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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 2 months

Text

I’m having too much fun with this someone stop me—

Important to note that I have wanted a speech-capable bird as a pet for pretty much my entire fcking life and have yet to have had the opportunity. Parrot, crow, raven, I care not, just. Chatty bird please.

I did get to meet a parrot one time when I took my niece trick-or-treating and I was dressed as a pirate who tf woulda guessed right not like I have a ton of clothes in my closet that I can use to throw together an impromptu pirate costume at a moment’s notice or anything hahahahaaaaanyway, and one of the people handing out candy was this older gentleman dressed as a pirate WITH AN ACTUAL FUCKING PARROT AND I GOT TO HOLD IT ISTG I ALMOST CRIED

My niece and I got extra candy out of the deal, too. Best Halloween ever.

ANYWAY. Writing a character in animal form is always a shitload of fun, and I am living for this nonsense.

And how mad this sassy mfer is going to be when he figures out what's going on SCREEEE

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch.5 of who even fcking knows,probably at least seven at this point

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time.After finally arriving at Kuraigana Island after months of training, you discover that the Red Hair Pirates are also docked there while their Log Pose syncs and they repair their ship after a small battle...and, on the verge of fighting with Mihawk after spending the past half an hour or more taunting him, Shanks is the first to notice you perched in a nearby window in your devil fruit form.

Previous chapter, First chapter

Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later

Word Count:3,618

Taglist:@i-am-vita

♫♬Acid Jazz Singer- The Fratellis♬♫

And it’s one time, keep it slow, wind them up and here we go

Get it right today and you may still be here tomorrow

Your entire world slowed around you as you considered the situation you had just embedded yourself into. Not one, but three powerful pirates, two of whom were staring straight at you.

One of whom looked as though he had just won his weight in gold at the mere sight of you.

Your act, you had to remember your act, your persona, a simple pet of one of many ill-fated pirate crews on the Grand Line. Fear was surely still a reasonable enough reaction to the sight before you, then.

So, without another thought, you ruffled your feathers out into a defensive stance, throwing your head back and flapping your wings rapidly, shouting, “Danger! Danger! Danger—”

“Oh—no, no, no, no, no danger, it’s—stop that, I’m busy—”

Shanks shoved Mihawk’s sword away and slowly sheathed his own sabre, holding his hands up as he slowly inched toward the window you were perched in, as if to show that he posed you no thread.

“It’s fine, we’re all friends here,” said Shanks went on softly, hands still raised, inching ever closer to the window of the castle you remained perched in. You took a cautious step back in spite of yourself, your eyes darting around, quickly assessing the situation at hand.

Mihawk was all but gawking at Shanks in a mix of utter disbelief and quickly growing rage—Shanks had, after all, spent the past half hour antagonizing him into a fight, only to withdraw the moment he was distracted.

Beckman’s gaze remained far more level, his brow furrowed as he watched your reaction to Shanks’s approach.

So you quickly ducked backward into the darkened room of the castle behind you, hiding behind the corner.

“N—no, no, don’t hide, it’s alright—we were just having a little a fun, isn’t that right, Hawkie?”

“I swear to God, Red-Hair—” you heard the other pirate respond through gritted teeth, clinging to the wall just inside the window with your talons, your heart racing.

“See?” Shanks went on, ignoring his murderous tone. “Just a little fun, that’s all, you’re safe—”

You stared in growing trepidation as he reached his hand slowly through the window, and the moment it was an inch away from you, you bit down hard on one of his fingers.

“Ow—” He pulled his hand back in an instant, and you could practically hear him pouting when he spoke again. “...it bit me.”

“What the hell did you think it was going to do, join your damned crew?” said Mihawk, giving a derisive scoff.

“Yes,” said Shanks, defensively.

“No,” said Beckman firmly.

“But—!”

“I spend enough time cleaning up your messes, I’m not cleaning up bird shit all over the ship on top of it.”

“I’d clean up after it.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, come on—Hawk-Eye, you’re part bird, help me get it—”

“I’m not part bird, you complete moron,” snapped Hawk-Eye. “Get the damned thing yourself.”

Shanks was quiet for a long moment as you fought to gain control of your breathing, to calm your racing heart...and then—

“Fine, if you wanna clean up bird shit all over your castle—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

You heard quickly approaching footsteps following the irritated grumble, and part of you considered ducking further back into the castle...but you knew you couldn’t. You shouldn’t. This was your opportunity.

A moment later you let out a strangled squawk as his hand closed around your neck and he jerked you away from the wall you were clinging to. He held you out at arm’s length, still scowling. Shanks slumped back against the castle wall, still pouting. “How come it didn’t bite you?” he complained.

“Because I was smart enough not to give the damned creature a chance to,” he shot back, tossing a brief glare at Shanks before turning his yellow eyes back on you.

You steeled your nerves before tilting your head to the side and blinking a few times, and forced out in the most chipper tone you could muster, “Hiya!”

Shank’s jaw dropped in borderline outrage, but Mihawk only lifted an eyebrow. Beckman gave an amused scoff as he ashed his cigarette. “Looks like you made a friend, Hawk-Eye.”

“That’s not fair,” said Shanks, pushing away from the castle wall and approaching. “I was being nice and—”

As he drew closer, you ruffled your feathers out again, shouting, “Danger! Danger!”

“I’m not the dangerous one, he is!” Shanks shouted back, gesturing at Mihawk.

“Yelling probably isn’t going to help, Cap,” Beckman pointed out, crossing his arms and smirking at the spectacle. Mihawk was still holding you at arm’s length as you continued shouting, his yellow eyes shifting between you and Shanks. He shifted his arm, holding you further away from the redhead, and you quieted down. Then, just as slowly, with the slightest spark of interest in his expression, he shifted you closer to Shanks again.

You immediately resumed shouting.

“I don’t think it likes you very much, Red Hair,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk at the dejected look that fell over Shanks’s face. Mihawk held you further away from him again, his grip loosened around your neck now, and you expelled a sigh, your feathers smoothing back down. You still remained tense, well aware that he could easily snap your neck in a moment’s notice if you made a single wrong move...but his amusement at Shanks’s disappointment was likely a good sign. If all you had to do was continue to insult him, then you were sure you could manage.

“Stupid bird,” Shanks complained, kicking at a piece of rubble and slumping back against the pile of stone next to Beckman, crossing his arms.

“I’m fairly certain there’s only one birdbrain in the immediate vicinity, Red Hair,” said Mihawk.

“Birdbrain!” you repeated, and his eyes shot back over to you as Beckman gave a snort of laughter. You tilted your head again. “Hiya!”

“...Hello,” he said dryly—and finally released you from his grasp without any notice, causing you to drop to the ground before you could so much as flutter your wings. You quickly hopped back up to your feet, ruffling your wings out a bit to shake the dirt off of them, and flew back over to the windowsill you had been perched in, turning your head around to preen your feathers while the three pirates watched you in bemusement.

“Strange creature,” Mihawk commented after a moment, turning and striding back over to the broken wall and taking a seat again.

“I don’t think they usually talk in wild,” said Beckman. “Probably came from a ship.”

You turned your head quickly at the word ship, squawking out, “Wind in your sails! Wind in your sails! Hard to port, boys!”

“Aaaagh!” Shanks groaned again, flopping his head back dramatically. “It’s not fair, I want it—”

“Birdbrain!”

“Oh, shut up,” he snapped, and it wasn’t entirely clear whether it was in response to your comment or Mihawk’s small chuckle of amusement.

“Well.” Beckman straightened out, stubbing out his cigarette on the crumbled stone behind him and flicking the butt away. “I think it’s pretty clear the locals don’t want us here, Captain.” Shanks tossed a glare at his first mate, but straightened out himself, arms still crossed over his chest, lips still pursed in a pout.

“Fine…” he sighed, his arms falling limp at his sides. He rolled his eyes over to Mihawk, quickly regaining his composure and giving his so-called ‘friend’ a debonair grin. “I look forward to our next little visit, Hawk-Eye.”

“That makes one of us,” Mihawk commented in his typical dry tone, laying his sword out across his lap again without so much as glancing up.

You watched from the corner of your vision as Shanks and Beckman disappeared into the shadow of the surrounding dense forest, relaxing only the slightest bit at their departure. You had managed to fool all three of them so far, and evidently made a good first impression on your target. That was good. That was progress. You turned your gaze back toward Mihawk slowly, swallowing, debating on your next move.

And froze when he lifted his head suddenly, looking directly at you as if he had sensed your gaze.

He then rolled his eyes and went back to detailing his sword.

“You’re free to leave any time,” he said.

You quickly perked up, letting out another excitable, “Hiya!” He let out a small growl of annoyance in response, grumbling something under his breath about that idiot Red-Hair, to which you responded, “Birdbrain.”

He let out another amused chuckle, before freezing and looking back up at you with a frown. “Stop that. Just—shoo.”

It seemed his annoyance stemmed more from his own reaction to you rather than toward your presence itself, from the fact that he was already interested in you and your presence seemed to threaten his solitary existence.

This could be a good thing, you decided. If nothing else, he was intrigued, and you knew you could work with that.

Once he had turned his attention back to his sword, you hopped down from the edge of the window and to the dusty ground below, keeping your eyes trained on the pirate as you inched slowly closer, sidestepping against the edge of the castle wall.

Freezing in place when his eyes shot toward you again.

Inching a little further, a little closer when he lowered his gaze again.

Freezing yet again when he looked up. He frowned at you for a long moment, standing still as a statue, your gray plumage blending you right into the stone castle wall behind you. Several tense seconds passed before he heaved a sigh, leaning back the slightest bit. “You’re a persistent little pest, aren’t you?” he said, lifting an eyebrow...and then slowly, almost reluctantly, he raised his arm, holding it out toward you.

Progress.

You fluttered your wings, flying the short distance over and landing on his forearm near his wrist, wrapping your talons around carefully to keep your balance. He lifted an eyebrow at you as you perked up and let out another enthusiastic, “Hiya!”

“Yes, hello,” he said, almost dismissively.

“Hiya!”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he grumbled, shaking his head and running his free hand back through his hair. “What are you even doing here? Lost your old crew?” He gave a small scoff as you tilted your head. “What were they? Pirates? Marines?”

As if prompted, you immediately ruffled your feathers out around your neck, flapping your wings in agitation—”Danger! Danger! Dan—”

He jerked back the slightest bit at your reaction, and you snapped your beak shut at the sudden motion. He turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing, his expression more curious than annoyed. After a moment he spoke, almost carefully. “Pirates.”

He was testing you. You ruffled your wings a bit, and turned your head around, preening your feathers without showing the slightest sign of interest.

“...Marines—”

“Danger! Danger! Hard to port! Fire at will! Fire—”

“Alright, alright, enough,” he snapped, shaking his arm, wincing a little as you tightened your talons a bit. He heaved a sigh when you settled down. “I suppose it’s safe to assume you’re not particularly fond of...er, the bureaucracy.” He lifted an eyebrow as you loosened your talons, and inched sideways across his arm, your movements slow and cautious. “What are you doing?” You inched a bit further, keeping your eyes trained for any sign of him striking out—and you saw none.

A little closer, until you were nearly on his shoulder, deciding to push your luck to gauge his reaction.

You leaned your head back, and let out a dramatic, “Mmm-mwah! Pretty bird.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression deadpanning, blinking at you slowly.

“You’re worse than Red-Hair,” he said finally.

“Birdbrain!”

“Indeed he is,” he agreed—and then shook his head, shifting his shoulder toward you as if to shift you further away. “Why the hell am I talking to a bird—shoo already—”

You gave a startled squawk, shifting quickly back down the length of his arm, settling closer to his elbow and tilting your head to the side. His mouth fell into a frown, and he shook his arm a bit, in more an experimental manner than an aggressive one, testing your reaction again.

“Shoo,” he said once more, far less firmly.

You lifted one of your wings, ducking your head back behind it...and slowly lifting it to peak out at him, noting the small spark of interest in his gaze despite his best attempt to continue appearing annoyed.

“Pretty bird!” you exclaimed once more, a bit more quietly this time, before ducking your head back down behind your wing again.

He remained silent for some time, and you remained still, waiting for any sign of reaction from him. Finally he heaved out a long sigh, his posture relaxing again. You lifted your head to peak out over the top of your wing again as he looked at you with an irritated sort of resignation. “Yes, fine,” he said dryly. “Pretty bird.”

“Pretty bird!” You folded your wing back behind you, bobbing your head up and down a couple times, your own tension easing as he let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. “Pretty, pretty girl,” you added, punctuating the statement with a low whistle.

“Oh, so you’re a lady, are you?” he said with a wry smirk. “I suppose I should apologize for my rudeness.” Despite his clear sarcasm, he gave another small chuckle, tentatively lifted his free hand toward you, and lightly brushed his index finger across the gray feathers at the side of your head. “You know, you’d likely have been far better off following that idiot Red Hair back to his ship.”

“Birdbrain!” you commented, tilting your head toward his hand as he gave a small snort of amusement.

“Yes, the birdbrain,” he agreed with another light chuckle, his wry smirk shifting toward a small, genuine smile. He went on stroking your feathers idly for a moment, shaking his head. “And what, precisely, am I supposed to do with you?”

If nothing else, it was comforting to know that his violent nature didn’t extend beyond humans. He was warming up to your presence far more quickly than you had anticipated he might, but your own knowledge was limited solely to the intelligence the Marines had gathered from his reign of terror and bloodshed across the vast expanse of the Grand Line. His interactions with Shanks suggested he certainly preferred a solitary existence, and that his initial dismissive attitude toward your presence may have been more for show than anything, for the very sake of keeping up his reputation.

Nothing about his present demeanor suggested any of that. The fondness in his eyes as he surveyed your own reactions was almost comforting in itself, almost familiar—you had seen the same look in you mother’s eyes when she cared for the birds at the aviary, felt the same fondness for the creatures when you helped look after them.

It took some effort for you to remind yourself that you were dealing with an incredibly dangerous pirate, dangerous enough that the World Government considered him a threat.

“Pretty bird!” you said again, cooing the words out, watching as he let out a huff of amusement.

“What a vain creature you are,” he commented, smoothing back the feathers at the top of your head. “Though I doubt you can survive on compliments alone. And if Beckman’s correct, you’re likely not suited to living in the wild...the humandrills don’t particularly take kindly to any new creature in their territory…” You only tilted your head in response as his words turned toward introspective mutterings, his mouth turning down into a thoughtful frown.

At length he let out a sigh, rolling his eyes and lying his head back for a moment. You tensed as he stood up, lifting his sword with one hand and resting it back across his shoulder, clearly making an effort to hold his opposite arm steady in front of him as you remained perched there, still frowning at you with an air of resignation.

“I suppose I have some reading to do if you aren’t going anywhere,” he said.

You could hardly believe your luck as he shook his arm out slightly, directing you to shift over to his shoulder. You followed the wordless instruction quickly, your talons grasping lightly at the fabric of his shirt to keep your balance as he stooped down to pick up his plumed hat. Rather than the obstacle that Garp and Bogard had assumed they would be, the brief presence of the Red Hair Pirates on the island had practically ensured your initial success at winning over the otherwise reclusive target of your mission.

If you managed to come out of this mission alive, you were going to be certain to rub that in both of their faces.

Minutes later you were perching in one of the high windows of the castle, watching as Mihawk drew his fingers across the rows upon rows of dusty books in the orange glow of the candlelight in the library, his head tilted and his sharp yellow eyes scanning across the titles etched into the spines of the innumerable tomes.

“Nothing about birds so far,” he said, mostly a quiet utterance to himself, but he still glanced toward your silhouette in the window as he spoke. “I do hope you don’t end up being more trouble than you’re worth, bird.”

You ruffled your feathers a bit, tucking your head down and nearly closing your eyes. He gave a small scoff at the sight of you relaxing, rolling his eyes before resuming his meticulous perusal of the books in the library.

“You’d best hope I find something if you don’t want to starve to death,” he commented. “I have no intention of going out of my way to accommodate you.”

“Pretty girl,” you responded, along with a brief series of kissing noises and a low whistle, and you would have been smirking yourself if you could have when he let out a quiet, amused chuckle in response to your commentary.

“Yes, yes, we’re all aware you’re a pretty girl,” he responded airily from behind a row of books.

Some time passed before he finally gave up, propping his sword against one of the many shelves and falling back into an armchair near the empty fireplace at the center of the room. You hesitated at your perch on the window for some time, watching him run a hand back through his dark hair in clear, stretching his arm out across an arm of the chair and strumming his fingers, his lips turned down in a thoughtful frown.

You finally decided to join him there, flapping your wings a few times to gain enough momentum to glide over and perch at the edge of one of the arms, tilting your head when he glanced over at you, waiting to see whether he would shoo you off or welcome your presence. He frowned at you for a long moment, before finally rolling his eyes and holding out his hand.

“Troublesome creature.” His tone was still light, almost affectionate, his mouth curving into a small smile as you crept from the edge of the chair to perch on his arm. “I suppose I do need to make port for supplies soon. It wouldn’t be too much of a hassle to learn a bit more about you, would it, pretty bird?”

“Pretty bird,” you responded, inching closer, settling yourself just above his elbow.

He brushed his knuckles against your feathers at the side of your head, giving a small chuckle as your eyelids drooped in response to his touch, before tucking his hand behind his neck and shifting back into the chair, his eyes slipping shut.

“Yes, pretty bird,” he repeated in a resigned sigh, his tone quiet and almost gentle.

Your eyes slowly drifted back open, watching him as he relaxed, your mind racing in spite of your own exhaustion. You hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Your target was supposed to be a terrifying, murderous sociopath with no regard or concern for any life apart from his own, an enigma that the Marines regarded as an unfeeling monster. Instead you found yourself staring up at a perfectly normal, albeit somewhat reclusive man, his mouth still curved into a small, fond smile in response to your presence. His smile lingered even as his breathing grew slower and deeper as he drifted off to sleep, just as your gaze lingered on his features.

He had been far kinder to you than the vast majority of your supposed comrades even had.

He could have easily snapped your neck the moment he first touched you...but he hadn’t.

Once more you shifted up his arm, perching yourself on his shoulder, and just to test his reaction, you nuzzled against his neck.

He lifted a hand in his sleep to absently swat at the disturbance, his expression twitching toward irritation for a moment—and then softening as his hand settled lightly into your feathers, his fingertips brushing across your wings before his arm fell across his lap, still fast asleep.

Little as you liked it, you were quickly becoming as interested in finding out more about him as he seemed to be interested in learning about you.

You liked it even less that you already felt comfortable enough to let your own eyes drift shut, the sound of his own slow breathing lulling you toward sleep.

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

#one piece #opla #mihawk x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Beck #Benn Beckman #Red Hair Pirates #fan fiction #one piece fan fiction #fanfic #one piece fanfic #flightrisk

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lovebugism · 1 year

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forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss.

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you.

But he is.

Quite dreadfully so.

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town.

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room.

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand — the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford.

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign.

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is. “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.”

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence.

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect.

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed.

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend.

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to.

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work.

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve.

You want to. You just don’t know how.

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least.

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him.

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again.

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that.

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet.

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him.

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree.

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge.

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store.

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him.

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook.

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it.

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile.

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records.

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you.

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway.

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval.

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with.

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly.

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room. That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride.

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head.

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care.

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend.

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy.

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside.

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation.

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows.

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal.

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway.

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp.

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you.

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette.

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be.

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one.

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now.

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you.

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes.

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into.

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers.

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot.

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts.

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him.

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms.

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy.

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up.

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for.

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect.

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage.

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get.

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun.

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way.

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work.

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face.

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim.

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so.

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge.

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward.

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it.

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought.

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you.

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen.

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary.

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true.

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine.

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day.

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke.

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you.

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful.

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you.

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong.

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of.

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake.

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be.

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket.

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor.

Until now.

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing.

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it.

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power.

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead.

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.”

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke.

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do.

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought.

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze.

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again.

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real.

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for.

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you.

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue.

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you.

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it.

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him.

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month.

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone.

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door.

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup.

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits.

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation.

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive.

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer.

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch.

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs.

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #st oneshots #stevie oneshot #punchy x steve

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natailiatulls07 · 1 year

Text

The golden trio Pt 2

Lando Norris x female!reader

Carlos Sainz x female!reader

Max Verstappen & Female!reader & Charles Leclerc

Summary - Being bestfriends with two famous formula one drivers is never easy, but what will happen when you get involved with yet another formula one driver??

Warning - offensive names hate comments swearing

The golden trio

Twitter

username Charles and Max haven’t posted anything any where since the other day when we saw Y/n walking out, she must of hurt them hard 😟

username Ikr, I feel so bad for them right now 😞

username And Lando posting a instagram story of her at a party 🙄 We knew she never liked them

f1gossip

Spotted: Y/n L/n was seen hanging out with Lando Norris and the quadrant group the night after she was seen leaving her shared apartment seemingly annoyed. She’s probably moving onto the Lando and the quadrant now that her lestappen trust fund has ended

Liked username and 2,193 others

username This bitch really is the ultimate gold digger

username I don’t get how some people like her, she’s a walking red flag 🚩

y/nismywife07 Have you ever considered that you don’t know her story or what goes on behind the scenes?! 😑

username Max and Charles will be much better without her stg

username I’m sick of her shit like omg go away hoe

Text (Red: Charles) (Orange: Lando)

Hey mate, I just want to check in on Y/n. She hasn’t really been texting me or Max, we understand why. We just want to make sure she okay

Yeah, she’s alright. I had to force her off social media after she saw that one gossip instagram account

I know, Max showed them to me and we’re both very annoyed how they portrayed her even though they don’t know what happened really

Can I ask a question?

Of course, go on

Why? Why did you say those things to her and make her believe those things they say about her?

