything. We’re just… having fun.” She twisted the silver bracelet around her wrist.

Robin hummed again, not pushing any further.

Y/n managed to slip outside, letting the freezing air sting her cheeks. There was only about ten minutes left of 1985. She took a seat on the deck, slipping off her shoes, and putting her feet in the heated pool water. Leaning over slightly, she could see her reflection in the water. A whole year went by and she looked older, taller, bigger. The bags under her eyes told her she was tired a lot more.

It was funny to think just months ago she was still in high school and now she was grown up. She heard the door open, chatter from the inside drifted out before being muffled again when it was closed. She could hear quiet giggling. Turning her head, she saw Steve and the girl from earlier walk out, his hand on the small of her back. They couldn’t see her hidden behind a pool chair.

Their conversation was quiet, but she could hear a lighter being lit, the smell of cigarettes followed after.

“You have anyone to kiss at midnight?” The girl asked him in a sweet sultry tone.

She could feel her throat close up. There was no escape. If she stood up and walked away, they would see her. Maybe if she crawled on the ground she could go around the house back to the front.

“I thought I did.” He answered.

Y/n’s escape plan was paused, her ears perked up.

“Thought? You have a girl here with you?”

Y/n heard the long sigh that came out of him, a trail of smoke lifted into the cold air. “She’s just a friend.”

Oh.

Y/n heard enough that she wanted to. She grabbed her shoes, picked her feet out of the water, shivering as they hit the freezing slab of concrete. When she stood up, the girl and Steve looked at her.

The girl’s face was pinched into an annoyed expression, clutching Steve’s jacket over her shoulders.

Steve’s eyes were wide, mouth ajar, like a kid who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Don’t mind me!” Y/n faked a sweet smile, but she knew Steve could recognize the sarcasm by the way he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was looking for someone.”

The girl’s face relaxed. “Who were you looking for?”

She sounded like she had done this before. Like she knew everyone that was at the party. Like she knew Steve.

Y/n walked closer to the door, looking Steve up and down, giving him a chance to say anything.

He didn’t.

“No one important. Just a friend.” Y/n locked eyes with Steve. He gave her a look, lips parted like he wanted to argue with her. Instead of giving him a chance, she walked back inside to the party.

She looked around the living room to find Robin. She had plans on leaving but she didn’t want to without her friend not knowing. It came to no surprise to find her standing to the side, gawking at a pretty brunette, who also seemed to be looking at her too. Y/n sighed, pushing her pride behind, realizing her friend needed her.

“You know, you could just go over and talk to her.” Y/n told her, slipping back on her shoes now that her feet were dry.

She scoffed. “Have you met me?” Her voice was raspy and warm.

Suddenly, there was a clinking of glass, everyone’s attention turned to Mr. Harrington standing in the middle of the living room, Mrs. Harrington wrapped around his arm. Steve stood behind them, looking at his feet. His hair was messy and he had put his jacket back on. “Thank you all for coming tonight. My family and I are grateful for everyone in this room. The clock here says we have two minutes left of 85’ so I suggest you tie your loose ends up quickly.” He winked, making everyone laugh. He raised his glass, everyone followed suit.

Y/n quickly turned to Robin again. “There’s nothing you can lose if you go talk to her now.”

Robin bit her lip, looking at the girl across the room. “Okay. Fine, I’ll go.” She straightened the blazer she was wearing and asked Y/n if she looked okay before walking timidly over to the stranger.

She couldn’t but smile as the pair immediately dived into conversation, Robin turned around and gave her a smile.

Someone in the room shouted that there were twenty seconds left before midnight. Y/n covered her mouth, pushing down the laugh when the brunette took Robin’s pinky, pulling her upstairs. However, she couldn’t help but feel envious that her shy friend, who was scared of being an outcast if the town knew the real her, had snuck off to lock lips with a gorgeous girl.

“Ten!”

Y/n looked at the couples finding one another to celebrate the new year.

“Nine!”

Her eyes caught Steve still standing in the living room.

“Eight!”

He ran a hand through his stupid messy brown hair.

“Seven!”

He craned his neck to look around.

“Six!”

He walked towards her, still looking in every direction except hers.

“Five!”

His stupid brown eyes finally found hers.

“Four!”

He just stood there, staring at her as if he was too scared to approach her. She didn’t want to go to him. She didn’t want to be the first to move.

“Three!”

He gave her a small smile, putting his hand up, waving.

“Two!”

Her body betrayed her, turning towards him, smiling back, waving back, a silent invitation.

“One!”

She saw the step he took. She knew he was coming to her.

“Happy New Year!”

The blonde girl from earlier had gotten to him faster, grabbing him by the collar, snaking her arm around his neck to pull him into a kiss.

That kiss was supposed to be for Y/n.

Y/n knew it was.

But it still hurt and gnawed at her brain that she would never be good enough for Steve. He might think she was pretty enough to fuck, but never enough to be with her for real.

—-

The floor of Robin’s bedroom floor had never felt so fuzzy before. Y/n twisted the carpet strands between her fingers, feeling the strands between the pads of her digits. She let out a long drawn out sigh, giggling when Robin took that as a sign to hand over the blunt, hanging her arm off the edge of the bed for Y/n to take.

Y/n took a long deep inhale, filling her lungs before puffing the smoke out. She turned her head slightly to the dark haired boy next to her. He had one hand behind his head and the other laying on his stomach. His lips were parted, eyes dilated, focused on the ceiling. She nudged him with her elbow, but he didn’t look at her when he took the blunt out of her hand.

This is how it's been the past month. He only would hang out with her if Robin was around. He would barely look at her and only talked to her when it was absolutely necessary. There was no flirting. No lingered touches.

She had to watch his hair get longer, muscles get bigger, boyish features disappear. It felt like their friendship had taken three steps back and they no longer knew one another. They were just there because Robin was there. They were strangers.

“Guys, are you even listening to me?” Robin sat up, looking down at them.

Steve sat up too, reaching over Y/n to hand Robin the blunt back. “We don’t need to listen to know you’re back on another tangent about Vickie. How cute her freckles are and how red her hair is.”

Robin groaned, annoyed that he was being a jerk.

“She could call your cousin and play tonsil hockey with her instead.” Y/n snorted. When Robin told Steve about who she met at New Year’s, he broke the news she had made out with his cousin, Bethany. Now, it was an inside joke between them, Steve was indisposed.

He gave her an unimpressed look, definitely not amused by the joke. “I don’t know why it’s a big deal to talk to Vickie if you were brave enough talking to a stranger you had never met.”

This conversation had happened before. Steve would ask that question each time, and each time Robin would answer the same thing.

It was different flirting with a stranger she had never met, because if she had been rejected, it was fine no one would ever know, but if it had happened to a Hawkin’s local there would be consequences she wasn’t ready to go through.

“Even if Vickie doesn’t like girls, I’m sure someone else in Hawkins does.” He tried to reassure her.

Y/n sat up, looking at Robin, leaning in, pretending like it was a secret. “Or you could go down the list of his family. Maybe his mom could be next.”

The two girls burst out in laughter.

Steve looked between the two of them. “I gotta piss.” He grumbled, standing up to walk out of her room to the bathroom.

Y/n couldn’t help but watch him, biting her lip.

“Jesus. You two are exhausting.” Robin proclaimed. “I'd rather be drugged by Russains again than watch you two act like children who can’t talk about their feelings.”

“There are no feelings. Besides, he's the one ignoring me.” She crossed her arms and grumbled.

The girl on the bed rolled her eyes, moving her recently cut hair behind her ear. “This is why friends shouldn’t sleep with one another.”

“Feeling left out? Send Steve home and I can fix that.” Y/n joked.

Robin’s face grew bright red, laughing louder than necessary.

Steve walked back in, making the girls cackle even harder, tears in their eyes, clutching their thighs because they were on the verge of peeing themselves. Steve leaned on the door frame, the corner of his mouth upturned, even though he had no clue what the uproar was about. He shook his head, sitting back in his spot.

For a second, Y/n had forgotten they weren’t talking to one another. She laid her head on his shoulder, letting the last remaining giggles out. She expected him to push her off, but she swore he shifted closer, his thumb secretly rubbing the bottom of her back.

The sun was setting, and their high was gone. Y/n announced she should head home before it got dark. “Car in the shop still?” Robin asked her.

“Yeah, I thought it would be fixed by now, but supposedly the alternator is out. Mom has had to take me to school this week.” Y/n sighed, grabbing her bag and slipping on her shoes by the bedroom door.

“Your car broke down again?” Steve looked concerned, eyebrows knitted together, and his head tilted to the side.

Y/n shared an awkward look with Robin. “Yeah, last Friday when I was leaving school.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” His hands were on his hips now, like a scolding father.

She furrowed her brows. “You were at work and I was forty-five minutes away. Eric helped me. He knew a few things about cars.”

“Who’s Eric?” He asked her.

“Oh, it’s one of her classmates who is totally into her.” Robin interjected.

Y/n shot her a look. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys later.” She could hear hushed whispers as she walked out of Robin’s bedroom. There was a defeated sigh followed by rushed footsteps.

“Y/n, wait.” She was almost to the front door when Steve had caught up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She turned, raising an eyebrow. They stood there for a moment. “Let me drive you home.”

She only agreed because it was cold outside. Not because it would be the first time in weeks she would be alone with Steve.

The radio was on, windows were rolled down, Steve had a cigarette in his hand hanging out the window. A bad habit he had picked up again recently. Robin had scolded him the other day at work for stepping out to take a smoke break.

The breeze ruffled his hair that was overdue for a trim. “So, this Eric guy. Is he cute?”

“Why? You want his number? I could give it to you.” Y/n snorted at her own joke.

“You have his number?” He flicked the cigarette out the window. Y/n looked back to watch the still lit bud bounce in the middle of the road.

She leaned over to turn down the radio. “Yeah. He gave it to me Friday. Told me to call him if I needed a ride or anything.” They both knew what anything meant.

Steve made a noise from the back of his throat in response, tapping his steering wheel, deep in thought about something. “You gonna call him?”

Y/n had boys interested in her during her friendship with Steve. Never did he ask about it. Then again, she never asked about his interests. A little irritated, she bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. It was unbelievable. “Yeah, maybe I will. Unless you think I shouldn’t.” This was his chance. She opened the door for them to finally, in Robin’s words, talk about their big kid feelings.

“You can do whatever you want, Y/n. I don’t own you.” He brushed his nose.

“Right. Just friends, right?” Y/n’s jaw ticked.

“Of course we’re friends.” He noticed the hurt look on her face, realizing what she was talking about. “I mean… we’re better off as friends.”

“Yeah we are.” She put on a fake smile for him. “Besides, I can’t be with someone I don’t take seriously.”

His knuckles turned white from clutching the steering wheel. He pulled into the driveway, her door was already open before he had even put the car in park. “Y/n!” He yelled as she started to storm off inside. She took a deep breath in, turning around, leaning over to look back inside the car, clearly frustrated.

He looked like he wanted to say something important, swallowing hard. “I think I left my jacket here from Christmas. If you find it, could you return it?”

The laugh she let out was breathy and full of disbelief. “Yeah, Harrington, I will. Do you think you could return my virginity?” Her face fell and lips were pursed, glaring at him.

His jaw went slack, looking away from her glowered look. Without another word, he shifted into reverse, pulling out of her driveway. It took everything in her power not to run after his BMW. Instead she stood there in the February cold, hugging herself, tears streaming down her face.

She walked up the steps of her home and sat on her porch swing, wishing Heather was there next to her. She would probably make a joke like, “I was right. You never really hated Steve Harrington.”

Because it was true, she didn’t hate him.

Being around him, getting to know him, made her feel like those chilly evenings when the leaves began to turn back to their color. He even reminded her of summer, sunkissed, and days in the pool. Steve reminded her of all the seasons and her favorite things about them.

She twisted the silver bracelet around on her wrist.

She would probably never say it out loud, but she was pretty sure she had fallen in love with him.

She was in love with Steve Harrington.

—-

The Florida sun felt unbearable. Hot and sticky. Sweat. So much sweat. Y/n slid open the doors of the family beach house, slipping inside into the air condition. She clutched a towel over her body, dripping with pool water, her footprints on the wood flooring. Her mother and aunt smiled at her from the kitchen table, playing canasta with some other family members.

She grabbed a muffin leftover from breakfast, sitting down on a stool at the bar. Her two cousins, Penny and Mary walked in. They were twins and a year younger than Y/n, and sometimes they acted like they were the ones in charge, but Y/n still had a lot in common with them. Probably the only reason she wasn’t dreading spending her entire Spring Break here.

“Y/n, can you please tell Pen that Judge Reinhold is hot.” Mary threw a magazine on the counter, revealing a picture of the lanky actor.

This was common between the sisters. They clearly had different types in men, and were always arguing about it.

“Why would you ask her? Her taste in men is questionable. She thinks Zach Gilligan is cute.” Penny declared.

“He is!” Mary shot back.

Penny let out a loud groan, rolling her head back.

Y/n peered at the magazine. “He’s not really my type.”

“See, I knew you– what?” Mary snapped her head towards her, eyebrows furrowed. She pushed her sister who cheered at the small victory. “Whatever. I don’t really value the opinion of someone who has never had a boyfriend.”

Y/n wasn’t hurt by the comment, and she would have flipped her cousin off if their mom’s weren’t watching.

They were also clearly listening, because her aunt spoke up. “What about that handsome boy who came over on Christmas?”

“I think he’s the only boy me and Mary agree is attractive.” Penny giggled.

Y/n’s mom rolled her eyes. “Y/n insists they’re just friends. I’m wiser than I look. I know that Harrington boy is sweet on her.”

Her entire family snickered, making Y/n’s cheeks heat up. “He is not.”

They all unanimously hummed, not believing a word she said.

Later that evening, Y/n was dressed in regular clothes, sitting in the living room area reading a book. Mary and Penny were watching Growing Pains when the phone began to ring, the twins yelled for someone to answer. Their mother mumbled under her breath about doing everything, even on vacation, nevertheless, she answered it.

“Y/n, it’s for you.” She called out in a sing-song voice.

Y/n furrowed her brows. She had only given Robin the number to the beach house, but only in case her house was on fire since she was in charge of watering her mom’s plants. She got up from the couch, walking over to her aunt holding the phone out for her niece to take. A smirk on her face when she grabbed it. “It’s your lover boy.” She teased, winking before she walked back to the kitchen.

Y/n took a moment before collecting her senses to put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Y/n.” Steve answered, almost in relief.

She wanted to slam the phone back on the wall. “What do you want?”

“I… I wanted to hear your voice.” There was a tone of defeat in his voice.

She looked around, not wanting any of her family to hear. “Are you drunk or something?”

“No.” He sighed. “You remember last summer?”

“Yeah.” It was kind of hard to forget.

“Well, all that crazy shit is back without the Russians.” He chuckled at the last part. He sounded so casual.

Flashbacks infiltrated her mind, her heart started to race. “Are you okay?”

He shushed her to calm down. “I’m okay, I promise. It’s a long story, but we have a plan to fix it.”

“We?”

“Yeah. Me, Dustin and his friends, Robin, Eddie Munson… Nancy.” He was hesitant about her name like he was afraid to say it out loud.

She ignored the burning in her chest. She was all the way in Florida while Steve was hanging out with his ex, his first love. “Eddie Munson? You’ve been complaining about him for months because you’re afraid Dustin likes him better than you.”

“That is not– like I said, it’s a long story.” She could see him pinching the bridge of his nose or even running a hand through his hair. “Listen, I called because I just wanted to let you know what was going on, okay?”

“Why?”

There was a pause.

“Because we’re friends.”

There was another pause.

“Because I care about you.”

A breath hitched in her throat. “Stop it.”

“No, it’s true.”

“Stop saying things like you’re going to die, Harrington. It’s cliché.”

She could hear his heavy breath. “Then I’ll tell you when you get back.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Alive?” She asked him.

“Alive.” He assured her.

“You better be or I’ll kick your ass, Harrington.”

He laughed. “I know you will. I gotta go now. I’ll see you.” His voice was soft.

“Yeah.”

Neither of them hung up the phone. She could still hear the crackling of him adjusting it against his ear. The silence was comfortable.

A few minutes had gone by and she heard the familiar raspy voice of Robin telling Steve they needed to get going.

He finally hung up.

—

Y/n’s vacation was cut short when the news broke Hawkins had experienced a large earthquake, resulting in twenty-two casualties and numerous homes being destroyed. Although Y/n concluded the earthquake had to do with whatever Steve had mentioned over the phone.

A long line of cars were exiting Hawkins as her family entered, almost like fools.

Their house had been spared, the only damage was that the porch swing had fallen from the hooks and split in half.

She had immediately gone to Robin’s house to check on her friend, but of course, was directed to Steve’s.

Y/n was surprised to be greeted by Steve’s dad when she rang the doorbell. Mrs. Harrington was talking frantically on the phone, a cigarette in her mouth. She gave Y/n a wave, covering the speaker. “They’re upstairs.” She mouthed, returning back to the conversation.

When she arrived outside of his bedroom, she could hear voices arguing.

She slowly opened the door, seeing Robin sitting on Steve’s bed. Almost out of instinct, she swung it open, running over to her, wrapping her arms around the girl. They both toppled on top of the bed. Robin laughed, patting Y/n on the back. They sat up, Robin brushed the hair out of her face. Y/n looked over to see Steve standing in front of his closet. A box at his feet, clothes in his hands. Next to him was a boy about an inch shorter than him, long curly hair, wearing a t-shirt and ripped jeans. His face was scarred with tiny teeth marks. She recognized him as Eddie Munson.

“Who’s this chick?” Eddie asked.

“Eddie, this is Y/n.” Robin introduced her.

A big grin appeared on his face. He walked over, took her hand and kissed it. “M’lady, it’s a pleasure to finally be acquainted with you. Heard a lot about you.”

Y/n giggled, looking over at Robin who was laughing too.

Steve, on the other hand, looked annoyed, returning back to his task of going through his closet. “Heard about me?”

Eddie placed his hands behind his back, looking her up and down. “Yeah, Steve would not shut up about you. However, he didn’t tell me his girl looked like an angel.”

“Munson, shut up before I tell my dad to call the lawyers off.” Steve threatened.

Whatever he meant by that, Eddie seemed scared, putting his hands up in surrender. Y/n noticed Steve looked over at Robin. They shared a wordless exchange. Robin stretched her arms out. “Eddie, can you take me home?”

“Didn’t we just get— ow.” Eddie leaned down to clutch his shin that Robin swore was an accident. It was weird seeing the new addition, and Y/n was sure she would be told everything that had happened while she was gone.

He took the hint, bowing over dramatically. Him and Robin said their goodbyes, walking out of the room, finally leaving Steve and Y/n by themselves.

Neither one spoke. The only sound of hangers clanking together and muffled voices from downstairs. Y/n played with the silver bracelet on her wrist, scanning her eyes on the plaid walls, remembering the first time she spent the night with him, waking up and making fun of how disturbing the pattern was.

She stood up from his bed, approaching him slowly. She wasn’t sure what to say. The phone call was the first real conversation they had in months. What was there even to say? Or how was she supposed to start? She was beside him now, and for some reason, he looked taller than she had remembered. He took his hand off the hanger, turning his body completely towards her. Without a beat, she engulfed the boy in a deep hug. He took a step back, surprised by the sudden contact.

They never hugged before, which is shocking because they’ve seen each other naked.

He returned the hug, tightening his grip on her. She heard a quiet sob leave his lips. He burrowed his head in her neck, tears soaking into her shirt. Both of them sank to the floor because his body had become too weak to stand.

She brushed her fingers through his hair, telling him everything was okay. She was there for him and she wasn’t leaving.

It took a few minutes for him to calm down, his head had found a place in her lap, mindlessly playing with one of her hands. With her free hand, she continued to run it through his hair.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” She finally asked him.

“We were so close.” He answered. “If I had done things differently.”

It was a mindless thought but it still hurt Y/n that Steve believed he was responsible for the destruction of Hawkins. “Steve, none of this is your fault. You can’t carry the fate of Hawkin’s on your shoulders.”

He puffed his cheeks, a long breath of air rolled out of his mouth. He shifted his body, wincing, clutching his side. Y/n tilted her head, pulling the hem of his shirt up, revealing similar bite marks that were on Eddie’s cheek. She didn’t make a comment about it or ask. Part of her didn’t want to know. Instead, she looked up above her at the remaining clothes in the closet, smirking when she saw the familiar brown sweater that he wore on Christmas. “I hope you decide to donate that ugly sweater.”

Steve’s eyes were closed, but he had a half-hearted smile on his face, knowing what she was referring to. “Too many great memories involve me wearing that sweater.”

“What? Like us having sex?” The joke felt like thick molasses, drowning her slowly, waiting for a reaction. He didn’t wince, his smile never faltered, nor did he open his eyes.

“Yeah.” He replied truthfully. “But also when I realized I am undoubtedly in love with you.”

His confession was cool and collected. She swore there was a smug look on his face and she wanted to wipe it off. For the past couple of months she had struggled to even come to terms with her own feelings and to watch him casually admit it almost made her laugh in disbelief.

Her silence made him open one eye, looking at her as she focused her eyes on the ceiling above her. “You know, one of the last conversations I remember with Heather was at Daniel Brown’s party senior year. She tried telling me I didn’t hate you as much as I led on. She’s probably laughing at me right now letting you lay on my lap. I’ve always thought you were an arrogant asshole. Don’t get me wrong. You’re still a pain in the ass, but Steve, you care so much about others. When you hung up that phone I was so scared you were going to die because I knew you would sacrifice anything to make sure everyone is okay.

“I would never forgive myself if you had died without knowing how much I care for you.” He sat up, scooching back, her knees touching his leg. His hands were behind him holding his body up. She met his eyes that always seemed to catch the sun, glossy and thick like honey. Like the honey she put in her tea. The tension in her shoulders relaxed. “Becoming friends with you was unexpected. I guess in a way I’ve felt guilty because I’ve been moving on with my life since Heather died. I guess I felt like I was betraying her.” She put a hand on his knee. He leaned forward, grabbing her hand, intertwining their fingers.

Steve’s face softened and his cheeks turned pink. “I’m sorry about everything. I didn’t want you to think I was using you for sex. Then I was nervous you might not feel the same. I was embarrassed, because I’m crazy about you, Y/n. I cannot stop thinking about you. When you asked if I didn’t think you should call that Edwin guy-”

“Eric.”

“Whatever his name was.” He rolled his eyes when she giggled. His voice dropped. “I wanted to beg you not to call him. But I felt like it was too selfish of me. Too selfish, wanting you to be my girl.”

Y/n lifted the corner of her mouth upwards, putting her hand on his cheek, brushing her thumb over the freckle she has been well acquainted with. “You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes.”

His jaw went slack and eyes were wide. He was too pretty for his own good.

Y/n remembered all the things she wanted to tell him over the course of getting to know him, but never did. She held it all back because she was afraid. She was afraid he hadn’t really changed at all and she had stupidly fell for his charm. She was afraid he would laugh in her face. She would feel like her porch swing that had fallen off the hinges and cracked in half.

“Falling in love with you was unexpected too.” She whispered, biting her bottom lip.

“I really want to kiss you.” Steve was already leaning towards her.

She smiled, ear to ear, allowing the pretty boy with the stupid hair and stupid eyes to be selfish.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #blaize writes #steve fic

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writing-in-april · 4 years

Text

Light My Cigarette

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: After a rough work operation Reader is shaken up, Javier attempts to comfort Reader instead of letting them fall into bad habits.

A/N: This was my fic for the Pedro Secret Santa exchange, I had @aerynwrites - I wrote a hurt/comfort smut with Javier and Reader, I had a really fun time writing this and I love doing fic swaps (this is my like 3rd one and I'm addicted to doing them) I also decided to try and write the smut a little differently then I usually do and also tried to write in the second person for the first time- plus this is the first time I’m writing for Javier as well. Hope you enjoy! Requests are open!

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Smoking, Mentions of physical assault, Reader is a bit mean to Javier at first, Some crying, Oral sex (f receiving), Penetrative sex, Unprotected sex

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.5k

“Can I have one?” You said to Javier who was standing at the steps outside the embassy. He seemed confused at first about what you were talking about until you pointed to the cigarette he held between his fingers.

His eyebrows furrowed even more once he understood your request, it was well known that you despised the way him and Steve always had a cigarette hung around their lips. When you had first joined the duo at the embassy you imposed a strict rule on your first day that the windows had to be open if they wanted to smoke, either that or smoke outside. He still obliged your request despite his confusion, handing a fresh one over to you.

Your fingers shook unintentionally as you brought the cigarette up to your lips, beckoning Javier to lean in and light it. He again obliged your request, leaning in towards you with his lighter flicked on setting the stick aflame.

Javier’s questioning gaze still didn’t leave you while he lit his own. He was undoubtedly questioning your behavior after the last raid, being captured for a short while was part of the plan, it was fine, you were fine. The only visible marks you had from the encounter was a bruise that had quickly blossomed along the side of your cheek and a slightly bloody lip.

“Lets get you home.” Javier spoke with an uncharacteristic softness making you bristle even more, the only reason he was acting like this was because of your bruised figure. You scoffed to yourself slightly after taking your last puff before stubbing it out on the ground with your shoe. You were fine.

---

The drive back to the apartment complex that the embassy owned was almost completely silent, the only noises that reached your ears was the soft hum of the engine and any quiet noise from the dwindling traffic. Javier kept glancing back at you every so often, you couldn’t really tell if they were from genuine worry for your wellbeing, he wasn’t really well known for his compassion for others. The only time you had seen a similar look on his face was when he rescued Helena. You shrunk from his gaze a little once you made the connection in your head, Javier and you may be close but you certainly didn’t want his pity.

It shouldn’t change anything, again, you were fine. You only had been briefly roughed up by Escobar’s men, they hadn’t been able to do much in the short time that they had you before Javier and Steve had shown up with Carillo to ‘rescue’ you. It had all gone according to plan, you had gotten the needed information and walked away with minimal injuries. Again- you were fine.

---

“Are you ok?” Javier’s words cut through the thick air rife with tension in your apartment as he dropped you off at your door. You had been practically climbing the walls of the inside of his car before he pulled up outside the apartment complex in order to escape his lingering looks. Even going so far as to ask for another cigarette from him just for a bit of escape in the moment, though this time Javier didn’t oblige you. Unfortunately, he also had felt the need to follow up behind you even though his own apartment was at the other end of the hall.

“I don’t want your pity.” The snarl in your voice and the slam of your door seemed to catch Javier off guard, the tone you had adopted was usually reserved for your encounters with sicarios. Even if you found Javier infuriating at times you still never spoke to him in that tone. You actually regarded Javier as a close friend, maybe even a little bit more.

“I don’t pity you.” You even caught the add on I care about you that he mumbled at the end but there was no quelling your inner turmoil. Javier didn’t care about you, at least not in the way you wanted him to. The both of you were standing an arms length apart in the middle of your living room the tension begging to be broken.

“Is it because I’m a woman? Is that why you keep looking at me like that? I’m fine, they barely touched me.” You were just ranting at this point, unfairly taking it out on the first person in front of you which happened to be Javier. Hot tears started to prickle in your eyes threatening to spill over into large crocodile tears dripping down your cheeks.

“I don’t pity you.” He reiterated to you before continuing, “It’s ok if you’re not ok.”

Biting your lip at his words you shrunk back in on yourself crossing your arms around your midsection with even more tears falling. Ok- you definitely weren’t ok, you admitted to yourself. The way the men had beat you, even if it was only a little had in reality shook you up quite a bit. The worst part being that you could still feel their hands on you, you wished that the feeling would be replaced with more caring hands.

Javier took a hesitant step towards you, opening his arms and beckoning you in close for a hug. Your own steps towards him were equally as hesitant, but the resistance towards someone helping you, namely Javier, was slowly melting away.

After a few quiet minutes just standing in your living room basking in the comfort given to you you looked up at Javier only to find his eyes already on you. His lips parted slightly as your own gaze started to bore into his own, the tension so thick now that you could cut it with a knife. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips before leaning in slightly, very willing to give into the tension yourself.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you.” His words only served to make you want him more, to pull him close and never let go.

“You’re not I promise. I just want to feel you, to have you hold me close.” You snuck your arms underneath his leather jacket to gain a bit more of the warmth that he radiated around him bringing you ever closer to the comfort you desired.“I just want you.”

When his lips hit yours the first thing that stood out to you is that Javier’s lips were unexpectedly soft. His other movements were just as soft as he slipped his tongue into your mouth gently while bringing his hands to cup your cheeks. The two of you had always danced around the unspoken chemistry in your relationship never really fully acting on it, until now.

The scent that always clung to his clothes invaded your senses a mixture of whiskey, the cigarettes you had both smoked, and something you couldn’t name that was distinctly Javi. Both of you made your way back to your bedroom never really breaking apart from one another unless it was to come up for a quick breath. He made you fall apart on his tongue slowly piece by piece pulling away a few times before finally letting you fall over the cliff.

When he finally sunk into you your back was pressed against his chest with your side pressed into the mattress, and his large hand wrapped around your thigh to hike it up towards your chest. Though you were not facing each other in the position you two had chosen, you felt completely connected with him, your bodies moving in sync with each other perfectly. You let out a loud whine of his name when he dropped his fingers down to your clit and started to rub slow devastating circles into you.

Even if it was the first time that you and Javier were sleeping together you could tell that the softness in the way he rotated his hips and the way he cradled you softly was uncharacteristic of Javier. You could quite literally feel the love from him which made tears again prickle at the corner of your eyes, though for a much better reason compared to beforehand.

“Mi corazón.” Javier wasn’t a man of many words, in his day to day life and also while you slept together the weight of his words fell deep in your gut and the droplets that clung to the corners of your eyes spilled over. A second orgasm washed over you, in response to being completely overwhelmed by his actions. Javier rocked into you a few more times before spilling onto the back of your thighs, then quickly angling your face towards him to envelope you into a breathless kiss.

“I’ve got you, mi corazón.” He quietly whispered to you while pressing kisses to your temple after cleaning you up, then rejoining you in your bed and pulling you to rest on his chest. You felt true comfort in his arms as you drifted to sleep not feeling any desire to have another cigarette.

---

Mi corazón- my heart

#pedros12daysofchristmas #javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña smut #pedro pascal fic #secret santa #narcos #pedro pascal smut

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years

Text

Come As You Are

Summary: Dean takes Y/n dress shopping for a hunt, both of them blissfully unaware of where it will lead.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.9K+

Warnings: Language, self-esteem and body image struggles, public intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it before you tap it)

Author’s Note: This was written for an anonymous request,

“Hey babe I don’t know if your taking requests but I had a groovy idea dean x shy plus reader where they have to get the reader nice sexy clothes but she feels really uncomfortable in them and refuses to leave the dressing room and dean confess how he feels and they have sex in the dressing room ? Fluff and smut”

I truly enjoyed writing it so I hope it lives up to your expectations anon. Remember, feedback is like crack to writers, and we always love to hear what you thought xoxo Alex

Consider checking out a book from Alexandra’s Library!

A frown etched itself on her face as she ran her hand over the fabrics hanging from the racks. All of it felt foreign underneath her fingertips. Satin, chiffon, and everything else that was far more expensive than she was used to. Y/n’s wardrobe mostly consisted of denim and polyester blends that tended to fray after two washes. It was all that a hunter could afford, after all.

“How in the hell are we gonna afford any of this crap?” She whispered to Dean, who was eyeing the rack behind her, the gowns in front of him all a deep shade of red.

“Charlie’s miracle card, remember? There is no limit,” Dean raised his brow at her, a grin etched across his perfect face.

“Fine,” she groaned. “I still don’t see why I even need to go dress shopping, I’m sure I could find something in my closet.”

“I’ve seen your closet, and none of it is right for this case. You’ve got to distract the coroner for the night and you can’t do that in baggy jeans and flannel.” Dean huffed as he picked a dress off the rack. Y/n’s eyes went wide as she took it in, the hem was short for anyone’s standards, then add in the plunging neckline and this dress left nothing to the imagination.

“That is so not happening,” Y/n pointed at the offensive garment, her stomach fluttering at the simple idea of even trying to slip into it. Every spot on her body that she hated would be on full display in that thing. Her thick thighs, the roll that sat on her bra just under her arms, and don’t get her started on her abdomen.

“Come on, just try it. You never know ‘till you try it on.”

“Ugh,” Y/n snatched the dress from his hand before stalking off to look at more dresses. There were a couple more options that she grabbed to try on that were closer to her comfortability level. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be caught dead in any of the items in her arms. But Dean had this way about him, always able to convince her to do anything without question. Maybe it was the way his skin crinkled around his eyes or the brightness that always seemed to live behind those deliciously green eyes? Who was she kidding, it was all of that and then some. The huntress had fallen hard for him from that first meeting. Sometimes she wondered why she chose to torture herself.

Dean Winchester was the cream of the crop when it came to hunters, as was his baby brother, Sam. The whole world knew who they were, including heaven and hell, so how could she be expected to resist him when he smiled at her the way he does. Or even when he made her coffee in the mornings just how she liked it and picked up chocolate and pain killers for her when he knew it was that time of the month. He was exceedingly attentive to her, something that she was sure he only directed at Sam. It was just another thing that surprised her about the legend of a man.

Yeah, like an idiot she fell for the eldest Winchester. There was no stopping it even though she was certain that her feelings would never be reciprocated. Y/n wasn’t like the other woman that Dean went for when he was on the prowl at bars. It’s not that she was ugly, it was that she was plain at best. People didn’t turn their heads when she walked in the room, men’s gazes didn’t linger on her from across the bar, no, Y/n was merely average. That’s how she knew that Dean would never see her as more than a friend because he had never looked at her in any form of want.

“Are you ready to try those on?” A sales woman’s voice broke her out of her unrelenting train of thought. Dean answered for her before she could process the woman’s words.

“Yes, please.” He smiled brightly and Y/n watched as the woman’s face flushed under his gaze. Y/n almost felt bad for the woman who was now just another victim to his charm. The saleswoman at least would be able to relish in his attention, wondering about what could have been had Y/n not been there with him. Y/n on the other hand already knew her fate. But mostly, if she was being honest, she was jealous.

Dean put his hands on her shoulders and guided her along behind the boutique worker who took them into the back of the store where the dressing rooms were located. The area was mostly quiet, just the music from the speakers could be heard in the space. Three large mirrors sat in front of a stage on the far wall, the rooms spaning out on either side of it. In the center of the room were three plush chairs for those waiting for others to sit in.

The worker unlocked a door for her as Dean plopped down in one of the chairs. Y/n slipped behind the door, letting out a deep breath as it closed behind her. If there was one thing she hated it was trying on clothes. Nothing ever seemed to fit her right or look anything like what it did on the hanger. It made the task a constant battle with her self-consciousness.

Y/n had always carried extra weight on her body. It wasn’t that she didn’t live an active lifestyle, she was a hunter, after all, it was the diet that hunters were accustomed to. It was fast food and dives in every small town in America. Not many mom and pop places tended to offer an egg white omelet, and it wasn’t her inclination to eat them either. So, she had always been bigger than most, and if she was being honest she had grown used to that. Maybe she used it as a shield to protect herself. Making connections with people as a hunter only tended to end in heartbreak, so this was easier.

The hunter hid the scary red thing Dean had selected behind all the rest of her haul, hoping she would find something before she ever even got to the thing. Y/n stripped from her flannel and jeans tossing them on the bench in the corner. She also added her bra to the pile, knowing all of these garments necessitated that she did not wear one. That left her in her favorite pair of panties. They weren’t anything special, but they made her butt looked its best.

The first dress in the line up was a straight black dress that hit just above her knee. The neckline wasn’t anything too crazy but the sleeves rolled off the shoulders a strip of fabric wrapping around her bust. Y/n was able to slip it on and tug up the zipper on the side. With a slide of her hands against the fabric, she frowned at her reflection. Not that it would flatter any figure, in her opinion.

“What’s taking so long in there?” Dean called out from his spot in front of the mirrors.

“I’m not coming out in this thing,” she called back as she began to take the dress back off.

“Oh, come on sweetheart,”

“Nope, next,” Y/n heard him huff even through the door and she imagined he rolled his eyes as well.

The next dress was a deep blue color. It had a wrap and pencil skirt, with an asymmetrical shape between the hem and the neckline. She supposed it was pretty but it also kind of looked like she had wrapped herself in a towel. Mostly, she felt like the point in the neckline was going to stab her in the throat, and she was not sure how to be sexy when she was trying not to die. It was another pass for her.

There was only one dress left, and at that moment she was wishing to whoever was listening that she had picked out a few more choices. Dean was whistling now, some Zeppelin tune she couldn’t exactly identify and she knew he was getting impatient. Y/n swapped the fabrics on her body, pulling the thin straps of the red satin piece up onto her shoulders. The dress clung to her skin, the fabric lightweight.

“Y/n/n,” Dean’s voice was just outside the door, the new proximity of it startling her. “Come on, you have to show me at least one. I know you and you’ll just try vetoing them all.” Y/n swore under her breath because he was right and it pissed her off that he knew her that well. The zipper was out of her reach on her back and she supposed she wouldn’t be able to truly see what it looked like on her unless she zipped it up.

“Fine, I need help with this zipper anyway,” she sighed and held the fabric against her naked chest while opening the door with her other. Dean was beaming when he came into view on the other side of the door. He snuck inside faster than a flea, the slamming of the door startling her again.

Get it together woman, you kill monsters for a living, Y/n cursed herself.

“Turn,” Dean instructed her with his fingers, and the woman obliged as she faced the mirror. Dean brushed her hair off her shoulder with his fingertips, the action barely distinguishable but it sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. With one hand holding the bottom stop, he used the other to tug on the pull tab, sliding together the teeth in one fluid motion.

“Thanks,” Y/n’s words were soft as she made eye contact with the green-eyed hunter in the mirror. He ran his tongue of his bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh between his teeth as his eyes wandered over her exposed skin.

Y/n visibly cringed as she looked at herself. Unfortunately, this was her favorite out of the three, but that didn’t mean she felt like she could venture anywhere in public in the thing. “Sweetheart, if that coroner hadn’t already been eyeing you up today, he would not know where to start when he sees you in this.”

“Shut up,” Y/n scrunched her nose as she spun around to whack Dean’s shoulder. “You are so full of it.”

“Am not,” Dean scoffed, his eye softening before he continued. “Y/n, why don’t you see how beautiful you are?”

Y/n whipped around to stare at him, her arms crossing over her chest, not believing that those words come out of his mouth. Surely, he was playing with her…

“Have you looked at me, Dean?” Y/n slapped her hands against her thighs, emphasizing their jiggle upon impact. “I’m nothing special.”

“I have looked at you,” His gaze traveled down her body again, his breath hitching slightly as he did so. “I’ve been looking at you for a while now.” The drop in Dean’s voice sent heat rushing through her body, the gravel undertone making her shiver.

“Dean--” words escaped her as the hunter stepped into her personal space, pushing her back against the mirror. Dean’s left hand came to rest against the reflective surface just beside her head as he chewed on his lip.

“I don’t think you know how hard it is for me to keep my eyes off of you,” he leaned into her, his nose brushing alongside hers. “And now, seeing you in this dress, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.”

A rush of confidence coursed through her blood as his hot breath fanned over her face and Y/n slipped her hands behind his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. The movement was anything but smooth, though the action sent both of the hunters into action. Dean growled as he nipped her lower lip and she opened up to him, allowing his tongue to invade her mouth.

A moan involuntarily came from her as his hands moved to her hips, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin material where his finger pressed into her flesh. He stepped back, pulling her after him as he backed up and dropped to sit on the plush bench. Dean bunched up the material to her hips as he urged her to straddle his lap. Y/n used her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, the new bulge in his pants a surprise to her as she settled in his lap.

“Yeah, and you thought I was kidding,” Dean took in the slight rise in her brow, leaning forward to run his lips across her jaw, taking note of the places that made her shiver. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she allowed Dean to explore her body and let herself just feel him. Dean raked his teeth along with the shell of her ear, causing her to buck her hips and both of them to groan.

“Fuck,” her words were a breath on her lips as she repeated the action, the roughness of his jeans just enough friction on her aching sex.

“That’s it, beautiful, take what you need,” Dean sat back and used his hands to keep her body moving against his own, watching the way her brows scrunched together in the center of her forehead. With a shift of his hips, he had her pushed back and straddling his left thigh, his hands still in their place on her hips. “Can you come like this, sweetheart?”

“I don’t--” a jolt of electricity had her halting her denial, instead she chose to just nod and place her hands against his chest to balance her movement. She could feel Dean’s heart hammering in his chest under her palm and the quick rise and fall of his breath. Even at this moment, she was disbelieving that he was that turned on watching her get herself off on his thigh, but she had the proof hammering under her fingertips. Y/n was biting her lip to keep quiet in the small room. “Dean, I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you, come for me, Y/n,” he husked as his grip tightened, though she wasn’t sure how that was even possible, seeing as there was already gonna be bruises there later, that she was sure of. The sound of his voice reverberating in her head had the coil snapping inside of her, heat flooding her body as every nerve sparked and faded out. A rush of air left her lungs, her body slumping as her muscles relaxed post-orgasm.

“Oh my god.” As her arousal ebbed from her body and the reality of what just happened came to her sense, Y/n clammed up and she tried to climb from his lap. Blood rushed to her face and her hands flew to her cheeks to hide the heat settling there.

“Woah, where are you going?” Dean stopped her from making a hasty exit, his eyes searching hers in question.

“Dean, what the hell just happened?”

A smirk replaced the confusion on his face as he leaned forward and nuzzled his face in her neck, tracing his tongue up her pulse. “You just got yourself off on my thigh while I tried not to cream my jeans,” he breathed in her ear. It was like he already knew every button to push on her body, his dirty talk doing everything she needed it to for her body to already be aching for him again.

“I--”

“Shh, sweetheart. That was hot as fuck, and all I want now is to be buried deep inside that pretty pussy of yours.”

“Jesus,” her eyes shifted to his, taking in the mischievous glint shining behind his iris. “You aren’t kidding.”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ at the end of his word and Y/n nodded as she climbed off him. She turned her back to him so he could undo the zipper, and it took a second for Dean to catch on to her silent action. He jumped to the edge of the bench and tugged down the zipper before sliding the material down her shoulders. Dean hooked his fingers into the edge of her panties, placing a kiss on the dip in her lower back before pulling the soaked material to pool at her feet along with the dress. He stood then as she turned back to him and pushed his jacket and flannel down his arms, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes in the room.

“Come, on we don’t have a lot of time before someone gets suspicious.” There was a quiver in her voice as she lifted the hem of his tee and tugged open his belt. It was taking everything in her to quell the shaking in her hands. Dean’s fingers came down to wrap around her wrists, halting her movement and she looked up at him.

“Y/n we don’t have to,” he was trying to read her mind as he examined her face. The trepidation was seeping through her pores, but not because she didn’t want this. Hell, the painful ache between her legs told her how much she wanted this, but her brain couldn’t help to race through the million thoughts about what it all meant.

“No, I-- God do I want this,” Y/n began chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tried to come up with the words to explain to him what she was thinking. But the longer the time passed the more nervous she grew, standing there stark naked and he’s still basically fully dressed. “I think I’ve wanted this for a long time now, but I’m just scared.”

“Of?” He urged her to continue.

“That this doesn’t mean the same thing to you,” Y/n cast her glance down, her eyes fixated on the way the fluorescent light glinted in the metal of his belt.

“You think that this is about getting my dick wet for me.” It wasn’t a question, because she had all but spelled it out for him. “Y/n,” He put his fingers under her chin and turned her head back up to his, brushing his lips against hers, the action soft and unhurried. “I told you, I’ve been watching you for a while now, trying to learn everything I could about you. I would have done this the first night I met you if I hadn’t thought about what it would do to you. But I’m done being scared because I think I fell for you a long time ago and no amount of whiskey or other women could make me forget that. So I’m done fighting it.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears now, and Dean answered her with another kiss, pulling her body flush against his own as he invaded her mouth. The pair only pulled apart when they could no longer fight the need for air. “Dean--”

“Yeah,” he breathed, dropping his grip on her to finish what she started with his belt. Y/n watched his movements, her breath getting caught in her throat as she watched him pull his length from its cotton confines. Dean signaled for her to turn with one hand as he stroked himself with the other. She obliged, of course, and Dean pushed her gently between her shoulder blades until her hands were pressed against the mirror. He nudged her legs to open a tad wider, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

“Do we--”

“I’m good if you’re good,” she told him, knowing where he was going with his question. He nodded to her before lining himself up with her entrance. Dean held her gaze as he entered her from behind, both of them sighing together as he became fully seated. Y/n closed her eyes as she tried to compose herself, her head falling between her arms.

“Fuck, open your eyes, look at yourself,” Dean was biting his tongue as he swatted her ass to get her to lift her head again. She indulged him, looking at herself in the mirror before turning her eyes back to his in the mirror. “There you go,” he praised her, the words like music to her ears as he pulled back out and slammed into her hips.

Dean set up a steady rhythm, careful to not shake the walls of the dressing too much with his movement. The couple kept their eyes on each other in the mirror, the moment the most erotic thing she could ever remember doing, but for the life of her, she couldn’t be bothered by it. Even from her vantage point, she could see how blown his pupils were, the black of his iris’ all but drowning out the green that she loved so much. To be honest, she wasn’t sure which she liked more now. All she did know was the feeling of him moving inside her and the way her muscles were shaking.

A small knock had Dean stilling his movements, and Y/n stood up, pressing her back against his chest. He slipped an arm around her chest as she signaled for him to be silent. “You doing alright in there?”

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and let out a breath, “Yeah,” she called back, afraid her voice would be too wrecked if she said anything else.

“Is there anything else I can get you? Maybe some different sizes?” The saleswoman tried again.

“Nope, I’m all set, thank you.”

“Okay, just let me know.” The sound of her footsteps could be heard retreating from the dressing room, and Dean pressed his face into her neck, the pair of them chuckling.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he adjusted their position, resuming the movement of his hips as he snaked his free hand down to rub against her clit. Y/n jolted in his arms at the contact, this time closing her eyes as he built her back up. “I’m right behind you. Can you come for me again?” Y/n nodded against him, her hands flying to his forearm as she felt herself jumping over the cliff, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her knees buckled and Dean had to adjust himself to keep her from falling, still fucking her from behind as her fluttering walls milked him to his own orgasm. He bit into her shoulder to keep himself from groaning out loud.

“Sweet Jesus,” her body went limp in his arms as the pair of them caught their breath in the now muggy space.

“Yeah, you are so not going out with that coroner tonight. We will find a different way.” Dean admitted as he pulled his now softening cock from her. Y/n flinched at the feeling and the subsequent rush of his release inside her.

“What?” She turned to him as he began righting himself, not understanding why he didn’t want her to do her job.

“‘Cause you are all mine now,” Dean tugged her into his chest, his fingers around one of her biceps. “And I want to spend all night making sure you can’t walk tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Dean laughed as she blinked at him, clearly lost for any sort of coherent answer to what he just told her.

“Get dressed so we can get out of here and kick Sammy out of our motel room.” Dean tapped her ass again and she pushed him away from her, a stupid grin on both of their faces.

Forevers: @22sarah08 @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @katehuntington @lyarr24 @malfoysqueen14 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @smol-and-grumpy @superfanficnatural @supraveng @talesmaniac89 @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x plus size reader #dean winchester x plus sized reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn #supernatural #mine #alex writes #come as you are

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onlyanidala · 3 years

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Title: flat tire Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: G Summary: Who knew something as simple as getting a flat tire could change the entire course of your life?

Title: for a moment Author: shelivesfree Status: complete Rating: T Summary: And, just for a moment, all the worries and concerns that troubled the young couple cease to exist. Fade away to just this. Husband and wife. Asleep. Dreaming of the sweet little life they will soon bring into the world and into their hearts.

Title: for a sith to love a jedi Author: silverdaye Status: WIP Rating: R Summary: Jedi Knight Padmé Amidala, the Heroine with No Fear, has crash landed on a moon after a starship fight with Darth Vader. Now the two enemies are stuck on a strange moon with strange rocks that prevents them from accessing the Force. They form an uneasy truce to leave the other alone. Yet after Vader sees Amidala bathing, she keeps coming back to him and he can't keep his mind off of her.

Title: for you, i’ll risk it all Author: estrangedlestrange Status: complete Rating: G Summary: Darth Vader was certain he had killed Padmé Amidala on Mustafar, but when a rebel broadcast reveals she is alive, he will stop at nothing to free her from what he assumes is captivity. Former Senator Padmé Amidala was certain her husband had been killed on Mustafar, but after seeing Vader across the room during a mission, she is sure that she had been lied to. Knowing the truth, she seeks out her husband, either to bring him back to the light or kill him, which ever was necessary.

Title: friendly competition Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Playing Quidditch is awfully difficult when you’re in love with the rival Seeker. Snapshots of Anakin and Padmé’s 7 years at Hogwarts.

Title: fruits of malice Author: therealthing Status: complete Rating: T Summary: In an alternate universe, Anakin Skywalker was taken from his mother at the age of four. He was raised as Darth Vader in a loveless, brutal environment. His life takes an interesting turn when he has an encounter with a certain senator from Naboo.

Title: future imperfect Author: therealthing Status: complete Rating: T Summary: A time travel story in which Anakin Skywalker is sent to the future to witness the consequences of his actions.

Title: fundamental force carriers Author: tanarill Status: complete Rating: T Summary: The Sith Lord Darth Vader lived his life. He probably didn't live it well, but he lived it as well as he knew how. At the end there, he'd even managed to woman up and kill Sidious. But he was dying, and at peace with the past. The past wasn't at peace with him.