Me and Max were upset that she was felt ashamed to be in the paddock, I guess we just switched off and we just said those things

Okay, I won’t say that she’ll be back with you guys soon that’s not my place to say

I understand, just look after her for us

Will do

charles_leclerc

Me, Max and Y/n have been friends for years now. She was this shy girl whose father was working at karting, that’s how we met her. Y/n has never asked us for money, so I don’t understand how you can comment those things about her.

Y/n is the sweetest girl ever, like that one time me and Danny FaceTimed her and she showed us her new stuffy.

So please, listen to what we say for once and stop hating her, she never deserved it or never will deserve it.

Liked by arthur_leclerc and 69,283 others

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maxverstappen1

This is the girl who brightens mine and Charles’ day, always have since our younger days. However those fake and disgusting comments have ruined that, they have taken that sunshine from us. So please quit it, you don’t know what goes on and that means you don’t have the right to have an opinion.

She is a girl who doesn’t like dentists, loves rainy days and cries at those animal charity videos. And we love her for that.

Y/n has never ever been a gold digger, never slept with either of us or asked for anything off us.

Liked by danielricciardo and 72,274 others

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Twitter

username Anyone else see Max and Charles’ instagram posts

username Yeah, maybe we were wrong about her

username See this is karma, you guys were hating on this poor girl when she didn’t deserve any of it

~~ Liked by Max33Verstappen and Charles_Leclerc

landonorris posted to his story

Tag list: @eviethetheatrefreak @janeholt3 @raizelchrysanderoctavius

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2smolbeans · 1 year

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Yandere Diavolo x Innocent reader headcanons

Tags: Mindbreak, corruption, forced marriage, black mail, Mc's partner gets murdered, suicide mention, Mc goes to hell, manipulation, hostage keeping, minor world building mentions, Mc is gender neutral.

Diavolo knows how humans are. He's been there since their very creation. Humans are greedy, vicious, cruel little animals with a mind of their own. They were almost similar to demons- no, if anything - most, if not - all demons were once humans!

So, for being so cruel, so selfish. It was amazing how he stumbled upon a rare soul like you. So pure, innocent, kind..He was sure that you were predestined to go heaven once you had died. You'd make the perfect angel, after all!

Diavolo was enamored by you. How gentle you were to those who were rough with you, the way you would so gracefully own up to your mistakes - something most humans couldn't do! How you would always keep your head high whenever you were ruthlessly bullied by the world. The way you would kindly treat strangers who would be cast aside by society.

For once, he had met a human with diligence and self-control! It made you desirable and interesting - different from most humans. He needed you. You were one of a kind.

Diavolo became more curious about you with each passing day. He just had to see you. So, with a change of attire and appearance, he visited your work as a customer. Falling hard for you when you gifted him with your voice that spoke directly to him - giving him your undivided attention.

He needed more. It had been so long since he's seen such pure kind innocence directed towards him. So, of course, with his devil's charm, he tried to persuade you to be his partner.

But, unsurprisingly, you already had a partner. Of course, that was no problem for Diavolo- such a small obstacle was no path for this ancient demon!

So kindly getting rid of the waste of space that contributed no meaning to your life, Diavolo tried again. Sweetly feeding into your sins. Pride, greed, envy, and lust. Trying to get you to fall for him.

But it never worked since you were now too busy grieving for your previous partner.

He was running thin. He didn't want to force his love and affection onto you. He wanted you to swoon over him, for you to look at him without him having to force you. To have you all prettied up as his royal spouse. To have his innocent kind spouse dote on him so diligently.

So he was left no choice but to haunt you. Whispering in your ears about the unspoken knowledge, taunting you to the point of insanity, breaking you to the point of committing unforgivable sins.

So when you came to your senses, unable to cope with the reality, you ultimately killed yourself out of guilt.

Happily waiting for you in circles of hell, Diavolo came to collect you.

You were so scared, shivering from the torture you had to endure with all the other sinners. Don't worry, he'll take you away from the bad place. Only in one condition. No? That's okay. He'll happily drop you off back from where you came from!

Aww, you're clutching onto him so tightly.. I guess that means you took up his offer!

Sooner or later, you ended up as his royal spouse. Always satisfying his needs, making sure to please him with anything he wants.

You don't want to go back to the circles of hell after all. Not when Devildom is nice and safe, barely far away from limbo!

Diavolo found it admirable whenever he looked at you. Such an innocent and meek demon you were. With your cute little horns protruding out of your head and that slim tail you had from behind.

He was proud to call you his spouse. So proud that he always hosts a party dedicated to celebrating your marriage with him. It's only fair, you must be bored staying inside the castle by yourself waiting for him!

Plus, it's not like you're allowed to go out.. He can't risk his little spouse getting hurt!

Aren't you glad this is how things turned out?

And isn't it better that it'll be like this for all eternity?

________________________

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompt #obey me #yandere obey me #yandere headcanons #yandere obey me headcanons #yandere diavolo obeyme #yandere diavolo x reader #yandere diavolo #yandere obey me x reader #obey me x reader

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weirdsht · 2 months

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Cliché - LoTCF & Venion Stan! Reader

notes: ngl i took more time dwelling whether i should make this a series. but i never did two series at once because i can't handle the commitment, so i compromised by making it a long oneshot. ALSO TRIGGER WARNING: I put my psych major to work while writing this fic so...

tags: TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE TAGS (dw nothing too graphic for every warning) depression, eating disorder, anxiety, self-loathing, torture and abuse, guilt, like lots of guilt, passive to mild suicidal thoughts, not being able to control your body, catatonic depression, anhedonia, blood, cursing, vague novel spoilers, Taylor Stan being the best brother out there, open ending i think, can be seen as hurt/comfort

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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Navigation Masterlist Platitude (pt. 2)

Tak Tak Tak

The sound of the horses of the carriage filled your ears as soon as you woke up.

…Wait horses?

How could there be horses when you were sure you were inside a lecture hall?

“Young master I’m glad you’re awake. We are nearing Viscount Tolz’s territory.”

Viscount Tolz? That sounds familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it as you just woke up.

You observed the unfamiliar place you woke up in. You seem to be inside a carriage, years of reading manhwas, manhuas, mangas and web novels have gotten you familiar as to what they looked like.

Observing the interior a bit more, you notice that the carriage you are in seems luxurious. That and the servant riding a horse outside the carriage window just called you “young master”.

‘Did I transmigrate? I swear I was just nodding off during one of my lectures…’

“You. What date is it? My head feels fuzzy from sleeping in this uncomfortable carriage.”

‘I’ve rotten my brain reading that damn isekai genre. I already know the drill, I should be a villain or something. I guess I should be glad I didn’t end up as an animal, those things have gotten popular these days…’

You silently shivered at the thought of being a bird or a snake.

“I’m sorry about the seat young master. You’re custom cushion should be arriving tomorrow. As for the date, it is currently year 780 of the Felix Calendar.”

Shit

By the calendar mentioned you could already tell what series you transmigrated to. There was only one series you know that uses Felix Calendar.

Lout of the Count’s Family

And it looks like you got sucked into that novel a year before things began.

“As soon as that arrives install it in my carriage. This thing is as hard as a brick.”

Contrary to what you say, the seat is very soft and comfortable. However, if you really did transmigrate as a villain like in all those manhwas you’ve read then you figured you have to act as bratty as possible.

“I understand young master. We are nearing the villa soon, I’m sure young master Neo has prepared your room so you can rest.”

Fuck. You’re fucked.

Out of all the small villains in existence you just had to steal the body of a dragon abuser. You just had to get in the body of Venion Stan.

Venion out of all people. Even Neo Tolz or Adin or Duke Fredo would’ve been better picks.

But no, the gods of this world just had to put you in the body of an atrocious villain that has no use.

Never mind running away in the countryside while enjoying all the inheritance, there’s no way that black dragon is going to leave you alone.

…And for sure the black dragon is already 3 years old, there’s no saving you now. Anger and despair are already planted in that poor baby’s heart.

Everything moved too quickly to your liking. One moment you were in the carriage, then next Neo was greeting you. After you blinked you’re already in the black dragon’s cell.

‘Can I survive a year before Cale comes here to get the dragon?’

The black dragon can’t use mana, let alone dragon fear. But his vicious gaze full of animosity is already enough to make you feel guilt and fear.

He looked so pitiful. The cell might be spacious, but a cage will still be a cage. He was just there, in the middle of the cell. Chained and unable to fight back.

The buffet in the middle doesn’t help the queasiness you feel in your stomach.

“Do-”

‘Don’t bother with it, I won't be visiting the dragon further.’

The words you want to say are stuck in your throat. Some unknown force is stopping you from uttering them out.

You figured it was so that things would still go according to the plot.

‘I know I wasn’t the greatest in my previous life, but was I so bad that I must experience this?’

Tap Tap Tap

Heels of your shoes tapped against the ground as you walked towards the table. You tried to stop your body, but it was useless. No matter how hard you try to stop yourself you just keep moving.

“Start.”

Your voice- no Venion’s voice said and the torturer started whipping the dragon.

Gulp

There’s a bile in your throat threatening to show itself. However, you swallowed it. The scene may look horrendous, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t stop eating the feast in front of you. You didn’t stop laughing at the small dragon’s demise.

More like you couldn’t.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to go back to your world and curl up in your bed. You wanted all of this to be a dream.

‘Is this the doing of the gods? If so then why must they be cruel.’

“Is there anything else you want to do young master?”

“No just go out. All of you. I will follow in a short while”

Following your order, everyone in the dungeon started heading out. After a few seconds, there was no one but you and the dragon in the room.

Bleurgh!

As soon as there was no one else in the room you vomited. Good thing there was a bathroom attached in the dungeon. The bathroom door was wide open as you puked your gut out, showing the black dragon a view of your pale face. Despite that you didn’t care, your only focus was to get rid of the horrible feeling running through your body.

It’s not as if the dragon would care about its torturer.

That night you spent the entire time in your bed tossing and turning. Too tired to sleep but too scared to face the nightmares you have to combat every time you do.

“Go find a magician or something and commission a temperature-regulating device. I want it installed at the cave before we visit the Tolz territory again.”

“As you wish your highness. However, aren’t you spending a bit too much on a mere pet?”

“You dare think I’m buying all these things for that pesky dragon? I’m buying it for my own comfort, you should be aware of how I want to be comfortable all the time.”

“It seems I made a mistake. I shall prepare everything you desire for the next time you visit the villa.”

Six months has already passed since you became Venion Stan. Adjusting wasn’t easy, especially when there are more times when you can’t control your body than when you can.

But still, you persevered.

It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway. You have already taken over this body so you have to live in it. That and there’s also the fact that you want the original plot to go smoothly.

You want the black dragon to experience justice.

So you persist. Even when the atrocities you did make you puke. Even when you want to kill yourself.

You didn’t

It wasn’t right.

You may not be the original Venion Stan, but it wouldn’t be right to take away the revenge the black dragon deserves. That was why you decided to persevere.

Persevere now and suffer at the dragon's hands later before finally dying.

That was your plan.

You didn’t care about other things anymore. Money, territory, power; none of those things mattered to you anymore. Too disgusted with yourself and everything you have been doing to even attempt to enjoy those things.

However

There’s a silver lining in all of this.

After a month of being in your new body, you have found a loophole. You found a way to combat some of the restrictions to your actions. As long as you sound selfish and villainous enough, you can get away with saying and doing most things.

Using this knowledge to your advantage, you slowly made life for the dragon easier. You bought a lot of things such as cushions, a more comfortable collar, and the temperature-regulating device you just ordered. You also used this fact to lessen your hold on both Taylor Stan and the underworld.

“Venion, I heard you withdrew the people watching over your older brother.”

You scowled at Marquis Stan’s words as if the mere mention of Taylor Stan upsets you.

“Father, what can that cripple do? He has no legs, no power, and barely has any money. Putting people to watch over someone like that will only be a waste of resources.”

Luckily, the marquis agreed with your reasoning and let the situation go while praising how smart you are.

‘Hopefully by this Taylor Stan can gather more information now that my people are now hovering over him.’

That night you managed to sleep for approximately 30 minutes. The longest sleep you’ve experienced since coming over to this world.

Bleurgh!!

It was another torture session and once again you were vomiting everything you ate that week after the session.

While you were busy trying to not make a mess on the bathroom floor, you didn’t notice a certain young dragon observing you.

He may be three years old and he may not know much but his still smart because he's a dragon. That was why he noticed the changes in his captor that started around 8 months ago.

The young dragon noticed the hesitation in your eyes whenever you entered the dungeon. How you were puking from self-hatred and not because of how bad the food was like you said. How your laugh is soulless, especially when he’s being tortured.

How you stagger the slightest bit while standing up after those sessions. How your hands shook ever so slightly from guilt. How you tried to make the cell as comfortable as possible for him despite saying you were doing it for your own comfort.

How your eyes look more lifeless each time he sees you.

The young dragon noticed all of it. He may not know what caused the change, but he knows that everything you’re doing is against your volition.

“Fuck I lost my appetite already. I’m going back to my room. Feed those scraps to that dragon.”

You ordered your servants on your way out. Walking as if your entire body wasn’t shaking ten seconds ago.

The black dragon just watches you with observant eyes.

The “scraps” you were talking about were the feast that was barely even touched. It had always been like this for a few months now. You would barely touch your food and give it to the dragon in the guise of treating him like a dog.

For now, the young one accepts the food. He’ll figure out your intentions later.

“Lessen the guards at the dungeon. Remove all the cushions too, I’m going to change them. Do the same thing to the dragon’s collar too. While you’re at it increase the guards stationed at my quarters. Put the guards in the cave to my room.”

It’s the fated day. Time passed and now is already the day the black dragon will be rescued by Cale, Choi Han, and the cat tribe children. You already met them earlier and acted as arrogant as you could.

Hence the preparation. You need to make it look like the dragon was kept in a horrible condition. Of course, he was… but like much more worse conditions.

“Assassins have been increasing their attempts lately. If I see someone assigned to my room not doing your jobs I’m going to feed you to the sharks. Oh, and you.”

You pointed at a random servant passing by.

“Here’s some gold, buy some alcohol from the inn. Don’t tell anyone I was the one who bought it.”

“May I ask what you’re going to do with the alcohol young master?”

Everyone knows that Venion Stan deemed things not noble enough as disgusting. But you felt guilty for pushing that old man around earlier so you made an excuse.

“Depends on my mood. I’m feeling generous so if you all guard my room tonight then I’ll give you the alcohol tomorrow to drink.”

Everyone held in their shock.

“But if you don’t then I’m going to throw each bottle in your heads while drinking real wine.”

With that, you turned around to lie down on your bed.

That night was the same as every other night you spent in this world. Sleepless. However, that night you felt some weight being lifted off your shoulders as you heard the ruckus Choi Han was causing outside.

‘He should be curled up in Cale’s lap while looking at me viciously’

You stealthily peeked at Cale as you walked towards your seat. Just a moment ago he was trying to rile you up by acting obnoxious. It was hard to try and act like you were keeping your composure when you agreed with everything he said.

“What the..!”

‘Shit did I not put enough strength into my acting?’

You barely felt your blonde hair sway as you slapped the table in supposed shock at Taylor Stan’s entrance.

‘Maybe I should’ve forced myself to eat a little bit more before coming here…’

Gritting your teeth, you ignore the black spots dancing in your vision. Today is a vital day, you can’t ruin the script by fainting because you only ate 3 spoonfuls during breakfast.

Luckily, it looks like everything is going according to the plot. Based on everyone’s reaction, you looked like an enraged noble.

Days following that event were even more chaotic. Not only was the terrorist attack in the plaza terrifying but trying to act as if you were trying to hold on to your position when you just wanted to give it to Taylor was even tougher.

As usual, you persevered.

Comforted yourself at the thought that in a few months, you can embrace death’s sweet presence.

“Do I look different without the blood?”

You felt scared and relieved at the sight of the black dragon that now goes by Raon Miru.

Scared because even though you have resigned yourself to your fate, and felt like you deserve it even, you still feel fear for what’s about to come.

Relief because he looks healthy. Chubby even. You were glad that he was living a good life after he got away from you.

Disregarding your feelings, you let the poisonous fog into your body. Resigning yourself to the four days of hell waiting.

Ugh…

Your body feels sluggish when you wake up.

“What the… It hasn’t even begun yet why does that bastard’s eyes already look dead?”

“That’s what I was telling you human! That punk's eyes tell a different story from his actions.”

Soft. Whatever you were lying down on felt soft. It wasn’t like what you’ve read in the novel where Venion was lying down on the hard ground. The magic collar was also soft. It felt similar to the one you bought for Raon a year ago.

You would know because you made sure to pick the softest one yourself.

“His eyes look more dead than when I last saw him at that cave.”

Eyes? Were they talking about yours?

You didn’t know. You didn’t care.

You just want everything to end.

Gasp!

Someone gasped, you think it was one of the kittens.

“T-tears! Why is he crying? I only put paralysis in poison earlier.”

Crying? You were crying?

You sit up. It was hard because of the chains tying your arms but you still did it.

As you look down on your lap, tears are indeed flowing.

‘Why am I crying? Wasn’t I waiting for this day?’

Everything was already planned in your head. You get tortured then you will go crazy. Then you will kill yourself and make everyone believe you did it because you’re crazy.

So why are you crying now?

Why are you in tears as if you don’t deserve what’s happening to you?

Why do you weep as though you haven’t committed several crimes this past year?

How dare you do so.

How dare you act so pitifully when the child you tortured is right in front of you?

Shameless. Till the end, you’re so shameless.

Click!

Thunk!

Beacrox unlocked the magic collar. As he did you saw it falling on the ground.

“Ah, so there really was fur inside…”

Your voice sounded soulless. It sounded so dead that even you were shocked at how you sounded.

But it also felt cathartic.

After two years of trying to act lively. Two years of acting as if you were fighting for something.

You can finally let out your real emotions.

Two years. It took more than two years for you to be granted that privilege.

“Speak. I heard you bought the same thing for Raon.”

“You really named him Raon…”

Beacrox grabbed your collar. He looked furious. If you remember things correctly, he just heard about the dragon’s story a while ago so you understand his feelings.

“He told you to answer. Why did you buy something like that after 3 years?”

“I was getting tired of looking at the hard metal… There was nothing in that cave but stone and metal…”

Your tears are still flowing. It looks like they were crying a whole year’s worth.

Despite that, you were not shaking, nor were your eyes looked sad.

Contrarily, you looked like those creepy dolls with soulless eyes that cried in horror films.

That low-key scared everyone in the room.

“Before, when I was three, I saw you shaking every time you came to the cave. Why was that?”

What’s happening? Why is there a sudden interrogation? You signed up for torture not for a cross-examination.

Still, you answered the dragon.

“I can’t tell.”

“Is it related to how you can’t seem to say what you want at times?”

Just how much did that kid notice in the few times you visited him?

“Yes. When are you going to get started? I need to meet with my hyung after this…”

Meet him and then die.

So please hurry up already.

“Hey punk, you sound like you already know what’s going to happen.”

“It’s obvious. This place looks exactly like that damn cave.”

You were getting tired of talking.

Actually, you were tired. Period.

“But it doesn’t look like how I left the cave when you rescued him.”

“Yes, because that wasn’t how the cave I lived in looked like. It looked like this.”

And the “this” Raon was talking about felt more homey. There were soft lights and a bunch of pillows and cushions. There were even some stuffed toys and blankets.

Was this how you decorated Raon’s cave?

You can’t remember.

Not that you care.

“Can we get started already please?”

“I thought you were a sadist, not a masochist.”

Something snapped inside you at that moment. You didn’t know why it was Choi Han’s comment that riled you up. Maybe it wasn’t the comment but the waiting that set you off.

“Just do it already! Are you dumb?! This fucking plot will not move unless you fucking torture me!”

In that moment you felt a searing pain in your chest.

“Argh!”

Blood flowed out from your mouth.

‘So that’s what happens when I try to push the restrictions.’

Coughing out blood when you’re body was already weak from not eating and sleeping enough was bound to cause you to faint.

And faint you did.

“Young master Cale said you were unconscious for 4 days. The doctor told me you were both malnourished and fatigued. One of your servants confessed that it’s an achievement if you eat 4 spoonfuls every meal. The young master also mentioned how it seems like you were forced to do everything you’ve done… Just what is happening? Hmm? Tell this hyung of yours.”

“Hyung…”

In the end, you didn’t get tortured…

“What’s going to happen now? What’s going to happen to me?”

You diverged from the fate carved out for Venion Stan.

That made you scared.

The restriction placed upon you to prevent you from straying from the plot scared you.

“Everything will be okay. But you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Taylor Stan hugged you, and you felt disgusted with yourself that you dare find warmth and comfort in that hug. Disgusted that you dared cry in front of him when you tried to kill him in the past.

But you couldn’t help it.

You couldn’t help that your hyung was soft and caring even though he was stern and strict.

“I’m scared hyung. I’m a horrible person.”

As you speak you notice Cale in the corner of the room. He was trying to go out to give you two some privacy.

“Please stay.”

‘You deserve to hear the truth too.’

Cale stopped moving at your words.

At that moment you decided to spill everything. Venion Stan’s role was already done. Even if it wasn’t, you already strayed from the path written for him. So you’re pulling all stops now.

“I’m a horrible person that did horrid crimes. I know that, I did them with my own hands after all. But I didn’t want to do them.”

You felt that stinging pain slowly coming back.

“There are times when I can’t control the things I say or do. No matter how hard I try my body won’t listen to me.”

The taste of blood in your mouth is back. You tried to act as calm as possible and nonchalantly spit it out in a napkin as if you were just wiping your mouth.

“I think it’s the god’s doing. It’s fated that I must be a bad guy for everything in the future to work out.”

You wiped your mouth again.

“I couldn’t resist it. But I found a loophole.”