Title: getting home to you Author: irnan Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Anakin always said it was Padme's fault, but he was the one who spotted that broom closet. Fluff.

Title: the girl from harvard Author: shelivesfree Status: complete Rating: M Summary: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It also makes it grow more paranoid. Padme is in her last year of Harvard. Anakin has just started at the University of Chicago. Though they won't admit it, their long-distance relationship is taking it's heavy toll. Will their love prevail or will the distance prove too much for both of them?

Title: give me a signal Author: stranestelle Status: complete Rating: T Summary: When Padmé Amidala is unable to contact Coruscant while negotiating a loan on Scipio, the Senate suspects trouble, and sends Anakin Skywalker to go check on her. Of course, the resourceful senator isn’t really in any trouble – don't flatter yourself, Rush Clovis – but there’s definitely some brewing.

Title: hand in my hand and we promise to never let go Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: M Summary: Anakin Skywalker was sent to build an elite Jedi team to help end the ten-year Clone Wars. Jedi Knight Naberrie trains hard to be selected and grows closer to the Jedi Master in the process. But with Jedi falling every day in battle, is it safe to follow your heart? Or will war take what's most precious to Padme?

Title: the hardest path Author: catiiasofia & misschrisdaae Status: complete Rating: G Summary: Padmé does what she has to for her family. Series: Three Paths Not Followed

Title: heart of a sith Author: therealthing Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Fourteen years have passed since the inception of the Empire. Darth Vader has been asked to go to Alderaan for an unusual reason, one that Vader soon discovers will change his life forever.

Title: heirs of light and darkness Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: R Summary: After escaping the Jedi purge two years ago made him the most wanted fugitive in the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker has at last been captured by the Empire. He expects to be killed, but Lady Padmé Amidala, the imperial heir, has other ideas.

Title: heretic pride Author: fialleril Status: WIP/Unupdated Rating: G Summary: Like most Republic citizens, the Naberries have never spent much time thinking about the Jedi. But that changes with the birth of their daughter Ilaré. (Or, the AU where the third Naberrie daughter is a Jedi, Padmé offers Naboo as a sanctuary for runaway slaves, Shmi is a conductor on the Tatooine freedom trail, and Anakin jump starts a reformation. Or maybe a heresy. It all depends on your point of view.)

Title: hidden Author: disco shop girl Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Anakin is woken from his dream before it can warn him of his fate. Without that fear hanging over him he feels a disturbance in the force, and chooses to leave before it can manifest itself.

Title: high above the clouds, my love for you is eternal Author: rogue darth skywalker Status: WIP/Unupdated Rating: M Summary: Modern Aviation AU. Anakin is a pilot, Padme is a flight attendant. When they meet for the first time he is captivated by her. But much to his surprise she has a young son. This is a story about how bonds are broken, how families are made, and how sacrifice is sometimes necessary to get people where they are meant to be.

Title: hold me in your arms and i’m home Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: M Summary: It's the ten year reunion for students from Coruscant high and more importantly, a long awaited reunion for two former lovers.

Title: home Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: G Summary: In which "Darth Vader" is no more than Anakin's playtime alter ego (happy Skywalker family AU)

Title: hypnotic takin’ over me Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: R Summary: "By the Force… Just how many times had he seen her like this in his dreams? How many times had he run his fingers over her skin? Filled his hands with her perfect backside? Yet, when he was, by some mercy or a cruel joke, granted true sight of her, he was oblivious."

Title: i do take two Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Thirty years after their clandestine wedding on Naboo, Anakin and Padmé decide to finally do the proper wedding ceremony they never got to have, with all their friends and family present.

Title: i know your type Author: shelivesfree Status: complete Rating: M Summary: "Am I dead?" It slips out, accidentally. She turns her head towards me, a confused look on her face and tips her head. "Excuse me?" Flashing her an impish grin, I lean casually against the wall. "I must have died and gone to heaven, because you look like an angel." The look she gives me is far from impressed. "Do you use that with all the girls, or am I just lucky?"

Title: i wish i could rewrite the stars Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: G Summary: Suddenly, forever felt like something that could be real. They could make it real, the two of them together and out of nowhere, tears stung at Anakin's eyes. It just meant so much. Padme loving him too was the stuff of his dreams; something he'd only just dared to believe was possible. But she did.

Title: if blood be the price Author: cadesama Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Anakin promised to free all the slaves and it is a promise he intends to keep. Struck by visions of a slave uprising on Tatooine, he runs away to join the fight. Five years later, it his new alliance of former slave worlds that the Republic fears, rather than a Separatist threat. Enlisted to negotiate a peace treaty, Senator Amidala is dispatched to find Anakin, alongside Obi-Wan Kenobi, who only wishes to bring his former Padawan home.

Title: imperial obligations Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: R Summary: Padmé's advisors suggest that she get rid of Vader and make a politically advantageous marriage. The Empress is less than pleased. One-shot.Series: The Empress and Her Sith Lord.

Title: in his very soul Author: catiiasofia & misschrisdaae Status: complete Rating: R Summary: Ten years ago, the effort to liberate Naboo from Trade Federation control failed. Chancellor Palpatine managed to rescue the young Queen Amidala and two of her handmaidens, formally adopting her as his own. The new father and daughter quickly manipulated the Senate into granting him emergency powers and creating the Grand Army of the Republic, letting the Clone Wars begin. Now, assassins are coming for Padmé Palpatine, and her father has entrusted her safety to his mysterious enforcer, Darth Vader. While neither bodyguard nor charge is happy about this arrangement, there is an attraction they cannot ignore.

Title: in search of absolution Author: rogue darth skywalker Status: complete Rating: G Summary: Padme bit her lip as she placed one last post-it that had the name 'Shmi Skywalker' written on it. She didn't speak. She knew he needed a moment to think - to process what she was silently asking him. 'Are you ready to accept her forgiveness'"She'd want to come to her only son's wedding," She said. He shook his head, "I don't think so. After everything…"

Title: in the past Author: silverdaye Status: WIP Rating: T Summary: It's been two months after Bespin, and Luke Skywalker is trying to come to terms with the events that happened there. During a dogfight with Darth Vader, both of their fighters crash. When they recover, they both find themselves on Coruscant at the end of the Clone Wars. Vader still aims to claim his son, but Luke has been taken to the Jedi Temple where he meets Anakin Skywalker.

Title: it’s a dangerous love affair Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: M Summary: Lies, masks, blood and sex. The criminal underworld will swallow you up and spit you out again. One wants revenge and the other wants peace. Can their affair bring the downfall of the two biggest gangs of the underworld?

Title: it’s like deja vu all over again Author: shadowsong26 Status: complete Rating: M Summary: Three days ago, Padme Amidala closed her eyes for the last time in a sterile white room on an asteroid at the edge of nowhere. Three days ago, she opened them again on a sleek, chrome starship, watching Dorme putting on the finishing touches to Corde's headdress, her own weighted braids a comforting blanket on her back. Padme decides to change things, decides she can save Anakin (and the Galaxy) this time. Except, as time passes, she starts to realize things aren't happening exactly the way she remembers...

Title: (it’s not so bad) being dead like me Author: estrangedlestrange Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Recently deceased Anakin Skywalker (killed in an taco truck explosion) finds himself not in the after life but recruited as the newest member of the undead, he’s become a grim reaper. He’s told that it’s his destiny but really he thinks it’s just rotten luck. Rotten except for the fact that one of his fellow reapers is Padmé Amidala, the most beautiful woman Anakin’s has seen, dead or alive. As he struggles to come to grips with his death and his new role in the universe, Anakin finds that taking souls isn’t the easiest job out there, he also finds himself falling in love. One-shot.

#anidala #fic rec #anidala fic recs #onlyanidala fic recs #star wars #sw #fanfic #sw fanfic

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wherevermyway · 4 years

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why can’t we drink forever? (1/2) // minsung // 18+

one: i will only complicate you series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: lee minho x han jisung rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit sexual content past character death, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, depression, edgy cynical depressed jisung, ambiguous/open ending. word count: 5,883 also on AO3

originally posted: 20 january 2021

After being arrested for driving under the influence, Jisung learns that money can buy his way out of jail time, but it can’t buy his way out of his feelings.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

“I don’t know how things got this way, Sungie, baby. I’m worried about you.”

A sarcastic huff leaves the lips of the young man seated in the passenger seat of a sleek, new all-white Audi. He kicks his feet up on the dash, earning a frown from the middle-aged woman driving the vehicle. The young blonde stares out the window as he fumbles around his hoodie pocket. Out comes a white pack of Marlboro Gold cigarettes and an engraved silver lighter.

“You and me both, ma,” he tuts as he pops a white cigarette up from the pack into his mouth, flicking the dial of his lighter as he takes in a deep breath. He jams a finger down on the window button, the crisp winter air blowing the grey cloud around, the acrid scent of burnt tobacco filling the car. “Guess if we knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be in the car now, huh?”

“Maybe you’d have gotten into a better university,” his mother sighs as she shakes her head.

A devious smirk curls up on the young man’s mouth as he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, taking a long drag. He knows better than to verbally respond with a cynical quip.

Maybe I’d be fuckin’ dead.

Alcoholics Anonymous sounded like a cult following: a twelve-step programme where all of its members had to follow a strict code, be mentored by a sponsor, and thank some bullshit deity to be given a new chance every day. “Every day is a new chance,” the cult leader would say at the beginning of every meeting. “May God grant us the serenity…”

“I’m Jisung, and the courts told me I’m an alcoholic, so I guess I’m an alcoholic,” the artificial blonde shrugged his shoulders, the ghost of burnt coffee still dancing on his tongue as he spoke.

The mindless cult drones spouted off a casual “hi, Jisung,” in monotonous, unenthusiastic unity as the young man sat down.

“How did you get here?” The meeting’s leader was relentless in prodding the young man. “You’re not obligated to tell us, of course,” which was a boldfaced lie, “but acknowledging your problems might help your recovery.”

Jisung brought the styrofoam cup full of lukewarm, acrid coffee to his lips and took a long sip. He winced at the taste and pursed his lips as he made eye contact with the leader. “I was abducted by aliens, man, now I’m here. Shit was crazy.”

The leader frowned, ready to interrupt Jisung.

“Nah,” the young man kicked his feet out from under the metal fold-up chair, flipping his hood over his head with his free hand. “I got drunk, went out to get more booze, then hit a tree on the way back and the cops pulled me over since my headlight was out. The internet wasn’t lying when they said all cops are fuckin’ bastards.” His quip earned a laugh from a few younger members, whereas several of the older people shook their heads in frustration.

“Please,” the leader sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s refrain from political commentary. Thank you for your,” there’s a pause as the leader clears his throat, “for your candor, Jisung. Now that we’ve introduced all of our new attendees, why don’t we move along with the next step in the meeting?”

The meeting was pointless, all of the same shit that Jisung had read about in the fliers that were handed to him with his sentencing. He had to endure twelve months of this, but it wasn’t like he was doing much else with his life, anyways. Jisung poured the last of the disgusting coffee from the cardboard takeaway box into his cup, then tossed the box into the large rubbish bin at the end of the table. One last cup of free shitty coffee before he left; it would pair nicely with the cigarette he so desperately craved.

“Hey!” A bright voice came up behind him and Jisung rolled his eyes at the way optimism dripped from the trill. He slowly turned around, taking a sip of the cold coffee in his cup. A young man with neon pink hair, probably the same age as Jisung, smiled widely as he stuck his hand out. “I’m Felix, nice to see someone here that’s about my age.”

Jisung gingerly accepted the hand and shook it twice before quickly sticking his hand back into his pocket. “Charmed. How long are you stuck here for?”

“Oh!” Felix shook his head, smile still wide on his face as he pensively looked down to his shoes. “I’m not here for… well, I’m a psychology major.”

Of course he was.

Felix tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and tapped his foot twice as he continued to smile at Jisung. “I’m also new here and was hoping I could make friends.”

Jisung shook his head, reaching into his hoodie pocket for his pack of cigarettes and familiar silver lighter. “I’m not a good influence. Don’t think I’d make good friends with someone so… nice.” He meandered a white cigarette out of the packet with a single hand, then tucked it behind his ear, lighter still tucked into his palm. “No offence, dude.”

The smile finally fell from the pink-haired man, who quickly pulled his hands from his pockets, “wait, wait!”

Jisung cocked an eyebrow at the man, biting his tongue as he felt the clawing at the back of his head, his synapses screaming a plea for him to get a hit of more nicotine.

“I don’t wanna sound desperate,” Felix ran his bottom lip under his teeth as he looked around nervously, “I just really wanna talk with someone that’s so different than me. I’ll even buy you dinner or something from the diner down the street.”

As insulting as the words ‘so different than me’ came off to Jisung, desperation was a bad look for anyone. “You got a car?” Felix nodded twice, biting his lip as he stared at Jisung. “Lead the way, psycho student Felix.”

Felix’s eyes went wide and his bright smile came back, beaming brighter than before. “It’s psychology, not psycho.”

The blonde rolled his eyes as he plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and tucked it in between his teeth. “I know what I said.”

The food at the diner was mediocre at best: rubbery scrambled eggs and burgers made from frozen patties that were likely a concoction of rejected organ meat slurry and textured vegetable protein. It was cheap, but it was always good. Rich in comfort, lacking in quality: the antithesis to Jisung’s life.

Jisung hadn’t been here in two years, not since his friend turned on-again, off-again boyfriend Changbin left for university, halfway across the country. This was the place they’d come to at three in the morning after hitting up a house party, where they would drunkenly curl up with each other and swap kisses that tasted like stale beer and watery coffee.

This was the place where Changbin broke up with Jisung for the final time, Changbin citing that they wouldn’t be able to stay in contact much anymore. However, he hadn’t told Jisung that he was sleeping with someone that graduated a couple years prior and was conveniently attending the same university as him.

That night tasted like vodka and strawberry soda, the latter of which Jisung never let grace his tastebuds again.

The blonde scowled down at his orange juice, watching the ring light above their table shimmer and ripple in the liquid. He hadn’t heard from Changbin in two years, and he was as bitter about it as the black, burnt edges of the hashbrowns that stuck to his plate.

“You okay?” Felix poked his fries with a fork, bringing one to his lips as he scanned Jisung’s expression.

“Are any of us okay, psycho student?”

Felix furrowed his brows and set his fork down against his plate, chewing on the crinkled french fry a bit before he swallowed. He folded his hands together and rested his chin against the interlaced fingers. “No, like,” he shrugged, eyes shifting around a bit, “I mean it. You seem kinda distant.”

Jisung rolled his eyes up to meet Felix’s and he cocked his eyebrow. He was starting to regret tagging along with this kid he barely knew, feeling like this was less of a potential friendship and more like a therapy session. “You don’t know me, man.”

“No, but I know people.”

“You’re a sophomore psychology student, dude. You don’t know shit.”

The pink-haired man sighed, back thudding against the plasticky booth. “I guess you’re right about that. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, though.”

“Your funeral, then.” Jisung followed suit, leaning up against the booth with a bit more tact, swinging his arm around the wood frame. “I had my first sip of alcohol when I was thirteen. Got bored when my parents fucked off to Italy on some shitty trip without me.”

Felix tilted his head up like a dog, suddenly alive with renewed interest.

“They’re only parents in blood and title.” Jisung looked down at the table, scratching inanely at a chip in the pale green linoleum. “I was raised by nannies and tutors until I was fifteen. Most parents would probably panic when they leave the house, coming back to an empty liquor cabinet. My parents? Nah, they just restocked it and told me not to drink too much at once.”

“That’s,” Felix’s voice trailed off as he looked away, milling over the new information.

“It’s fucked,” Jisung finished the sentence, then brought the plastic cup of orange juice to his mouth and took a long sip. He set the cup back down and pulled up the sleeve covering his left arm, presenting the flesh over the table. Felix visibly recoiled as he eyed dozens of scarred lines littered across the skin, some marks still relatively fresh. “Their response to this? ‘We’ll get you into therapy and you won’t do this again.’ It was always the best money could buy, but their money didn’t do shit to my brain.” He shuffled the cloth over his arm again, ignoring the look of pity Felix offered him.

“If money could buy them a better son, they would’ve traded me out, like upgrading a car on a lease.”

Felix stumbled over his words a bit as Jisung rifled through his pockets, pulling out his phone and his wallet. “You still wanna make friends with someone like me?”

It took a moment, but Felix tentatively nodded his head. “Doesn’t sound like you have many friends to begin with,” he nervously sputtered out.

Jisung cocked his head to the side and licked his teeth as he smiled. “I don’t do friends. But life’s full of surprises. Anyway, gimme your phone so we can swap contact info.”

They exchanged phone numbers and Jisung dropped a couple of bills on the table. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as soon as Felix opened his mouth to protest, “you’re a university student and I’ve got my shitty parents’ cash to burn.”

“I’ll see you next week?” Felix questioned as Jisung stepped out of his shoddy 2003 Toyota Camry.

Jisung nodded once, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead. “You got it. Thanks for the ride, mate.” He slammed the door with a fake smile that faded as soon as he turned around. Sure, Felix was the antithesis of everything Jisung was, but he could prove to be a source of entertainment over the next year.

Despite being cynical and vehemently anti-religion, Jisung always said a quiet prayer to himself as he opened the door, hoping his parents weren’t home when he arrived. Today, it seemed like luck was on his side: his mother’s keys weren’t on the key rack, and his father had yet to return from some bullshit ‘business trip’ off in China. Perhaps it was Morocco or Norway; they all blurred together in a haze of indifference. All Jisung was sure of was the fact that his father had probably taken one of his mistresses away to some foreign country he was pretending to secure a business deal in.

“Everyone’s favourite fuck-up is home!” Jisung shouted in the empty vestibule, his voice echoing against the cold walls. He didn’t expect a response, so when he was greeted with a comfortable silence, he smiled to himself. He kicked his shoes off and unceremoniously tossed them into the corner by the key rack.

His heavy, heel-first footsteps echoed as he made his way towards the kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine out of a glass display cooler as he padded towards the main refrigerator. He pulled out a box of takeaway Indian curry from the night prior, setting both the box and the bottle on the marble kitchen island, shuffling his feet towards a drawer. He retrieved a fork and a wine key, tossing them onto the countertop as he pulled out his phone, pack of cigarettes, and his lighter.

Jisung opened the bottle of wine as he sat down on a stool next to the counter, tossing the cork towards the rubbish bin, shrugging as he missed. That was a problem for later, and he didn’t feel like dealing with it now. Completely ignoring the takeaway carton, Jisung grabbed the wine bottle, then took a long guzzle directly from it. He winced a bit as the flavour of fermented floral grapes perfumed his mouth with a sharp, sickly rotten scent. The bottle clattered loudly against the marble, the echoing reminding Jisung of just how alone he was in such a large house.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, bringing his phone up in front of his face, scrolling through one of his playlists until he found the right song. With a few taps, some Drake came through the kitchen speakers. Jisung turned up the volume to near max, his head subconsciously moving to the beat of “In My Feelings”. He took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it, the tip turning from paper and plant to a red, ashy ember as he inhaled.

Was he allowed to smoke in the house? Of course not.

Did Jisung give a shit? Absolutely not.

A text message popped up as Jisung aimlessly scrolled through his various notifications. He opened it, barely scanning through the entire message from his mother until his eyes stopped on a blue phone number. His eyes narrowed, poring over the entire message. “A coworker of mine offered to be a sponsor for you: Lee Minho. He’s a few years older than you, but he’s nice. Here’s his number, please reach out to him.”

Jisung sarcastically scoffed, locking his phone as he placed it back on the countertop, swapping it for the bottle of wine. He took a drag off of his cigarette, then took another long swig from the bottle. “We admit we’re powerless to alcohol,” he mutters the first step under his breath as he slams the bottle down on the counter.

“Maybe I don’t fucking care.”

Jisung woke up on the couch to the sound of heels clacking against the hardwood floor just before eight in the morning, his fingers jostling an empty bottle of scotch on the floor as he brought his hands to his face.

“Get cleaned up, please.” His mother’s voice was accompanied by bright spotlights suddenly shining directly on his face. “I’ve invited Minho over to meet with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” Jisung’s voice was low and gravelly, groaning as he sat upright. The world spun, his body carried by the false inertia his mind had created.

His mother trotted off to the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder. “I know you didn’t. I did it because I care about you, Sungie.”

The blonde rubbed his clammy hands against his face again, attempting to wipe the sleepiness from his eyes. He grabbed his phone off of the floor, then wobbled his way upright, the living room spinning around him in a familiar sense of uneasiness.

“You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself,” he muttered under his breath.

Somehow, Jisung managed to make his way upstairs to his room, stripping an article of clothing off with each lazy step from his bedroom door towards his personal washroom. By the time he got to the glass enclosure of the shower, he was totally stripped bare. Jisung distantly stared at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, a gaunt and ashy doppelganger staring back at him with a pained, empty look on his face.

Instead of stepping into the shower, Jisung approached the mirror, subconsciously bringing his hands to touch his flushed face. His cheekbones were more prominent now than they were earlier in the year, dark circles painted in broad strokes under his eyes. His gaze trailed down the scars he had inflicted on his arms and on his thighs, reminders of the failed attempts to take his own life that he was now forced to carry with him, wearing each line and mark as a badge of shame.

A warm tear rolled down his face as it contorted into an expression of terror and hurt, before he took his fist and crashed it into the mirror in front of him, a spiderweb of the impact left behind in the cracked glass as he pulled his bloodied knuckles away. Some glass shattered to the floor, some still wedged in the gaps between his fingers, and Jisung stared at the crack that split his reflection into several fragments.

How he was still alive was beyond him.

“Mrs. Han, please,” a lilted, unfamiliar laugh travelled up the staircase as Jisung slowly made his way down towards the first floor. He squinted at the noise that caused his head to throb, realizing that someone unknown speaking to his mother, likely the Minho she had mentioned earlier. With each step he took towards the drawing room, the voice got louder, each staccatoed laugh more pronounced.

“Jisung, come sit,” his mother said, replacing the genuine smile on her face with a fake, ‘Vaseline-on-the-teeth’ smile. She motioned towards the empty space on the couch, opposite from the young brunette that turned around.

Jisung met his eyes and it suddenly felt like his surroundings cracked and shattered around him, like the mirror upstairs. Rich brown eyes glistened behind the black and gold browline glasses that rested against the bridge of his nose. Rose-tinted lips curled upwards in a shy smile, revealing large, rabbit-like front teeth that rested softly against his bottom lip.

“Hi,” the stranger said with a gentle wave, “I’m Minho. Resident biochemist at the pharmaceutical company your mother works for.”

As Jisung made his way over to the open spot on the couch, he squinted, refusing to break eye contact with the strange invader. It felt like he was a wild animal on display, about to be poked and prodded by zookeeper staff or by scientists in some sort of underground, off-the-books laboratory. It would fit, after all, since the man was some sort of scientist.

“I’ll let you be,” Jisung’s mother says, rising to her feet. “Maybe you should tell Minho about your little misstep last night, hmm?”

Jisung rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and shook his head sarcastically. “Go enjoy your overfilled glass of wine at nine-fucking-thirty, ma. I’ll be here spilling my guts to a stranger that gives more of a shit about me than you.” Minho winced and his expression fell from cheerful to shocked.

The men stared at each other, Jisung’s gaze layered with arrogance, and Minho’s heavy with awkward discomfort. “So,” the younger man kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, pulling a pack of cigarettes and his trusted lighter from his sweatshirt pocket, hoping to wrap up the conversation as soon as possible. “I know you work with my mother, you’re an alcoholic, and your name’s Minho.” As quickly as Jisung could take in a breath, the cigarette between his teeth was lit, and he was glaring at the intruder through the grey haze that came between them. Their eyes met again, Jisung growing more and more wary by the second. “Why should I pick you as my sponsor, when I feel like you’re just gonna snitch to my mother?”

Minho’s jaw looked like it was clenched too tight, his bottom eyelids squinted upwards as he studied the younger man in front of him. They watched each other, eyeing each micromovement the other’s face made. About halfway through Jisung’s cigarette, Minho finally broke the uncomfortable eye contact, and took a deep breath. “I’m not asking for you to trust me, or to spill your life story,” he shifted, sitting upright, “but for you to see me as a mentor when things get hard and you want to dampen your feelings with alcohol. I’ve been there, Jisung.”

Indignation washed over the younger man’s face, quickly replaced by a familiar wave of arrogance. Jisung shook his head, ashing his cigarette directly onto the floor. “Doubt it,” he tutted, licking his teeth as he nodded his head, staring at the ring on Minho’s finger. He smirked to himself, then turned his head away and up towards the ceiling. “Looks like you’ve got someone that loves you. I don’t know what that feels like; never have, never will.”

The elder chewed on his bottom lip, clenching his fist as his eyes subconsciously scanned the ring on his finger. “Had.”

“What?” Jisung turned his head back towards Minho with a look of disgust on his face, ashes falling from his cigarette.

The brunette sighed, leaning further into the couch, nervously running his thumb over his balled up fingers. “He’s the reason I turned to drinking, to fill the void he left in my heart when he died.”

Shit.

For the first time in ages, Jisung felt a slight pang of regret twinge in his abdomen.

Minho swallowed hard, almost as if he were holding back his emotions. “We were married for five years, together since high school. You’d think I would’ve known the signs, but Chan was so good at hiding things, hiding his pain from everyone.”

The ember in Jisung’s cigarette died out as he found himself enraptured in Minho’s story.

Chan was Minho’s high school sweetheart. They started dating their sophomore year of high school, both attended the same university, and they got married when they were twenty. To Minho, Chan was everything. They supported each other, making the other man stronger and gave them a reason to go on.

Minho had no idea that Chan was severely depressed, holding his true feelings to his heart. Not long after Minho’s twenty-fifth birthday, Chan disappeared, only leaving a journal behind. It had started off with an apology, that if Minho found his journal, that it was too late to save him and that Chan had simply given up. On nearly every page, Chan reiterated that it wasn’t Minho’s fault, that Chan was just too far gone beyond repair, that Minho had given him a new lease on life, but it wasn’t enough.

Exactly three weeks after Chan had gone missing, police were on the doorstep of their shared home.

“Dental records,” Minho whispered, his eyes distant and glazed over as he lost himself in the memory. “That’s how they knew it was Chan. I don’t remember much after that, but I thought that I could find the answer to why Chan took his own life at the bottom of a bottle.”

Jisung’s grip on the arm of the couch was so tight, his knuckles had turned white and they were starting to ache.

“Several bottles,” Minho continued, “several bottles and several near-death experiences waking up in the hospital later, and I still hadn’t figured out the answer. I figured that maybe I’d see him again if I drank enough. Now,” he folded his arms, tucking his chin into his chest, “I’ve accepted that I’ll never know the answer to that question, that I need to live on for him. If there’s an afterlife, maybe I’ll get to ask him myself. Until then, though,” Minho rolled his teary eyes up to meet Jisung’s uncomfortable gaze, “I just want to atone for not doing enough before. I want to help others that are hurting, you know?”

They continued to stare at each other for what felt like hours, until Jisung finally shook his head. His voice cracked as he tried to speak. “Sorry,” his apology was shockingly sincere, “I guess I spoke before I thought.”

Minho awkwardly smirked, dismissively waving his hand in between them. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been at rock bottom and that there’s a way up and out, as long as you’re willing to put in the effort.”

Maybe Jisung was willing to give Minho a try.

At first, Jisung agreed to meet with Minho once a week after the mandatory AA meeting he attended. It took seven visits spanning seven weeks before Jisung eventually opened up about the neglect he faced from both of his parents, the emptiness he felt from being raised by nannies, feeling like money was more important than his own life.

Ten weeks in, they started hanging out on the weekends. Their relationship shifted from mentorship to friendship, and it was somewhat a relief that Jisung finally had someone he could trust enough to call his friend.

Week fourteen was when things started to shift further. Jisung hadn’t consumed alcohol in eight weeks, and things were clearing up, slowly but surely. He had been meeting with Felix more and more, too — maybe they weren’t quite friends yet, but Jisung was at least trying.

Things were looking up for the first time in Jisung’s life.

At week sixteen, Jisung stayed over at Minho’s apartment, convincing him that he needed to watch Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. The blonde had vehemently pressed that it was, quite possibly, one of the best series of all time, animated or otherwise. After some gentle pressure, Minho finally caved, and they sat on his couch, diving into the show and into some mediocre takeaways.

They had gotten through the first three episodes and Minho finally relented that, yes, it was a good show and that, yes, Jisung was right.

“I knew you’d like it, dude,” Jisung snickered, playfully poking at Minho’s chest. The corner of his lips tugged upward into a crooked smile, and he wore Minho’s seal of approval as some sort of badge of honour.

The brunette turned away, softly smiling into his shoulder as a rush of crimson started to tint his face. “You’ve got me trying all sorts of new things, Ji,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before he flashed his teeth at the younger man. “So much for me being the mentor here, huh?”

Jisung sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth at the nickname, trying to ignore the warmth blossoming up his face. He tried to stumble out some sort of response, but he caught himself getting lost in the way that the overhead lights shimmered in Minho’s eyes, highlighting the soft amber and warm bursts of hazelnut that erupted around his pupils. His expression started to falter, and he felt a familiar rush of excitement bloom in his chest, causing his nerves to come to life all around his body.

He remembered that this was how it felt right before he shared his first drunken kiss with Changbin, but something about this felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that Jisung was completely sober, but he desperately wanted Minho to kiss him, to want him back. However, Jisung wasn’t sure if it would have been a good idea, pondering over if Minho was really ready to start a new relationship, especially with someone he was supposed to be mentoring.

“Something on your mind?” Minho’s voice was soft as it gently guided Jisung back to the moment. “You’re kinda spacing out on me.”

“No, no,” Jisung stumbled around the words he wasn’t sure he could say, suddenly distracted by the television in the background. “I guess I was just thinking about the show.”

Minho’s head tilted to the side, concurrently lifting his brow in confusion. “You guess?”

Jisung waved his hand in between them and readjusted his posture so he was further away from Minho. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve seen it so many times, but it’s one of those shows that you watch and you see something new each time and—”

Warm fingers were suddenly on the side of Jisung’s face, pulling him back into Minho’s space. “You’re a terrible liar.” The voice was soft, yet assertive; low, but so loud. Jisung’s eyes went wide as Minho’s apartment blurred around him, his vision suddenly taken over by the sight of the brunette’s face right up next to his. In front of him.

Before Jisung could process what was happening, he was subconsciously pressing his lips into Minho’s, trying to remember exactly how kissing worked. It was years since the last time he had any practice, but it all came back to him as Minho helped guide Jisung’s face with his hands.

Minho’s tongue was soft, warm, and damp as it gently pressed up against Jisung’s lips, wordlessly pleading for entrance. Without letting his mind mill over the fine details and concerns he possibly had, Jisung parted his lips. Timidly, he rolled his tongue around Minho’s, his hands quivering as his fingers scrambled for purchase in Minho’s hair.

Unlike anyone Jisung had kissed before, this felt right, even if there were some uncomfortable grinding of teeth and awkward nose bumping. Within a reasonable amount of time, they slowly became experts at training the way the other wanted to be kissed. As if Minho could read Jisung’s mind, he would interrupt his soft kisses with gentle nips and grazes at Jisung’s bottom lip.

“Please,” Jisung’s voice cracked as Minho pulled his teeth down his bottom lip, “my neck, I…”

Minho swiftly moved his lips from Jisung’s, peppering tiny pecks against his jawline to his ear, stopping to take the blonde’s earlobe into his mouth with his tongue, grazing the tender flesh between his teeth. Jisung’s back involuntarily arched as the grooves of Minho’s teeth pulled at his sensitive skin, the sensation causing his nerves to come to life with an electrical jolt from head to toe.

The brunette chuckled, his warm breath brushing up against the tiny hairs on Jisung’s ear. He said nothing, simply moving down to press a few soft kisses to the skin just below the younger man’s earlobe. Minho’s lips were soft, gentle, only to be quickly replaced by a sudden, harsh bite into the tender flesh.

A yelp, accompanied by uncontrollable twitching, came from Jisung, who was simultaneously melting into Minho, but also pulling away. The elder’s fingers dug into the blonde’s waist, keeping him in the same position, not allowing him to escape. Jisung’s yelp had faded into a whimper, which evolved into a moan as Minho sucked the flesh between his teeth, quickly repeating the process several times in various spots along Jisung’s neck.

The moans were increasing in volume and breathiness, Jisung subconsciously, frantically rutting his pelvis into the couch. Minho must have caught on to this, letting go of Jisung’s waist to ease him down onto the couch. He pressed his lips to Jisung’s again, dancing his fingertips down to the waistband of the younger man, who was completely blissed out.

“Can I help you with this?” Minho’s voice was somehow both soft yet assertive as his palm pressed against Jisung's clothed erection.

Words eluded Jisung, verbal language suddenly turning into complex algebraic equations that didn’t translate from his head to his tongue. Instead, he groaned in affirmation as he hopelessly rolled his hips upward, finding himself pitiful that he was so desperately craving for Minho to just keep fucking touching him.

Things started to blur in a haze of wanton desire. Minho’s hand gently stroked Jisung’s cock, paying special attention to the way that his fingers and palm brushed against the head. Involuntary twitches took over Jisung as he whimpered and mewled, his shoulder blades grinding into the couch. Minho continued to nibble and bite at Jisung’s neck, occasionally whispering words of assurance and praise into his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” as he slowly dragged his hand from the base of Jisung’s cock up to his head.

“I can’t imagine how incredible you would feel around me,” as he gently thumbed the slit, rubbing precum around the sensitive head and causing Jisung to bite the back of his hand as he failed to stifle a cracked moan.

Jisung’s breaths turned erratic and he was nearly convulsing as his body started to twitch. Minho shifted his weight to his knees, slowing his strokes just enough so that he could awkwardly shift one leg off of the couch to position his head in a way he could take Jisung into his mouth.

“What are you—” Jisung started to question, until he found himself losing control of his body as Minho rolled his tongue around his cock. “Fuck, Minho!” He clamped his eyes shut, arching his back upward, hitting the back of Minho’s throat as he convulsed, his orgasm suddenly completely taking over him. “Minho,” he whined and unclenched his fists; “Minho,” he panted and opened his eyes; “Minho.” With one last breath, he was back to reality.

This had to have been the closest thing to heaven that Jisung thought he would ever experience.

Jisung had stayed over at Minho’s that night, too tired to function like a normal human. They slept on the couch together, necks crooned in uncomfortable positions all night long, bodies stiff from the unnatural firmness that Minho’s couch held. The next morning, they chose not to discuss the night prior, but they did exchange some soft kisses, until Jisung protested, mentioning that their morning breath was distracting him from actually enjoying the kiss.

Their weekends continued on like this: spending time watching a couple of episodes of their chosen programme until they got distracted and lost within each other. Nothing progressed further than handjobs, the occasional blowjob, and the one time that they rolled around naked, making out for so long and so intensely that the way they pressed their bodies together caused Jisung to come without any additional stimulation — and, hey, they liked it.

The budding relationship between them was confusing. During the week, Minho acted like the appropriate, wise mentor, with Jisung as his eager pupil. When the weekend came around, however, all bets were off. In everything but title, they were boyfriends for all intents and purposes. Every time Jisung tried to bring it up, Minho would shut down, saying that he wasn’t ready to really think seriously about it yet.

So, Jisung didn’t press. He was sure that their intimate interactions were causing conflicting emotions to arise within Minho, emotions he probably had been ignoring since Chan’s death, trying to shove them down as time went on. Even though he wanted to navigate the full spectrum of sexual experiences with Minho, Jisung remained silent until Minho was ready.

#why can't we drink forever?#skz fics #skz smut #minsung #lee minho x han jisung #han jisung x lee minho #minho x jisung #jisung x minho #wherevermyway

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anneimaginesundertale · 4 years

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Hey I haven't been feel well lately and was wondering if you could do a comfort image with horror sans,swap sans and the fell bros? Its okay if you don't!

I think I can manage something! You’re not feeling well? Each of the lads has a bit of a different approach to make you feel better!

Sansy (HT Sans): Aww, cher, you not feelin’ good? C’mere. Some cuddles should help. And he’ll see about gettin’ you something good to eat later. Something with healing magic in it. He does a lot of hugging and gentle forehead kissing while you’re cuddled up together.

Blue (US Sans): He immediately gets concerned. What can he do to help you feel better? If you tell him what you need, he’ll be off like a shot to go and get it for you, whatever it is. If you can’t quite tell him--if the ‘not feeling well’ is more of a mental thing than a physical one, for instance--then he’s just going to be right there for you. His hugs are more enthusiastic than Sansy’s, but there’s just as much love in them. He’ll also tell you how much he loves you. A lot.

Red (UF Sans): He panics. Just a little bit. It’s just...you mean so much to him, and he hates seeing you feeling under the weather. If you’re not quite able to tell him what feels bad, he’ll panic even more. Definitely give him something to do or he’ll hover around you looking all worried. He can do cuddles if you need cuddles, and he can go out for food or medicine or whatever you need if you tell him specifics (like, actual brand names and maybe pictures if it’s medicine you’re after). He might even try to whip up something for you with some healing magic in it. Unless it’s chocolate related, it’ll probably look like a big mess, but it should taste okay, and you’ll be able to tell there’s some of his magic in it with all his intent to get you better, sweetheart.

Boss (UF Papyrus): He’s the only one who won’t immediately offer cuddles. If you ask, he’ll gladly oblige, but it’s not the first thing he thinks of. The first thing he thinks of is calling someone who knows more about humans to tell him how to make you feel better. He’ll approach it kind of like a puzzle. What will get his human to smile and not feel so bad? He might even lend you Doomfanger (whose purr is renowned for being remarkably good at healing). That’s how you know he really cares.

#imagines #ht sans #us sans #uf sans #uf papyrus #I hope you feel better soon nonny!#Anonymous

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calypsoff · 3 years

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Fifty Seven.

Last night I had the worst backpain, I don’t know where it came from but I could not sleep, I was struggling so badly and Chris knew it, I guess I was annoying him with all the moving around, even I would get annoyed “sorry for last night and thanks for making his breakfast” I said as I made way into the kitchen “don’t be, it was odd that you wasn’t awake already actually and then I asked Chris and he said you didn’t sleep well so I offered, like the good person I am” Mel is good, I love that she lives with us “thank you, seriously. Sorry Chris” I feel really bad, Chris looked up at me from his plate “for what? It’s fine, I am glad you had the sleep, you’re the main priority. You need your sleep more then I do” he is sweet, pressing a kiss to the top of his head “what happened?” Mel asked, walking over to her “I had the worst back pain, I just couldn’t get comfortable at all. I was tossing and turning, my pelvis was just hurting so bad. So Chris woke up and we tried swapping sides on the bed but no, that didn’t work. So I slept on my side and Chris rubbed my back, it was soothing, and I fell asleep. I am not sure if Chris got the sleep, did you?” I asked, Chris nodded his head “I did, then I woke up. So I just used to office to deal with some things, honestly don’t say sorry. You need the sleep more then me, maybe it was the whole coming back from London. Jet-lag maybe?” he could be right “I don’t really suffer from it but then again now I am pregnant, so things are different, anyways. Have you caught up with Barry? You did say you was, isn’t he in Cali?” I don’t know whose plate this is, but I am taking it “that is mine but take it, yeah he is coming here. I think you both might just miss him, you will be going to the scan” I would like to give him a piece of my mind, he is annoying me “well it’s been a while since you have had some, have fun” taking the plate to the table, if I do see Barry I will be saying it to him.

Mel always makes a good breakfast, I adore it so much “I decided to cut them off” Chris blurted out “cut who off?” what is he on “Barry and TJ, not like cut them off friend wise but I can’t just cut Barry off and not TJ, but then I don’t want them selling drugs. I feel obliged to help them, they both aren’t cut out for this, they are just reaping the benefits of things and I can’t have that they will end up making a mess. A mess I don’t need, it’s playing on my mind and I need to do it but also I don’t want to make out I am selling them out. They also helped in a way, here and there but they fucked up my supplier and I can’t have that. This is why I was so busy here in Cali, now I got Neima and Cena, they are making money moves for me and I have been waiting for Barry or even TJ to ask why they can’t log into anything, but they haven’t checked, the only thing I didn’t change was the business account password, they haven’t made a sound, so they don’t check” pressing my lips into a hard thin line “you didn’t tell me that? The supplier part, I thought they was making money for you. You said you had a lot of money in the business account?” I really need to give Chris my attention more than anything “I did, they sold what I had before I got shot but that was it, thinking on it most of my money from my apartment I sold in VA I put in there, so it wasn’t much. They didn’t really update anything of mine, I don’t know. I don’t want to break my friendship with them” I always knew they was useless “right, this is why we don’t hire family and friends. You will learn, right. So what does them two do besides chase behind you?”

I don’t think they have jobs “nothing” I sighed out “they are riding you which means me also because we are together Chris, you need to get rid of them. To make it better because I know it’s upsetting you, you need to tell them what I got here is mine and you both don’t care for it. Give them a month or two, tell them you aren’t a bachelor, or some fuck boy that is wanting to chill you have a business, a wife now so you are different so they can’t stay here to have fun, they want fun Chris and you have moved passed that so give them a month or two, pay them what you are still and they have to find their own way, they can’t hang onto you and if they are friends then they will understand but be ready if they don’t, if they really want to work then they can get a job. Better yet ask them what they want to do and help them proceed in what they want to do, help in hand in someone’s dream is better than they are living through you, you will learn this” I didn’t even know any of this “they going to say I have changed and shit, it’s not even that. They fucked up, but I get what you mean” he is going to be so sad if they react a different way and I hope not because I will come at them both “you haven’t changed, it’s called growth. People grow, you’re not in the same position as them, I have friend that are doing their own thing and yet we are still friends, nothing has changed. Just don’t worry about it, I am here for you Chris. I have been through it all before, so I am here to listen” Chris smiled at me lightly.

I am super excited to see the doctor, I want to see what my baby is doing already “are you excited to see the baby? The right answer is yes” resting my head on his shoulder “yes” of course he would say that he is annoying “I am joking, I am nervous. Your bump is grown as hell so yeah, I am nervous. I don’t know, I am happy though” he said honestly “I can take that, I am nervous too. Apparently this is a big scan, we can see more too. I need to pee so bad Chris, my god!” moving my head back, Chris held my hand “what does Mel see in Barry, honest answer?” that was random of him “he is funny, alternative. He does make her laugh a lot because when she would be on my bed just relaxing and he would call all Mel did was laugh, she likes him a lot. Why?” that was random of him “just asking, I just think you know. Barry is ugly, Mel is beautiful” looking up at Chris “ok, random ass” I chuckled “Mrs Fenty-Brown, Audrey is ready to see you” I shrieked “sorry, I am so excited. Come” I jumped up “calm down” Chris said, he held my hand “exciting day for you, men are always grumpy” Chris is always grumpy “he is excited deep down, he just keeping it to himself” I know Chris is excited but doesn’t show it at all “how have you been since you last seen us?” the nurse asked “good, I feel like I am growing bigger then ever, I don’t know. I am not used to it, but I think I am doing well” I really want to see my baby.

Audrey rushed in “I am so sorry, busy day. How are you?” I would get up, but I just sat down, shaking her hand “I am need of the toilet” I laughed “oh good, yes we will get on with the scan quick. How have you been? Anything different, have you found any changes?” watching her sit down “I have felt less fatigued, I feel full of energy, more so that I am ready for sex. Chris has been suffering a lot but like I have felt within myself tired, I felt like everything was a chore, but I just woke up and I feel full of energy” Audrey is laughing at me, but I am being deadass about it “as you enter your second trimester you will feel your energy come back to you, like now. Sex is fine too; your sex drive actually does peak at this this stage too. Since we missed you for your twelve week scan, working this out you are actually fourteen weeks which is great because we will actually seen a lot more of baby, shall we get on with it?” nodding my head “please because I need to pee, badly” I have drank so much water “can we know if it’s a boy too?” Chris would ask that “I could potentially look for this yes, if that is what you would like but I can’t be a one hundred percent sure but at twenty weeks I can then, is it a boy you both want?” side eyeing Chris “at first he didn’t care, he didn’t mind a girl but now since his friend had a son he wants one, I am guessing” getting up from the seat as Audrey did “I just think I would look nice with a son” so he says.

I had to go and pee, apparently I drank too much water so I went to the toilet and making my way back “hi” this nurse just smiled at me, she looked at more in shock then just a general hi “hi” walking back into the room “I can’t believe there was too much water” rolling my eyes “it happens Robyn, you know what. I was looking at your bump and it’s growing perfectly and on time, I say on time because some women stomach grows ahead of their weeks, so sometimes your bump can be growing at a different rate, so we are still on track for August delivery” sitting on the bed “that’s good, I am scared that I would hurt my baby or even lose it, I have been ever so careful with myself” winking at Chris as he smiled at me, laying back down on the bed “good, it’s time for you to pamper yourself and make it about you, have you found your breasts starting to change?” lifting my top over my bump “yes, tender. Also last night I had a horrible night. I had a really bad backpain, Chris had to rub my back while I fell asleep?” I wanted to ask that “ok, that is normal. Your body is changing, your hormone relaxin levels increase, that hormone is the motion in your pelvis allowing your uterus to expand” letting out an oh “that is amazing” I didn’t think that “it is, as long it doesn’t worsen that is fine. But if it’s every night then please come back to us and also try and keep sex simple if you had that last night, just for that reason. Not saying if anything will happen but keep it simple for that reason, so shall we see baby Fenty-Brown” I grinned “yes please!” I spat, the first time around I didn’t see anything because of having too much water around so this time around I hope I can see my baby, I am already emotional.

Chris held my hand, he did it himself without me even asking. Taking in a deep breath, I feel nervous, and I don’t know why “is it ok?” she seems so quiet, and I am not seeing anything “baby is being stubborn if you are asking that, I am just trying to get a good position. Nothing bad, do not worry. Look, the baby has it’s back to us. Maybe being a little shy” Audrey put the screen on, pressing my lips into a thin line “no way, is that really my baby” I said, I can’t even believe it “so I am trying to get a better position, no need to worry” she turned the screen off “actually, I am going to try massage your baby to turn” she got up “we need it to turn, maybe I am waking it up. Do you feel the flutter? Well have you been feeling it flutter in your stomach while being here” shaking my head “then it could be asleep in the womb, let’s wake it up. Maybe not like, who is the sassy one? The baby seems sassy already” Chris pointed at me “this is just a massage ok” Audrey started massaging my stomach, my poor baby is sleeping and we about to wake it.

Looking over at Chris, he seems so quiet like very quiet “what’s wrong?” I asked, he shook his head “I am good” I didn’t ask if he was ok but yeah “I think this time I will put the screen on, I have a feeling we’re in for a show” my heart right now, I can’t wait “oh god” I don’t know why but I feel the flutters “baby is awake” I said to Chris, looking over at him “really? How you know?” he said all confused “I feel it, oh my god” I feel so excited, I want Chris to feel this excitement too but he seems really cut off and I don’t know “oh my god! Did it just yawn!?” I spat “oh my god” placing my hand over my mouth, that is it. That was all it needed for me to start crying “Robyn, don’t cry” I can’t believe it, after all this time I wanted to see my baby and this is what I am doing “oh it is active now, putting on a show” I shakily wiped my tears, our baby is really just doing the most now “I can’t believe it” looking over at Chris, he is just looking at the screen “you hear this” I gasped looking at the screen “is that the baby’ heartbeat or Robyn’?” he questioned “the baby” Audrey answered “this means so much to me, to us. I was so afraid that I would lose this one and now I see it just there moving an yawning” I can’t stop crying “that is amazing” Chris mumbled, looking at Chris again and he’s crying “don’t cry” Chris shook his head “you crying and I am crying, I just you know. I know how much this means to us, losing the first baby really hurt and I wasn’t there. Just to see the baby there just moving and living, it’s alive Robyn. I can’t believe it, I am just trying to digest it” I was wondering why he was so quiet; I want to reach over and wipe his tears so bad.

“Is that the hand up?” Chris pointed out “yes it is, it is waving to you. Hi mommy and daddy” Audrey saying that is going to set me off “this baby is active, so you can see the brain and everything wow. I felt a little weird about coming here, I don’t know. I feel like I didn’t get that bond like Robyn does, I see her bump growing but I just felt like I missed out on her, we have been together for like a month you know, and just felt that disconnect but seeing this. It’s just hit my heart, it has” Chris’ voice broke “I love my wife and my kid a lot I do, I just feel like I saw Robyn go and then I see her and she has a bump, and it is because I care. I want to have that connection I do” he never mentioned this to me ever “this is very normal, sorry to get involved. But men in these situations feel useless, to the side when the woman is going through this journey and speaking to your husband, things like oh a flutter, a kick. Let him feel, touch, be close. Talk to him about the baby, men do feel this” Audrey said, and she isn’t wrong “I have been hiding my bump from the world but also him and I have been shying away from it, when he was playfully trying to lift my top I put it down, but I didn’t think it upset you like that, I just didn’t think. I just feel shy with you, it’s a lot of change sorry Chris” I have been so bad with him, he has been affected by my actions.

Looking at the polaroid’s, we have so many because our baby was just doing the most “that is crazy, it looks like the baby is waving to us. Like see y’all both soon” Chris said while holding one of them up “I love that one so much, baby put on a show for us. I love how active it is, I am so happy. Thank you” Chris held out the polaroid to me “for what?” he questioned “for making my wish come true, you always do. I know at times you like to say no and probably may disagree, but you always do it, you always come through and make my wishes come true” he leaned over and pressed a kiss to my lips “I am sorry, I really wanted to tell you what gender you was both having. I have a feeling, but I am not one hundred percent but when you come again I can tell you, I am not telling you what I think it is but anyways, I am happy with the progress. I think we have a mover on our hands and we are on route for August, how do you both feel?” Audrey asked “excited” Chris answered “good, it’s good to communicate and keep up this bond. It’s a stressful time for everyone involved and it’s not even in a bad way, but if you need anything. I am on call for you” I am so impressed; I am just so happy about the pictures we got.