Wipe

“If I make it look like what I was doing is villainous then my movements will not be restricted as much.”

“So when you removed the people watching over my residence..?”

You nodded while wiping your mouth once again.

However, this time Taylor snatched the napkin out of your hands.

“You’re bleeding..!”

“Ah…”

You were wiping so much blood that it already seeped out. Causing for Taylor and Cale to see the blood.

“I should’ve used a darker colour…”

“Stop talking. I’ve already heard everything I need to know.”

“I have nothing else to say to you anyway.”

The two men started walking out of the door when you called out to someone.

“Young master Cale, can you please stay? I must tell you something.”

The marquis and the young master exchanged a glance before one of them left the room.

“What is it?”

At Taylor’s exit, Raon undid his invisibility.

“It’s not fate.”

Cale and Raon looked at you as if you’d lost your head. Honestly, you wish you did. Being beheaded right now is better than living with these horrible feelings.

“It’s plot. You should know what I’m talking about.”

Luckily, Marquiss Stan left the napkin so you could wipe your mouth again.

“I think the universe, not the gods, made a mistake with me. But despite their mistake, they are insistent on going with the plot laid out.”

You discarded the napkin. It’s already drenched with too much of your blood that it can’t be used anymore.

“But don’t worry. This plot is very beneficial to you. You just have to follow whatever you think is right. You can disregard whatever anyone says. Even if that anyone is a god.”

‘Unlike me’

Cale handed you a handkerchief and you wiped your mouth with it.

“Lastly, I’m sorry Raon Miru-nim. My only choice was to either keep torturing you or throw you out. I couldn’t throw you out, because if I did then you wouldn’t meet the young master.”

“It’s okay… I am great and mighty so I figured out long ago that you were being forced.”

“Thank you.”

With that the dragon became invisible again and the two head out of the room.

Cleanup was easy. Of course, it was. Everything was already planned out beforehand.

The previous marquis was arrested and his people were successfully rooted out. You got sentenced to house arrest.

Meaning, you got a slap on the wrist.

It confused you. Why did you get such a light sentence when you did so many horrible things? It didn’t even feel like house arrest because your hyung always kept you by his side and personally took care of you.

“How about you? How are you and your brother doing?”

You heard Cale speaking on the other side of the communication device. But you just kept your head low and stared at your palms, unmoving.

“That…”

Marquis Stan hesitated.

“His been listless since that day. I checked with an expert and they said his in a catatonic state.”

You blur out the rest of their conversation. It wasn’t like there was a need to listen anyway. There’s nothing for you to do now. Your role is done but you can’t die.

You're tired.

So so fucking tired.

Tired of waking up. Tired of moving. Tired of thinking. Tired of breathing.

Tired of living.

So you opted to not move. Tune out the world around you. Maybe if you’re lucky they’ll leave you to rot in that lavish room of yours.

“Your eyes look more lively today. Do you have enough energy to speak?”

You blinked once. Then twice. You don’t know how many days have passed already. All of them look like a giant blur in your mind.

For the first time in a while, you moved your body to look at your surroundings.

As you take in your surroundings you notice that there’s a storm outside. That and Taylor Stan seem to have put you in the wheelchair he used to use.

“Taylor Stan…”

“Call me hyung.”

Did you deserve to? Well, it doesn’t matter since he ordered you to.

“Hyung”

“Yes, my dongsaeng?”

“Why won’t you kill me?”

The wheelchair stopped in its tracks. It was because the one pushing it stopped walking.

“Why would I kill you?”

“Why would you not kill me?”

You had no way of knowing just how scared Taylor was at this moment. Your voice sounded so soulless. As if you were asking about the weather and not about your death. He was already scared that one day he would just wake up to find you dead. Your questions and your way of asking them are not helping his fear.

“I told you, I wouldn’t kill my family.”

“Ah…”

Silence lingered as the two of you went to your room. Inside, the first thing you noticed was the door on the wall.

“That’s a connecting door. It’s connected to my room.”

“Very fitting for a criminal like me that needs to be monitored at all times.”

“That’s not…”

Taylor Stan chose to sigh instead of answering. After he did, he called the servants to help you with your nighttime routine.

“You all can go now, I’ll take it from here.”

Servants filed out of your room as your brother took the brush from a servant's hand.

“You know that this is useless right?”

“Why is that?”

Taylor continued brushing your blonde hair that now reaches past your shoulders.

“It’s not like I’ll sleep. There’s never a night where I slept for more than 30 minutes. I think.”

“Maybe if I stay by your side you’ll sleep better.”

You didn’t respond. You just watched in the mirror how your hyung gently brushed your hair. At some point, you pulled your legs up to your chest and started hugging them.

Taylor Stan didn’t seem to mind your movements. In fact, he seems to encourage them.

“Let’s eat dinner now. Do you want to walk?”

“No.”

The mere thought of moving more than you already did makes you feel nauseated.

Your hyung nodded and started pushing the wheelchair again. As he did the sight of the food prepared on your table caught your eyes. It wasn’t a feast like how you were served in the past.

Instead, there were just two simple identical meals on the table.

It reminded you of how you used to eat your meals back on earth.

“You’re eating too?”

“I haven’t eaten yet. I figure we can eat together since Cage is not here.”

She must be in the super rock’s villa or something.

Eat together was what you did. Well, more like Taylor ate while you take a few bites and play with your food.

“Do you not want to eat anymore?”

“No.”

“It’s fine, just leave it there. You already ate thrice more than you usually would. It’s okay to take it slow.”

That’s true. You ate 10 spoonfuls today when you would usually just take a bite or two. Three at most.

Maybe a gentle company and a simple meal did the trick. But you aren’t sure.

After the meal, you brushed your teeth before lying down on the bed. Taylor was sitting on a couch beside your bed as promised.

That night, for the first time since you arrived in this world, you managed to sleep almost the whole night.

143 notes · View notes

chiriwritesstuff · 9 months

Text

The Girl in IT - 4. Gooey

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI - Minors Do Not Interact!)

Chapter Preview: "Why did you do that?" you blurt out, turning to face him. Joel, seemingly unfazed, keeps his eyes on the road. "Do what?" "I don't need you defending my honor against Tess. She already dislikes me, and now it's all awkward-" "She doesn't hate you-" "...but clearly I have a target on my back now that I'm involved with my boss!" You keep your eyes downcast, attempting to stifle a sob. "You didn't need to cause a scene." Joel turns his head at that, his expression softening as he observes your distress, seemingly at a loss for words. "Sugar-" "It's easy for you, you know? To throw the fact that you're the boss around and have this 'I can do what I want' attitude with whoever you please. But I could still lose my job! I need this job, Joel. I-" "No, Sugar. Shit, I-" He opens his mouth, then closes it, appearing unsure of how to respond to your sudden outburst. Joel looks genuinely troubled, his frown mirroring yours. "I'm disposable, Joel," you continue, refusing to meet his gaze. "You wouldn't understand where I'm coming from."

Chapter Warnings & Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Daddy Kink, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, Age Gap, Overstimulation, Squirting, Older Man/Younger woman, So much dirty talk, DD/lg (kinda? they're both into it), Virgin Reader, Loss of Virginity, PIV Sex (finally!!!!), Breeding Kink, No beta we die like men!

Word Count: 6.4K

Chapter Title Inspo/Vibe: 'Gooey' by Glass Animals

"What's up with you and Sugar?"

Sarah casually strolls over to Joel's desk, perching her hip on the edge as she hands him a cup of coffee. "Maria said she saw the two of you at the mall yesterday," peering over him as he nervously takes a sip of his coffee, "... during working hours. She said you guys seemed mighty close and all, I guess she wasn't sick like Tess said?"

Joel chokes mid-sip, coughing out the hot coffee as Sarah smirks at him.

"So it's true, then?"

"I guess I can't hide anything from you, baby girl," Joel replies in between coughs. "Should have known I can't get anything past you."

"Well, I made a wild guess you were into her, being that I heard you singing 'Pour Some Sugar On Me" in the shower the other day.

"It was being played on the radio, can't control what they decide to play, you know?" he stops, taking a deep breath. "... besides, everyone loves Def Leppard," he mumbles under his breath.

Sarah gives him a knowing glance as she makes herself comfortable on the chair in front of him. "Dad, the radio stations don't put music on repeat." She fiddles with the sleeves of her sweater absentmindedly, her face deep in thought. "It wouldn't be a bad thing, you know? You and Sugar. She seems like a very sweet girl. Kind of shy, but I like her."

Joel arches an eyebrow. "Do you now?"

She shrugs. "I mean, she is kind of young, but age is just a number, right? It's not like she's in her 20s. Besides, Ellie is obsessed with her. She's always at her office, picking her brain about her thoughts on 80s music. She's a good influence on her."

Joel nods. "Ellie- I worry about her sometimes. Lord knows that I try to do right by her, adopting her and all that. Sometimes I think she needs-"

"... a feminine touch?"

"Something like that." Joel smiles to himself, his eyes still locked on his iPad as he continues his redline revisions to be sent off to the draftsmen. "I think her being surrounded by Tommy and I makes her too-"

"Feral?" Sarah quips, chuckling. "Rough around the edges? Aggressive? It comes with the territory, I guess, with no mother figure around, you know?" she picks a hangnail. "Tommy said that she nearly castrated a client on the job site the other day for asking her out on a date."

"That jerk was asking for it." Joel retorts, his back stiffening. "You adjusted well enough without a mother."

Sarah sighs. "It doesn't mean it was easy, though. It would have been nice, you know? There's just things that I can't talk to a guy about, as much as you tried to be there for me."

"This thing with Sugar, It's new - but I know what I feel for her."

Sarah nods. "You don't need to give me all the details. I trust you, and if she's someone you want to pursue, I won't be mad about it, if that's what you're thinking. Like I said, she's a nice girl."

"She's... fuck, Sarah, she's amazing. She takes my breath away, every time she smiles at me. Fuck. I feel like a teenager, being around her. I don't know what it is, but I always want to be around her." Joel chuckles, smiling at Sarah. "I'm crazy about her."

"Well, you must be if you're out here buying Teslas like you would coffee."

Joel leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh? I wasn't aware that she bought a new car."

Sarah crosses her arms, a skeptical look in her eyes. "Dad, you do realize I handle HR, right? I know what everyone's making. I find it hard to believe she's casually splurging on a Tesla, especially a Model X." She shrugs, giving her father one last look as she heads towards the door. "I know it's tempting, wanting to spoil her. You worked for it, you know? To get where you're at now, but I have a feeling Sugar doesn't care about all of that, just like how Ellie and I don't care about that. Money comes and goes. It's what's inside that chest of yours that matters at the end of the day, ok?"

Joel smiles at Sarah once more as she walks out the door. "I love you too, baby girl."

Joel opens his messenger app, smiling at his earlier conversation with Sarah.

[Hey Sugar, you busy?] I'm about to head into a meeting with Tess, what's up? [Just wanted to see if you wanted to get some lunch?] I can't. Tess is pissed that I was out yesterday. I think this meeting is going to run past lunch. Rain check? [.....] Joel?

"Tess, what are you doing?" Joel demands, walking into Tess' office without knocking.

"Well hello to you, too Joel."

Joel stands at the door, his hands on his hips. "Sugar told me that she's going to be working through lunch with you-"

Tess scoffs, placing both arms on her desk. "Well, if the two of you didn't decide to fuck off work yesterday, maybe she wouldn't have to work past lunch."

"Sugar was sick. I had to do shit back at the house-"

"So you didn't go to the mall together yesterday?"

"It was her birthday, we just so happened to run into each other-"

Tess rolls her eyes at that. "I don't care what the fuck you guys do on your own time, but don't fuck around on my time!" she spits, pointing a finger at Joel. "Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, Joel. Maria saw you guys. That girl of yours is lucky I didn't ask her for a doctor's note!

Joel pinches his forehead. "Tess-"

She shakes her head. "What are you doing, Joel? Have you lost your fucking mind? We have a business to run, YOUR business! Time doesn't stop just because you decided that you want to act like a fucking teenager, running around like you have no responsibilities! People depend on you to not fuck around!"

Meanwhile, you hear the shouting match between Joel and Tess from your office, your head in your hands as you listen to the both of them bicker about the stunt that you and Joel pulled yesterday. You sigh, knowing that you told Joel that you had a bad feeling about blowing off work.

"Never a dull moment at Miller Construction, huh?" Frank leans casually against your doorway, offering a knowing wink. "Nice ride, by the way. Makes me wonder if I picked the wrong man, huh?"

"Frank, cut it out. You were supposed to be at the showroom ten minutes ago," the gruff voice of the head civil engineer interjects, rolling his eyes as he strides through the hallway, delivering you a brief nod. "Sugar, Happy Belated Birthday. Hope you're feeling better."

"Thanks, Bill," you reply with a hint of meekness.

"Frank! Let's go," he shouts impatiently, already at the front door.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stick around for the theatrics of our esteemed leaders... keep me posted, okay? I want a play-by-play! Nice dress, by the way. Celine?"

"Uh-"

"Frank!"

"I'm COMING! Geez, you'd think after 15 years of marriage, it gets easier, right?" he shrugs. "Well, Sugar, it's been a pleasure." He winces as Tess' shrill voice echoes in the distance. "Go console Joel before he pops a vessel; I think someone might just call the police this time!"

You nod absentmindedly, offering him a small smile. "Sure thing," you reply, the weariness evident in your voice.

It was a lot easier when you worked at Geek Squad. Sure, you got paid almost close to nothing dealing with irate customers for eight hours, answering mundane questions -

Did you try to restart the computer?

Did you make sure that the monitor was plugged in?

Sure, I can wait for your granddaughter to come home to help you…

It was soul-sucking, but it was easy. Easier, compared to dealing with someone like Tess. Tess took no shit - no excuses, no bullshit. She didn’t care if you had a dentist appointment and couldn’t schedule it on the weekend. She didn’t care if you needed a mental health day. Your time was her time, and you found that out the hard way real quick… and now she knew. Knew that you blew off work and knowing Tess, she probably knew that Joel finger fucked you into oblivion in the Neiman Marcus dressing room. You can't help but have respect for her, a woman walking amongst the men in an unforgiving industry. If there was anyone who had balls of steel, it would be Tess.

"Joel, why can't you just wait to fuck her after work like a responsible adult?!" She shouts, the tell-tell sound of something being thrown against the wall echoing through the hall. You flinch, sinking into your seat further as you groan in embarrassment.

"Hey!" you hear the other Miller brother yell from the other end of the hallway, his hurried steps passing through as he makes his way toward the absolute meltdown happening between Joel and Tess. "What the hell is going on? The entire fucking building can hear the both of you! What the fuck?!"

"Tess is being a bully, telling people they have to work through their lunch-"

"Your brother here is throwing a fucking hissy fit accusing me of bullying his little girlfriend - I told you hiring her was a bad fucking idea!"

"YOU LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS!" Joel shouts, the sound of his fist hitting the hollow of the door. "You keep her out of your fucking mouth, Tess!"

"Joel," you hear Tommy, his voice lowered in a shoddy attempt to placate his brother. "Let's just calm the fuck down, okay? you guys are scaring the engineers-"

"OH FUCK THE ENGINEERS, TOMMY," Tess screams, "You tell your brother to stop playing favorites and fucking around with THE HELP!"

"Tess," Tommy stammers, "I know you're upset, but you're being out of line right now, let's just take a moment to calm-"

"Oh fuck off, Tommy! you're here always defending your brother when he's just fine screwing around, fucking us over! why don't you grow a pair-"

"Tess," Joels cuts her off, his voice laced with his building anger. "I know you think that you run the show, but it is still my company, that I run. You don't go and bully everyone just because you think you can. You may call the shots, but you still report to me. Denying an employee lunch is an HR violation! Should I call Sarah in here too? Slap the fucking employee handbook on your desk and clear the air? Your meeting with Sugar can wait until after lunch, do I make myself clear??"

You don't realize you're holding your breath until-

"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

You hear Tess curse, and you can imagine her face, clear as day, glaring at Joel, the both of them not wanting to back down.

"Crystal."

You hear the slamming of a door, followed by the heavy-footed steps of Joel as he makes his way back to his office.

You sit in a daze, looking off into space, trying to process what just happened. You're only broken off from your thoughts by the unmistakable sound of your messenger, its distinctive ping! jolting you back to the present.

[So, lunch?]

"So, what cravings does my Sugar have today?" Joel murmurs, gently taking your hand as he navigates out of the parking lot.

"Why did you do that?" you blurt out, turning to face him.

Joel, seemingly unfazed, keeps his eyes on the road. "Do what?"

"I don't need you defending my honor against Tess. She already dislikes me, and now it's all awkward-"

"She doesn't hate you-"

"...but clearly I have a target on my back now that I'm involved with my boss!" You keep your eyes downcast, attempting to stifle a sob. "You didn't need to cause a scene."

Joel turns his head at that, his expression softening as he observes your distress, seemingly at a loss for words. "Sugar-"

"It's easy for you, you know? To throw the fact that you're the boss around and have this 'I can do what I want' attitude with whoever you please. But I could still lose my job! I need this job, Joel. I-"

"No, Sugar. Shit, I-" He opens his mouth, then closes it, appearing unsure of how to respond to your sudden outburst. Joel looks genuinely troubled, his frown mirroring yours.

"I'm disposable, Joel," you continue, refusing to meet his gaze. "You wouldn't understand where I'm coming from."

"I wouldn't let her do that, baby."

"Just because you like me doesn't mean I'm immune, Joel."

“You do excellent work, Sugar. If there’s anyone to blame for what happened yesterday, it’s me, alright? Tess’ issue is with me, not you." He heads into town, pulling over to a metered parking spot in front of a few storefronts. He cuts the ignition, staring into the distance as he takes a few deep breaths. "You're wrong, baby," he says finally, turning towards you. He gives you a small smile, "I don't like you."

You feel your expression shift into something resembling pain as Joel hurriedly reaches for your hand, gently taking it into his.

"I love you, Sugar," he breathes, "I've been in love with you, all this time."

"Joel, you don't need to say this just to make me feel better."

Joel shakes his head, unbuckling his seatbelt to lean towards you, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. "Are you saying I'm a liar?"

A tear rolls down your cheek. "No one has ever-"

"Then let me try to show you just how much I do, baby."

"What if I'm bad at it? Bad at loving you?"

Joel looks deep into your eyes, his gaze tender and unwavering. "There's no such thing as being bad at loving, Sugar. Love is about understanding, patience, and growing together. We'll figure it out, one step at a time."

He wipes away the tear from your cheek with his thumb and offers you a reassuring smile. "I'm not expecting perfection, just you, baby girl. That's all I've ever wanted."

"What if I'm not ready to say it back just yet?"

"I'll take whatever you're willing to give me", he smiles. "Just let me love you, okay?"

Later that day, you finally muster up the courage to make the short journey down the hall for your meeting with Tess. You would be lying if you said you weren't five seconds away from shitting your pants, that's just the effect Tess has on everyone in the office.

"Tess?" you knock on her door, clearing your throat and hoping she doesn't catch the slight tremor in your voice. You attempt to compose yourself, standing a bit taller as you wait for her reply with bated breath.

"Come in!"

You hesitantly shuffle in, feeling like a moron standing before her in your new dress, feeling like she can see right through you. "Look, about earlier-"

Tess glances at you as if you've suddenly sprouted another head. "Why don't you just have a seat, and we can get this over with."

You stand in your spot timidly, shifting on your feet. "Okay," you say, settling into the seat across from her and placing your MacBook on her desk. "Where did you want to start?"

"Let's go over the employee reports."

"Okay, well," you begin, nervously pushing your hair behind your ear as you load up your reports, keeping your eyes locked onto your screen as you feel the weight of Tess' gaze on you. It's unnerving, you think to yourself. "There haven't been any new issues; everyone seems to be on task, and productivity has been steady, if not increasing-"

"Do you want a drink?" Tess interrupts suddenly, the sound of a drawer opening as she pulls out a bottle of whiskey. "It was your birthday yesterday, right? Why don't we take the edge off?"

"Uh," you glance at the time on your computer screen. 4:05. 55 minutes before the end of the day. You eye her warily. "We still have an hour before... we still have an hour before the end of the day," you cautiously mention, a hint of uncertainty in your voice.

Tess pours two glasses of whiskey, sliding one towards you. "A little celebration won't hurt. Besides, it's been a day."

You hesitate for a moment before accepting the glass, the cool surface feeling unfamiliar in your hand. "To what, exactly?"

Tess smirks, raising her glass. "To getting through the day, and to not making a big deal out of things that don't matter. To burying the hatchet. To your birthday," she adds. She leans towards you, her gaze heavy on yours. "Shall we?"

"Sure," you say, not one to shy away from a challenge. "What the hell."

It's not an hour later you find the both of you drunk off your asses.

"You know, I can see it," Tess says, eyeing you as she leans back in her desk chair. "Why Joel is so taken with you? You're quite a woman."

"Oh?"

"It takes one strong woman to be able to see the kind of illicit porn the Miller brothers watch and not bat an eye at it. Tell me, what has our leader been into lately?"

You try to stifle a giggle, attempting to hide a blush. "Well, he usually watches a lot of secretary stuff, but lately-"

"Let me take a wild guess," Tess says as she takes a swig out of the bottle, shot glasses long abandoned. "Sweet little housewife porn?"

"Not quite."

Her eyebrow raises curiously. "Worse than that?"

"Well, there's been an uptick of... breeding porn?" you blush furiously. "it's a lot."

Tess bursts into a fit of laughter, clutching her middle, all sense of professionalism out the window. "I think he's trying to tell you something!"

"What do you mean?" you ask, meeting her giggles. "What is breeding porn anyway?"

Tess stares at you. "Really Sugar? It means he wants to fuck a baby into you!"

You scratch the back of your head, clearly at a loss. "I-"

"The sex must be great," she quips. "I don't think that man has been intimate with anyone for the last ten years." She leans over toward you. "He has to make up for lost time," she whispers, giving you a wink.