I keep looking at the pictures of my baby “I sent some to my mom, did you do the same?” looking over at Chris “no not yet, I will do it now actually” looks like I woke Chris up from his nap in the car “here” he held his hand out to me for the pictures “Chris, you know about earlier. At the appointment, I am sorry. I feel like I have been neglecting you a lot and it’s affecting you like that, the whole not touching my bump wasn’t malicious and I feel so bad, I am sorry” I so feel awful about it, the way he kind of broke down “I know it wasn’t Robyn, I don’t want you to feel bad ok? I understand, I love you” he is so sweet, I think tonight I am going to spoil him. He deserves it “send them to your mother though ok” I am over the moon with how the scan went.

#chrianna fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #chriannaff #chrianna ff #chrianna

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humananalytica · 5 years

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Good Omens Holiday Swap

Fic for @maandarinee, based on two promps:

I always love Crowley and Aziraphale having some magic Connection where they're Connected for whatever reason and can hear/feel/whatever each other;

Aziraphale or Crowley gets summoned/captured/trapped and the other goes into Rage Mode while getting them back (alternative: one THINKS the other is dead [pls don't actually kill anyone/ bring them back miraculously] and goes into Rage Revenge Mode)

Hope you enjoy! Fic under the cut.

“Where the Heaven are you, you idiot? I can’t find you!” Crowley cast around wildly for even a hint of Aziraphale’s presence. He’d been terribly worried, and frustrated, then there’d been a flash of pain, and now- “Aziraphale, for God’s- For Satan’s- Ah! For somebody’s sake, where are you?!”

A wall of water slammed into Crowley’s chest and knocked him to the ground.

At the same time, a trace of demonic essence collided with Crowley and settled back in his ribcage, just as lost as the rest of him felt. “You’ve gone,” he said to the empty bookshop, “Somebody killed my best friend!”

“Bastards! All of you!” he screamed, disoriented and grieving. Aziraphale was gone and he wasn’t coming back, not ever, and the bookshop was on fire.

His gaze fell on a book that had, somehow, not yet gone up in flames. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. He picked it up. He could, perhaps, save just this little something from the fire. Crowley willed the doors to open for him and left the bookshop.

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Getting summoned was an exercise in bending quantum mechanics that always left Crowley vaguely nauseous. He didn’t really appreciate his corporation being jerked around without a warning. As a result, the small handful of humans [1] who had actually managed to summon him over the centuries tended to find him in a bad mood.

This particular attempt was one of the worst that Crowley had ever experienced. It was full of metaphysical holes, less of a net and more of a tangled mess of rope. It pinched his noncorporeal being uncomfortably when he pushed against the bounds of the circle, but didn’t offer burning pain or impermeable resistance.

“Demon Crawly, serpent of Eden.”

“Don’t use that name anymore.” Crowley drawled, tucking his fingers into his pockets. “Haven’t used that name in a couple millenia.” He rotated slowly, studying the summoning circle from all angles.

“It was the name that I invoked to summon you.” The summoner replied, without a whisper of confusion or doubt. “It is the name we will use.”

‘We?’ Crowley mentally hissed in irritation, even as he began cataloguing the ways he could get out of the situation. So far, it was looking like his summoner was working with outdated material, felt entitled to . . . whatever he was going to demand of Crowley, and seemed completely convinced that he hadn’t made a mistake. Relatively straightforward to work with, if you had a few milennia’s experience working with Hell.

“I need to learn how to have sex with a woman.” The summoner dramatically threw open the door to the windowless room, revealing a young-ish man with a sweatshirt hood pulled down to his nose.

Crowley blinked, trying to parse why sex with a woman was in any way relevant to what he’d, specifically, had ever done in Eden. Well. Better to let them tell you what they think they’re getting.

“So you came to me,” Crowley tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, as if asking a question.

“Yes,” he said, shuffling inside and shutting the door behind him. “I summoned you because you were the giver of all knowledge and the first tempter, and now I need that knowledge to be given to me.”

There were so many reasons why giving humans knowledge of Good and Evil did not equate to Crowley having some secret knowledge of how to convince a woman to have sex.[2] But Crowley guessed- he wanted what he wanted, and telling him ‘no, sorry, can’t help you,’ would have been met with hostility and disbelief.

“Well, you’ve certainly done your homework.” Crowley pressed against the boundaries of the summoning circle again, trying to gauge if the human took notice. No reaction was forthcoming.

“Can you help me or not?” the man whined, eventually.

“Possibly, but it might take a while.” Crowley hedged. “In the meantime, what should I call you?”

“Uh,” he stuttered, flustered, “‘Sir’ would probably be alright, ‘Master’ is a little gay, I think-”

“How about your name.” Crowley crossed his arms and gave a little half-smile. “Most people prefer that.”

The man paused, then seemed to collect himself. “Tristan.”

“Right, Tristan, I’ll see what I can do for you.” He glanced down at the circle, and his gaze caught on a phrase that defined him as ‘bound to be a servant’. A spark of an idea began to form in his mind. “We may have to make a few revisions to this circle, though.”

“What’s wrong with the circle?” Tristan snapped. “I didn’t make any mistakes. I checked.”

Crowley dropped to one knee and swept his hand over the characters in question. “Look, if you want to still have your soul after losing your virginity, you’re going to have to listen to me.” Tristan’s focus sharpened, and he knelt down opposite Crowley with palpable concern.

He pointed out a handful of words. “This bit defines me as servant of Hell. [3] Now, I’ll be sporting and fill you in on how it’s relevant here. Means that I’m obligated to deliver your soul to Hell if I hold up my end of the contract, deserving or not.”

“When I die?” He made no move to get an eraser or writing utensils, so Crowley pressed on.

“Preciscely,” he hissed, “And it’s whether you have sex once or you do it every day for the rest of your mortal life. Going to Hell for a shag is a load of bollocks, if you ask me.”

The subtle admonishing flew completely over Tristan’s head, not that the demon had expected much. He waffled for half a minute, then dragged a box of chalk out from under a stack of notebooks. “Which one makes you tied to Hell? I’ll just-” He mimed erasing with his free hand. “-and that should be good, right?”

Crowley mentally calculated the metaphysical gap that would result from an unbalanced circle without a complete binding clause and concluded that his odds were relatively good. “Here,” he tapped a single fingernail on the concrete floor, “In the lines closest to me.”

Tristan nodded, then crouched on the floor with an eraser. Crowley’s entire body tensed up on the physical realm as he focused on reaching through the holes in the binding towards home. The eraser wiped the characters into oblivion, and a half second later, Crowley tumbled into the back room of the bookshop. [4]

Aziraphale arrived a moment later, brandishing a teakettle in a manner that carried a subtle threat of bodily harm.

And caught sight of Crowley slowly rising to his feet and straightening his clothes. “What on Earth are you doing?” he asked, relaxing his stance.

Crowley, satisfied with the state of his clothing, flopped into an armchair. “I need a drink.”

[1] And in one memorable instance, some poor woman’s pet cats.

[2] Though he could guess that not summoning demons into your cellar whilst doing a low-budget impersonation of Emperor Palpatine would be a step in the right direction.

[3] This was a lie. In actuality, it defined him as bound to serve in general, implicating the summoner. Tristan, who was not remotely fluent in any of the Old languages, did not cotton on to this bit of deception.

[4] The exact mechanics of this maneuver are, naturally, beyond the human ability to observe. If one were looking for a good analogy, it would help to imagine Crowley as a rubber band, forcing himself through a very small opening by stretching very thin, and then abruptly springing back into his normal state once through. It was exactly as uncomfortable as it sounds.

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“Right,” Aziraphale said, adding generous pours of bourbon to two mugs of earl grey tea. “What has you so shaken?”

“Wiggled out of a summoning.” Crowley explained, turning his attention to his drink, taking a long swallow and relaxing back against the cushions. “Some idiot who wanted me to help him have sex.”

“Certainly not with-”

“With women.” he cut Aziraphale off. “Young, pretty ones if I had to guess a type.”

“I see,” Aziraphale replied, in a tone that encouraged more details.

“The entire thing was ridiculous, Aziraphale, you have no idea. He did a lot of research, only to put out the whole bloody thing out on a cellar floor with some school chalk. ’S insulting.” He took another swallow of tea, then reached over and topped up his mug with more whiskey. “I should probably try to track down where he got his materials, unless I want to be summoned every time one of his mates decides that I’m the solution to their dry spell.”

“I can reach out to some of my associates and see if any of them know anything about old summoning manuals reentering circulation.” The angel offered, eyeing Crowley with some concern. “There can’t be very many of them in circulation.”

Crowley nodded, accepting. “I’d wager that he found it online, but he also called me Crawly, so the original text is going to be from some point B.C.”

“That does narrow things down considerably.” Aziraphale fished out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “It’s quite late now, but I can sort out a few leads and make calls in the morning.” he glanced up to see Crowley pouring more alcohol into his mug. “My dear, are you alright?”

“Just. Eugh. Aftereffects from forcing myself outside of the circle without it breaking.” Crowley took a gulp of lukewarm tea-flavored bourbon and winced.

“Crowley. You’re shaking quite badly.” After a second of hesitation, Aziraphale gently prised the trembling mug from his grip and set it down on the table, keeping a hold on his twitching fingers.

Crowley blushed. “Sorry.”

“Apologising isn’t necessary.” Aziraphale frowned. “I can feel how distressed you are. It’s usually quite difficult for me to pick up on negative emotions.”

“Maybe you’re looking for it.” Crowley muttered into his free hand. “I can feel happiness and love if ‘m trying to find it. Usually just keep an eye out for the negative stuff, though.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale agreed. “I should be in better practice when it comes to sensing distress.” He did not release Crowley’s hand, and the demon felt him probing further. “Well, you’re certainly not all right, I can tell that much.” The angel’s gaze was sharp.

“‘Sss fine. Aziraphale.” Crowley decided that he was not inebriated enough for the conversation and took more bourbon-with-a-splash-of-tea with a still shaking hand, swallowed hard.

“Is this how you would find me, when I would get into a spot of trouble?” he asked. “Tracking feelings of distress and worry?”

“Sssort of.”

“Well, what else then?” he pressed, and if he had noticed Crowley’s embarrassment, he ignored it. “Crowley.”

Bless it. Aziraphale was getting more worried, and more curious, which was a dangerous combination. His desire to soothe the angel managed to overpower his embarrassment, just barely. He finished what was left in his mug and tried to not think too hard about him still holding his hand.

“Do y’know,” Crowley said at length, “How little traces of demonic or ethereal energy can be left around if you try?”

“Yes.”

“Went a little further. Stuck a little bit of my soul with you back in Rome by accident. And it was useful to find you later, so I didn’t take it back.” And it had been a mistake. Crowley had been drunk on Roman wine and angelic company and he had been preemptively grieving losing Aziraphale’s presence for the night, and likely for the foreseeable future. He’d barely noticed when a piece of himself had wrenched its way out of his corporation and onto Aziraphale [5]. “I could sense your distress because part of me was always next to you. In a way.”

Aziraphale got a quiet, faraway look that, Crowley knew, meant he was very quickly sorting through new information. “I know that I shouldn’t have left it for so long, and, ngk” -I’m sorry that I did it without asking or telling you, the actual apology died in his throat.

The bookshop was silent, save for the clocks and the creaking of old furniture as Crowley sank down into Aziraphale’s chair, incandescent with shame. “It’s gone now, anyway. Got it back in the bookshop after you’d discorporated.” He had half a mind to withdraw away from Aziraphale’s judgement, but stayed resolutely in place. The angel deserved to know, at least.

The clocks continued ticking. Crowley resisted sliding onto the floor. Aziraphale had not removed his hand from his. He could sense sadness and maybe a little pity from the angel, if he looked, but there wasn’t any anger or fear, so the demon kept still.

Finally, Aziraphale shifted and sighed. “I suppose it could be considered an invasion of privacy, but I can’t say that I personally mind, the thought of you leaving a bit of your soul within my corporation.” Crowley wasn’t looking, but he could feel the angel’s smile. “It got us out of a fair bit of trouble.” His thumb stroked Crowley’s knuckles.

He vaguely wondered if drinking more would make the situation more or less bearable to deal with.

“Would you like to do it again?” Aziraphale said, at length. “And I could, perhaps, do the same for you, place a small part of my soul in your corporation permanently. If you’re amenable.”

Yes, a thousand times yes, I would do anything to be able to find you if you needed me. I’ve missed it. I would love to hold a piece of you with me always, Crowley thought, aching with hope. “Are you sure about this, angel?” came out of his mouth.

“Only if you are,” Aziraphale countered, radiating steadfast certainty. “I would like it very much. We’re on our own side, I want to reflect that.”

“I’d like it too,” Crowley managed, swallowing. “Just don’t want to saddle you with my emotions.”

“Crowley.” He finally looked at Aziraphale, startled by the intensity of frustrated love that flowed under and with the angel’s conviction. “I want to know when something is wrong. I would love to be able to feel you, Crowley, and I cannot imagine growing tired of you.” He smiled again. “If anything, all the past six thousand years have done is made me want to spend even more time with you.”

“‘Ziraphale.” Crowley whispered, nervous and elated and so in love that it ached. “Now?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale glowed, rising to his feet. “Just one moment.” He went around and drew curtains shut, concealing them completely from outside view. “Would you like to sober up a bit, dear?” he asked, straightening his clothes.

“I was incredibly drunk last time I did this.” Crowley protested, shuddering alcohol out of his bloodstream anyway and getting his legs underneath him.

“Do you remember how you did it?” Aziraphale gestured vaguely. “You may have to show me.”

“Here.” Crowley fumbled about in the metaphysical plane, pulling out roughly the same amount of himself that he’d unintentionally recovered in the bookshop fire during The End Times That Hadn’t Been. It manifested in his hand as an odd, shifting shadow, dancing around his fingertips and reaching for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyes flashed, and then the rest of him glowed, the vision of his true form superimposed over his corporation. With the infinite care of an antique book collector, he steadied Crowley’s wrist with his left hand, and with his right, drew the offered piece of Crowley into himself, guiding the little shadow to coil up and around his left arm.

Crowley felt as it settled against Aziraphale, and his sense of the angel sharpened into comfortable clarity.

Aziraphale inhaled and exhaled slowly, the image of his true form fading from view. With another breath, he brought a little bit of his soul out of his corporation, a white-gold flame that hovered in his cupped hands.

Crowley offered his left arm in kind, watched his true form as a piece of Aziraphale slid up his palm and forearm in an uneven starburst. It shivered as it settled in, mirroring the angel’s pleased wiggle in Crowley’s periphery.

“I’ve never felt you with such clarity before,” Aziraphale said, awed.

“Sorry.” Crowley offered on reflex, feeling a sleepy, pleasant buzz settle over him.

“Really, now.” the angel reprimanded gently. “It feels lovely, dear, and I don’t wish to be without it.”

“Mmm.” he mumbled, nearly unhinging his jaw with a yawn and sitting down on a couch. “Does feel nice.”

The cushion dipped with Aziraphale’s weight, and Crowley tried to discreetly scoot closer. The angel took notice and guided his head to his shoulder. “It was a bit reckless of me to do that, wasn’t it?” His thumb traced a delicate pattern along Crowley’s jaw.

“A bit.” He yawned again.

“Then again,” Aziraphale continued wryly, “It has been over a millenia since we established the arrangement, one could argue that this was a long time coming.”

“Hm.” he mumbled into the angel’s shoulder, all but melting into the touch. “Got there now.”

“You can sleep, Crowley.” He said, reclining and pulling the demon closer. “I’m not going anywhere.” The lights in the bookshop dimmed invitingly, and Crowley drifted off with Aziraphale’s hand in his hair.

[5] In his inebriated state, Crowley had been unable to distinguish it from the human version of heartbreak.

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Crowley could not relax. There was something irritating brushing at his consciousness, like a shirt tag. He couldn’t place its source, exactly, and over the course of the week he became increasingly more frustrated. Aziraphale had quickly noticed the frustration despite Crowley’s attempts to downplay it, proving to be a frighteningly quick study.

It wasn’t the new link between himself and Aziraphale, as far as they could tell. Neither one had particularly wanted to dissolve it to be certain.

He had been walking towards the Bentley, intending to return to the bookshop after caring for the plants in his flat, when the irritation that had been following him around intensified to a sharp tug. Ah, he thought, preparing to return to the not-quite-broken summoning circle, that explains it.

He rematerialized in the same circle, with its erased parts redrawn and an extra circle of text around the whole thing, adding a layer of restraints that Crowley couldn’t see an easy way out of. Tristan was standing with his arms crossed in front of Crowley, wearing a slightly different hoodie from the last time.

“Hi.” Crowley said, desperately trying to tamp down on his panic before it could show in his voice. “What brings me here?”

“You got out. That’s not going to happen again.” The man said, sounding understandably (if unjustifiably) pissed.

Crowley decided to try for honesty. “Look, I really can’t help you.”

“You will.” Tristan insisted. “I command you to!”

“Commanding me to do something-” Crowley hissed and recoiled from where he’d been probing at the barriers, nerves burning like they’d been sliced open and dipped in acid.

“So you found my extra protections.” he observed, “good luck getting out of those, Serpent.”

“Still won’t change the fact that I can’t help you. Both of us are wasting our time.” Crowley pushed again. The burning flared against his consciousness, greying out his vision. When he blinked himself back to awareness, he was kneeling on the ground, shaking.

Tristan was watching him, now seated on a rolling office chair. “Keep struggling if you want. You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

Crowley hissed at Tristan, dragging himself to his feet, spitting out blood from where he’d accidentally bitten his cheek.

“Crawly, Serpent of Eden, you are bound to serve me.” Tristan intoned, reading from a computer printout. “You will remain bound until I release you.”

“What do you wish of me, master?” the demon spat sarcastically. “Shall I perform a resurrection? Balance the moon on top of Everest? Either one would be easier than convincing a woman to ever have sex with you.”

“You’ll regret that!” Tristan glared at Crowley, then began rifling through binders. “I have something here that shows me how to punish you.”

Crowley stayed stubbornly silent, still aching from probing the barriers and trying to tamp down on his panic.

“You,” Aziraphale was suddenly there, voice flat and cold, “are going to stop this nonsense at once.” The angel, glowing, wings out, and eyes piercing, loomed over Tristan, who flinched in shock and scrambled away.

Crowley noted, distantly, that he could see the shadow of his essence snaking up Aziraphale’s arm in this form. Aziraphale cast a concerned glance in his direction.

“Ugnnnn.” The man whined, pressing himself against a wall. The angel huffed, and a moment later appeared much more human shaped [6].

“Now. You are going to listen to me.” Aziraphale said. “You are going to erase the circle immediately, in its entirety.”

“You can’t make me!” Tristan protested, even as he reached for the eraser and crouched down in front of the circle. “That demon will attack me.”

“You have my word as an angel that you will come to no harm from him.” Aziraphale said. “And I suppose that I can’t make you, but it will be much easier to restrain him if my hands aren’t busy from doing the erasing.”

He cast a wary glance between the two supernatural entities and began erasing. Crowley made a lunge at him as the circle was broken, just for show, and was caught by Aziraphale, who supported the demon’s weight without flinching.

“Thank you.” The angel said, when it was finished. “I would also like you to tell me where, precisely, you learned this ritual.”

The human sat down at his computer and navigated to a forum, gesturing wordlessly to the screen. Aziraphale shifted Crowley off of him and peered at it. “Fascinating.” He said, “Tell them that it didn’t work.”

“It did work!”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But anyone who summons Crowley will have to deal with me, and believe me, I will know if someone summons him with bad intentions, and I will end it by whatever means necessary.” Aziraphale said mildly, putting himself between the back of the chair and the rest of the room.

Tristan looked at him, then mulishly informed his contacts that the ritual had been ineffective. [7] “That’s not gonna stop everyone.”

“More fool them.” the angel replied primly, then tapped the computer, which sparked and died with a few alarmed beeps.

“You can’t just do that!” The human wailed, scrabbling to unplug the computer and inspect it for damage. Aziraphale stepped back to support Crowley again.

“You’ll find that I have.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers. “We’re leaving now. Do not try this again. Goodbye.” He snapped again, and Crowley found himself standing in the middle of his flat, being held upright by the angel.

“Thanks.” He said, sore and delirious with relief.

“You’re quite welcome. Would you like to go lie down?”

Crowley did not want to leave Aziraphale’s company. “Are you going to come with me?”

“Of course.” His voice was warm and fond, and he swept Crowley into his arms. “You really did give me quite a fright.”

Crowley, too tired to care about the loss of dignity, steadied himself by looping his arms around the angel’s neck. “I suppose you would have felt the summoning.”

“I did. It was highly unpleasant, and I do not wish to repeat the experience.” Aziraphale nudged the bedroom door open and deposited the demon onto the bed.

Crowley stretched and removed his shoes. “Speaking of, what about his binders full of notes? They were everywhere.”

“Yes, I had noticed those.” Aziraphale said. “I took care of them.” [8]

Changing into sleep clothes was the work of a couple miracles, and then Aziraphale was sliding under the covers next to Crowley.

“I memorized the screen name of the original poster. I’ll have to look into it, see if they’re the rightful owner or if one of my contacts has been stolen from.”

“Can that wait until tomorrow?” Crowley grumbled. “I’m comfortable here.”

“Of course, dearest.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley felt a pulse of love from the angel. “Would you like me to spend the night?”

In response, he wrapped himself around Aziraphale, burying his face into his neck. Aziraphale chuckled and put his arms around the demon, pressing his lips to the top of Crowley’s head. “Sleep well, Crowley.”

[6] But no less furious.

[7] Which, if you want to be technical, was not really a lie.

[8] The angel had miracled all of the ink off of the pages and back into the ink cartridges that it had come from. One didn’t want to be wasteful, after all.

#good omens #fanfiction #my writing #this got longer that I was expecting it to.#maandarinee #go holiday swap #long post

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who-gave-atlas-a-pencil · 5 years

Text

find rest for your souls

A/N: If anybody has prompts for these two idiots especially please let me know. I fell in love with Undeadwood by accident and Friday suddenly feels a very long way away so I’d love to write more.

Read on AO3 for notes.

Summary: Clayton takes watch while the others sleep. The Reverend joins him.

(Initially started as a Whumptober fic, evolved into gay pining. Enjoy.)

The Reverend isn’t sleeping.

None of them are, really, not well anyway. Miss Whitlock’s got a blanket clutched to her chest like one of those warding symbols she seems so fond of, her brow creased even in sleep with trepidation and a hint of disdain. She’s not used to sleeping rough, Clayton expects, not with that fortune she sits on. Aly is doing better, flat on his back with his face to the sky like he’s trying to make the best out of the situation, and even Miriam has found a way to make herself comfortable somehow. With Clayton taking the first watch under the cold glare of the desert moon, they’ve all found a way to make do with the situation.

All of them but the Reverend, that is. Amidst the quiet, even breathing of the others’ attempts at sleep, Clayton can hear him murmuring to himself, quiet and low. Across the fire, the other man is shifting restlessly from one side to another, arms wrapped around himself like a vice. Bad dreams, Clayton reckons, and is considering nudging him awake when the Reverend sits up straight like he’s been shocked to it.

Clayton can’t help it. His hand flies to his gun with years of instinct and it’s halfway drawn before he stops himself and watches instead as the Reverend’s chest heaves with several deep, shaky breaths. The man looks around wildly a moment like he’s expecting to be jumped. Then his gaze falls on Clayton and he stills, eyes widening even further. “Is there trouble?”

Too late, Clayton realises he’s still got a hand on his gun and lets it fall. “No. You startled me.”

“My apologies.” The Reverend’s shoulders sag, and he tilts his head back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “I’m afraid I rather startled myself as well.”

“Hadn’t noticed.” Clayton’s no stranger to nightmares. Nobody really is in this town, except maybe Swearingen, sleeping snug in the top floor of his saloon atop whatever ill-built empire he’s made for himself in this place. Even so, he’s never been inclined to talking someone through their bad dreams. He settles back, expecting the Reverend to do the same in a minute or two. It’s another solid hour at least before the watch is supposed to change to Aloysius, and another three hours after that before the Reverend’s turn. He’s got plenty of time.

But he doesn’t go back to sleep. Across the fire, the Reverend shifts to a properly vertical position and pulls out a rosary from a pocket of the leather duster Clayton had bought him to keep his collar clean. It’s not done much good on that front, but it has proven to be a solid indicator of when the other man is nervous. Now, for example. He probably doesn’t know he does it, but the Reverend tugs at the edges of the jacket almost obsessively, pulling it tighter and tighter around himself like he’s chilled down to the bone. He grips his rosary tight, saying nothing as he stares into the fire, and Clayton looks away.