"Yeah", you stammer, "It's great."

"Well, when you say it like that, maybe the old man lost his touch."

"Tess, can I level with you? I... I'm a virgin. I'm a 36-year-old virgin. Does that change how you see me?"

"Well, it depends. Is it by choice?"

You shrug, a hiccup escaping from your body. "I'm not entirely sure. Maybe it's a mix of both. Like I'm defective."

"Lay it on me," she looks around your surroundings, making sure that the door is closed. "This is a safe space... most of the time." She gives you a pointed look.

"I guess... I don't know how to put myself out there. My parents, well, my dad- he was strict. One of those "You're not allowed to date until you're 80" kind of dads." You take another sip of whiskey, scrunching your face as it burns down your throat. "I... tried to date in college, but it never went past a first date. There was a lot of ghosting. It gave me a complex, you know? Who wants to date a nobody who looks like me? and it's so fucking pathetic, you know? to be the unwanted one. All of my friends, well, they're married and have kids, and I'm just that token single friend they take pity on because I will always be unlucky in love."

"I think that's a load of bull," Tess scoffs, arms crossed.

"Do you know what I think? You dealt with too many boys and not enough men." She drinks from the bottle once more, reclining further into her seat as she places her ankles on the edge of the desk. "Do you wanna know what I see in front of me? I see a girl who worked her ass off getting her masters, who doesn't depend on mommy and daddy to fund her lifestyle - yes," she raises a finger, interrupting you from replying. "I know who your parents are. You're hyper-independent, and you don't like handouts. Boys don't want a woman who doesn't need them, they don't want a fucking challenge. Do you know who does love a challenge? Men. Men like Joel."

Tess leans in, a sly grin playing on her lips. "Joel, now there's a man who appreciates someone like you. Someone who doesn't need saving, who's got her own game going. Boys might be intimidated, but men, well, they see a partner, not a project."

She takes another swig, the bottle now almost empty. "You don't want to waste your time on those boys playing grown-up. Trust me, been there, done that. Men bring something different to the table. They value independence, they crave a challenge. It's a whole different ball game. Think about it, Sugar. Besides," she laughs to herself, shaking her head. "I've never seen Joel so whipped for pussy in the 20 years that I've known him. You got him eating in the palm of your hand... and the best thing about it? you didn't even have to try. What woman can say that she managed to bag a millionaire without having to put out? Now that's power."

"What's this?" Joel asks suddenly, his eyes narrowing at the two of you as he hovers over the doorway. If he knocked, the two of you were too drunk to notice. "Tess? Care to share why Sugar can barely sit straight?"

Tess throws her hands up in surrender, a faint chuckle out of her lips. "What does it look like? We're just having a little birthday drink. I'd offer you a drink," she picks up the empty whiskey bottle, "but it looks like we beat you to it."

"Joel!" you beam at him, spinning around in your seat, your face flushed from your conversation with Tess. "Just the man we were talking about!"

"Sugar, are you feeling ok?" he gives you a small smile, trying to hide his concern.

"I'm just peachy, thanks for asking!" you sway in your seat, grabbing onto the armrest to steady yourself. "Tess and I were just discussing how you haven't had-"

"Just going over productivity metrics" Tess cuts you off, clearing her throat as she tries to steady herself, wincing. "I offered her a drink to apologize for my behavior earlier. We got a little carried away-" She straightens herself, motioning towards you. "I think you should give her a ride home, make sure she doesn't end up in the next state over because she drunkenly typed in the wrong address in the Tesla."

"Home sounds good," you murmur under your breath, your eyes closed.

Joel lets out an exasperated sigh, moving towards your slouched figure. "Okay Sugar," he whispers, his hands gently placed on your shoulders to steady you. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Maybe?" you hiccup, your body feeling like lead is coursing through your veins as you attempt to meet his concerned eyes. "Are you going to take me home? I don't think I can drive, everything is so fuzzy..."

If you weren't drunk off of your ass, you might have sensed the sudden lift from your seat, Joel carrying you effortlessly with a stern look aimed at Tess. "I appreciate the effort to make amends, Tess, but maybe find a different approach other than getting the employees drunk." He adjusts you so your head rests on his shoulder, preventing any potential dizziness.

She shrugs, a smirk forming at Joel as he quietly tries to settle you. "What can I say? Whiskey cures all."

"Goodnight, Tess," Joel grumbles, adjusting his hold as he carries you towards the parking lot.

Joel carefully situates you in the passenger seat of his truck, securing your seatbelt and making sure your head rests comfortably, sighing as he takes in your inebriated state. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead, offering you a reassuring smile. "I'm going to get your stuff back in the office, just close your eyes, okay?" he whispers, giving you one last glance before closing the door.

"I don't want to head home tonight. Can I crash at your place, Joel?" you murmur, eyelids too heavy to keep open. You swear you hear Joel reply something in return, but the alcohol in your system is finally starting to settle deep within your bones, lulling you into a deep sleep.

You don't remember much after that.

When you finally stir, it's dark. Instead of the familiar hum of Joel's truck, warmth envelops you, an arm securely around your middle. Joel snores softly.

"Joel?" you call out in the dark, your eyes trying to adjust to the lack of light. "Where am I?"

"Hush, baby, go back to sleep. It's still early," he mumbles, tightening the arm around you. You feel him gently press a kiss on your head. "Sleep, my little love, we'll talk in the morning, okay?"

"Okay," you reply, the smoothness of his voice lulling you back to sleep.

"I love you, Joel." you think you say in your sleep. You don't care at this point, there's no sense of hiding it.

You swear you feel the ghost of his smile in response.

The next time you wake, the sunlight is pouring into the depths of Joel's bedroom, casting a hazy light, the air in the room still cold against your bare skin. Your eyes open wider at the realization that you're no longer in your work clothes. You blush at the thought of Joel undressing you, his hungry gaze on your bare body as he redresses you in something comfortable, embarrassed at the fact that you were too drunk to remember. You reluctantly open your eyes, blinking away the haze from a night of heavy drinking, trying to stifle a groan, not wanting to wake Joel.

You managed to lay halfway on top of him this time, your face buried in the crook of his neck. One of his hands is splayed against the expanse of your back, his leg slotted in between your thighs. You swear if you hitched your leg higher you would feel the firmness of his cock, already at half mast beneath the fabric of his boxers. You gaze at it in silent wonder, the realization that he's quite large - larger than the ones you see when you allow yourself to watch porn yourself.

You find yourself grinding against his thigh, the sensation feeling like molten lava coursing through your veins. You don’t realize what you’re doing until the hand on your back starts to move, motioning your body to move back and forth as you continue to rub your clit against the hardness of his leg. "Fuck baby, are you close? You're shaking." he says roughly, pulling you into a kiss.

"Joel, I saw what kind of porn you've been watching lately."

Joel stiffens at that, his hand still. "I'm beginning to think I can't hide shit from anyone," he laughs. "I guess I'm that transparent."

"Are you embarrassed?" you chuckle. "You can tell me, you know. Tess told me it's obvious that you want to fuck a baby-"

Joel groans. "Let's not talk about Tess right now. Besides- I know that you're a virgin, Sugar. I want your first time to be special, do it the right way. Let me help you ease into it-"

"Wasn't that what yesterday was about?" you blush, burying your face into his neck. "What if I'm ready now?"

"... are you sure, Sugar?" he asks hesitantly, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "Don't want to pressure you into something you're not ready for."

"I don't want anyone else but you, Joel."

"You don't know how much I ache for you," he murmurs against your skin, placing wet open-mouthed kisses on your sternum, his hands slowly creeping up your shirt, his fingers grabbing onto the hem. "Can I, baby?" he asks, meeting your gaze as he kisses your skin. You give him a silent nod, lifting yourself slightly as he gently pulls his shirt off of your body, his eyes roaming on the slopes of your breasts. "Such perfect fucking tits, baby. Are they just for me?" he asks, the tip of his tongue flicking your nipple, his hand grasping the other.

"Yes Joel, just for you," you breathe. His hands drift lower towards your aching cunt. "Put a baby into me, Joel. I want it."

"Fuck," he shouts, his hands grabbing your ass, shifting your body to be at the center of his king-sized bed. "You shouldn't say those things to me, I might just do it," he replies, settling himself in between your thighs. He cants his erection against your cunt, capturing your lips for a bruising kiss. "Can you feel just how much I ache for you?" His hand finds your core once more, his thumb pressing on your clit.

Oh.

Your hands find his, pushing it onto your clit harder, the added pressure making you arch your back, your chest pressing onto his. His mouth finds your breasts once more, his tongue eagerly lapping and sucking at your pebbled nipples. "Such beautiful tits, Sugar. It'll get more beautiful when they get bigger and full of milk for my baby."

He continues to worship your tits for a while, the pleasure that he's pulling from you making you dizzy with want, your pussy clenching onto nothing as he continues to grind against you. "Fuck Joel!" you cry out, your body chasing your orgasm, your chest too sensitive from his ministrations.

"Tell me what you want, baby. What do you need?"

"I need your cock, daddy. I feel so fucking empty-"

Joel gives your breasts one final suck, the pop echoing throughout the vastness of his room. "I have to make you come first, baby. You're not ready for my cock yet." He slides a finger between your folds, his thumb adding more pressure onto your clit. Joel shifts his body down, pressing kisses down your torso as he makes his way to the waistband of your panties, his fingers hooking into the elastic, pulling them down. He hooks his arms under your thighs, pulling you to the edge of his bed, spreading you wider as you present yourself to him.

"Baby," he groans like he's in pain. He parts your slicked folds with his finger, coating it with your wetness. You jump as he flicks your clit, pinching it for good measure. "I'm beginning to think you're aching for me too, Sugar." You moan deeply, your body thrashing between the sheets, your body begging for more.

"Don't fucking tease me, Joel," you pant. "I need you-"

He slaps your pussy harshly. "You'll take what I give you, little girl. Do I need to teach you how to be patient? We skipped dinner last night, you gonna deny Daddy of his meal?"

"No, Daddy. Please-"

"Are you gonna be a good little girl and let Daddy take care of you? Let me taste your sweet pussy?" he adds a second finger against your folds, teasing your entrance as you gasp and throw your head back.

"Yes," you plead. "Yes, yes, yes, take what you want-"

You can hardly breathe as Joel tugs your legs over his shoulders, angling your hips. You swear you feel your heart beating through your ears, your entire body feeling like it's on fire. Joel gives you one last smirk as he lowers his face to your cunt.

You swear you implode the moment his mouth comes in contact with your clit.

His tongue is lapping at your slick, the tip flicking your aching nub, languidly kissing your slit, taking his time. He's devouring you like he's been starved for years, getting hungrier and more desperate as you swear you can feel the bed shake, his dick grinding down on the mattress. He harshly grabs the globes of your ass cheeks, slipping his tongue at your entrance, your entire body flailing on the bed from overstimulation.

He reaches for your hand and places it on his head, your fingers threading through his curls. "Hold on to me, Sugar. Don't be gentle," he says against your pussy, groaning as you pull so hard you swear you might just pull it out of his scalp. You begin to rock your hips against his face, the tip of his nose grazing against your clit, the both of you finding a rhythm as you chase your impending orgasm. You're close. So close.

"Come for me, baby. Fucking soak my face-" Joel begs, taking your clit in his teeth. Tears begin to form at the corner of your eyes, your body trembling and shaking and thrashing as he continues to consume you.

"Joel!" you cry, "It's too much, I can't-" You swear your vision blacks out as you suddenly feel a gush of slick being released out of you, soaking Joel's face and the sheets beneath you. You try to meet his gaze, his pupils blown black, his eyes wide.

"That's a good fucking girl!" he shouts, lapping you up completely, drinking from your pussy. He suddenly rises to his feet, his hands still gripping your thighs, lifting your ass higher as he lines his cock to your entrance.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asks, probing the tip at your entrance. "Once I start I won't be able to stop. Is this something you want? I need to hear you say it."

"I want it, Joel. I want you."

"Do you want me to wear a condom?"

You look at him, shaking your head. "I thought you said you wanted to fuck a baby into me. I'm not on anything and you would be my first-"

Joel wraps your thighs around his waist, leaning towards you as he kisses you, long and deep. "I love you, Sugar... and I know you love me," He inches his tip into your entrance slowly, giving you shallow thrusts. "I'll give you everything-" he groans as he slowly fills you to the hilt, stopping his thrusts as he allows you to adjust to his length.

It's a lot. Too long and too thick and you're gripping onto him, gripping onto him like a vice. You gasp at the intrusion, the pinch so sharp you close your eyes in pain, clutching at Joel, digging your nails harshly against his skin.

"I need you to relax, Sugar," Joel says, his voice strained. "What do you need? I don't want to hurt you."

You shake your head. "Just... talk to me. Distract me." You take a deep breath. "When did you know? Know that you loved me?"

The corner of his mouth twitches, a small smile on his face as he starts to slowly push in and out of you. "Do you remember the day that you first yelled at me? The day when I was working when it was storming out-"

"The day we had a tornado watch?" you pant, taking another deep breath as he continues to thrust into you, slow and deep. "You were an absolute moron, risking your life for some bullshit deadline my dad held over your head-" you gasp, your hips canting towards as you meet him thrust for thrust. "No amount of money is worth risking your life-"

"I couldn't bear seeing you cry, begging me to come down the roof," he groans, grabbing onto your hip as he thrusts deeper into you. "No one besides my family has shown me such care for my well-being, not even Sarah's mom, forcing me to work hell or high water... fuck. You feel so fucking good baby, I don't think I can last-" he starts to thrust into you in earnest, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing throughout the room.

It's obscene.

"You practically jumped onto me the moment I came down, gripping onto me like a life raft, fuck... feeling you in my arms, the tears running down your face-" he's pounding into you now, both of his hands gripping onto your hips harshly as he fucks you into the mattress. "I was fucking gone for you, baby," he pants. "I knew I loved you then. Knew I had to make you mine, no matter what it took... Fuck." Joel closes his eyes, throwing his head back as he fucks into you deeper, so deep you can't think straight, your second orgasm building. His chest is heaving as he opens his eyes once more, his face full of love and adoration.

You never thought you would feel what belonging felt like, what home would feel like.

Seeing him look at you in wonder, like you hung the stars in the sky at night yourself...

You don't realize you're both crying, the tears from Joel's eyes running down his face as he sets a brutal pace, angling your hips higher as he plows into you.

"I want to give you a family, baby. I want you to stay, forever."

"Then don't let me go, Joel. Don't leave me-" you gasp, your face wrought with tears. "I love you, Joel. So much."

"I won't," he breathes, leaning over you as he kisses you furiously, his hips snapping into you. "You're so close, baby, I can feel you gripping me so tight, I'm going to fill you up so good, give you a fucking baby, keep you in this house I built for you, never letting you leave..." he babbles incoherently. "Come with me, baby. Come with me, please-"

Your body tenses up like a coil, the string keeping your sanity together snapping as you shriek, Joel roaring as you both come, his spend pulsing into deep into you, thick and hot and molten.

Joel slumps onto you, completely spent. He keeps his cock in you until he softens and slips out, his finger quickly gathering the spend seeping out of you and pushing it in, keeping it safe. He laughs as he falls onto the mattress next to you, pressing small chaste kisses on your face, taking you into his arms.

"Did you mean it?" he asks softly, his fingers cradling your face. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"

You take his hand in yours, threading your fingers through his, offering him a small smile.

"I love you, Joel. So much."

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat, @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115, @thewiigers,

@auteurdelabre, @quicax3, @casa-boiardi, @amyispxnk, @untamedheart81,

@paleidiot, @bbiophiliaa, @laurrrra, @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 2 years

Text

summary: You might be the only one in your division not utterly smitten with your partner, Makima. Call it disinterest, call it being observant that her smiles never reach her eyes. Either way, you have no interest in bridging the gap between you both. But one day, an attempt is made, and it isn’t by you.

tags: pre!canon, f!reader (afab), spoilers for anime onlys, 18+ (loss of virginity, tribbing), reader owns these cats, yes i know children of the sea’s movie was not around during this time i don’t care

a/n: makima: *is a lonely character whose secret desire is that she wants something akin to family where she and the other party are equals but feels like she can’t because of her nature*. the makima x reader tag: *dom makima smut*. me: i guess if i want a piece on makima that focuses on her loneliness i’ll have to write it myself. so i did. thank you to my friend @cafedanslanuit for beta reading this for me, she was a big help!

AO3 / PART 2 / PART 3

“Good Morning.”

“Morning, Makima.” You recognized the soft voice of your partner even before you looked away from your book.

“The weather is quite nice today, isn’t it?” It was a pleasantly warm day in Tokyo.

“I’m personally more of a sweater weather girl, myself,” you disagreed good-naturedly. “I get hot too easily so I like the cold. I’m that person who drinks iced tea in winter.”

“I see.” Makima hummed. “How odd.”

With that, a silence fell over the both of you as you awaited your orders for the day. Whether or not you’d call it uncomfortable, you left up in the air. It had been a little over a month since you began working for the Tokyo Branch of the Public Safety Devil Hunters Bureau and neither you nor your partner made an attempt to bridge the gap between you both. Every odd socially obligatory small talk you’d potentially discover something new about each other.

Like today, for instance, Makima enjoyed warm weather while you preferred cool.

Riveting stuff, you thought sarcastically on your way from the bathroom when you saw a familiar brunette lurking from around a corner. “Good morning, Nanaka.” The girl jumped in surprise, looking like a child caught sneaking her hand into a jar of cookies.

“What do you think you’re doing sneaking up on people like that, [First]!” Nanaka snapped, cheeks flushed pink.

You held back a roll of your eyes, “I’m not the one drooling over Makima from a distance like a creep.”

Flustered, Nanaka fixed her posture from looming to rigid. “I’m not drooling!” She hissed adamantly. “I’m admiring! Miss Makima is one of our best devil hunters! She’ll definitely be in charge of her own division one day soon! I have no idea how you were placed to be her partner.” You shrugged, knowing your coworker wouldn’t be pleased regardless of your answer. Twas the punishment for being partnered to the woman everyone and their mom seemed to worship without hesitance.

Nanaka sighed wistfully. “You’re lucky you get to be Miss Makima’s partner.”

“I’ll be sure to remind myself I got lucky getting paired with Makima then.” You didn’t bother holding back your sarcasm. “I’ll reflect on my actions when we go on patrol.”

“You should be more respectful” Nanaka scolded, shooting you a glare for your less-than-awed perspective. “Miss Makima’s been working here longer than you and you talk to her so casually.”

You nodded in the direction of the devil hunter in question. “Hey, Makima’s the one who told me she didn’t care about keigo. Take that up with her.”

Nanaka shook her head disparagingly at you with a ‘hmph’. “I’m going to greet Miss Makima before you both go on patrol.” Her brown eyes sparkled at the sight of the red-haired devil hunter, practically skipping in her direction. “Miss Makima, good morning! I’m so sorry, I forgot to bring you that coffee you really liked!”

The blunder didn’t seem to worry Makima at all, fortunately for Nanaka, as she smiled in that rehearsed way you expected from your partner by now. “That’s no problem at all, Nanaka. Try not to forget next time, though. I look forward to your coffee each morning.”

The brown-haired member of your division giggled, pleased. “I’ll make sure to remember tomorrow.”

You’re in awe of Makima enough for the both of us, what do I need to be so reverent for? Nanaka would likely have many choice words for you if she heard your thoughts. Yet you only felt that awe decrease as you saw your associate fawning over Makima day after day when Makima barely seemed to return even a fraction of it. You eyed Makima’s face from the corner of your eye and closed it with a small huff. Not smiling again.

Makima’s smile never reached her eyes, no matter how politely she spoke or how warmly she seemingly behaved.

It was apparent to you from the first day you met her after you arrived in Tokyo as a newly hired member of the Public Safety Devil Hunters Bureau.

“[Last], this is your partner Makima. Makima, she’s new to the country but her Japanese is decent. Make sure to teach her well.”

“Of course.” Red ringed eyes looked at you soullessly. Makima was almost like a doll, her smile painted on. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, [First]. I look forward to our partnership. Be good for me, okay?”

A condescending, callous doll.

That opinion hadn’t changed in the time you worked together. Hence why you stared at Makima like she had grown a second head when, after being told of a devil by a panicking high schooler who had ditched class, she went into a restaurant and ordered a plate of chicken katsu curry.

You blinked as you watched the redhead take a seat at a booth. “Um, aren’t we going to get that devil?”

Makima smiled at you again, the same one that never reached her eyes. “Oh yes, you can get that, [First].” She said like it was obvious, ringed eyes looking you dead in the eye. “If I go now, my food will get cold.”

You felt an eye twitch in annoyance, watching as Makima brushed a stray strand of hair back into place. Do I look like Nanaka to you? You wanted to seethe but that was probably the reaction she wanted. You held back an annoyed sigh as you took deliberate steps in Makima’s direction, sitting across from her before she could say anything else.

Your eyes peered into gold flecked with lines of red before you raised a fist. “Janken. Loser has to kill the devil.”

A silence passed over the both of you, one considerably less comfortable than usual as Makima looked at you and you looked at her, unyielding. You weren’t Nanaka or any of the others part of your division that would happily swing your sword around at Makima’s request ー no, demand ー without a second thought. “Auntie, can you make me a bowl of tororo soba? Cold please!” You asked, eyes still staring into gold.

A second past, two seconds.

“Very well,” your partner finally raised her own fist, much to your satisfaction. “one round then. The loser will also have to pay for lunch.”

“I gotta warn you then, I’m a rock-paper-scissors master.” You smirked.

A smirk that only grew wider when you pulled paper to Makima’s rock.

“Looks like you’re treating me to lunch today, partner.” You wrapped your hand around her closed fist, almost marveling at how much smaller hers were in comparison to yours. “Like I said, Janken Champion right here. I don’t lose.”

You half-expected her to demand a rematch leading you to ‘tsk’ that there was no time with such a devil on the loose.

Or perhaps give you the glare of the lifetime for besting the oh-so-mighty and worshiped Makima.

Her actual reaction was much quieter, however, as she stared at your joined hands with an unreadable expression. Damn is she that upset? You removed your hand from hers, instead opting to lay your chin on your palm. “I’ll be waiting for you to come back then, Makima. I’ll try not to get too crazy with my ordering while you’re gone.”

“Go ahead and indulge yourself.” Makima insisted as she stood, throwing her coat on once more.

You thrummed your fingers lightly on the table as your partner left the restaurant. As if I’d actually push my luck that much. A small selfish part of you considered doing exactly that, picking up a menu and ordering much more than a meger bowl of cold-style soba. But it’s just not my style to piss off a ginger. You sighed to yourself quietly before calling for the waitress once more, “Auntie, can I get some iced barley tea too?”

“Of course, dear!” The elderly waitress said with her best customer service smile. “Your Japanese is quite good!”

“No no, I’m still learning something new everyday.” You negated, waving your hands. “It’s a hard language to learn.” After a few more brief exchanges, you found yourself still waiting for Makima as you sipped slowly on your iced tea. It was never as simple as killing a devil and calling it a day. There was still the report to make and waiting for the cleanup team before you could be dismissed from the scene.

Whenever she returned, Makima’s katsu curry would definitely go cold by then.

You eyed your soba that had arrived minutes prior and the curry dish beside it. The sight along with the smells was enough to make your mouth water.

Growl.

God damn it. You pointedly looked away from your bowl to the TV showcasing a baseball game, ignoring the strong smell of the curry spices. You could have cried in relief when your partner finally returned to the restaurant. “Oh you’re finally back,” you observed with composure.

Makima glanced at your soba as she took her seat. “That must have been there for a while,” she replied, observant.

“Well it isn’t like tororo soba can get any colder.” You shrugged, breaking apart your chopsticks. “Thanks for the food.”

“Thank you for the meal.”

“... the chicken katsu is soggy” Makima muttered after one bite. You snorted almost immediately, but said nothing in reply.

You could almost hear Nanaka hisses that you needed to be more respectful towards your senior or that you should have gone ahead and killed the devil instead. Yet you couldn’t find yourself feeling any regret as you saw something more than a fake smile or mild disinterest on your partner’s face. Even mild annoyance was better than her usual expressions.

Looks like I finally saw a new side to you, huh, partner. You held back another snicker.

“Oi!”

“Alô, senhor Rocha.” Hello, Mr. Rocha. You smiled tiredly as you approached the cash register. “Tudo bem?” Are you doing well?

“Tudo bem e você?” I’m well and you? The man asked as he checked your items.

“Estou bem também." I’m good too. You weren’t one to fear being alone, nor were you the type to get lonely easily. Still, the Rochas, a family of Brazilian immigrants who ran a small grocer, were a welcome part of your life in Tokyo, especially after work. “Só estou cansada.” I’m just tired.

“Oh!” You gave Mr. Rocha a curious look as you passed him the largest bill in your wallet. “I saw you earlier!” He said in accented Japanese, grinning widely as his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Com uma mulher!” With a woman! You knew exactly where this was going with that one statement. “Essa era sua namorada?” Was that your girlfriend?

“Não, não.” No, no. You shook your head with a nonchalant wave but it was too late as you saw the quickly approaching form of Mr. Rocha’s wife. The Rochas were always interested in your love life. You weren’t sure what it was “Nós-”

“O que ela parecia?” What did she look like? Mrs. Rocha looked at her husband with excitement.

“É ruiva com cabelo comprido.” She was a redhead with long hair. Mr. Rocha relayed.

Mrs. Rocha gave your shoulder a playful slap that was meant to be congratulatory. “É linda?” Is she beautiful?

You shook your head again, a mixture of exasperated yet amused. You supposed you’d indulge them for a few seconds. “É linda demais pra mim.” Too beautiful for me. You couldn’t hold back your chuckle as the older woman rolled her eyes, calling you ‘silly’ under her breath. "Nós apenas trabalhamos juntas; era uma patrulha.” We just work together; it was a patrol.

As expected, that lessened their enthusiasm drastically. “Tenha cuidado, por favor, [First].” Please be careful, [First]. The elderly woman pleaded with you as you left with your bags.

“Yes, yes.” You could barely contain your yawn. You waved farewell at the jovial couple. “Boa noite.” Good night.

Você é linda, mais que demais. Você é linda, sim… You hummed under your breath, lightly swinging your bag. You saw a new side to your devil hunting partner today. It had been a little over a month since you’d been working together and it was the first time you could confidently think something along that line.

It was like seeing a unicorn in a forest, something you’d never encounter again in your whole lifetime. Funny how unicorns are still considered fantasy when we live in a world with devils and fiends. But a rarity was a rarity. The two of you were work associates, neither of whom had displayed an interest in getting to know each other beyond what was necessary to do your job.

You doubted such a thing would ever be presented in front of you again, you yawned.

Or so you thought when you found yourself, the next day, being taken out of a morning read by the sound of something being placed on the table in front of you. You lowered your book, finding your new company to be Makima and a cup of coffee. “Good morning, [First].”

You raised an eyebrow. “Morning, Makima.” You stared at the cup then at your partner. “Did you need something?”

“It’s iced coffee.” Makima explained as if she were telling you the sky was blue.

Exasperated, you shook your head. “I know it’s iced coffee, but I mean why are you giving it to me?” Isn’t that the coffee Nanaka gets you every day? Were the unexpressed words between you.

“I’m not one for cold drinks but then I remembered you saying you enjoyed them.” Makima nudged the drink closer to you, eyes almost owlish. Is this some weird ass test? Or is she trying to get back at me because of the janken thing? “Go ahead and take it.”

From the corner of your eye, you could feel the glare of a familiar brunette. Nanaka’ll kill me if I drink that. As if she were agreeing with your sentiments, that glare felt even hotter. “Thanks but you keep it. Coffee messes with my stomach.” With a strong hint of finality, you stood up. It would be best to find a different place to read. “Let me know when they dish out orders, I’m gonna head to the bathroom.”

Odd.

“[First], give me your pen.” You found yourself side-eying your partner in displeasure the next day as the redhead held out her hand expectantly. “I have paperwork.”

No shit, we both have paperwork. “There’s a pen right in front of you.” You look pointedly at the pen that she was already using, placed neatly atop the files she was still working on.

Makima smiled as if she were expecting that answer, “mine ran out of ink.”

“The hell am I supposed to do my paperwork with if I give you my pen then?” You asked sourly, unable to keep the annoyance from your voice.

Makima placed her hand thoughtfully on her chin for a moment before picking up the pen she claimed was empty. “Would you like to use my pen in exchange?” She smiled yet it only looked mocking.

“I don’t.” Your response was clipped as you turned your head and continued working. Almost expectantly, another member in the office practically skipped over at the opportunity. “I have a pen for you to use, Miss Makima!” He all but sang.

Things came to a boiling point a few days later on patrol when the following sentence left Makima’s lips:

“[First], tell me why you decided to join the Bureau.”

You huffed in annoyance. Does this woman not understand the concept of asking people for things? Pretending you didn’t hear her, you deliberately looked off into the distance ignoring another call of your name. “Ahh, what a peaceful day it was for this patrol wouldn’t you say?”

“Tell me why you decided to join the Tokyo Branch Bureau.” Makima repeated and you rolled your eyes, knowing she couldn’t see it. “That’s an order.”

You blinked.

Twice.

Thrice.

The kettle that your irritation and anger boiled over.

With a twitch of your eye, you turned your head over your shoulder. “You know, there’s these words called ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.” You snapped, the annoyances from the week fueling your harsh tone. “Believe it or not, just telling people to do things for you isn’t how normal relationships work if you’re trying to be someone’s friend!”

Surprise, that would best describe the look on Makima’s face right now. Genuine surprise, but at what you didn’t know. Perhaps Makima was so used to getting her way that hearing you snap was something she wasn’t expecting. “If you wanna know why I joined the Bureau I don’t care, but you’re not just going to demand I tell you like that. Ask again like a normal person and I might consider it.”

You stared at gold and gold stared back at youbefore Makima finally relented.

“[First], why did you decide to join the Tokyo Branch Bureau?”

“I hated living in my home country and I wanted the free company housing in whatever place I ended up moving to.” See, was that so hard? You leaned against the railing beside you. “But I couldn’t exactly put that on my application, so the official reason is that generic stuff everyone else puts on it. I just added how I felt my abilities would be best suited for international relations.”

“England, Ireland, Brazil, Japan. Japan got back to me first, so here I am. I’m probably gonna move into my own apartment though, company housing is fine but I want my own place.” And you were sure a few of them were starting to catch on to the two cats you snuck into the building.

“That was quite a chance roll.” Makima finally commented. “What if Brazil had responded first?”

“I guess I’d be in Brazil right now then.” You looked away from your partner with a shrug, enjoying the peach and carmine sunset. You had a friend in Fortaleza, you could have roomed with her until you got a place. “I studied a few languages when I was younger because I always wanted to do work that would allow me to travel. It didn’t really matter to me where I ended up as long as it wasn’t home, so I didn’t apply to the branch in my city.”

“And you can risk your life for that reason?” Makima asked you carefully. “Is that enough for you?”

You hummed thoughtfully. A friend back home asked the same question, although it was tinged with worry in contrast to Makima’s genuine curiosity. “I’ll probably change my mind someday, but for right now, it is.”

Your anger subsided, you sighed peacefully with a smile as you looked at the Tokyo cityline. You had yet to get tired of it. It was busy and crowded, but it was yours even at the protest of your relatives who were worried you were making a mistake of gargantuan proportions. “Yep, definitely enough.” You stretched your arms. “It’s about time for the night shifters to start heading out. Should we head back to the main office?”

There was no protest to be had. “Yes, we should.”

“Makima.”

“Yes?”

“Pull rank on me like that again and I’m gonna flick your forehead.”

You received no response to what you considered a promise, not an empty threat. Whether or not Makima believed you, you didn’t know.

The sight of the Tokyo Branch building was a welcome one. Fuck cooking, I’m ordering out tonight. After your exchange a half-hour prior with Makima, you were tempted to add dessert to that order. “See you on Monday.” You waved without sparing Makima so much as a glance as two night shifters you recognized as Tsubomi and Akira brushed past you.

“Oh you’re just coming back, Miss Makima?”

“I’m glad I caught you on the way out! How was your patrol?”

“It went smoothly this time.” Came the soft reply.

In spite of yourself, you peeked over at your partner and coworkers as you turned the corner to get your things from your desk. To your lack of surprise, Makima’s usual smile was found nowhere in her eyes. What was a surprise, however, was the dimness in them.

What kind of expression was that?

A solemn dimness danced in Makima’s eyes in spite of the warmth she was surrounded by.

Lonely.

That was the feeling Makima’s eyes had given you.

You scratched the back of your head, mildly irritated at the guilt you felt. Damn it. No, no no. I just want to go home, feed my cats, and call it a day. I don’t have work tomorrow either, I can sleep in! Still, you found yourself lingering at your desk as Makima walked in now that the evening patrollers had gone on their way. I didn’t even do anything wrong, she was being a bitch!

It was only your cursed luck that while digging for your walkman, you found two coupons for okonomiyaki in your bag.

Fuck, I forgot about this. It goes bad tomorrow.

It wasn’t the grandest gift to receive after saving a person’s life, but you happily received it from a young couple whose lives you saved from a worm devil.

“When things like this happen, it’s obviously a sign from the universe,” you could hear Himeno’s voice.

Cosmic timing was a bitch, but it was a bitch you were interested in seeing through.

“Makima, wanna go to this okonomiyaki place?” You held up crumpled coupons with an air of nonchalance that you hoped seemed natural. If Makima sensed your hesitance, you couldn’t tell. You’d almost say she seemed surprised again. Not that I blame her after earlier. Not that it still wasn’t irritating. “Some people I helped out on a job a while back gave it to me and these expire tomorrow. I’ll pay this time since it’s discounted.” You added jokingly. “Feel free to say ‘no’ though since it’s a last minute offer.”

When there was no immediate response, you placed the coupons in your bag neatly. “Well, I’ll see you next week-”

“I’ll go.” Makima’s smile was small and light as she followed you out. “You just seemed angry at me before, I’m just surprised you asked me to tag along for dinner, kouhai.” A teasing lilt accompanied a mocking smile.

“You and me both, senpai.” You replied with more sarcasm than not. And there she goes, instantly making me regret this.

“Do you mind me asking why?”

“You just seemed lonely, is all.”

You didn’t notice you were walking alone until you were half way down the hall. “Makima?” You paused with a nonplussed raise of your eyebrow, looking back at where the redhead stood. She looked at you like you grew a third head, eyes shockingly wide and mouth slightly ajar. “You alright?”

Makima composed herself as if the strike of midnight broke the spell. “Yes.”

But was she? The answer to your unasked question eluded you.

“[First], mind if I drink this?” Himeno’s voice was nearly too loud in the practically empty room you sat in.

You nodded in the direction of your iced tea without taking your eyes off your paperwork. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Damn this tastes great, what is this?!” Himeno moaned, taking a lengthy sip. You doubted there’d be anything left for you by the time she finished.

“Some fancy elderberry assam tea. Makima got it for me.” She would give you a different kind of tea every week much to Nanaka’s chagrin. It seemed Makima had taken your preferences into consideration, she hadn’t brought you coffee again since her first odd attempt to bring you a drink. You accepted it this time, however. The first time felt more like an order. These times with tea felt more like offers. Besides, like I’m turning down a bomb cup of tea.

Himeno’s blue eyes twinkled in surprise, “Makima’s getting you tea?” The disbelief in her tone was less than subtle. “I guess you two are finally starting to get along better.”

“I wouldn’t say we didn’t get along before, we worked together just fine.” You racked your brain trying to find the best explanation. ‘We just had a mutual disinterest in one another’ seemed too harsh. “We just weren’t really trying to be friends before.” Not that you could confidently say you were friends even now. Are we?

Yet even as you thought that, there was something different to your partner that you couldn’t quite place. She seemed… relaxed somehow, if that was the right way to put it.

You didn’t want to completely delude yourself into thinking you were receiving some kind of special treatment. Regardless of her relationships with your living coworkers, you didn’t know anything about Makima’s relationships with her previous partners. Still you had the distinct feeling that the woman wasn’t the type to buy tea for someone she didn’t care for. Nanaka had been working at the Bureau for nearly two years and Makima hadn’t brought her anything.

What was with the time with coffee then? You stamped your name at the end of a document. It isn’t like I need an official friendship license from her but-

A thoughtful hum from Himeno swept you away from your thoughts. “I suppose that’s good. I hope this new buddy of mine’ll bring me drinks without me asking.” The next sip had the tell-tell sign of being filled with nothing but ice. Himeno continued to act blasé and, out of respect, you did the same. You weren’t sure how many partners the devil hunter had, you only knew they never seemed to last long.

You could only wish Himeno luck that this partner assignment would be different.

“I need a vacation. Maybe up north to Hokkaido this winter, I wanna see that snow festival in Sapporo.” Himeno sighed listlessly. “I need a change of scenery from home tonight too, but I don’t wanna go to my sister’s. She’s more worried about me than usual right now.”

“Wanna crash at my place for the night then?” You had finally moved from company housing into your own apartment. Himeno had been to the company provided apartment you had once before after you’d gone drinking with some other devil hunters. Invitations for Himeno to spend the night at your place were now only applicable as long as she was sober.

“If I did that, you wouldn’t let me get any sleep, [First].” Your friend winked.

“I’d let you get a little sleep, Hime.” You winked, pointing your pen at her.

Himeno gave you a light shove and squealed jokingly. “[First]! That isn’t talk for the office.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.” You giggled in return, signing the last of your paperwork as Himeno wrapped her arms around your shoulders. “But seriously though, if you wanna avoid your sister for a night, you can crash at my place if you-”

“[First].”

The two of you jolted out the sudden calling of your name. “Jeez, Makima warn a guy first!” You groaned, sighing as your heart rate slowed. You shot your partner a dirty look but it withered when you took notice of the dead-eyed glare pointed back at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look this pissed.

Makima’s eyes raised from your shoulders to your eyes. “Am I interrupting something?”

Himeno slid off your shoulders with a sheepish grin. “Morning, Makima.” She chuckled, clearly perturbed. “We were just goofing off, don’t mind us.”

Makima’s eyes drifted to you and you nodded, “I was just finishing up my paperwork and Himeno was keeping me company.”

“I see.” The corners of Makima’s lips turned upwards slightly but the rings of her eyes seemed colder than ever. “I just came to tell [First] it was time for us to head out on our patrol. Maybe you can goof off together next time.”

“Er, yeah.” You placed your paperwork, finished in the nick of time, to the side. “I’ll be right there, just give me a second.”

Himeno shot you a look that clearly read: What the hell’s wrong with her?

Girl, I don’t know. You shot back. If looks could kill would be an understatement, what happened to make Makima so upset in the first place? Even when the higher ups really had sticks up their asses, Makima never seemed phased. Nor did she ever seem particularly bothered when her weird bossy streak with you hadn’t gone her way.

What was so different about today?

Himeno waved you off when you were ready to leave, “have a good patrol.” She tossed your empty cup into a garbage bin. “I’ll go to one of those cool capsule hotels and shake things up tonight.”

With a wave of your own, you bid your friend adieu. You turned, finding Makima waiting for you expectantly. You expected her to be strolling down the hallway by now. You shared a quiet look, feeling as if you were being observed. Makima broke contact first as she finally led the way out of the building.

Now this… is an awkward silence. You pressed your lips into a line as people and cars alike passed you by. You glanced at Makima curiously, contemplating the reason for her upset. “You alright?” Your curiosity eventually won you over.

“What do you mean?” Your partner asked in response.

“You just seem…” you wondered what was the best way to put it. “Upset right now. Did something happen with the higher ups? Or is it a personal thing?”

Makima spared you a glance after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t realize you and Himeno were so close.”

That was the last thing you were expecting to come from Makima’s lips.

“I guess we’re pretty friendly. I go drinking with her and some of the others in her division sometimes.” Less than half the people from that first drinking party were still around now. “It’s a fun time if you ever go but just be careful about letting Himeno have one too many.” You always carefully stopped after two, Himeno was a bottomless pit who drank past her limits. Needless to say, you became one of the many devil hunters Himeno had drunkenly kissed.

Regardless, nothing had spoiled between you both.

You pursed your lips for a moment. “I’m not too much of a drinker. I know that work-drink culture is a big thing here in Japan, but I try not to do it too much especially if Himeno’s already been throwing it back.”

“Does she come to your home often?”

“Not particularly?” You answered truthfully. “She’s banned from coming over while drunk.” When you were still living in the company apartments, you had naively brought her over to sleep off her drinking. That night ended with her throwing up in your bathtub and falling asleep on the floor of your hallway. Never again. You shuddered. “She stops by every once and again but it’s usually me and my cats. You have any?”

“I have a few dogs.”

You gave Makima a look of appraisal. “You seem like a dog person, it makes sense.”

Compared to before, Makima’s mood seemed to shift into something more pleasant. “You seem like you would own cats.”

“Tell me about your dogs?” That simple question was what led to your discovery that Makima owned seven dogs, each named after a dessert she was fond of. You never would have pegged her for such an animal lover, nor were you sure how she always managed to keep her suits impeccably clean. Even after rolling over your clothes, you’d always find stray hairs that you missed hours after leaving your house.

When the conversation spilled into talking about your cats, you enthusiastically spared no details. Whether it was a dog, cat, fish or rabbit, you were sure any pet parent would agree coming home to them was one of the best feelings in the world. Your two were troublemakers to some extent. Bagheera would occasionally be a brat and knock over your pen if you didn’t pet him, you gave up trying to keep Tora from going onto the top of your fridge after a month of her developing the habit. You wouldn’t trade them for the world though. “You should come over and meet them some time.” You laughed at a memory of your cats sticking their paws under the door after you had the audacity to leave them behind. “If you don’t hate cats, I think you’d like them.”

Without missing a beat, Makima asked, “when can I come over?”

“You got any plans our next day off?” When her answer came back negative, you nodded in self-assurance. “Then if you got the time, swing on over to my place. We can eat or something, I haven’t had anyone over to this new place yet.”

Something about that statement made Makima’s eyes seem brighter. “I look forward to being the first.”

“I love my cats but I gotta give the disclaimer,” you remembered before you got too ahead of yourselves. “Tora can be pretty skittish when it comes to new people, so she might run off when she sees you. Her brother loves people though, so you have nothing to worry about with him.”

Makima was unperturbed by your revelation. “I’m quite good with animals.”

That was the same thing Himeno said before Tora promptly hid under your bed the rest of her first stay. But you didn’t see a reason to burst Makima’s bubble when she actually seemed excited to come over. “Alright, I’ll provide the dinner. You provide the movie.”

“What movies do you like?”

“Surprise me.” You wondered what sort of movies a person like Makima would enjoy. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?

“Surprise me.”

And surprised she would be, you swore, when you heard the knock on your door.

“Yo, welcome to my humble abode.” You greeted playfully as you swung open the door. Makima was pretty, that was an objective fact. Knowing that still didn’t prepare you for how taken aback you’d be by the pale pink wrap dress she was wearing. For once her hair was out of its usual braid, cascading down her shoulders in a sea of red. Makima was the exact definition of lovely.

“How do I look?” Makima’s voice pulled you out of your stupor.

“You look great, I feel so underdressed.” You weren’t dressed in your lounge clothes by any means, but you definitely weren’t dressed to impress anybody. Makima doesn’t seem like the type to even own sweatpants, why am I surprised she’d wear something pretty even to just hang out with a friend? You cursed your lack of awareness, knowing it was too late to suddenly change outfits.