It’s silent for a time. The fire crackles amiably. It’s a clear, cool night, the moon high and bright above them, scattering light through the branches of the copse of trees they’ve landed themselves in. As nights on the road go, he’s had worse ones. All the same, there’s something about the stillness that he doesn’t like. It’s been two hours on watch and all he’s heard or seen is a solitary barn owl that had landed on a nearby branch and given two long, mournful hoots before sailing off into the dark again. It ain’t natural by a long shot, and while he’s not surprised he’s far from appreciative.

“Can I ask you something, Mister Sharpe?” The Reverend’s voice is low in the freshly shattered silence. Clayton almost says no, not if you’re gonna try evangelizing me again, but then he looks over and the Reverend’s hands are shaking and the quip dies in his mouth.

He goes for something softer. “I’d say you just did.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Just did that too.”

The Reverend flushes, ducking his head. “Never mind, then. My apologies.” His gaze flicks back to his rosary, and Clayton bites back a sigh.

He’s not terribly fond of men of the cloth, or anybody else that seems convinced they know better than the rest of the world about what’s supposed to be good or not. Even so, the Reverend’s been more tolerable than most holy men seem to be, and he’s got a lion’s heart even if he’s got the sense of a squirrel. Clayton doesn’t quite feel guilty about being sarcastic with him, but he does feel obligated to throw the man a bone. “What is it, Father?”

The silence that follows makes him think for a moment that it’s too late for an olive branch. Then the Reverend sighs. “Do you…believe in life after death?”

Clayton frowns. “If you’re talking about rising again on the last day to wave off this sinful earth next time it goes to hell, I can’t say as though I do. Think once someone goes in the ground, they stay there.” He’s put enough people in the dirt to be sure of that, or at least to hope like hell it’s true. If people can rise up from the grave, he’ll have more than the living to look out for.

“Not literally. I mean…spiritually. The idea that someone can be born again from a past life. That they can be redeemed.”

Clayton squints, studying the Reverend for a long moment. If the other man notices, he doesn’t seem to care. No matter. “That’s a pretty loaded question, Reverend, if you don’t mind my sayin’. There a reason you’re askin’ me?”

“No.” The answer comes quick, too quick. The Reverend’s gaze shoots up and suddenly Clayton finds himself looking him dead in the eyes. They’re dark brown, almost black in the dark, the reflection of the flames dancing wildly in their depths. Like hellfire, Clayton thinks, and he stiffens but doesn’t dare look away. “No,” the Reverend repeats. “I don’t mean to imply anything untoward. You’re just…You’re awake at the moment, and I’m curious, and- I meant nothing by it. Forgive me.”

He asks forgiveness an awful lot for a man who’s supposed to be preaching it instead. “I didn’t mean nothin’ either. Just a question.” Clayton tears his eyes away to look at the branches overhead. That barn owl still hasn’t come back, and the shadows are still. Silent, like they’re waiting. He runs his tongue over his teeth and thinks for a long moment how to answer. There’s a lot of blood in his past, the kind no water’s ever going to wash clean. He’s buried too many people to get that dirt out from under his nails. Some of them he’s sorry for. Most of them, he’s not. He’s always looked out for himself because nobody else would, and he won’t beg forgiveness for that.

As for redemption, well. Redemption’s a heavy word in his mouth. It’s always tasted like lead.

“I don’t think you ever leave your life behind,” he says eventually. “Reckon that’s one of those shadows that sticks to you, whether you like it or not. As for bein’ reborn and forgiven, I don’t think that’s in anyone’s hands but yours. Plenty of places to go change your name and start over if that’s what you’re after.”

“Do you think it’s as simple as that? Changing a name and starting over?”

Clayton shrugs. He thinks of home, and a mob, and a six-shot revolver hot at his side. “If you’re lucky. Most people aren’t. Change your name all you like. There’s always gonna be someone who still knows your face.”

There’s no response. Clayton listens without looking and hears a sound like fabric moving, then silence again, dead silence interrupted only by the periodic popping of the fire. The good Reverend’s gone back to sleep then, salvaging what’s left of his night’s sleep. It’s a strange thing, to leave the end of a conversation he’d started hanging like that, but Clayton’s seen stranger and doesn’t bother commenting.

Overhead, the moon is arcing slowly, silently through the sky. It’s almost full now, just a sliver of dark still remaining on the left side. Clayton doesn’t consider himself a superstitious man, but he can’t deny the way the hair on the back of his neck raises when he thinks of all the hellish things they’ve seen these past few days, the even more hellish ones he’s sure are soon to come. They’ll have to lean mighty hard on each other if they’re to get through all this with a pulse. It’s not a thought he likes.

The wind picks up, kicking dust into his eyes. Clayton scowls and mutters a low oath under his breath, flicking open his battered pocket watch. It’s not even midnight yet. There’s a long ways to go before he can swap with Aloysius to squeeze a few hours rest out of the night. He sighs and turns to stoke the fire. Then he freezes.

The Reverend isn’t sleeping. He’s kneeling before the fire, head bowed low, eyes clamped shut, that same old rosary clasped so tightly between his hands that the knuckles have gone white. He’s praying, praying like Clayton’s never seen anybody pray before, like the words are the only thing keeping the darkness at the edge of camp from getting any closer.

Clayton’s not a superstitious man, and he sure as hell isn’t a religious one. He’s not sure what it is that leaves him dead in his tracks and staring. All the same, he finds himself standing there motionless as he watches the shadows dance across the Reverend’s face while prayer after desperate prayer falls soundlessly from his lips. It’s a strange thing, seeing that sort of conviction in a place like this. He’s not convinced it’s a good one.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. He’s long last track of time when the Reverend finally relaxes just slightly and opens his eyes, still deep and dark and desperate in the light of the fire. He spies Clayton immediately and flinches. “Mister Sharpe, my apologies. Did you need something?”

Clayton blinks, then shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is rougher than it has any right to be. “You always pray like that, Father?”

The Reverend looks taken aback. Then a smile twitches across his face, faint and bashful. “No. No, I’m afraid not.”

“There some special occasion tonight then?”

“No,” the Reverend says again. “Only that I’m frightened, and I’m hoping to find courage.”

Most people would try looking in the bottom of a bottle, Clayton doesn’t say. Talking about drinking is only going to make him wish for a shot he knows he won’t be able to take for a good long while. Instead, he gives a short nod and looks away, settling back by the fire and prodding it with a large stick, tossing more wood on top of it. “You should get some rest, Father. Gonna be a long day tomorrow. We’ll need you and whatever protection you got to offer on top of things.”

“I feel that is true of all of us, Mister Sharpe.”

“Clayton,” he says without thinking, and feels the Reverend’s eyes fall to him instantly with a keen interest and no small amount of confusion. He shrugs as if there’s nothing strange to it and meets the Reverend’s gaze. “I’d say formalities seem a bit pointless when we’re obviously gonna have to keep saving each other’s necks.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” comes the reply, fast and almost nervous. “Your point is sound. I was simply surprised by it. You, of course, can refer to me as Matthew, if you would like.”

The idea of being on a first name basis with a preacher sets funny in Clayton’s mouth, but he sees no easy way around it and gives a brief nod. “Matthew, then. As I said, you should get some rest.”

“Actually, I thought I might take Aloysius’s shift in exchange for my own,” the Reverend admits, scratching the back of his head. “It seems pointless to wake him when I am already awake. You could rest early too, if you would like. I don’t mind an extra hour or so watching over everyone.”

Clayton bristles for a moment, inherently suspicious of anyone offering to do a good turn. He opens his mouth to reject the offer, then stops. The Reverend is staring at him with those deep dark eyes again, far too genuine and kind for this place. Kindness like that gets people killed.

He clamps his mouth shut and swallows the thought back. After a moment’s contemplation, he nods once in acknowledgment. “Much obliged, Father.”

“Matthew,” he corrects.

“Matthew,” Clayton repeats, and settles down near his pack. It still smells a bit like blood from the dead Irishman, but he’s used to that. “Make sure you don’t forget to wake up Mister Fogg here in a few hours. I meant what I said about needing you sharp.”

“I thought you were Sharpe?” the Reverend says, and Clayton struggles, not for the first time, with the question as to if he should simply run into the desert and put himself out of his misery or if he should endure in hopes that this job doesn’t end up with four corpses and another town he can’t return to.

“I’m gonna do you a favour and not dignify that with a response,” he says flatly and lays back, pulling his hat low over his eyes. “As a man of God, you ought to be ashamed of stoopin’ that low.”

The Reverend – Matthew – laughs softly, a low and beautiful thing. “Rest assured, I shall keep that in mind.” There is a pause. Then, quieter, he adds, “Good night, Clayton.”

“Night.” There is a part of him that wants to sit up, that wants to ask what a man of God is doing in a place like this, where he really got those scars. He wants to know what the Reverend cares for life after death, where he finds his faith, why he asks about redemption like it’s a deep and holy thing. But tonight those are another day’s questions. Tonight, he turns on his side, and as he drifts off hears a soft humming that follows him into his dreams, where he stands in a church at his mother’s side, a young boy with bruised knuckles as a preacher stands in the pulpit and says come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

#critical role #undeadwood #reverend matthew mason #clayton sharpe #matthew mason/clayton sharpe #atlas writes #clayson #m/m #fanfiction

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knifeshoeoreofight · 5 years

Photo

He keeps dreaming of snow.

It’s July. The weather is warm and sticky, and the sun has been blazing hot for weeks. And he dreams about snow.

It’s the same every time. A lake fringed with dark trees, the ice covered in a flawless expanse of white. Blank and perfect. In the dream, he has a pair of skates slung over his shoulder by the laces. When he swings them down to untie the knots and get them on his feet, they’re always a different pair he recognizes.

The first pair of good skates he’d received as a child, still able to fit him in the boundless logic of dreaming. He’d fallen asleep clutching them to his chest when he’d gotten them that Christmas. Stuffed dog under one arm, skates under the other.

The beat up pair he hid in Rimouski, so that he could practice even after they took away his regular skates. The same ones he’d take to play shinny in the park, just to feel a little normal. Free.

The pair he wore to win gold in Vancouver, gleaming and perfect.

In the dream he sits on a snowbank and pulls the skates on, and then he’s on the ice. You can’t skate on snow-covered ice, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Dream logic again.

The dark trees around the lake never grow closer, no matter how hard he skates for the opposite shore. Always, he ends up standing in the middle of that blank, unsettling expanse of white, frustrated. When he looks behind him, there’s never a mark in the featureless snow to show where he’s been. Nothing.

And he wakes up then, usually, disturbed and wondering why the fuck he’s dreaming that dream again.

***

He’s busy enough.The flurry of early summer weddings has petered out, finally. He loves his friends’ happiness, but the annual glut gets…old. Exhausting.

He has a few media obligations, some pre-planned get togethers with Nate and any of the boys who happen to be in town. He’s ramping up the training. But he still has too much damn time to brood in between it all. You’d think he’d be able to get the bad taste of last season out of his mouth by now, but it lingers, their ignominious playoff exit following him like a shadow.

He fishes, he paddleboards. He golfs. He trains some more. He tries going to the farmer’s market and has to leave after fifteen minutes because of the commotion his appearance causes. He teaches himself how to make gluten free parmesan chicken from the Internet.

He checks social media, liking pictures of babies and dogs and summertime shenanigans on Instagram. He uploads a photo of his dock at sunrise to his private one, to a flurry of likes and chirping about being a boring old man, fishing all day.

It’s a little funny but it stings a bit too. He doesn’t like to think of himself as old. He’s not, by ordinary standards. But he is in hockey years, and it terrifies him sometimes.

He should post more often, then maybe he’d get less shit from the guys. He’d only made his account in the first place so that he could follow the people that mattered to him.

He wakes up early to find that Geno commented a string of parentheses and a couple incomprehensible emojis.

He’s given up trying to interpret what Geno means by them; he’s 90% sure he just picks the weirdest ones possible just to fuck with people.

Sid ponders what to respond, and finally settles on turtle, Brazillian flag, paperclip. There, let him have a taste of his own medicine.

i dont get it, jake posts underneath. Probably sex stuff, replies Flower. better not to ask.

Asshole, Sid replies, and feels his face flush. It’s all meant as a joke, but thinking of sex and Geno too close together is always a problem, and he buries the well-worn thing he doesn’t acknowledge like he always does.

***

The next time he has the dream, there’s someone else there. He doesn’t see them, but their presence behind him lies on him like a weight.

He stops in the middle of the lake like he always does. The presence behind him stops too.

“Hey,” Sid says, more as an inquiry than a greeting.

Some small bit of dream-awareness slots into place, and he knows that it’s Geno, behind him.

“Three years Superleague, huh?” Sid says. It’s good, and right, Geno standing behind him.

***

More training. A podcast recording with Biz and Whit that actually ends up being a lot of fun. Just shooting the shit and swapping stories.

They ask him about Geno, of course, angling for some dirt, some “ha ha he’s so Russian” and “what a bully” kind of shit. Sid doesn’t give them anything.

Geno, Sid has always thought, is more just like an enormous cat. A little moody and opinionated, liking things to be just so. Affectionate and friendly only on his own terms. He’s always wondered if that was mostly due to the language barrier, or if it’s just how Geno is. He used to watch whenever Geno spoke to Gonch, or his friends on other teams. Listen to the faster cadence of his voice, the expansive movements of his hands, the expressiveness of his face. Trying to figure out who Geno really was when he was comfortable and at ease.

He used to watch Geno way too much in those days.

It’s still a problem sometimes.

Geno always treated Sid a little differently. All of his brash pushiness is tempered a little. He always looks into Sid’s eyes when Sid is trying to tell him something, leaning in and listening with his whole body. Sid has never taken that deference and respect for granted, treating Geno’s fierce loyalty as the precious honor it is.Geno gives zero consequence to people he’s decided he doesn’t like or respect. He isn’t like Sid, he doesn’t bother to reign in his colossal emotions or attempt a veneer of politeness or charm. If he’s done with you he’s done with you.

Geno is Geno, and Sid, god help him, has always loved him for it.

***

He has the dream again, and it’s accompanied by a creeping sense of dread. He and the Geno-presence take to the ice. In the middle of the lake, instead of smooth white, the snow is broken by a series of jagged cracks, dark water sloshing malevolently inches from Sid’s skates.

“Fuck, look out–” he tells Dream-Geno, but Dream-Geno steps past him, for the first time.

“Geno!” Sid tries to scream, but he doesn’t have the air. In the disjointed way of dreams, Sid just knows that Dream-Geno is in the water now, even if he didn’t see anything happen.

He drops to his knees, and reaches out. The water looks liquid, but his fingers scrabble along it like it’s ice. He claws at it, horror and desperation cresting over him. He’s trying to scream Geno’s name, but he can’t- he just can’t-

When he wakes up, he’s gasping, heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. He’s disoriented for a split second, grief crushing, until he wakes up further and realizes he was dreaming.

He sits up with a groan, shreds of the dream and its dread slowly fading around him. Fuck. He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in years.

He checks the time on his phone, curses to see that it’s three thirty in the morning. He drags himself up, flinching as he flips the bathroom light on. He takes a piss, and splashes water on his face as if he can wash away the lingering awfulness of the dream.

So weird. He hadn’t really seen anything, but the emotions themselves had felt so real.

Back in bed, he almost doesn’t want to go back to sleep. He feels wide awake anyway. What he wants to do, is.

Incredibly stupid.

Good for a lifetime of shit-talking if Geno tells anyone.

He does it anyway.

You up? He texts Geno. It’s nine-something am in Moscow, so who knows. Geno’s not exactly a morning person.

There’s no answer, for long enough that he starts to feel even more colossally lame than he already did.

Then his phone rings, making him jump. Fuck.

“Sid?” Geno says when he picks up. “What’s happen? It’s night for you.”

God, his voice. Deep and rumbling right in his ear. Accent thick like it always gets over the summer when he doesn’t use his English for months. Sid feels something in him let go, soothed by a living, breathing Geno at the other end of the line. But, then, he realizes that he now has to come up with an explanation that isn’t just, “hey bud, just had a real bad dream, wish you were here to fucking tuck me in, eh?”

“Uh. I’m okay it’s just… I was thinking.”

There’s a judgmental silence on the other end of the line. Sid pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“You’re gonna chirp me forever, man. I, uh. I’ve been having this dream.”

“Whaat?” Geno draws the word out, somehow conveying both amusement and disbelief.

“I know, I know. But I’ve been having this stupid dream about skating on a lake, yeah? Just over and over. It’s fucking weird. And you were there? I think. The last few times, anyway. And this time there were these cracks in the ice, and you fell in. You know how even if it doesn’t make sense, for a second in a dream your brain doesn’t know the difference? Well. You, you were dead.”

He pauses, realizing he’s babbling, how stupid this is. Shame washes over him.

“Okay…” Geno says, clearly trying to take all of that in. “Sorry for dream?”

“Not your fault,” Sid says automatically. “So, yeah. Pretty much I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Geno huffs out a laugh. “Okay. I’m doing good, so.” There’s a pause, like he’s considering something.

“It’s little bit cute, you know? Call me for scared.” His tone is amused but not as teasing as Sid would expect.

Still. Cute.

“Oh my god,” Sid groans, and flops back into his pillows.

“So stupid,” he says, more to himself then to Geno.

“No, no,” Geno says, and he’s definitely laughing now. “It’s fine, most cute. Can call me, I can give you some story, for sleep. Maybe some song.”

“Fuck off,” Sidney gripes, but he’s kind of smiling at the ceiling now, like a dweeb.

Geno yawns, then audibly settles back into the bed or couch he’s probably lounging on. “So, keep having dream?”

“Yeah, over and over. No idea why.”

“Stress?”

Sid is quiet for a moment, wondering how to answer. “Maybe. My birthday, the season coming up. You know.”

“You captain,” Geno says. “Lots things for worry.” The matter of fact way he says it is comforting, somehow. “You need come here. Have fun in Russia.”

“Naw. The visa would take too long to get,” Sid says, wondering if Geno means it, if he’d really like to show Sid around Moscow.

“You know how long it’s take?” Geno sounds amused again, like he’s smiling. “You think about?”

“Oh, off and on,” Sid answers. “Over the years, you know.”

“Should do, Russia best.”

Sid laughs. “Oh, for sure.”

“You do, you come. We go to banya, we eat Russian food. You can go to some museum, so boring.”

It sounds… really good. It makes an old ache start up behind Sid’s ribcage to think about it, but it sounds good. Especially if…

There’s always been an expiration date on Geno’s time in the US. And if this season is as bad as the last–

Sid tamps down the urge to surrender to the loss he can sense hovering on the horizon.

“That sounds amazing, G. I want to, I really do. What about next summer? I can make sure the paperwork is all set up ahead of time.” Something to look forward to in that summer, no matter what. A way to delay Geno from slipping through his fingers if Geno decides he’s finally had it.

He’s being irrational, he knows. Geno has a contract. And yet.

“Yes, we do,” Geno says, with finality. “You come.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Then there’s a bit of rustling on Geno’s end, like he’s sitting up. He sounds more awake when he speaks again.

“I can come early, now. Go to Canada first.”

Sid blinks, his lips parting in surprise. “Come here? To Nova Scotia? You’d want to?”

“No more bad dream,” Geno coos mockingly, and Sid has to laugh.

“You gonna tuck me in at night, eh?” Fuck, no, what is he doing. That sounds like he’s trying to flirt, or something. He needs to backpedal.

“For real though. I’d always love to have you visit, you know that. I just thought, it’s a little quiet, maybe. Boring.” His voice, damn it, is a lot softer than he meant it to sound. Maybe revealing a little too much. He hopes Geno isn’t paying attention.

“Mooost boring,” Geno drawls. Then, firmly: “I come. You can show me fishing. No golf.”

Something stupid and anticipatory flutters in Sidney’s gut. “Sure, okay. Let’s uh, work out the details.” Fuck.

***

Geno plans to go to Miami for a week, then to Sid’s, then to fly together down to Pittsburgh for training camp. He grouses a little at needing to be early because Sid is the captain and always shows up in town first.

He grumbles but then he’s there in a week and a half, tanned and insolent with a backwards SnapBack on his head, rolling a lollipop stick between his teeth and disturbing Sid’s whole universe.

He pulls Sid in for a one armed hug and a backslap, right there in the terminal. He smells like airplane and very nice cologne, and Sid wonders why the hell he allowed this to happen.

He’s exhausted but looks around avidly as they take the 102 down to Dartmouth.

“Flat,” he says thoughtfully. “Big sky. Like Russia.”

Sid feels disproportionately pleased about that.

It’s so strange, looking at home through Geno’s eyes, or trying to. He wants him to like it.

“Halifax is across the harbor from where we are now,” Sid explains. “We can take a look around tomorrow.”

“I’m look Google Earth,” Geno says. “Little bit. Pretty.”

“It is,” Sid agrees.

There’s a strange little smile playing around Geno’s lips as he takes in his surroundings. Sid isn’t quite sure what it means.

When they get to Sid’s place, Geno unfolds his long legs from the car and shoves his sunglasses up on his head. He just stands there for a minute, looking at the house, the sliver of lake visible through the trees.

Then he looks at Sid, like he’s fitting Sid into this place in his mind. That wry little smile is back.

“Looks like you,” he says, and Sid isn’t quite sure what he means.

***

Sid takes Geno out on the lake to fish. He takes him to the rink for training, where Geno imperiously nods once at Nate and then proceeds to ignore him for the rest of the drills. He stands in the lobby for a long time, looking at the display of Sid’s jerseys and photos. He takes a picture of one of Sid’s Timbits photos with his phone.

Sid takes him around Halifax, as promised, then to his parent’s house, where Geno is all charm and bashful politeness, helping Sid’s mom in the kitchen and talking hockey with Sid’s dad.

In every place, it’s a strange collision of worlds. Sid has to stop himself from just, staring all the time. Geno, here in his life. Lying on the floor of his parents’ living room to fuss over Sam. Rifling through Sid’s cabinets to judge his lack of acceptable tea. Strapping on his pads in the locker room of the rink where Sid learned to skate.

He fits easier than Sid had imagined, and that ache seems to sit in his chest all the time now.

***

Geno’s been there nearly a week when Sid has the dream again. Same thing, with Geno disappearing into the dark water.

Sid wakes up drenched in sweat, and swears before stumbling as quietly as he can to his kitchen for cold water from the Brita in the fridge.

“Sid?”

Sid yelps, sloshing water all over the counter. “Fuck!”

Geno’s lying on the couch in the living room, awash in the blue light of the muted television.

“What are you doing up? Did I wake you?”

“Still little bit jet lag. What’s happen? Dream, again?”

Sid takes his glass of water and stands pointedly by the couch until Geno pulls up his knees and frees a space for Sid to sit.

“Yeah.” Sid sighs. “So stupid.” He rubs at his eyes.

“I’m die?”

Sid stares ahead at the silent TV. It’s showing an ad for Canadian Tire. He’s not sure how he feels about talking about this, least of all talking about it with Geno. “Uh huh.”

Geno scoots partially upright, and regards Sid with a surprising amount of gravity.

“What you worry about, Sid?” he says, and it’s quiet, his voice low.

Sid can’t look at him. He takes a long swallow of water and sets his glass carefully on the coffee table, trying to decide how honest to be.

He’s too tired, on too many levels, to say anything other than the truth.

“That if we have another season like we did, you’ll decide you’re done.”

Geno whole face seems to go soft, his mouth dropping open a little.

“I know,” Sid says quickly. “I know, this is so stupid, but I just—”

Geno swings his feet to the floor, and suddenly he’s right there next to him, so close their thighs are almost touching.

“Sid,” Geno says, and waits to continue until Sid looks over at him.

“Until I’m hurt or you leave, I’m not leave Penguins.”

His voice is softer and more reassuring than Sid has ever heard it before. What is happening.

He can’t speak for a moment.

“I, uh. Fuck, G.”

Geno is just. Sitting there so close Sid can feel the heat of his body, looking at Sid with dark, serious eyes.

Sid wants to kiss him. Wants to push him back onto the couch and mark him up. Something must have shown in his face because Geno tilts his head, brows drawing together in puzzlement.

“Sid?”

Sid shakes his head. He has to get It together, in so many ways.

“No, yeah, sorry I just.” He sighs. “Thank you, G. I can’t tell you how much that means.”

Geno makes a hum of agreement, and stands, extending a hand to Sid. Sid shouldn’t take it but he does, let’s Geno haul him to his feet, and lets Geno…pull him in for a hug apparently. Oh no.

This time Geno smells like the body wash Sid keeps in the guest bedroom, and his worn t shirt is soft against Sid’s cheek.

It’s a curiously long embrace, and when Geno’s arms tighten Sid allows himself the indulgence of relaxing, letting himself melt into it.

Geno raises one hand and lays it heavily on the nape of Sid’s neck. He eases back so he can look into Sid’s face.