“I like what you’re wearing, it’s best to wear something comfortable if you’re going to be cooking.” Makima sniffed the air lightly, “did you make carbonara? Carbonara and…”she paused for a moment. “steamed vegetables?”

“Damn how can you tell?” You clapped, impressed at her accurate guesses. “I also got everything to make affogato al caffe.”

Makima seemed quite pleased with herself, “I have a uniquely good sense of smell.” She pointed a slender finger at her nose. “I look forward to the dessert, I’ve only had affogato once.” She prepared to enter your house with the greetings finished, but you held a hand up before she could take a step forward.

“Ah ah ah.” you grinned mischievously. “What’s the movie?”

The last thing you were expecting her to hold was a Pulp Fiction DVD case. “I thought it would be fun watching this one, it’s a favorite of mine.” Her expressions morphed into one of questioning. “Are you a fan of crime movies? The storytelling is non-linear too.”

“No way, I love Samuel L. Jackson, we have to watch it.” You plucked the DVD from her small hands protectively. It was a classic Samuel L. movie you had yet to watch, it was time to rip the bandaid off. You stepped to the side with a noble bow. “You pass the movie check.”

It didn’t take long for your cats to take note of your guest. Bagheera made his way as you expected, eyes round with interest. Tora, unsurprisingly, kept her distance. “Tora,” Makima kneeled, hand waiting for the younger of your two cats expectantly. Her other hand brushed Bagheera’s chin lightly. “Come here.”

“She doesn’t really...” You left your sentence unfinished as you watched in awe as Tora bound forward, rubbing her head against Makima’s hand lovingly.

“What is it?” Makima asked as if she hadn’t easily gained the affection of your most fearful cat.

“I’m just surprised,” you relayed, still finding it unreal as your calico-tabby pressed her head into Makima’s hand once more. “Tora usually isn’t the best around people, usually just runs off immediately when she realizes someone else is in the house. Her brother’s the friendly one, which… you already knew.” And yet, this time your black tom wasn’t alone in his purrs and bunts as he indulged in your partner’s attention.

Amusement glinted in Makima’s eyes. “I did mention I have a way with animals, didn’t I?”

“Well excuse me for being a naysayer.” You roll your eyes with a snort. “Tora, you turncoat. You’re both being put up in my room while we eat.”

Makima shook her head, “it’ll be fine.”

“Trust me, Tora will not let you eat in peace.”

“You’ll let us eat in peace, won’t you, girl.” Makima booped Tora’s nose lightly.

And somehow, Tora did. Dinner was pleasant, the affogato was delicious and both your cats behaved like angels as you watched Pulp Fiction on your couch. Bagheera I can understand but Tora? Is this even my cat right now? You were convinced this had to be some sort of witchcraft, but your thoughts subsided as you fell deeper into the movie.

“Look, if you wanna play blind man go walk with the shepherd,” Jules said in annoyance as you glanced at the woman beside you with a feeling of satisfaction. Bagheera laid on her lap, purring softly while Tora snoozed close by. Then your phone rang, killing the pleasant atmosphere.

“Sorry, I just need to make sure this isn’t important.” You excused yourself while Makima paused the film, walking towards the kitchen. “Hello?”

“[Firrrst].” You released an immediate sigh of exasperation when you recognized the voice, drunkenly slurred and all. “I don’t wanna have to call my sister to pick me up.”

“Oh god, Himeno, how much did you drink?!”

Himeno sounded too noble for her own good. “A lady never gets drunk, she sips.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “And I’m over how they killed off Morris Chestnut in Anaconda 2.” You replied sarcastically, fighting back a grin at the sound of your friend’s giggles. “Just call your sister, you dumbass. Please tell me you’re not by yourself.”

“I’m at the restaurant still.” Himeno slurred and you sighed in relief. “Can’t I come over?”

“I have,” at the burning sense of staring on your back, you looked over at your guest to see her looking back at you. Just another second. “company over. Besides, you threw up in my bathtub at my old place last time. Come over when you’re sober.”

“You gonna keep me up all night then if I do?” Himeno hiccupped.

“Proposition me when you’re not drunk out your mind, I’ll do all the stuff you heart desires with breakfast included.”

“Can you just make me breakfast now?” Himeno whined and you hoped that she

“Himeno, if you don’t get off the phone with me and call your sister to pick you up. Look, what restaurant are you staying at? I’ll send over a cab to get you-”

“No, no, I’ll call her. I just needed a pep talk.”

“Good.” You released a breath of relief. The last thing the streets of Tokyo needed was a drunk devil hunter getting picked off because a devil spotted an opportunity. “Try not to drink so much next time? I’m gonna call to make sure you actually got home with your sister just fine.”

She’s like a maelstrom, you hung up the phone. “Sorry about that.” You beamed sheepishly as you made your way back to the couch. “Friends, am I right?”

“It’s fine.” You weren’t convinced with the way Makima’s small smile adopted its usual forcedness.

“... you sure you’re alright?” You asked after neither of you pressed play on the remote.

“Don’t…” Makima cut off her sentence as quickly as it began. She pet Bagheera’s head as if her life depended on it and it crossed your mind that even someone like Makima could feel nervous. “I don’t like it when you make those sorts of jokes.” She said at last as if it were a struggle to find the right phrasing. “The ones you make with Himeno.”

“Oh- I’m so sorry.” You apologize immediately the moment you recognized the jokes that were being referenced. “I didn’t realize I was making you uncomfortable. I’ll tell Himeno too, alright?”

At the pause, you felt that wasn’t a satisfactory response. “Makima?” You waited a moment. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me everything that’s wrong.” You sat closer than you previously sat to the redhead. Frustrated, that was the best way to describe the look on her face with her red eyebrows furrowed lightly.

“I don’t want you to make those jokes in general with anybody.”

Pretty dress, hair down.

You felt a sense of dread wash over you in your realization. “Is this a date?” When Makima’s eyes met yours, you already knew her answer. You wished you could throw yourself off a cliff.

“When I was invited over for dinner, I assumed that’s what this would be.” Dinner, a movie and of course you made dessert.

A date with Makima, that’s what this was. If someone told you when you first met, you’d be on one with her, you’d have thought they were drunk. Now that you were in this situation, you found yourself less bothered with it than what the past you would have expected. Makima was a beautiful woman, you weren’t blind to how she garnered attention from so many people. It had always simply been her attitude for you.

But this Makima, the one who enjoyed the company of your cats and enjoyed light banterー she was a Makima you’d be interested in dating.

No, what had you bothered now was the misunderstanding entirely. Makima was on Venus and you were on a different planet entirely.

“Please don’t consider this a real date, this shouldn’t count.” You pinched your nose in embarrassment. “Look, I’m a lot better at dates when I know I’m supposed to be on one. I need a date do-over.” Your friend wouldn’t call drunk, nor would you make jokes about sleeping with them. “Give me a chance to actually impress you. I don’t do boring dinner first dates, I make sure you have a good time. We could do… billiards!”

You were relieved that Makima seemed intrigued. “What do I get when I win?”

“Ohohoho, such confidence.” You snorted, light and amused. “What makes you think you’ll win?”

A lightness rolled off Makima in waves as she partook in your banter, “I’m a billiards champion.” The smile she gave reached her eyes.

The redhead looked more beautiful to you in that moment than she ever did in your entire time knowing her.

“Well in the very, very unlikely chance you win a round against me in a round of billiards…” You folded your arms, pretending to think deeply. “You get another date with me. And when I win, because I never lose,” you smirked loosely. “I’ll take you on another date. Equivalent exchange, win-win situation.”

As it turned out, Makima was a much better billiards player than you bargained for. Still, you got a date out of it.

One date.

Two dates.

Many dates you lost count of over the months. You were each other’s best kept secret, you didn’t want to incur the wrath that would come from Makima’s fans at the office if they knew you were dating her. You were sure the Rochas would be squealing with glee whenever they learned that pretty redhead did become your girlfriend. Oh they definitely won’t let me live that down. You chuckled to yourself as you placed a dish on the drying rack. “Custard, get that out your mouth.” You eyed one of the large dogs Makima called her own, chewing something you couldn’t see.

You groaned as the hound scurried away, mysterious piece of food in tow.

“Makima!” You called out for your girlfriend who was in her room watching Children of the Sea. “Can you get your dog?” When you got no response, you sighed. Custard, however, looked pleased as whatever she was eating had been happily consumed. Great. With a shake of your head, you turned off the kitchen light and headed for your girlfriend’s room.

It was Custard’s victory this time, you ceded as you peered into your girlfriend’s room. The film was at its climax with the odd yet pulling festival of rebirth.

You didn’t understand it when you first saw the film. It had you in the first half, with its promise of an ocean-themed coming-of-age movie from the protagonists. Then it devolved into visual acid with themes you couldn’t understand. Yet you watched it again and again, trying to figure out the meaning of the movie's metaphors. Somehow you fell in love with it, you thought, as you watched a frantic Ruka swimming with no avail to Umi who dissolved into millions of galaxies feasted upon the sea life.

You couldn’t say you completely understood it beyond a vague feeling, but you loved it all the same. You found it funny how it mirrored the evolution of your relationship. You smiled to yourself, deciding to make your presence known and tell your girlfriend as much. “Need a tissue, Maki?” You teased gently.

She always cried watching this movie; you almost had a heart attack the first time. Makima didn’t look like the type to cry while watching film. She was surprisingly picky when it came to them, but when she found one she truly enjoyed, her reaction would be apparent. “Maybe Ruka’ll meet the boys in another life.” You wiped the corner of her eye, though the tears were quickly replaced with more.

“You shouldn’t tease your girlfriend when she’s crying,” you thought she’d sniffle.

“Nanaka would be upset to hear you talk to me like this,” you figured Makima would tease in return, dabbing away at her eyes with tissue.

When she did neither of those things, dimly staring into your eyes, you knit your eyebrows in concern. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You entreated anxiously.

“Make love to me. That’s an order.” Was the last thing you thought would come from your girlfriend’s lips.

“I- what? No.” The flick you gave to Makima’s forehead was soft. “I’m not gonna have sex with you when you’re crying, you dummy.” Your words were soft despite your gruff choice in words. Makima was a virgin, much to your surprise when she told you. Popular as she was, you figured that she would have been with someone. “I’m waiting for the right person. I didn’t want something meaningless for the first time, I want it to be intimate.” She explained and you left it at that, saying that you’d take things at her pace. “We’re not doing anything when you’re upset.” You looked at your hands aimlessly before turning off the TV and closing the door.

You counted to three, inhaling and exhaling briefly.

When you came back to her bed, you brushed away your girlfriend’s tears again before pulling her into your chest and lying on your side. You licked your lips nervously. “Listen I… I’m not the best when it comes to talking about emotions. I suck ass at comforting people. But I’m here for you, Makima. Whatever it is, I can accept it. You don’t have to tell me now but whenever you’re ready, you can throw it at me. I’ll be here.”

You didn’t ask what was wrong again.

Not while Makima’s small hands clutched the front of your shirt tightly.

Not as you rubbed Makima’s back in soft caresses, hoping it would calm her down.

“I like dating you,” Makima murmured into your shirt when she was able. “I want things to stay like this. I want things to be equal.” Where on earth was this coming from?

“I like dating you too,” you reassured, not wanting to stoke the flames of her insecurities. “I like what we have going on. Is there a reason you feel like things are unequal?” You tried searching for moments in your relationship as lovers that might have made her feel like the dedication and commitment wasn’t even. You stroked the back of her head, fingers lingering on the silky feeling of her hair. “If I made you feel like I wasn’t in this with you, I’m sorry. I just need to know where I messed up and how I can be better.”

“What if I was a devil?” The room felt too quiet with that question and you paused your ministrations.

“What kind of devil are we talking about?” You murmured as Makima gripped the front of your shirt tighter and you tightened your hold in return. “A Spider Devil? Cat Devil? A Who-Cares-What Devil?”

“Control Devil.”

You inhaled deeply before releasing your breath. The adoration from your coworkers, Tora’s abnormal behavior. Nothing came as a surprise in the moment. “I could live with that.”

“I’d always have devil tendencies.”

You whispered, “I can deal with that.”

“I might try ordering you.” Makima didn’t fight back as you peeled the fingers of her hand from your shirt.

“You can try that. I’ve denied plenty of your orders before, I’ll do it again.” You kissed her palm lightly before kissing her fingers. “I think I told you before I’d flick your forehead if you tried pulling some nonsense on me. I can’t say things would always be easy.” No, you definitely weren’t naive enough to believe that. Love was a choice. Parents chose to love their children even when they were being irredeemable brats. Couples chose to stay together during the hard times. This was simply another version of that. A big version.

This was a secret that could never be spilled. You were sure if your parents knew what would come of you becoming a devil hunter, they would have hid your passport. You weren’t even sure what introducing Makima to your family would look like even before her revelation.

And yet, and yet.

“But I wouldn’t leave you for being a devil.” You vowed simply. “You’re Makima either way and that’s who I want to be with for the foreseeable future. Some hiccups aside, I think what we have is pretty damn equal. You can’t dominate the indomitable.”

The two of you laid down in silence before Makima spoke quietly, “I can’t make equal relationships with people as the Control Devil.”

“You made one with me.” The calm Makima unraveled with your words and her body racked against yours. You simply held her throughout it, wondering about the life Makima had before this.

Who else knew about Makima’s true identity?

Why was a devil being employed to kill other devils?

How long had Makima been alone in this situation to become the detached individual you first became acquainted with?

Despite the many thoughts swimming in your head, you still felt resolutely the same. Had you been given the chance to go back in time, you’d have pursued the same path once more. You woke up the next morning feeling the same way as the morning sunlight disturbed your slumber.

“You asleep?” You ran your fingers through her hair softly.

“I’m awake.” Eyes still closed, Makima hugged you tighter. Even without seeing her face, you could tell she was smiling. One with warmth that reached her voice. “I’m just listening.”

You couldn’t hold back a smile yourself. “I didn’t take you for the sappy type.”

Makima raised her head. “I think you were the sappy one last night.” Her eyes were a bit pink from her crying, but she looked otherwise pleased.

She was stunning.

You placed a hand on her cheek, brushing away a stray hair with your thumb. “You’re beautiful when you smile. When you actually smile. I could always tell you were faking before.” Makima’s eyes closed but her smile remained as she leaned into your palm, one of her own hands cupping the one holding her. “Can I kiss you?”

“Will you make a contract with me?” Makima opened her eyes with a question. With her true identity exposed, you could see why her eyes were ringed. There was something pulling about them, like a hypno wheel meant to hypnotize unsuspecting volunteers of a hypnotist. Fitting for the Control Devil. You wondered what it was that made you so resistant to them when the majority of your coworkers couldn’t stop fawning over Makima the moment they laid eyes on her.

“What’s the contract you have in mind?

“I won’t use my power on you, in exchange, we have to stay together forever. We’ll eat a lot together, sleep together, and live a happy life together.”

A lifelong contractー the contract of a lifetime. There would be no outs after you agreed to it, if you agreed to it.

There was no doubt in your mind however, as Makima held her heart on a silver platter. You, the member of your family who became a devil hunter just to have an excuse to leave your home country.

“That sounds like a good contract to me.” You pressed your lips firmly against hers. Makima wrapped her arms around your shoulders with equal vigor. Her lips spread easily at the gentle slide of your tongue on her bottom lip and warmth pooled in your stomach as your kissing continued.

Wordlessly, you looked down at her and she wordlessly gave you her answer. The Control Devil relinquishing control; there had to be nothing scarier to her. But she still trusted you; that made your heart swell with love and adoration.

You peppered her breasts with wet kisses as you unbuttoned her shirt, a hand trailing down to lift her skirt and slip off her undergarments. Makima exhaled deeply as your fingers faintly touched her folds. You kept up this teasing until Makima pressed her legs together to prevent your hand from moving. She’s so wet.

“It’s not fair that you’re still in all your clothes.” She breathed, breath ghosting your lips. You chuckled quietly, kissing her as an apology before slipping off your clothes.

You moaned in unison as your clits rubbed together. It was the morning and you were staving off the last of your sleep, tribbing felt like it would be the best move to go with. All you wanted that morning was to feel Makima against you and even then as you felt her sex against yours, it wasn’t close enough.

Damn, I wish I had the strap. The day you could finally use it on her couldn’t come soon enough you thought as you ground your core against hers. Makima would be beautiful taking it, just as she was now, head thrown back in pleasure. You wanted to tease her, bringing the Control Devil to the precipice of pleasure before denying her release. You wanted to spoil her and give everything she wanted until society collapsed in on itself.

Makima’s hips bucked underneath you, moaning and mewling softly. You wanted to see her when she came. You circled her clit as you thrust yourselves against one another, chasing Makima’s release.

With a shudder, Makima came with your name on her lips and you tumbled over the edge with her after a few more thrusts.

Euphoria. That was what Makima was in as you kissed her cheeks and forehead, whispering sweet things in her ear. Pure, unadulterated euphoria. “You were so good for me.” You praised her. “I love you.”

Love.

Love she wouldn’t need her powers for.

Love based on equity.

Not the cheap imitations she received from Nanaka, Tsubomi and Akira. Nor the cold callous from the government officials that raised her. This was agapé. The love she saw in movies and novels.

You would stay together forever. You would eat a lot together, sleep together and live a long life together. That was the contract you agreed to.

“I love you, [First].” Makima held you closely as she came down from her high.

She loved you and you loved her.

Nothing could come between you both.

You smiled lazily as Makima regained her composure. “The next time we get time off, we should go on a vacation together.”

“Yes,” Makima smiled in return. “we should. A long vacation, just the two of us.”

It didn’t matter where, you just needed to be together. Nothing could be allowed to come between this bond. Not work, nor death. She’d follow you from this life to the next.

This was your contract.

Makima crossed her arms behind her back as she stared down the higher ups of the Tokyo Branch Bureau made with plastic and false pleasantries.

“You’ll let me leave the Public Safety Bureau with a large severance pay. That’s an order.”

#look she's writing #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #makima x reader #kinktober #ish #makima smut #kinktober 2022

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bunni-v1 · 11 months

Text

Curée

Chapter 1: Monster in the Woods Next Chapter

Tw: Mentions of animal death

Info: Rook x Reader; Vil x Reader(familial); Epel x Reader(platonic)

🍓Ahhhh, it's done! If this is well received, I will continue it. If not, I guess I'll drop it. Oh well, I worked hard on this... so I hope you all enjoy it!

Tags: @kitsun369 @bloomstruck

You hated parties, plain and simple. Socializing with the elites of society was always so drab. Their fake smiles, empty compliments, and hideous attire always made them hard to deal with. The worst part, however, had to be getting ready beforehand. Your handmaids awoke you before the sun was even up, practically drowned you in your bath, and then stuffed you into the tightest corset only to make it worse with the fluffiest dress known to man.

You understood you had to look presentable, but beauty comes at a hefty cost — a cost you hated paying.

If you had a choice, you would be out hunting. Feeling the wind in your hair, smelling the sweet soil of the earth, and hearing the melodic tunes the birds would sing for you. However, you were the princess. You were obligated to be at your own birthday celebration, you supposed.

Besides, since your parents passed, Vil had become rather restrictive in what you can and cannot do. Vil loved you, and only wanted what was best for you. You understood that he was scared that he could lose you, too. Neither of you could ever live without the other. You were his rock, and in turn, he was yours. That's how it always had been. So, for the sake of your brother’s sanity, you gave up adventure for a more “acceptable” lifestyle.

Still, Vil would catch you staring out over the trees in longing, just as you were doing right now, and scold you. ‘You have a duty,’ ‘You cannot risk yourself, we have a kingdom to lead,’ and so on.

How you missed it, though.

A knock sounded at your door, pulling you out of your thoughts. The maids were finished with you for now, who could this be…?

“Who is it,” you called, poising yourself just in case it was your brother.

“It’s Epel, your majesty!”

You relaxed again — well, as much as this corset would allow you to.

“Come in,” you called, adding as he turned to face you, “and none of that Your Majesty nonsense around me, we are friends first Epel.”

“I know,” he laughed, “You can never be too sure when Vil is lurking around.”

“You are right, and the last thing you need is to be in trouble with Vil once again.”

You gestured for him to sit on the window sill next to you, and he smiled. Epel was likely your only true friend in the castle. Plucked off the streets by your brother, thanks to his charming face, and made a lower member of the court. The only member that wouldn’t snitch on you and your misadventures to gain favor with your brother. He was the only reason you were able to have any fun in your boring castle life.

“What brings you by, Vil seemed to have you on a busy schedule until the party, so I’m sure this must be important if it’s worth Vil’s wrath.”

“I have a present for you,” he replied, eyes lighting up in mischief.

“Epel,” you deadpanned “I’ll be opening all my presents tonight in front of the party-goers. You may be my friend but you don’t get special treatment.”

“No, no, no, this is a special secret gift,” he smirked.

“Please tell me you won’t try and court me.”

“Euch, no. Just- Here.”

He pulled an ornate box from behind his back and placed it in your lap, wrapped in a lovely velvety red bow. It was rather large and rectangular, and you weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it when he came in. You raised your eyebrows at him, and he waved his hands to urge you on.

You began to carefully undo the bow on the top, humming as it fell off onto the floor. It seems Epel had taken care when packaging this gift, so you would take care to open it. Lifting the lid, you found a protective felt covering over whatever this was.

“Could you hurry up,” Epel snapped, earning a glare from you.

“I don’t want to damage the packaging! You took such care with it.”

“You’re too sentimental. Let me do it.”

He reached over and, without much fanfare, revealed a bow. A bow made out of the finest wood you’d ever seen, painted white and purple. Hand-carved designs along its limbs, golden details highlighting each intricate swirl in the pattern. It was the most beautiful bow you’d ever seen, the sturdiest as well. You ran your hands along it in awe and delight. Along with it was an equally intricate quiver stocked with arrows of similar design to the bow.

“Epel, this is…”

“I know you’re not allowed to go hunting with me anymore, but… I thought that maybe tonight we could make an exception?”

“Vil would be…”

“What Vil doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

You frowned, looking back to the beautiful bow your friend had made for you. Your brother would be crossed with you if went against his wishes. You looked back to Epel, hope glimmering in those comforting eyes of his. Damn it all.

“Alright, just this once, though. This bow is too pretty to be wasted after all.”

Epel practically jumped with glee at your answer, hopping around like a mad hatter and whooping with delight. His excitement was infectious, and if your corset weren’t so painful to move in, you’d have joined him. Instead, you laughed at his antics and cheered him on from your seat on the window sill.

Another knock at your door caused the commotion to stop suddenly. Epel frantically took the bow and tossed it beneath your bed before peaking his head outside the door.

“Your Majesty… funny seeing you here…” he chuckled nervously, and you knew he would be in some hot water later.

“You are supposed to be with the rest of the court. Instead, I hear you are not only not doing that, but you are harassing the person of the hour with your screaming,” Vil scolded as he pushed his way into the room.

“I was just visiting them. We are friends, after all.”

“Friends or not, Epel, they do not need you bothering them in their private quarters on such an important day.”

“Oh, Vil, please. I invited him here because I was bored on my lonesome,” you sighed, “Epel, you are dismissed. I will deal with Vil.”

Epel scrambled out of the room as if it was on fire — with Vil’s temper, it might as well be. You turned to your brother, annoyance clear on your face, and he matched the look.

“You learned that look from me, you know.” he snarked.

“Well, I wear it better,” you sassed back, earning a smile from your brother.

He moved to your tea table, sitting in his usual seat against the wall and gesturing for you to do the same. You follow suit, sitting in the one with the clearest view of the forest. Without meaning to, you allow your eyes to linger a moment too long, and while Vil does not say anything you know he noticed. He reaches his hands across the table and grabs yours in his own like he always does when he is alone with you.

“You look beautiful, our parents would be so proud.”

“I feel as though this corset wants my insides to be my outsides.”

He laughs, bright and clear like the morning sun — he rarely does anymore, so you savor every moment you can get. His hands squeeze yours tight, and you squeeze back just as tight, suppressing the proud grin you had for making him laugh.

“Today is special,” he spoke softly, running his thumbs over your knuckles.

“It is, I am old enough to be wed — perhaps I could marry Epel, then he will truly be family.”

He grimaced, pulling away from you, “Please don’t suggest such a thing.”

“You know we are the least compatible people on this planet,” you laugh, “besides, he is already family enough.”

He nods, either in agreement or understanding — you cannot make out which it is from his expression. He recomposes himself, schooling his expression into one of practiced poise, and you know your brother will not want to joke around anymore. Sucking it up, you follow his lead and school your expression as well.

“I’m assuming you didn’t come here just to scare off Epel, did you?”

“Astute as ever, darling,” something in his voice sends chills up your spine. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what. “You are… older now. Old enough to marry.”

“I… know that, as I’ve said. That was just in jest, nothing serious.”

He stands, moving to pace around the room as if this was more stressful for him than it was for you. Knowing your brother, it most likely was. Still, you didn’t quite understand what his purpose was.

“My love, perhaps it is time you stop jesting. You are a Princess. You have duties, and… as the queen of this country, I must ensure you fulfill them.”

“Vil-“

“I’m not saying you have to make your decision right now, Sevens knows I don’t want you getting married yet. Still, there are suitors who would like a grab at your hand.”

“Vil, this is-“

“I’ve told a few that they may try your hand, but if they are forceful you will tell me and I will deal with them at once.”

“You… approved these strangers without my permission? Vil! How could you?“

“This is what is best for you, I’m sorry…”

He stops in front of you, bending down to look you in the eyes and gently taking your face into his hands.

“You know I have never once asked something of you that I did not see as necessary,” he said, uncharacteristically desperate, “Please understand, I am doing what is best here.”

Truthfully, you did not understand. You did not understand at all and you were angry. This was the angriest you had ever been with Vil — far more angry than when he banned you from hunting. He had deliberately done this behind your back. He was stripping you of your freedom as a person without your okaying it first.

This was unfair. This was sickening. This was… this was… this was the life you were born into. This was the responsibility you would have to bear at one point or another. So despite the burning rage in the pits of your stomach, you sighed and pressed your brother into a tight hug.

“I understand, Vil. I’m not angry with you,” you lied, voice sweet as honey.

You’ve become quite good at lying.

He pulled away, standing and recomposing himself fully before cusping your face in his hands again. He seemed to be going through a million different emotions at once, but the most obvious seemed to be guilt. He truly did mean only the best for you.

“I must go, I am very busy with planning,” he stated suddenly, turning for the door, “I will see you tonight, the handmaids will be back to tend to your hair soon.”

With a final, graceful wave, he was gone and you were alone. Alone to sit with the thoughts that he had forced into your head. Alone, knowing that the freedom you longed for would forever be out of your grasp.

You looked to the forest for an answer, but it remained silent.

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

The party was in full swing now. The cacophony of people chattering amongst themselves and the whining sounds of the orchestra’s strings were giving you a headache. Looking at the swirling colors of horrendous dresses and suits – far too ornate and gaudy – only seemed to further the ache in the back of your skull.

You sighed, massaging your temples for the millionth time tonight. This wouldn’t be so bad if you could get up and drink and let loose like your guests, but as the princess, you had to keep appearances. Regardless, this stupid corset and dress hardly allowed any freedom of movement, so dancing wasn’t exactly an option.

Your brother seemed pleased with you, though, with a pleasant smile on his face each time he locked eyes with you from his place in the crowd. He was allowed to mingle, but not you. You were far too important for such a thing.

Sigh. Keeping Vil happy was far more important than pretending to enjoy the company of your party guests, you supposed. Still, you were quite jealous of your brother's freedom to move around and do as he pleased.

You scanned the crowd, taking note of the more important people among the average attendees. Leona Kingscholar was likely the most notable, being the prince of one of the largest kingdoms in all of Twisted Wonderland. While he wasn’t a direct heir to the throne, the power he held as second in line – technically third if their kingdom dared to crown such a young child as king – was substantial. He had quite an air about him. You were intrigued, but he scowled every time he looked your way, so the sentiment was not shared.

Riddle Rosehearts, the son of the neighboring kingdom's governess. You never liked his mother, she was controlling with quite the temper. Riddle only seemed to be the same, with a fiery temper worse than Vil’s own. He was quite a stickler for the rules, making him a perfect candidate to take a spot in his country's cabinet as soon as possible. He was already working as an intern below his mother, so it was only a matter of time before he worked his way to higher power. How terrifying for his people.

Kalim Al-Asim was, perhaps, the only aristocrat you liked at this god-forsaken party, alongside his right-hand Jamil Viper. An heir to an extremely successful oil company, he was the second closest thing to royalty that one man could possibly be. He had a bright smile on his face every moment, and it seemed to catch on with the other party-goers. Every time he looked up to you, he gave you an excited wave that almost made the corset worth wearing.

There were other notable men, such as Azul Ashengrotto who was the head of – what you assumed to be – a very successful business of sorts. You weren’t sure of what it was, but you knew it wasn’t completely legal. Idia Shroud was also among the men in the crowd, though he seemed like he’d rather be dead than be here. You could not blame him. He was a known shut-in, and rather unpleasant to talk to. Still, he had the power to inherit from his family, earning him a spot among the elite.

You could tell detailed accounts of every single person in this ballroom's life, even the more average citizens that were allowed in. That aristocrat recently cheated on his wife, causing her to leave him with half the fortune and their three children. That woman in the glittering green dress was a known harlot, sleeping around with any man or woman she could just for fun. You respected her for her freedom and for scheming her way into the pockets of the ultra-wealthy.

That one handled finances, those two over there were distant cousins of the crown in a neighboring kingdom, and that blonde man… Who was that blonde man? You’d… never seen him before, but he was captivating in a way you’d not expected.

His straight-cut blond hair was hidden beneath a most peculiar hat. He had sharp green eyes that seemed to stare straight into your soul. His dress was far more humble than the other nobles. A simple suit with pretty purple accents to respect the crown.

He locked eyes with you for a moment, smirking to himself as if he had found you amusing. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he winked at you, and then… he disappeared behind a pillar. You searched around for him frantically, but he was gone for good, it seemed.

You frowned, slumping down onto your throne, tossing your head back in defeat. Now that the only interesting person here was gone, you would be stuck in this very uncomfortable seat for at least another three hours with nothing to do. You might as well get comfortable.

Suddenly, however, a voice cleared in front of you, interrupting your wallowing. You raise your head with a scowl, only to jolt up at the scariest sight known to man. Your brother, arms crossed with a stern glare, and next to him two of the most powerful men in all of Twisted Wonderland.

When had they even begun heading up here, while you were lost searching for your mysterious Romeo?

Malleus Draconia, and next to him was his right hand Lilia Vanrouge. Malleus was tall, dark, and horrifying to be in the presence of. One of the most powerful mages in the whole world, and the heir to the strongest kingdom known among your circle of aristocrats. He always looked as stony as the position he held, and being up close was far worse.

Lilia, while far more inviting than his master, was not someone to be taken lightly. He was an impressive magician with skills rivaling most of his peers – he was also the man who taught Malleus everything he knew. Not only this, but he was a renowned general and caused the devastation of thousands of human lives.

Their kingdom had just recently joined the united front that your own was a part of, leaving only the notoriously reclusive Nobel Bell as the last independent kingdom yet to join. Supposedly they were trying to introduce Fae to human society, as they’d been living in fear since the great war ended. This was the first big human celebration Malleus had been to since the agreement went through. Perhaps that was why your brother brought him to meet you personally.

Surely, that was it.

You stood, smiling at the pair with a small curtsey out of respect – your brother nodded his approval.

“Vil, who might these two lovely people be?” you asked, feigning ignorance though you had no reason to. Everyone who was anyone could recognize these two without thought.

“This is Prince Malleus of The Valley of Thorns, and his courtier Lilia Vanrouge,” Vil introduced, seemingly a bit unnerved – quite unlike him.

You introduced yourself in kind, curtseying again to show your respect, less Vill feed you to the dogs tonight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, especially since you came so far just to see me on my birthday.”

“A birthday is an important event,” Malleus states matter-of-factly, voice deep and smooth as chocolate.

“I suppose you are correct, Your Highness. Still, it is quite a ways to travel and I am honored that you would make yourself a guest for my birthday party,” you responded, proper and elegant as you had been trained.

“Of course, I would come, you are my future partner, after all,” Malleus states, again, as if it is fact.

This time, however, you break your perfect facade with a furrow of your brow. Your hands place themselves sturdily on your hips and you tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

Before he can speak, Lilia inserts himself, “Nothing is for certain, he is just one of the many lucky men who have been allowed a try at your hand.”

You try and steel yourself, but all you can manage is to straighten your back and scowl at your idiot brother. “I see, well, I’m sorry Prince Draconia, but you’ll have to work harder than that if you want my hand.” You stand from your seat, head as high as you can get it, “I am not a toy to be played with, I am a Princess and I expect to be treated as more than an object for you,” you turn to the crowd, which was gawking at your display already, “or any other man here’s liking!”

“Princess-” Vil tries, but you are already beginning to leave the situation. This party was simply a ruse to sell you off to the highest bidder, and you wanted no part in the auction.

You don’t allow yourself to hear Malleus’ response, and you certainly do not allow Vil to stop you from leaving. Perhaps you were throwing a tantrum, maybe you were being childish, but you felt violated. You wanted to be anywhere but near any of those men at this moment.

No one dared to stop the angry princess from storming out of her own party, not even the guards assigned to keep her there.

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

The moment you got to your room you ripped the stupid dress off your body. Layer after layer, string after string was hastily removed until you could finally see your arms and legs again. Next would have been your corset, if you could reach the damn knot those stupid handmaids had tied.

You struggled for what felt like an eternity until you could not stand, and fell into a sobbing heap upon your bed, hardly able to breathe through your tears.

“Stupid party, stupid dress, stupid corset,” you cried, “stupid, evil brother.”

A knock sounded at the door, and you curled into yourself as much as you could. You didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment – let alone your brother. You could hear his scoldings enough in your head already, you didn’t need anymore.

You heard the door creak open, and you covered your ears, waiting for an onslaught of insults and anger. Instead, you were greeted by a gentle hand on your arm. You sniffled, slowly unwinding yourself to look at who it was – surprised to see Epel.

He’d never entered without an invitation before.

“Before ya yell at me, I jus’ figured ya needed a pal,” he said gently, rubbing your shoulder in small soothing motions.

“Wh-what about Vil…?” you manage to mumble out as your tears begin to subside.

“Too busy tryin’ ta keep face, so we can jus’ talk like normal.”

You nod, and Epel helps you to sit up properly, keeping a steady hand on you at all times. This was, perhaps, the most kindness you’d ever felt from a person in your whole life. Your brother was often cold and distant, even when he was reassuring you. Epel was always warm and inviting. You were glad to have him as a friend here.

He eased you to your feet, and from there he helped you out of your corset and into far more breathable clothing – your hunting clothes, from when you were younger. They were a bit too small now, but Epel still complimented your appearance as if you were in that same ballgown.

“Thank you Epel,” you sighed out, “did you…”

“Hear yer whole speech? Yeah, me and the whole party.” He laughed, giving you a comforting pat on the back.

You groaned, burying your head in your hands. Vil would never let you hear the end of it, your life and status was ruined – all because you couldn't control yourself. You were not made to be.

“Hey, hey, don’ cry ya hear,” Epel soothed, “most of the guests found it funny, ‘specially that one Lion guy whose always mean ta ya.”

“Leona found it funny?” you asked from behind your hands.

“He was hootin’ and hollerin’ like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen!”

You laughed a little, the image of a smiley Leona Kingscholar being enough to cheer you up. You smoothed over your ruined hair, looking into the body-length mirror across the room. You looked like a disaster, with clothes far too small for you and hair still half up and frizzy. You looked like you, and it made you smile.

“Thank you for helping me Epel, you are a good friend,” you said gently, taking his hands into yours.

“Maybe we should ask Vil if ya can marry me, then ya wo’ have’ta deal with all this mess.” He joked with a devious laugh.

You blanched, pulling away as fast as you could. That only served to make him laugh harder, nearly doubling over onto the floor. You couldn’t help but join him after a point, and you could hardly remember what had made you so upset in the first place.

Once the both of you settled, Epel turned to you with a more serious face. You squinted at him, knowing whatever idea he was about to voice would be incredibly idiotic. Still, his stupid plans were always the most fun.

“Yer all dressed up fer it, so why don’ we do a bit of hunting,” he proposed.

You raised your eyebrows, as if to challenge him, though you both know he had already won you over. “What about Vil, he’ll surely be looking for me in a short while.”

“He’s busy tryin’ ta fix the mess ya made – c’mon, you already said ya would.”

You feigned conflict for a moment, closing your eyes and placing a hand on your chin. You could feel Epel’s nervous squirming next to you, and you grinned wide and bright. “How could I possibly say no?”

“I’ll get ma knives,” he said, practically scuttling out the door, “Meet me at the fountain out back, I’ll be real quick!”

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

You’d never felt this free. Not since before your parents passed, at least. The wind, the dirt, the trees – you missed it all so much. You spun around, laughing as you did so, earning yourself a side eye from Epel.

You didn’t care, though, letting out a big sigh of relief, “How I missed this place!”

You blew kisses to the sky, the trees, the ground, the animals, even to Epel. You didn’t realize how badly you wanted this until you were here.

“Be quiet ‘nd stop movin’ so much, yer gonna scare off all the animals,” Epel scolded.

“Okay, Vil.”

“Hey!”

You laughed, bounding ahead without a care in the world. You hadn’t been to your usual hunting spot in a while, you wondered if it had changed much. If Epel even went to it without you, or if he had his own spot away from it.

Caught up in your high of temporary freedom, you almost missed a blur in the side of your vision. Too large to be any animal from this forest. Your head shot to the side, moving to draw a bow.

“What, what did’ja see,” Epel asked, and you were quick to shush him.

Drawing your bow, you watched the landscape with a careful eye, waiting for any subtle movement. You looked for any sound, any smell that could give away this mystery creature's position. You narrowed your eyes, focusing on where you first saw the figure, and… AHA! You fired your arrow, hitting your target head-on.

Both you and Epel scrambled over to see what you hit. Your heart was racing – what if it wasn’t just an animal, what then? You took a deep breath and pulled back the bushes to reveal… a deer. A buck, to be precise. You sighed.

“Just a deer.”

“All that tension for nothin’, you gotta stop scarin’ me like that.”

“Sorry Epel, I thought it was something else.”

“Whatever, jus’ relax, ‘kay?”

Little did either of you know, there was something – someone lurking in the darkness. Sharp green eyes follow your every movement with the same curiosity you watched them with earlier.

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

It had been more than a few hours since you arrived at your designated hunting spot – still the same as you remembered it. The two of you had gotten yourself a good hunt; a vast collection of little critters native to these pretty forests. The butcher in town would have an influx of goods soon enough.

Vil was, no doubt, already looking for you. You were sure he was assembling a guard at this very moment to come and find you, but you couldn’t care less. You had earned this little rebellion, no matter what he thought of it. Still, you couldn’t help the little ache in your chest telling you that what you were doing was cruel in an unimaginable way.

You hummed, sitting yourself down on a stump, neatly setting your bow and quiver next to you. Epel joined you with a curious raise of his brow, throwing his equipment off. You leaned onto his shoulder, smiling up at him. He smiled back, resting his head against yours.

He was more like a brother to you than your brother was. You don’t know what you’d do without him.

“Vil’s gonna kill me when we get back,” you sighed, feeling all the energy from before leaving your body.

Reality had to creep back in at some point, you just wished that it wasn’t so damn soon. You could spend a few more weeks out here with Epel. It was so peaceful, so calm, and everything you had missed so desperately since your parents passing.

“He’s gonna kill me more than you, ‘f it makes ya feel better,” Epel joked, trying his best to lift the mood.

You sighed, “What if we didn’t go back, then neither of us would die and we could stay out here forever.”

“Even ‘f we could, yer running out’ve arrows, and it won’ be any fun if you can’t hunt.”

You hopped to your feet, groaning as your feet ached in protest. You hadn’t noticed how tense your body had become from all your activity tonight. That's what you get for not being allowed to do any physical labor. You stretched your arms high above your head, twisting this way and that to ease the pain when you saw something.

This time it was much bigger than the buck before. You tensed, turning to Epel, who had also noticed – if the look on his face was any indicator. Carefully, he crept toward his discarded equipment, to not catch the giant things' attention. He handed you your bow and quiver, though you were quickly running out of arrows to defend yourself with.

A rustle sounded in front of the clearing, and the smell of this thing hit you all at once. The air in your little self-made clearing had become thick and heavy with ink. The kind you had back in your study, but the smell was suffocating. You placed part of your cape over your mouth to filter it a bit, but the smell persisted as strong as ever.

“What do you think it is,” you whisper to Epel, who seems to be doing just as bad as you are.

“Not sure, but I ain’t smelled somethin’ like this in my whole life.”

You nodded. You had no idea what this thing was – too big to be any animal you know. Most certainly not a human, so no worries about Vil’s guards. The size wasn’t what scared you, but the smell. An unknown animal that smelled like ink… unheard of.

The closer the thing came, the worse the smell got and the louder its movements became until you were sure it was right outside the clearing. You and Epel could try to run, but you had no idea how fast or smart this thing was – running could be a worse choice than staying and fighting it.

You looked to Epel, and he narrowed his eyebrows as if to ask if you were with him or not. With a deep breath, you drew an arrow out of the quiver, set it, and aimed right at where the large shadow loomed. You exhaled as you let the bow fly through the air, successfully hitting your target.

It let out the most horrific, gurgling scream you had ever heard in your life – confirming that it was not an animal, but something far worse. It emerged from its hiding place.

This thing was nearly three men taller than you and covered in this thick, black, dripping ink. Worse yet, it had no face, just a glass jar oozing more ink out of it. You felt your heart skip a beat, but you couldn’t panic – not now that you had its attention.

Drawing another bow, you shouted at Epel, “Run back to the castle and find someone to help.”

“I am not leavin’ you here!”

“And I’m not accepting that answer. I’m more skilled than you in combat, and you’re faster on your feet than I am. You can get there faster than I ever could, and you could save me if you’re fast enough.” You said as you began to make distance with the monster. It was slow enough that you could move, but not so much that you could take your eyes off it.

“What– I can’t–”

“Epel, as your Princess I am ordering you to do this. Please.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment, and you were afraid he would disobey you. He muttered something angrily, and without another word, carefully crept away into the woods. The creature turned to where his footsteps fell, beginning to slump toward him – surprisingly fast for its size. You drew another arrow, shooting it on its right side, and watching as the arrow slowly sunk into its inky surface.

It turned in your direction, gurgling as it charged forward blindly. You scrambled back, almost losing your balance more than a few times – you were too rusty to be in such a risky position. You charged deeper into the forest as fast as you could, peeking over your shoulder to ensure it was far enough away from you at all times.

You didn’t have time to find high ground, so you settled on hopping from bush to bush and tree to tree. You hit it multiple times successfully, but it only served to make it even more angry with you. Its ink was impervious to human weapons.

Settling behind a tree, you reached up into your quiver to grab another arrow. Shit. Only two arrows left, not that they would’ve done you much good, but they were your last line of defense. You realize, now that you can’t turn back, that you should’ve gone with Epel.

Shaking your head, you knew you couldn’t give up just yet. You couldn’t die here, for your brother's sake. You took a deep breath, placing a hand over your racing heart. Calm, you thought, calm like a princess, think like a princess.