Sid can’t tell what he’s thinking. And he himself can’t think at all, not with Geno’s hand pressing onto his neck and his everything so, so close.

He realizes, slowly, that Geno’s hands are shaking.

“G?”

“Sid,” Geno says, husky and so low.

Sid feels outside of his body, incredulous that this is really, actually happening as Geno, very slowly, leans in, pausing just a hairsbreadth from Sid’s lips.

“Sid?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, and tilts his head up to cross that final bit of separation.

Geno’s kiss is soft lips and hot mouth, gasped breaths and possessive sweeps of those huge hands.

Sid shudders in his arms as Geno moves to his neck, trailing kisses across his jaw and down to the skin bared by the vee of his sleep shirt.

Sid tugs them backwards, folding when the couch hits the back of his legs and pulling Geno down over him.

He’s greedy, he’s starving. He can’t touch enough skin, he can’t get Geno close enough. He sets his teeth where Geno’s neck meets his shoulder and nearly keens when Geno moans and responds with a slow, devastating roll of his hips.

“Geno, is this— are you—“

Geno pushes himself upright enough to look Sid in the eyes.

“Won’t leave, Sid. Can’t.”

“I’ve wanted this,” Sid confesses. “I’ve wanted this for a really long time.”

“Good,” Geno says, and rolls his hips again.

“I can’t just do a, a one time fuck or—“

“No,” Geno says sharply. “No.” He leans on one elbow so that he can lay a hand on Sid’s cheek. “We’re like this, you know? Mine.”

Sid feels too bright and expansive for his skin. He fists a hand in Geno’s t-shirt and tugs him closer.

“Mine,” he echoes, and Geno groans, responding to another tug and taking Sid’s mouth in a deep, demanding kiss.

Hands and mouths and the greedy rocking of their bodies bring them to completion within moments of each other.

Sid lies there after, stroking his hand over Geno’s head where he’s laid it on Sid’s chest. He’s sprawled over Sid like a gigantic, clingy octopus, and Sid is feeling the kind of incredulous elation he normally associates with Cups and Olympic gold.

“Thanks for coming, G,” he says, and although he meant “coming to Canada,”

Geno snorts.

“You know what I mean, dickhead,” Sid says, laughing.

“I mean it,” he says a few minutes later. “I’m just, yeah.”

Geno smiles at him like that made perfect sense, and doesn’t protest when Sid prods him upright and tugs him along into Sid’s bedroom.

***

Jet lag or not, Geno falls asleep with Sid spooned up behind him, and is still asleep when Sid wakes up to the mid-morning sun streaming in the windows. Heart impossibly full, the old ache released and gone, Sid presses a kiss to the sun-gilded skin of Geno’s shoulder.

He had dreamt of the lake again, but this time, as happened for him only rarely, he’d lucid-dreamed.

“No,” he’d told Dream-Geno, and turned his back on the lake. Which suddenly was a completely frozen Monongahela River.

He points up the bank, towards the arena. “We’ve got a game to get to.”

Dream-Geno put his hand in Sid’s, and leaned down to kiss his hair.

“Let’s go,” he tells Sid, and they walk up the bank together.

#sidgeno #sidney crosby/evgeni malkin #hockey rpf #sid/geno #pic challenge #dana writes a thing

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prairiesongserial · 4 years

Text

11.6

John and Val had disappeared into the throng of carnies setting up for that night’s show, but Friday herself didn’t feel a particular inclination to help. She hadn’t yet made up her mind whether or not she hated Johannes and Ezra and their whole operation. Besides, it was hot.

She sat on an empty crate and watched as an outdoor stage took shape on the middle deck of the gigantic steamboat. Tents went up, strings of lights spiraling down their eye-searing red-and-white stripes. Her decision to sit this one out was becoming an uneasy one. Cody had gone off with the actress, Bellamy, to be some kind of courier for the day. And it had been a while since Friday had last caught a glimpse of John or Val among the carnies carrying boxes and wheeling crates. Maybe John was sitting the rest of the day out, too. Could be his knee was bothering him. She sure knew the humidity was bothering her, and she hadn’t been shot lately.

Friday tossed her hair agitatedly. Her curls weren’t behaving today, or very much at all, lately. She needed a haircut.

Friday finally spotted Val among a dozen carnies raising what had to be the main tent. Friday stared at it, transfixed, for a moment. Every time she thought she understood the size of the tent, another hidden pleat in the fabric was pulled taut. By the time the carnies had finished their work, the tent was so large that the tentpoles strained against the deck rails on three sides. The gulf air whipped the tent dangerously, threatening to send it out to sea like a sail sans boat.

The circus wasn’t alone on the deck; an odd mix of people had gathered to watch the circus set up. Apparently this steamboat, rich as it was, was just another place a citizen of Everglades City might take a walk on a hot afternoon. Locals with sun-leathered faces gossipped with their friends and the uniformed security. The security - that’s what they had to be - attracted all Friday’s attention. They wore white linen cut in a severe enough style that the apparel was recognizably a uniform, despite everything else about their appearance being casual. Friday watched one of them, a big, hairy-chested man who wore his uniform shirt open, loudly laugh and slap Johannes on the back.

Val soon found her. He was out of breath and drenched in sweat, which wasn’t a bad look on him. Friday passed him her canteen, which he eagerly gulped down.

“It’s hot,” he said, unnecessarily.

“You’re wearing too much,” Friday said. She gestured to the rest of the circus. Those who had been wearing shirts at the beginning of the day had lost them, or were at least down to their undershirts. By contrast, Val wore long sleeves and long pants, both black. Still no collar, though. It had been days since she’d last seen him wear it. It gave her the feeling they were just about due for a summer storm.

“You would say so,” he said gruffly, nodding to her. Friday examined her outfit. It wasn’t so revealing as all that She had bought the dress in New Orleans, not used to the wet heat of the southeast. Straps thinner than her pinky finger supported a plunge neckline - but that didn’t count as revealing. Plus her hemline ended just above the knee, which more than made up for it.

She frowned and glanced around the empty and half-emptied crates scattered at her feet. An opportunity to shrug off the slight leapt out at her.

“It’s true!” Friday sighed. “I’m underdressed.”

She stood theatrically from her crate and wandered over to an open box of wigs - from the look of them, the wigs for burlesque and clowning were stored together. Friday picked one up, a red yarn wig with wire in the pigtails, which held them at a jaunty angle. She dipped her head to put on the clown wig, then snapped up. Her back twinged - a reminder she was old, and therefore had to stretch before acting cute.

Val raised his eyebrows at her. Friday tilted her head this way and that, the pigtails bouncing on their wires.

“What do you think? Should I add this one to the regular rotation?” Friday asked, smiling toothily at him.

“You’re deranged,” Val said. He tried to take a drink from her canteen again before remembering it was empty. He slowly screwed the top back on. There was no hint of a smile on his face. Usually he’d give her something, out of the priestly obligation not to be a jackass, even if he didn’t think she was funny.

Friday squatted over the box of wigs. The pretty ones were on mannequin heads labeled with names - except for a short blond wig labeled “spare.” Friday swapped the clown wig for the real one. As the carefully styled locks of curled blond hair fell over her cheeks and the back of her neck, she felt a wave of relief. She hadn’t known how much she’d missed her silly powder blue wig, how awful it had really felt to catch her reflection and think “It’s fine. It’s good enough,” before turning away, day after day. Feeling little better than okay about her hair didn’t hold a candle to this.

Friday shook her head, making the blond curls bounce.

“I might keep this one,” she said as she wandered back over to Val. “This one has class.” Friday took his hand in hers, using him as leverage to step up onto the crate she had been sitting on. She delicately let Val’s hand fall, getting into character as she posed. “This one belongs to an upper echelon Hemisphere wife, don’t you think?” she drawled. “Why, this wig could go to cocktail parties...on the arm of a very important man who does terrible things.”

Friday waited for Val to scold her for being awful - and she was being awful. She would have been ashamed of herself if John or Cody had been around to hear.

Val simply said, “Yeah.”

Friday had been all ready to pout at whatever appeal for propriety Val had in hand, and so she was put off-balance by his utter lack of reaction. Something was wrong with him. Granted, she hadn’t felt so sunny herself about the hours they’d spent in a truck bed that morning, but no reaction at all?

A sharp whistle right next to her ear drew her attention away from Val for a moment. The preparations for the show were loud, but the whistler happened to be at the railing just a few feet away from Friday and Val. It was one of the uniformed security, a woman holding a clipboard. She had the attention of another woman in the same lightweight linen uniform, this one holding an ice cream cone. Friday wanted an ice cream cone. Somehow, whoever was selling that ice cream had got it in a red and white pinwheel, just like the circus tents.

The woman with the clipboard barked at the woman with the ice cream to take Miss Bellamy her ticket and seat number for the show. Friday watched with mild interest as the woman with the ice cream made a sound of dismay, gesturing to her ice cream, which was beginning to drip pink splotches onto her wrist.

“Sorry, sugar,” said the woman with the clipboard. “Oh, and better hang around the mansion in case Fleetwood wants to send a return message. I don’t think they’ve filled the courier spot yet.”

“Wait, are you serious? What happened to Adams?”

The woman with the clipboard beckoned the other woman in close. Friday gasped as the woman with the clipboard plucked the ice cream cone out of the other woman’s hand.

“What do you think happened, sugar?” she said, licking a drip up from the bottom of the cone. She flipped the top paper on her clipboard up and held it out. “Ticket and seat number.”

“Man, this sucks,” the other woman said, snatching the proffered paper and passing right by Friday’s nose as she took off down the length of the steamboat. “I used to date Adams.”

“What was that?” Friday hissed to Val, squatting down on the crate.

“What was what?” Val said, raising his eyebrows.

“That prime piece of drama, Val,” Friday said, still keeping her voice low as she watched the woman with the clipboard eat her stolen ice cream. “What happened to Adams?”

“What are you talking about?” Val said. His sharp purple eyes examined her with concern, and Friday felt some of the tension of the last few minutes drain away.

“Those, those bouncers - or whatever they are - were just talking about how something happened to a courier around here,” Friday said. “The courier who used to have Cody’s new job.”

“That’s…”

“That’s worth looking into, is what it is,” Friday interrupted. She sprang up to her feet, taller than him by an inch standing on the box. She paid close attention to how much attention Val was paying to her; his eyes tracked her, that scary, lifeless expression gone for now. “This is a job for you and me: Father Lecter and his beautiful assistant Friday Wilmot, private investigators.”

That may have been a step too far. Friday quickly amended.

“All seriousness, Val, if the last guy who had Cody’s job is missing, shouldn’t we find out why?”

She pouted; Val relented.

“Sure,” he said. “Right, lead the way.”

A wide grin broke across Friday’s face. She took Val’s hand, helping herself down off the crate. This was how things were supposed to be. Whatever was wrong with Val, whether he missed the convent or his shoes were too tight or, just, whatever it was - Friday was giddy with relief that he had rejoined her in the pattern.

“I think we had better grill the ice cream stall for information first, don’t you think?” she said.

“Ah,” Val said, nodding thoughtfully. “Now I see.”

11.5 || 11.7

#story

3 notes · View notes

bxtch26 · 5 years

Text

Meeting Him❤️

Arthur Morgan⚠️slight smut⚠️

Upbeat piano music filled the building as you wiped down tables, serving drinks and such. The potent smell of whiskey and tobacco filled the thick air. You have been a waitress in Saint Denis for some time. And you hated it. The boss was an ass, he beat you almost every night. Careful to not leave marks in noticeable places. It’s a run down little saloon that you made adequate money in. You would rob houses and even customers often. Your a waitress more or less to keep a low profile and seem like a functioning member of society. While at the same time if you tried to leave your boss would probably kill you. But Law men weren’t too fond of you, and vice versa. They never caught you in your dubious acts. Your quick with a gun. You never go anywhere without your pistol on your hip. You had talked to the manager and he agreed to let you use it for “protection only”, and only if you hid it from the customers. A woman with a gun is apparently absurd. What a fool. Among the smoking, drinking, robbing, even killing, you never were a whore. Every single night you’d be asked

“How much you cost?” You’d just roll your eyes, and tell them that your not on the menu and probably offer them some alcohol to change the subject. This wasn’t how your life was supposed to be. Your dad was an outlaw, always running. He would visit from time to time and you loved it when he did. He taught you how to shoot, and ride a horse. You mother disproved of it all. But you’ve wanted nothing more than to be on the run with him. He’s long passed now, rest his soul. He was killed by some law men, same as your momma. Bad business. You been trying to do right, as evident by the waitress job. But deep down you belong out there. Surviving to be free of civilization. You missed being out there in the country. You sighed as you served a round of whiskey to the poker table. The men hoot and holler at your cleavage, shouting lewd things and watching your ass as you walked back behind the counter. You were wearing a light blue dress with thin straps that often fell off your shoulders. You were so skinny from a combination of not being able to afford much food and being so fit. But your used to it. Men like that you would just brush them off. Most men around here are rich assholes who just want to fuck, then probably kill you or sell you. It was just another normal work night, or so you thought. You were polishing a glass when the saloon doors opened and a flush of silence fell across the room.

Your POV

A tall cowboy stood there, everyone turning to look at him momentarily before resuming their activities. This country boy was far from home, and damn did you wanna take a cowboy for a ride. He was handsome. His face rough, a sharp jawline and scruffy beard. Those rough chapped cut up lips told a story that you longed to hear. His long mane plastered with hair pomade, hidden under his gunslinger hat. His plaid button up shirt along his broad shoulders was slightly unbuttoned at the top, showing his toned chest. Those blue jeans matching his piercing blue eyes. Last but not least that damn gun belt that hung off his hips in the most attractive way. Him also having a pistol and maybe a shotgun on his other side as you could tell from behind the counter. He grabbed his belt as he walked in slowly, dipping his head down to hide that gorgeous face with his hat. Amongst the noise you could hear his boots click as he walked towards the counter. Your eyes glued to him, taking in every detail of the rough gunslinger cowboy.

Arthur’s POV

Dutch has been acting so crazy lately. The gangs in a damn city now, Saint Denis you think it’s called. Either way you were getting sick and tired of the shenanigans. You decided to go to one of the saloons in the city. You were a bit nervous, so you kind of dressed up a bit. Not too much, you had no one to impress. You just plastered your hair with pomade and wore your best plaid shirt. You also wanted to blend in and keep a low profile, as Dutch said. As you pushed both of the doors open, you stood in the entrance. Everyone looking at you before looking back to their paying cards or drinks. You lowered your head as you stepped into the establishment. As you moved towards the counter, a waitress caught your eye. She was polishing a glass, and seemed to be admiring you as you were her. She was beautiful. A light blue dress that hugged her curves in all the right ways. One of her straps was off her shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice her cleavage. She had brown curly hair tied up, some strand hanging down her face. Her plump red lips with lipstick, and those eyes. She had brown eyes that seemed to stare into your soul. You dipped your head back down as you cleared you throat, hoping you didn’t look too flushed. As you approached the counter, you leaned on your elbows to get closer to the lady and looking dead into those brown eyes.

Your POV

“Howdy ma’am. Can I have a shot of whiskey?” His voice was rough, deep, and if you were telling the truth, made you wet. You flashed him a sweet smile, nodding as you turned to grab the bottle. You pushed the glass towards him, reaching into your pocket and putting some money down for his drink.

“Sure. This ones on me cowboy. Tell me what’s a feller like you doing in a stuck up city like this?” He chuckled, impressed and aroused at your boldness.

“Oh no darlin I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He reached into his pocket to put some money on the counter.

“How’s about I buy you a drink and I’ll tell ya, Miss....” he trailed off, wanting to find it your name.

“(Y/N).” You blushed, looking around for your boss. He was no where to be seen. Probably drunk or fucking some whore upstairs. You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair being your ear.

“Miss (Y/N). A pleasure. Arthur. Arthur Morgan.” He spoke as you poured yourself a glass, and got out from behind the counter. His eyes glue on you the whole time as you passed him, grabbing his hand in the process. You walked him over to an empty table in the corner of the saloon, as secluded as you could get. He pulled your seat out, motioning for you to sit. You smiled up at him

“Such a gentleman.” You giggled as you sat down. He went to the other side of the table and sat.

“I ain’t no gentleman.” He scoffed.

“Well you seem like one to me.” You flashed him another sweet smile. Once again he leaned on his elbows to get close to you.

Arthur’s POV

“I’m telling ya it’s true! I put dynamite in the shit pile and blew the place up! That man took himself a regular shit shower!” You hollered laughing hysterically and taking another shot. She threw her head back laughing. All night you told her stories of gunslinging and fightin’. She seemed so interested, her eyes never left yours. Every time you said something funny she would lean into your shoulder and laugh. You had transitioned to her side of the table, pulling her into your lap. Something about this woman made you feel like you could tell her anything. You felt safe with her. In the pit of your stomach there was this nagging doubt that arose every time you thought of asking her to take a walk. She was a young, beautiful lady- city girl no less. What would she want with a rough old ugly bastard. But swapping drunk stories with her was so damn fun. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time. The sparkle in her eyes every time you spoke made you weak in the knees.

Your POV

All night you laughed as the cowboy told crazy stories. So crazy you believed most of them. You looked at him intently, hanging onto every word. He eventually walked over to you, sitting next to you and pulling you into his lap. You obliged, wrapping your arms around his neck and both legs hanging on one side of him. His hands gripped your waist as he continued to tell stories. You were slightly jealous. He was an outlaw, and you couldn’t help but have the thought of running away with him cross your mind a few times. You felt a fool at the though, what would this rough gunslinger want with some boring city girl? The night went on as you and Arthur drank more, talking and laughing. Eventually the piano man kicked it up a notch and Arthur took you to the floor, twirling you and rocking you. You laughed as you buried your face into his neck. He held your waist tightly, you couldn’t get any closer to him. But you tried as you hugged him closer, inhaling as he smelled like whiskey and gun power. A new welcoming smell from the bars nasty thick air smell. His scent comforted you some how. You have no idea why. When the song ended, Arthur bowed at you. No words were spoken between you two, just intense laughter. You studied each other’s body language, enjoying each other’s company. He held his arm out for to take it. He escorted you back to your table, placing you back into his lap.

“Quite the dancer you are Mr. Morgan!” You laughed as you played with the hairs at the back of his neck. He shook his head chuckling

“I usually ain’t like that. I don’t know there’s just something about you girl...” he trailed looking at you.

“And there is something about you.” You replied as you took a bold move and kissed his cheek. He dipped his head down before looking up at you and smiling. You two continued to talk. You swapped more drunk stories. You laughed so hard you thought you’d wet yourself. You two went on through the night, making a connection. Hours on end of learning more about each other. Even though there seemed to be a connection as soon as he walked into the bar. This went on for weeks. Maybe even months. Arthur would come meet you at your work and you would drink and laugh and dance and flirt. He hasn’t asked to take you anywhere yet, you were glad you didn’t have to explain to him yet your boss would never let you leave. You loved his company, it made your life there more enjoyable. Every day you woke up to get ready for work as quick as possible as Arthur would get there early. Sometimes before you even opened. He grew very fond of you, aching to learn more and grow close to you. It was just another regular night, you and Arthur shared a booth as you sat wit your legs propped up on his.

“I must say Arthur, it’s gotta be nice to be running from the law like that. Of course it’s not nice, I don’t mean it like that. But to be free. I can’t stand these fools. I only keep this job so the law don’t come after me, let alone my boss. But most of my time I rob and I kill. I know I know, a woman shouldn’t do all that nonsense whatever. But I just want to be back in the country, hunting deer and sleeping on the ground and all. Ya know? No one to tend to or impress. It’s a pretty dream I suppose. The law don’t much like me round here... ” you trailed off rolling your eyes. He slightly smirked at you, surprised and impressed.

“I don’t find nothing wrong with it Miss (Y/N). Hell I been an outlaw most of my life. Who am I to judge? But you are something. Not many women can handle that way of life ya know?” He spoke looking up at you are rubbing small circles

on your hips. You moved to his lap to continue speaking.

“Oh I know. My daddy was just like you. God rest his soul...”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah... me too.” Arthur was quiet for a minute, like he was contemplating something hard. He finally looked up at you

“You wanna take a walk?” You bit your lip, looking at his. You wanted to, more than anything in the world.

“Oh Arthur, I would love to do nothing more. But. But my boss...well he ain’t a good man. I really shouldn’t leave.” Arthur listened to your words carefully, his face getting serious.

“You still workin?”

“Technically I got off an hour ago... but he... well...” you trailed off. Arthur shifted so he was eye level with you.

“Does he hit ya?” He asked quietly. You just nodded, looking away from him.

“He’s smart about it. Usually in places you can’t see in public.” You pulled your dress up to show your legs covered in bruises. Arthur’s grip on you hips moved to your lower back, rubbing and soothing you. It was the alcohol and paying attention to learning more about you that he didn’t notice the old and new wounds. He was quiet for a moment before calmly speaking

“Does he...touch ya? I don’t mean to be so forward but you are a beautiful lady and I’d hate to think he’d disrespect you.” You took your arm from around his neck to rest in your lap. You fiddled your fingers, letting a tear fall down your cheek. He wiped the tear off with his finger and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well, what kind of way is that to live? I’m one to talk being the outlaw here but come on now.” He asked, staring off into space at anger. You have no idea why, but you felt like you have known this man forever. You grabbed his face, turning his gaze back to you. You went to say something when you felt a hand grab your hair. You yelped, stumbling back as you were yanked off Arthur’s lap. Your boss threw you to the floor, kicking you as you laid there.

“Why the hell ain’t you working bitch? What do you think I pay you for? And What the hell are you doing with this man you whore? ” He screamed before backhanding you. You had no time to react as Arthur grabbed his shoulder, twirling him towards him, and punching him. Hard. Your boss hit the ground with a thud, as you propped up on your elbows to look at him on the ground, rubbing your cheek.

“That ain’t NO way to talk to a lady sir. Now why don’t you apologize to her before I take her away from here- for good.” You were shocked by his words, trying to hide the giant smile forming. Was this mystery man going to save you from this life? You rubbed your side, your boss’s shoe doing a number on your ribs as Arthur helped you up. He wrapped an arm around your waist as you rested your head on his shoulder. Everyone in the bar was so drunk and into what they were doing no one noticed your altercation.

“I said... APOLOGIZE.” He growled at your boss. You boss finally gathered himself after Arthur’s hard punch, standing up to say something rude back before you left Arthur’s embrace to kick your boss in between his legs. In his daze you landed an uppercut on his jaw as he went down with a thud, cursing you. Arthur raised his eyebrows, grabbing your waist again and motioning you away from you boss on the ground, afraid you would kill him right then and there. Though he didn’t doubt you could, and that he deserved it, but you didn’t want to attract the law. You intertwined your fingers with his on your waist as you went on that walk he promised. You walked silently for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and each other’s company.

“I must say I am impressed darlin. You know how to handle yourself.” He spoke as you continued to walk to who knows where. You nodded, smiling to yourself.

“Thank you, Arthur.” You spoke his name softly. You started to cry again. Not sure why. The stinging of your cheek or the tenderness of the bruise forming on your side. But also because of how you’ve been treated for years and now you were free. You couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. ‘Take her away from here for good.’ He could sense your thinking as he wiped your tears from your face again.

“Hey now. Shhhh. it’s alright. Your safe now. It’s over. I’ll make sure of it.” He spoke into your hair after pulling you into a warm embrace. You saw a small bench over his shoulder. You didn’t want to leave his embrace but you were weak in the knees overwhelmed with emotions. He noticed you staring, seeing the bench. He motioned for you to sit, and he sat close next to you with his arm draped around you.

“Um... look (Y/N)... about what I said at the saloon. I... well uh... I mean... I know you were saying you ain’t particularly happy... I don’t care who ya are no one deserves to be treated like that ya know? And it weren’t your fault. Just want you to know that... And... well this has been one of the best nights of my life if I’m being honest. I’ve grown quite fond of you miss. You are stuck in this city. I can see it in your eyes. I would love to take you away from all this... if you’d let me. I have a camp. A gang. We all work to earn our keep, we don’t have much but we make do and we’re free.” He spoke clearly looking into your eyes while stroking your hair. You cupped his hand on your face, bringing them both in front of you and holding them both.

“Oh Arthur. I would love to run away with you. I’m...quite fond of you too. Your too sweet...” you trailed off as you looked at his lips and he looked at yours. You both instinctively leaned in, entangling your lips in a passionate kiss. Usually you would have done this somewhere more private. But it’s was in the middle of the night, no one was around, and you both were still buzzed. The kiss starting out not so gentle, exploring each other’s mouths with your tongues. You pulled his hair, accidentally knocking his hat off. He squeezed your hips and deepened the kiss. That was the whiskey in you twos system, made you guys want to get right to it. You pulled away, gasping for air. Him doing the same.

“Well that’s good to hear. I know it ain’t a pretty picture. And I ain’t too much to look at. But-“ you cut him off before he could talk negatively about his lifestyle or himself one more time.

“Lets go to a hotel in Rhodes. I’d love to hear more of those...gunslinger stories. And see more of-you Mr. Morgan.” You said in a seductive tone, assuring him you wanted him and wanted to run away with him. He smiled, getting your insinuation.

“Sure.” He spoke as he stood up, still holding one of your hands, and whistling for his horse. He bent over to retrieve his hat from the ground and he placed it on your head. He grabbed your waist, lifting you up onto his horse before getting on himself. Before you could do so yourself, he reached behind him to take your hands and wrap them around his waist. You giggled into his back and you nuzzled into it, hugging him tighter.

“Take me away from here Mr. Morgan.” You whispered into his ear. He inhaled sharply, saying

“Yes ma’am...hya!” he yelled as he kicked his legs and his horse ran off into the night. You looked back, the saloon fading into the darkness. You smiled. You were...free. Also, going to a hotel with a man you just met. As crazy as it seems you weren’t nervous, and neither was he. You both had a connection like you’ve known each other fondly for a long time.

You fiddled with his belt buckle and belt loops on the way to Rhodes. You were teasing him, hoping he would have his way with you when you reached the destination. Some time about halfway there, he squeezed your hands hard.

“Woman unless you want me to stop and take you against one of these trees I suggest you stop.” Oh god that voice. You grew wet as you smiled into his back.

“Yes sir.” He tensed up, continuing to ride. You noted the effect of calling him that. Something about the way you call him sir made him harder than he was. Time went on, slight teasing here and there as you reached Rhodes. He hopped off his horse, grabbing your waist and brining your feet to the ground. You grabbed his hand, taking the lead before he could deny any of this.

“Evening feller. A room please.... and I need a wash. You got a bath?” Arthur stayed behind you, hanging onto your every word. The hotel owner nodded, taking your money and prepping the bath. You shot Arthur a knowing look as you walked to the bath. He followed you, adjusting his hard on under his gun belt. When you were both in, he walked up to you, inches away.

“I’m sorry if this is too much at once. You can just...we can...go to the room if you want.” You started to feel a little hesitant about your bold move. This was still a man you’ve known for merely hours. He didn’t speak, he just grabbed your waist, kissing you passionately. You sighed into the kiss, linking your hands around his neck and finding his hair. You deepened the kiss, reaching down to undo his belt. You were both startled by a knock at the door.

“You need any help in there hun?” A woman asked. You placed your finger on Arthur’s mouth, smirking seductively.

“Oh no he’s got enough help right here.” You yelled back. Arthur could have spent in his pants like a teenage boy right then and there. You could hear the woman outside the door huff and stomp off. You motioned for Arthur to undress, as you slowly slipped the straps of your dress down just enough to only reveal your breasts. His eyes grew dark with lust as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

“Jesus.” He breathed as he was almost undressed. He seemed a little self conscious. You walked up to him, breasts still hanging out. You smoothed your hands down his chest.

“Your very handsome Arthur.” He shook his head. Your fingers ran to his back, scratching lightly. You looked at every scar scrape and bruise on his body. Matching yours. You trailed over a recent one on his shoulder, him slightly wincing

“Oh Arthur. When’s the last time someone touched you other than to hurt you?” He shook his head, grabbing your waist.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You bent to kiss his collarbone. Planting small kisses all over his scars. He held you close, letting out the occasional contented sigh. You pulled away, him looking a little flushed. You hoped you didn’t do too much at once.

“Does that feel good?” You asked as you sucked below his jawline. He whimpered

“Yes, please...more”. You chuckled

“Get those clothes off and get in the bath. You seem tense...let me help.” You whispered the last part into his ear. He shivered, reluctantly undressing fully and dipping into the water. You turned around until he was in the water to try to give him some privacy, even though you were about to get real friendly in a minute. You made a show of putting your hair down with your back still to him. Slowly untying the ribbon and running your fingers through your hair slowly. His breathing quickened, watching your every move. You turned slowly, smiling at his as you bent to sit at the edge of the tub. You dipped your hands into the warm water, discarding the use of a rag. You brought your delicate fingers to his back, massaging gently. Taking your time to work out every knot. He groaned at your touch, still in disbelief that this was happening. You dipped your hands back into the water, breasts pushed together in his face, making his breath hitch in his throat. You smiled, tapping his leg to signal you wanted to wash it. He obliged, resting his leg up on the side of the tub. You massaged his leg once more, slowly working out the tension. When’s the last time this poor man has some time to relax?. You scrubbed each scar with care. You took your time to make him feel good. You turned to look at him to make sure he was content with your motions to find his eyes glued to your breasts.

“I’m gonna be honest girl, I don’t know how longer I can control myself.” He spoke lowly as he cocked his eyebrows, forcing his eyes away from your breasts and looking into your intoxicating brown eyes. You bit your lip, about to say something when he grabbed your waist and threw you on top of him in the water. You giggled as you sat up in his lap, aroused by his roughness as water splashed everywhere.

“I’m sorry, was that too rough?” He asked concerned. You shook your head smiling “Oh no Arthur it was perfect.” He nodded as he placed hot open mouthed wet kisses on all of your scars. You softly moaned, not afraid to let him know how good it felt. He was slow and tender, he took great care in making you feel good. He slowly discarded your dress all the way, along with your chemise. You let him, grinding softly against him as he did so. He did the same as you, washing your scars and bruises with care. You softly whined as his hands went to your breasts, making you involuntary buck into him. He smirked, pushing the small of your back and bringing your chest to his face. He licked his lips before engulfing one of your breasts in his mouth. You moaned, entangling your hands in his hair, still grinding into his. He smiled against you at your sounds before licking and nibbling your nipple. You threw your head back in ecstasy.

“Oh Arthur...” you quietly moaned into his hair. He grunted against your chest in response as he moved to your other breast with the same treatment. You panted and gasped into his hair as he trailed hot open mouthed kisses over your breasts and collarbone. Your eyes flew open when you felt a hard smack on your left ass cheek. You whine loudly at the new sensation, not sure that Arthur wouldve been into that.

“Yeah?” He cooed as a praise, water splashing everywhere.

“Uh huh” you whimpered. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him into your boobs. He could barely breathe but he didn’t care as he smothered his face into your breasts and smacked the other ass cheek. You yelped again.

“You like that don’t ya? Such a good girl” he mumbled into your chest. You bit your lip nodding furiously. You’ve never been so hot and bothered. You were so horny for him.

“Yes daddy I-“ you cut yourself off by another slap. You started to apologize for calling him such, not sure how he would feel about it. But before you could say anything he bit your breast pinching your nipple and slapping your ass again.

“You want me to be your daddy little girl?” You whined as you started to grind against his length that was hard and already leaking pre cum from the tip.

“Yeah. I like that. Say it again.” It wasn’t a demand but you immediately complied.

“Oh daddy. Please oh god daddy!!” He smacked your ass again while one of his hands reached between your legs and you melted into him. You moaned his name with a string of curses as you started to stroke him as well. This teasing went on for a while, you two groping at each other like touch starved wild animals. When was the last time a man did this to you? A woman did this to him? You were getting close when you finally came to and realized you guys were still in the bath tub.

“A-Arthur. We should go to the room.” You spoke softly into his hair. He grumbled into your chest.

“Alright fine sweetheart.” You smiled as you got off his lap slowly so he could see everything. The water beads rolled off your body slowly as he bit his lip, cocking his eyebrow standing up and helping you out. You started to slip on one of his spare shirts from the satchel as he stayed naked watching you.

“I don’t see the point in getting dressed when I’m just going to rip them off when we get to the room” he grumbled as he softly massaged your ass covered by your undergarments. You chuckled softly.

“You want me to run to our room naked with all these degenerates around?” He immediately started getting dressed too. You laughed as you waited for him to get dressed, drying your hair with a towel. He started walking towards the door when you placed your hand on his chest. He looked at you almost scared that you started to regret being with him.

“I’m ready to go darlin, there’s just one problem.” You spoke seductively but with a hint of worry in your voice so he would fall for it.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly. You smiled as your ran your fingers through his hair before picking his hat up off the little table by the tub. You leaned in to his ear, grabbing his clothed length before whispering

“You have to catch me first cowboy.” You quickly nibbled his ear and ran off before he could respond. He smirked as he ran after you. You both laughing like teenagers as you ran up the stairs. Let’s just say that night was the best night of your life. Both of you never feeling more safe than you did together.

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christopherwatsonbooks · 3 years

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Covenant Spring, Chapter Four

No car salesman I have ever met ever planned on being one. If you have any kind of personality at all and can do basic math, you're pretty much qualified. Of course, it doesn’t mean you’ll be any good at it.

One of the guys who works at the dealership had been a dancer in a C-grade traveling male stripper revue. Another salesman had spent time in a minimum-security prison for forging his mother's signature on her checks. She’s the one who’d turned him in. He had turned his life around since, he said.

I spent a week watching training videos and reading pamphlets before my first day on the floor. The new car manager gave me some advice, which was this: "Buyers are liars."

Buyers think anything you say is a lie, which is why they will always lie to you. You can give them a car for free and they'll think the guy before them got two. But they'll swear their credit is perfect and their trade cherry even if you helped them push it in off the street and they can’t get approved to rent furniture. I once watched a repo man tow a trade right off the lot while the owner was in another salesman's office arguing over how much it was worth. We swap the stories on the floor like pictures of our pets.

It all came together for me when I started selling cars. Never mind our popular reputation. A car dealership is one of the most honest places there is. You can’t be brazen and make it work but that unspoken acknowledgement that neither of you expects the other to be completely honest, that tacit agreement, it makes everything so much easier.

Not all of us are like that but it doesn't make any real difference. If you’re convinced I’m going to screw you, I feel no obligation to persuade you otherwise. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. But the least I can do in exchange is make it as comfortable as possible for you when I bend you over.

That’s my job, you see. I can make you feel you fought the good fight. I know just what to do to make it all feel fine, even as your heart screams that it’s a lie.

If I'd been a car salesman when I met Cheryl we might still be together. I might be married to my lipstick goddess. Not that either relationship would have lasted.

. . .

My third month at the dealership, I sold a truck to a man for seven hundred dollars over full sticker price.

He was my first up of the day. You wait your turn on the floor during your shift there and whoever walks up when you're first in line is your up. That's how it works, that's showroom democracy. The guy had his little buyers' guides and internet print-outs and his rock-bottom cash prices from other dealers scribbled on his notepad and photos of cars and window stickers on his phone. He was an Informed Buyer. He was a Tough Negotiator. He was not going to Get Screwed, no sir.

Two minutes in, I knew he was a tool. The other dealerships had let him walk on lowballs they'd never honor and no one else could beat, to get him to come back. When he did, they’d come up with some reason why they couldn't sell it to him for that price anymore, jack up the cost and then beat him down with bullshit until he bought. He couldn't go back to the other dealers who wouldn't match the price because he'd called them all liars. Also, going back to them would mean admitting he was a moron. So he'd bend over and buy.

That’s what we do. You’re welcome.

And I told him so. I told him he'd been lowballed. I gave him his chance. He rapped his knuckles on my desk and demanded my Best Cash Price on the truck.

So I gave it to him. I quoted him invoice down to the penny because I knew he wouldn't believe me, and he didn't. He showed me his notepad with the prices the other lowballing pricks had given him and said to my face that I was a liar and a thief.

I felt something lift from me then, like the oppressive heat of the day suddenly removed. I felt calm, clear as a mathematician to whom the long-sought answer to a clot of numbers was at last revealed.

I took him to the used line and showed him a sweet full-size Toyota 4x4. It had just come out from the back that morning, the price wasn’t on it yet but I knew what the used manager wanted for it, and what he would take.

I jacked the sticker up by two grand. I made the guy want it. I told him he had my Best Cash Price and if he didn’t like it, he could go buy from someone else. He tough negotiated me down eight hundred dollars and I fought him over every fucking penny. He made me sweat and squirm. I cursed him. I cried murder, I begged for mercy.

At the end of the day he shook my hand, climbed into his new truck and drove off with my dick up his ass, happy as a clam.

Seven hundred dollars over sticker. The dealership made over eighteen hundred bucks off the deal. I made my week’s draw off of that one sale.

The used car manager couldn’t stop talking about it. The other salesmen couldn’t get enough of the story, they laughed and slapped me on the back and congratulated me. I was fresh legend. I had made my bones.

. . .

I’d told the buyer the truth. After that, it was on him to believe me or not. I'd given him what he'd wanted. He would brag to his friends about how hard he'd worked me, how he’d beaten me down until I broke. He’d tell that story for the rest of his life.

It’s not my responsibility. And so on.

I hadn't known I could be so good at it. Or that I could live with it so easily.

After that, I stopped fighting it. I had learned what I was. Easy as slipping on shoes.

I've never told Dad about that sale.

. . .

Month six was my worst. I exhumed dead leads from dusty files, I courted every up like a desperate lover. Only two bought, and for next to nothing. Everyone was having a bad month, which made it easier to tolerate. A little.

The new car manager was talking to someone in his office. You could see them through the wall glass. You could tell from the body language that it wasn’t a sale.

All car salesmen are paranoid, at least the ones I know are. We’re like farmers, dependent on the weather to make the rent. A dry spell sends us from cocky to desperate in a blink. It’s no way to live but the money’s good, for as long as the weather holds.

It filled the showroom like stink. No one talked. We found things to do to look busy. We wanted to look busy when the axe fell, as if whoever wasn't would determine who went home that night with the contents of their desk in a cardboard box under their arm.

The stranger left on a handshake we all saw. It was Friday. There was a new guy starting Monday, and his name was Cai.

The new car manager sat back down at his desk and studied a piece of paper.

. . .

The piece of paper was a contract, which none of us had. That was the reason Cai had been hired. He had offered to work for free.

This is what Cai told the new car manager, which we all learned later. He would work for two months with no draw, no base salary. By the end of his second month, if Cai hadn’t made for the dealership what he would have made in draw for both months, he would walk away clean. If he made his nut, they’d pay him his draw for both months plus whatever commission he'd made, and he'd be regular staff.

Cai had two conditions. The first is he would sell his way. Dress how he wanted, say what he wanted, work when he wanted. The only power any manager had was to approve his deals, or not. Condition two is that Cai would be paid in cash.

The new car manager wanted the deal in writing so that Cai wouldn’t sue for wages if he tanked.

. . .

Cai arrived early Monday, driving a Ford Ranger extended cab four-by-four, forest green, good condition. North Carolina plates, blue and red and white with the Wright Brothers plane faint behind the tag number and the words First in Flight along the bottom.

The only space we had was a cubicle in the corner of the showroom floor, looking out over the used car line. It was rookie turf, one gray prefab wall butted against the showroom glass, making a space behind it in the corner. There was a battered desk and two chairs and a telephone and a gunmetal gray filing cabinet and office supplies. Cai made it all as homey as the corner cubicle of a car dealership showroom can be, with a lamp and a cloth draped on the filing cabinet and cushions for the metal folding chairs.

The front of Cai’s desk was flush up against the prefab wall. Hanging over the desk was an oval mirror in a polished wood frame, hung horizontally. It looked old. The glass was rippled, like shallow swells in water. It made it appear almost as if you were peering through the glass, into some other place you could only glimpse through a thin layer of reflected reality. The feeling was you'd be able to see better if only the water would calm.

There were three snapshots tucked between the frame and the glass. Two of the snapshots were black-and-white. One showed a man of maybe thirty standing in front of a tractor, his arm draped over the big back tire. He was dressed in overalls and he was grinning. You could tell the tractor was new, the photo had probably been taken on the day the man brought it home.

The second black-and-white photo was of a young woman in a sundress, sitting in a wooden chair on a porch with two fat babies on her lap, a boy and a girl. The woman was plain and beautiful. Her hair was dark and long, down to her waist. She was smiling, caught in a perfect moment that rose from the photo like the scent of a flower.

The third photo was color. It was of a woman. She stood in one-quarter profile. Her face was tilted slightly down and away, partially obscured by thick curls of dark hair cascading over her shoulders. All you could see of her face was a glimpse of her smooth jaw, a sense of the curve of her neck. She wore a white blouse and tight faded jeans. Her left arm was bent, the forearm held across her belly, her right hand raised and resting between her breasts. She was standing on a riverbank, her ankles disappeared into the tall grass and weeds. She stared into the dark water.

I cannot tell you the sense of this photo. I don't have the words. I often stared at it when Cai wasn't there, careful that he wouldn’t catch me doing it. I memorized every part of it. I imagined the woman raising her head and turning to look at me, just as I dreamt of my lipstick goddess. I so wanted to see her face, to get her to turn and look at me, to reveal herself, and to ask her what it was that she was searching for in the water.

This was my first encounter with Sarabeth Dare. I didn’t know then that soon I would meet her in the flesh, that I would know her to call her by name, and that when she did first raise her head to look at me she would scare me to death. I didn't know then that she was Cai's woman, and that he had taken that photo of his one true love just days before he had told her good-bye.

. . .

The new car manager introduced Cai to us first thing Monday, which is when we all learned that he would be working for free.

We stared at him like he was from outer space. He stood next to the new car manager in the showroom. He was just shy of six feet and solid, like he had muscles built from work. He could have been a construction worker cleaned up for a job interview. He wore a white dress shirt and a tie, denim jeans and scuffed black cowboy boots. He wore a black leather belt with a pewter buckle. He had wavy brown hair worn down to his shoulders.

Cai’s eyes were dark as dirt, and when he turned them to you it was just all black, even though they must have been brown, and when the light was just right something in them glinted like sparks of mica in wet soil. Like a flicker of movement in the dark where only a moment before, you were certain you were alone.

The women in the back office never said Cai was handsome. They said he was dangerous. But they always smiled when they said it.

. . .

What I remember most about first meeting Cai was how he didn’t seem nervous, he didn’t try to be chummy or funny or self-deprecating to win us over. He nodded to us when he was introduced but didn’t say much other than hello, nice to meet you. He didn’t seem concerned about us at all, like he’d already sized us up and determined he had no reason to be, and did it just that fast.

I read something once, that some people know how to occupy their space. They’re not on their way from somewhere or on their way to someplace, even if they are. Where they stop is where they are, even if it’s for a moment it might as well be for forever. It’s not about motion, or time. It’s about presence in space and time, the quality of being present. That’s what presence means. To occupy the now.

That was Cai, best as I can explain it. I had never encountered it before. I never expected I would meet it in a long-haired country boy car salesman.

Cai took us in like we were scenery. Everyone smiled and shook his hand but I could tell it wasn’t going to last.

. . .

Once we knew we weren’t going to be fired, the bitching began. How come Cai could leave early or come in late, how come he could wear jeans and we couldn’t, how come he could miss sales meetings, how come how come.

"Work for free" is what the new car manager always said. He was enjoying his experiment immensely.

It was obvious Cai had sold before. He knew the lingo, knew the showroom drills, the politics of selling. Everyone said he was crazy, must be. It made them feel better. He was an unknown and it scared them. They said he was a dick because he kept to himself, he didn't shoot the shit on the floor between ups. He helped when he was needed and was civil when he had to talk but mainly he came in and did his job and left. You could go all day and never say a word to him, or he to you.

Cai thought he was too good for them, the others said. If he was such hot shit, how come he was selling cars?

I asked them how come they were. They asked me how come I was. I said it was because I couldn't cut it selling dog food.

After that they didn’t bother pretending anymore that they liked me. They never really had. I was the youngest one there, and I’d made everyone look bad with my used truck sale, never mind the back-slapping. I didn’t have a family to support like they did so what the hell did I know about anything?

The charade dropped and shattered like a coffee mug on the showroom tile. Jesus, I was glad to be done with it.

It’s probably why I didn’t avoid Cai like the others did. It’s not every day I meet someone like me. At least, that’s what I told myself. I listened to the others whine about Cai, wondering if people said the same things about me behind my back. I suppose it’s my own fault if they do.

I tried to feel upset about it, but I couldn’t. I felt better that I wasn’t alone anymore. I humored myself, thinking Cai and I had that much in common, that I was like him. Feeling superior makes being a dick easier to stomach. It’s pretty much a requisite, really.

. . .

Here's what happened the first month.

Cai showed up every morning and worked the floor. He didn't seem to treat his ups any differently than we did, except that most of them wound up sitting in his cubicle and chatting, sometimes for so long he’d only get one or two ups that day. Time off the floor he'd make a few calls and read, the news or a book. End of the day he'd pull locks, checking to ensure all the cars were locked and the keys not in them. Low man on the sales totem gets the privilege. And then he’d climb in his truck and leave.

By the end of the first month, Cai had only sold three vehicles. The others joked about how by the end of the next month, he might make enough to pay for the gas it took him to drive to work.

Everyone had sold more that month than Cai, including me. I wondered if he maybe he really was crazy. Maybe this is what he did, going from dealership to dealership, drinking coffee and chatting with strangers until he was kicked to the curb.

I looked in his truck but it didn’t appear as if he lived in it. He didn’t smell as if he did.

. . .

The first week of the second month, the dam burst.

People came into the dealership, asking for Cai. Most were ups Cai had had the first month, who’d left without buying. They would ask for Cai, or Cai Bass, or Mister Bass.

They always remembered his name. When’s the last time you remembered a car salesman’s name?

If Cai was busy they would wait. He always knew their names on sight and thanked them for coming back and asked if they were ready. He always asked if they were ready, and they always said yes. Some brought their families, like they were going to the movies. We had kids running around the showroom, worrying the crap out of the managers, turning us all into baby sitters.

By week two it officially became ridiculous. All day long out on the lot, you would hear the loudspeaker: "Cai Bass, you have a customer in the showroom.” “Cai Bass, you have a call on line two.” “Cai Bass, please come to the finance office.”

I was working an up and we heard Cai paged three times in ten minutes. She asked if Cai owned the dealership. Not yet, I said.

. . .

Something else happened that second month. Two things, actually.

The first is that sales picked up for the rest of us. It was going to be a record month. Maybe it simply was time for it to happen. Maybe Cai was putting out some kind of vibe. Whatever it was we all breathed it like electricity. The blood of sales and cash was pumping hot and hard through the dealership. We hit the lot to our ups with steps cracking smart on the blacktop. We were excellent lovers picking fruit ripe on the vine. You could not tell us no.

The other thing, the main thing for me that happened, is that I made coffee for Cai.

I was between customers and he had two waiting, and I heard him apologize for not having any fresh coffee. We kept a pot each of regular and decaf going for customers on the showroom floor even though we usually drank most of it ourselves, which is why the new car manager refused to buy one of those coffee pods machines. The day had been so busy we’d already gone through four carafes of regular coffee before lunchtime. I was passing by his cubicle when Cai said what he did, and I heard myself say that I would make some fresh and let him know when it was done.

You won't think there’s much to this. I've spent a lot of time remembering it, I've turned it over and over enough to wear the edges smooth. It is the pebble dropped into the water, from which the ripples swelled and spread, like Cai's mirror.

For the first time since I'd known him, Cai gave me his full attention. I can see his face now in memory. It is angled downward, not quite fully turned to me.

Now he straightens, his long brown hair falls back and his eyes are fixed on mine, dirt dark and flecked with those sparks of mica, like hammer sparks called from stone. They peer at me from under his brow like some creature at night, watchful beneath a fallen log.

It is like an ocean swell against me, like a great magnet seizing and vibrating my every particle. My lungs arrest between inhale and exhale. I cannot move, if I was on fire I would burn where I stood. The din of the world recedes from perception and rises spinning into the sky like the edges of a hurricane and I am spread molecule thin through time and place such that a puff of breath will part me into swirls of dispersed smoke, without substance enough even to muster a scream.

And then I'm back, the world is back, the assault of weight and senses returns in a great clanging slap.

Cai smiles and thanks me. He says he'll make the coffee himself. He says he’ll bring me a cup when it’s done, if I like.

I find myself in my little office, sitting at my desk. My heart will not stop pounding. It bangs in my ears like fists on a wall, drowning all other sound.

The new car manager lets me go home early.

. . .

I was terrified to sleep that night. I felt as if I were made of smoke, that the blankets would settle down through me onto the mattress as if I weren’t there. My beating heart was an engine on loan. I couldn't trust the knots that tied it into my chest.

My rational mind tells me I’m being foolish. I make arguments, I build them like careful mathematical equations but when I reach for them, they collapse. I am a ghost in the world, a projection upon a breath of fog. My weight upon the mattress is no comfort, there is no logic nor science convincing enough to satisfy me that I can sleep and be sure of waking in the morning.

I stand upon Washington’s Rock. Face lifted to the sky, the world releases me and I rise, I sail free, molecules separating until I passing through the sky or the sky passing through me is no difference. The clouds mix with my particles and I become rain, tears of myself spread in an ocean, and what I was like a sigh is released in joy, and joins with heaven.

. . .

My bladder awakened me. I got up and used the bathroom. The tiles were cold against my bare feet. I did not turn on the light. I finished and flushed and crawled back into bed.

The covers were warm. I broke wind beneath them. Thus comforted, I slept.

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