Okay. This thing didn’t seem to be able to see you, but it could hear – or maybe it was vibrations, but it seemingly could find you based solely on that. Hitting it’s body didn’t work, but you hadn’t thought to try for the “head” yet. If you could shatter the glass, maybe that could stop it.

The glass jar was small and hard to make out beneath the ink and the dark of night, but you could estimate where to hit based on what you saw earlier. With only two arrows left, you had to be smart and swift, lest this thing make you its next meal – if it ate, that is.

You swallowed, plucking your second to last arrow from the quiver and drawing it in your bow. Peaking around the tree, you lined up the shot just right, then sent the arrow hurling across the forest. It hit with a satisfying ‘crack’, and you’d hit your target dead on.

For extra measure, you took your last bow and drew it, aiming toward the beast and shooting the glass head once more. Another ‘crack’ and a few ‘thumps’ as thick pieces of its head fell to the ground. It remained unmoving in front of you, and you watched it with careful anticipation.

When it did not move again, you sighed, sinking to the floor in relief, holding your head in your hands. You had done it, you had killed the beast. You would live to see your brother, and you could not wait for his rage at your disobedience. You would take his anger over this any day.

Just then, however, you felt something in front of you. Your head shot up, and you would’ve screamed at the sight if it weren’t for the hand over your mouth.

In front of you was crouched the young man from the party, green eyes shining mischievously in front of you. He was still in his party attire, with the same goofy feathered hat as before. You narrowed your eyes at him, and he smiled leaning forward to whisper in your ear.

“Hush, Ma Belle,” he whispered, and you felt as though you might melt, “it can hear us if we’re too loud.”

You nodded, and he carefully pulled his hand away from your mouth. He, too, had a bow on his back – though his seemed to have a more magical tendency to it. You were not allowed to be around magic, thanks to the dangers it possessed, but you could recognize it easily since your father was once a talented magician and showed you all sorts of magical things.

This strange man noticed your eyes and gave you a wink. He stood to his feet, gesturing for you to stay where you were, and waltzed out in the open to the creature. You peeked out from your spot, watching with bated breath.

The creature was twitching, its inky mass bubbling in a disgusting display. You had done quite a bit of damage to it, but not enough to kill it. The man, seemingly unphased by this sight, drew his arrow – infused with a glowing red magic – and shot it. The second it hit the monster, the ink began to boil and slowly slough off until there was nothing left but broken glass.

The man approached it, picking up a piece of glass and putting it in an inner jacket pocket. He turned to look at you, gesturing you forward with a come hither motion. Stunned, and unable to fully comprehend what had just happened, you stumbled forward as he wanted. You stopped awkwardly at his side, losing all sense of refinement and grace from before.

The man stood, fully addressing you now.

“You are a talented huntsman,” he said, voice silky smooth making you melt from the inside.

“Ah- uhm, ahem, thank you,” you paused, then quickly added, “You- you are as well, sir.”

He grinned, seemingly happy that you noticed, “Do you know what that creature you just fought was?”

“Uhm… I think I’ve heard of it in fairy tales, but those are just…”

“Scary stories to keep cute little things like yourself safe?”

You frowned, “I am not little, you were at my party earlier, were you not? You should be speaking to me with respect.”

“My apologies Your Majesty,” he bowed deeply, “you are cute though.”

You huffed, feeling your face warm at the compliment. The audacity of this strange man to speak to you like this. You… quite liked it.

“Just tell me what that thing was, and I won’t have you charged with harassment,” you threatened emptily.

He hummed, “If you must know, that was a phantom – the remnants of a magician who died from blot.”

You gasped. Blot was only in the fairy tales your mother would tell you… but so was that monster. Seeming to understand your confusion, the man pats you on the head.

“A sheltered princess is not expected to know so much about the world around them, do not worry Ma Belle,” he eased.

You had a million questions. Why was that thing in your forest? How could something like this possibly happen? Was Vil aware of these things? Why did he not tell you about them? Was this why you weren’t allowed in the forest? Most importantly, who was this mysterious savior of yours?

Before you could ask anything, however, the sounds of shouting came from somewhere further out. The man seemed to consider it, smiling a knowing smile, and then turned to you again. He took your hand, placing a kiss on its top.

“That is my sign to take my leave,” he stated simply, “do watch your back, princess. There are those in this world who wish you harm, and we could not have a pretty thing like you getting hurt, hmm?”

You swallowed thickly, feeling your face heating up at his words and a million more questions filled your head. You gaped at him, unsure of how to respond to what he said, completely captivated by his words.

He chuckled, eyes squinting in a beautiful way as he did so. He seemed to ponder something for a moment, despite his supposed need to leave. He placed a hand on the brim of his hat, smoothing it over, and his face lit up with delight. Seems he had found the answer, taking his hat off and placing it firmly on your head.

“An excuse to see you once more, Ma Belle,” and with a flourish of his hand, he was off into the darkness.

As the voices came closer and closer, you could not peel your eyes off of where he came from. Who was that mysterious stranger, and why did he make your heart pound so hard?

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carmesi-butterfly · 9 months

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thoughts on submissive gyuvin at 3:10 am

my first time writing smut, i feel like this turned out awful but i did my best ok 😔 because it's the first time i do it i don't know how to tag most of the stuff,, sorry

my random thoughts about submissive gyuvin. word count 591. warnings overstimulation, dumbification (?), sex without condom, finishing inside. no proofread.

"a-ah... i ca-ah! i can't believe you're doing this to me" were the only coherent words dropped from your boyfriend's mouth.

hours of overstimulation ended up with a destroyed gyuvin, his hair looking messy and his body all sticky covered by a mix of sweat, saliva, and sexual fluids of all the orgasms you took out of him, a few of them being yours too. poor gyuvin was being fucked so well by his partner that he couldn't even tangle two thoughts together to form a simple sentence, just babbling words as a way to express how fine it felt.

every bounce to his dick made him drop a moan as if it was an automatic setting in his body, please don't make fun of him, it's so hard to handle it :( your cunt sucking him for the who-knows-what time in the last few hours, milking him dry till the last drop.

"you think you can cum again, sweetie?" you asked, in such a sweet voice that made the boy think he could finish by only hearing you. the riding became more hectic, your pussy slamming into his dick harder, filling the room with the sloppy sound of your bodies roaming into each other, desperately looking for the so-desired orgasm.

"i can't, i c-can't" cried, his head moving from side to side, denying repeatedly. "it's too much..." his groans were accompanied by a strong grip on your hips trying to calm your peace, an act that was contradicted by his hips rocking with yours.

"you can puppy, just one more and we'll be done, you've been so good today" your words became more needy, one of your hands left his shoulder to caress his face and forced him to look at you, maintaining visual contact while reaching the last stage before ecstasy.

tears unleashed through his eyes, gyuvin's dick was so sensitive that it felt as if it burned him but at the same time the sensation came to be addictive, only you could make him feel like this, all submissive and dumb by fucking him senseless, how humiliating it was for him; being so big and ending up dominated by you. luckily for his sanity both your climaxes were around the corner, minds dizzy with pleasure and leaving all the work to your bodies, like animals fulfilling a primal desire.

between moans and muffled words, your boyfriend's orgasm came, filling your pussy up with his cum not before holding you strongly as an eager act to maintain you motionless, heavy breathing was the only thing resounding in a room where all kinds of vocal and corporal sounds could be heard just a moment ago.

"puppy, i didn't finish," you said, your faces being so near that your lips were almost touching. it hit gyuvin like a truck, dropping him out of the cloud that was taking over his mind and making him land in the real world, he knew what you meant by saying that. "i guess we will have to go for another round... if that's what you want, of course,” your lips brushed his, ghosting his attempt at kissing you.

he could be tired, overstimulated, sensitive and a lot more, but leaving you unsatisfied wasn't an option he was willing to take, mainly because of his pride, but secondly because despite ending up defeated by you and your immense sexual appetite he enjoys it, it would be a lie to say he didn't, you must be so happy! getting to ride your boyfie again while he whimpers <3

#kim gyuvin #zb1 gyuvin #zb1 #zerobaseone #zerobaseone gyuvin #gyuvin smut #gyuvin x reader #gyuvin fanfic #zb1 smut #zerobaseone smut #kim gyuvin smut #gyuvin scenarios #gyuvin imagines #zb1 scenarios #zb1 imagines

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eddies-disability-swag-blog · 10 months

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Disability Swag Summit 2!!

The Swag Summit is back!

Now with some improvements.

I’ve added different categories to display and represent a wider array of characters and disabilities throughout the competition.

Also, since my goal is representation, you can submit any character with disabilities as major or “minor” as you want.

Also, head canons and coding are allowed, just mark them as such in the form.

The categories go as follows:

Motor

Here go characters with movement disabilities, like paralysis, missing a limb, or not being able to coordinate your body. Here go people with club foot, Parkinson’s, flat feet, dyspraxia, tic related disabilities, cerebral palsy, paraplegia, amputees, mobility aid users, etc.

Visceral

Here go characters with disabilities related to their internal organs, endocrine system, immune system, amongst other systems inside of your body. Disabilities in this category may include asthma, autoimmune disorders, allergies, chronic pain, diabetes, PCOS, fibromyalgia, IBS, skin conditions, amongst others.

Sensory

Here go characters with disabilities related to their senses, be it sight (blindness, colour blindness, cataracts, astigmatism, photosensitivity, etc), touch/pain (CIPA, Hyposthesia, Dysesthesia, etc.), hearing (deafness, being hard of hearing, etc), smell (anosmia, phantosmia, etc), taste (Ageusia, Hypogeusia, etc) or a combination of different senses (like synesthesia).

Speech

Pretty straight forward, disabilities related to speech, be it selective mutism, speech impediments, full on mutism or other speech related disabilities.

Physical differences

Catch all term for people who were born or developed some sort of physical difference. Idk if it counts as a disability, but we’re looking to represent as many people as possible here so. Here go people who are missing limbs, visible organs or pretty much any body part, people who use prosthetics, people with extra body parts (that are actually not normally supposed to be there, don’t fill this category with bug people and aliens) people with deformities, scars, conjoined twins, little people, people with gigantism, etc.

Neurodivergent

Since different types of Neurodivergencies overlap so much, I feel like separating them would make my job 10 times more difficult, so I decided to lump together Cognitive, Info-processing, Psycosocial, Learning, and other mental disabilities. Here go characters with Autism, Dementia, DID, Schizophrenia, brain damage, PTSD, OCD, Tourette’s, dyslexia, etc.

Other

Those who do not fit under other categories, be it because I forgot, because it’s not really categorizable or because it’s a fantasy disability (if the fantasy disability is close enough to one of the other categories, put it there too for good measure).

And finally

Rules!

1- No real people. Live action characters are fine, but I feel kinda uncomfortable putting actual real living (or historical) human beings here. Maybe you can submit a disabled real animal if you want, but no people.

2- Preferably positive or neutral representation, please. As in, I rather not see blatantly ableist media represented here, there’s better representation out there, but if you really have to, I guess do whatever you want.

3- Be civil. This is for fun and not to be taken seriously. If you manage to spark drama or harassment out of this silly and fun competition, you are going to the dungeon.

4- Don’t make submissions in the asks. The asks are for questions and propaganda, make your submissions in the form.

5- Propaganda is allowed and highly encouraged! Either share it in the asks, at @eddies-disability-swag-blog or tag it as #disability swag summit

6- Should go without saying, but, like, bigotry is cringe, so, like, don’t do it?

Anyways, here’s the form! Submit away!

The Form will close on December 25 (May be earlier or later depending on the number of submissions), so make sure to submit your blorbos by then!

#disability swag summit #dss2 #bracket tournament #disability #disability pride #disabled #neurodivergent #disability advocacy #disability swag

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littlespacereader · 3 months

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It’s my Birthday!!🥳🎂🎉🎈🎁

It’s official I’m 3 years old today😂😂 Big year for me!😂😂 I’m really 24 and let me tell you, I’m still tired😂😂😂

Thank you to everyone who voted on the Birthday poll! I really really hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did writing it! The idea came to me while I was working and I couldn’t stop writing it after it won the poll! (Also I know the gif is the 14th Doctor but I like his smile in it😄)

Please enjoy and have a great weekend!!🥳🎂🎈🎁

A Birthday Wish💫🎂

Caregiver! 10th Doctor & GN Little! Reader (SFW!)

Tags - cupcakes, stuffies, surprises, happy tears, hugs, forehead kisses, the birthday you deserve!, presents, party games, the Doctor being the best cg ever, bops on the nose.

I closed the door and locked it on my way out of my apartment. Even as I walked up the stairs of my building I could hear my loud roommates and their friends yelling and shouting about some stupid ball game.

I shook my head and continued up. If there’s one thing I was going to have on my birthday, it was peace.

Once I reached the top of the building, I pushed the door open and walked onto the rooftop. Here, I got the best view of London and all the stars above.

I would come up here often, after a long day at work or to escape my loud roommates. It was nice, my own little hideaway. Just me, the stars and all of London.

I walked over to the little plastic table I had set up for night like these. I put my backpack into one chair and took a seat in the other.

Then I carefully pullout out the cupcake from my backpack and put it on the table. The icing was a bit messed up from its journey up to the roof, but it didn’t matter to me, a cupcake was a cupcake. I grabbed the candles and put the numbers onto the cake.

Then I just sat there, and stared at the number for a second. I hate getting older, the little side of me hates seeing the age I was actually turning when I felt much younger than I actually was…

I felt like screaming out loud, “I’m not older! I’m just a kid!” But who would listen? Who would care?

The sad answer is no one. My regression was kept hidden from everyone. It was just between me and my stuffies. Speaking of…

I grabbed my stuffed animal elephant out of my bag and and held her in my arms. She’s, of course, is invited to the party! Wouldn’t be one without her.

Then I grabbed my sippy cup and placed it on the table along with some plastic silverware for the cupcake. Once settled I looked back at the stupid numbers.

I mean, who needed a reminder of how old they’re turning? I picked the candles off the cupcake and threw them off to the side. I dug through my bag and found only one last candle left, one regular candle for my birthday wish.

I placed the candle into my cupcake and lit a match, lighting the candle up. A small glow from the fire illuminated me.

Truth was…I didn’t really know what to wish for at first. I didn’t really know, or believe anything would actually come true.

Looking up at the stars again, I took a deep breath and sighed. I guess it didn’t hurt to just wish for anything right? Even the impossible.

So with my eyes casted to the stars above me, I made my wish, “I wish I wasn’t alone, that someone knew and understood my regression and accepted me for it. I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

With big breath in, I blew out the candle.

And nothing happened. As I expected. Just same old me, another year older.

I began peeling the small paper from around the cupcake, and began digging into the sweetness. That cupcake tasted amazing! But something caught my eyes from above.

I looked back up to the stars, back up to the one I had my eyes on when I wish. And it…moved?

I stood up, stuffie in my hand as I walked closer to get a better look at the star. It looked as though…it was spinning. Is that possible?!

For a moment I looked away, thinking maybe I was just seeing things, but then I looked back and sure enough that star was spinning. How is that happening?

Then I realized something else…that star was getting closer and closer. I couldn’t help but watch in wonder as the star spun and moved closer and closer earth, then to London, then…

That Star was coming straight for me! I snapped out of my wonder and ran! Dodging off to the side as the star slid onto the rooftop, coming to a stop on the other side.

I cautiously walked out of my hiding spot and looked over at the star…which I realize now isn’t a star…it’s a…box?!

A blue police box flew onto the roof and slid across it? How’s that-.

I slowly approach the box, looking at it with wonder. But just when I was about 2 feet away from it, the door flung open.

A man stepped out. Big smile on his face and a party hat on his head. All at once I realized something…

I’ve seen this man before.

~~~

**Flashback to this morning**

I stood and stared at the tall shelves of stuffed animals infront of me. The toy store wasn’t that busy in the morning hours which made it a nice peaceful visit as I chose my first ever birthday stuffie.

Of course I have plenty of stuffies at home, but this one would be special, it would be a birthday stuffie!

Problem was…there’s a lot of options. Every animal you could think of sat on the shelves infront of me. The choices were endless.

“Hard to pick huh?”

I turned around and saw a stranger walk up to me. He wore a long brown coat and a blue suit, and on his feet converse. He had a friendly smile as the walked over and admired the shelf with me.

“Yeah definitely hard to pick.” I replied, looking back to the shelves.

“Grabbing a gift for someone?” He asked.

“No, for myself actually.” I thought about it then added, “it’s umm, my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?!! Happy birthday!!” The man lit up hearing me say.

“Thank you.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s enthusiasm.

“Then this is going to have to be a very important plush after all.” He focused back on the shelf. “Which one are you thinking?”

“I think I’ll get….this one!” I grabbed the elephant off the shelf and held her in my arms. She was perfect! Soft and a little weighted in her feet.

“Now that is a great choice!” He smiled back at me, the praise making my little side scream on the inside.

“What are you going to name it?” He asked.

I looked down at her and thought long and hard about it, “Lucky! Since elephants are lucky.”

“Lucky is a great name! Good thinking.” He praised again.

“Any other one you thinking of getting?” He liked back to the shelf.

I looked back too, my eyes settling on a particular lion stuffie. But then I realized I didn’t have enough money. I looked away and back at the man. “Not today, just her for now.” I smiled sadly.

“Well she will do fine! A nice strong elephant to keep you company.” He smiled back, shaking the elephants hand in my arms.

He looked at his watch before saying, “Oh, I’ve gotta run. I hope you have a great birthday!” He smiled before walking towards the front of the store.

“Wait,” I called back to him, stopping him in his tracks. “Thank you for the help picking a stuffed animal Mr…”

“Oh no Mr. It’s just The Doctor.” He replied with a smile. “And it was no problem at all. I rather enjoyed helping. You and Lucky have a great day and a happy birthday again to you kiddo.” And with that he turns and walk towards the cashier.

I stared back at him for a moment before turning back to the shelf. Did he call me kiddo?

He did…didn’t he….why? Maybe cause I’m younger than him? Or maybe…no. No. There was no way he could’ve known….

As I continued walking around the toy store I heard him talk briefly to the cashier before the bell at the door ding meaning he left. I looked around for a moment more, before I went to the cashier to pay for my elephant.

“Just this please.” I said, putting my elephant up on the counter and grabbing my wallet.

“No need, that gentleman in the long coat bought it for you.”

I stared at the cashier in shock. “What?”

“The man that was in here before. He paid for your elephant already. You’re good to go.”

The cashier turns to go do something else while I stand there frozen with shock. I took the elephant off the counter and walked out of the store.

I looked around for the kind man but didn’t see him anywhere. That was so nice of him to pay for my gift. I hadn’t even realized he went to go do that. What a Lucky Elephant my stuffie is!

I smile and give her a hug before I walk away, off to the next stop.

The next stop happens to be a bakery. I browse through the cake window at all the different cupcake selections they had on display. All of them looks sooooooo good.

“Order for Y/N.” The bakery woman called.

I stopped and lifted my head. That’s strange….maybe someone has the same name as me?

“Order for Y/N.” The woman calls again. “Birthday cupcake.”

I froze again in utterly shock. I raise my hand awkwardly. “I…I think that’s for me.”

I walked over to the counter and the baker read the description. “It says, Order for Y/N’s birthday. They should be wearing a red cardigan.”

I looked at myself as if I forgot I was wearing a red cardigan…because I did forget. “Oh…that’s me.”

She wraps the cupcake up and hands it to me. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, just one thing.” I stop the baker. “I didn’t order this.” I say honestly.

“A man came in here just a minute or two before you and he ordered it for you.” She explained.

“Did he have a brown coat and spiky kind of hair?” I ask again.

“Yeah, yeah he did. And he wore converse. Crazy looking dude.” The woman joked, “Enjoy your cupcake dear.” And with that she walked away.

I walked out of the bakery and took a deep breath. First the stuffie and now the cupcake. Who was this mystery man? And why was he being so extra kind to me? Most people just wished me a happy birthday but him? He went above and beyond.

The cupcake came with a note that read simply,

Make a good wish tonight!

- The Doctor

The Doctor? Was that seriously his name? I thought he was joking.

There was also something different about him. As I walked back to my apartment the man played on my mind. He felt like how a Caregiver should feel. Compassionate, gentle, patient and kind, amount other things, He called me kiddo and bought me a stuffie and a cupcake.

But now it was over…there was no way I was ever going to see him again after this…

~~~

Until now.

I stared back at the man in utter shock of the today’s events. But more so because a giant flying box almost hit me as it landed on the roof.

He leaned against the box and smiled back at me. “Y/N!! Happy Birthday!!”

“It’s you!” Was all I was able to say at the moment.

“It’s me!” He smiled back.

“You-You’re from the toy store…and the bakery…” My mind keeps racing through the thoughts. “And now…the sky?”

I could help but smile at everything. It was so impossibly crazy! There was no was any of this was real, yet here he stood in front of me. “How did you come from the sky? How doesn’t your box fly? How is any of this possible?!”

The Doctor smiled, slowly walking over to me. “Well when I realized a certain someone was celebrating their birthday alone. I couldn’t stand to see it. So I thought I’d come and visit.”

“I guess you could say I’m someone’s birthday wish.” He added with a smirk and a wink.

Birthday wish? I thought back to it: “I wish I wasn’t alone, that someone knew and understood my regression and accepted me for it.” The realization hit me.

“You’re a Caregiver too?”

“Yup.” He said popping the P at the end. “Isn’t that what you wish for? Not to be alone and for someone to take care of a certain little one?”

“Yeah… I just…I never believed it would actually happen.” I say back to him honestly.

“Well now, if you like it to happened, it can.” He starts to say. He takes his hands in mine and looks into my eyes, “I know we are still learning about each other but, I’d be happy to take care of you. Especially on a day like today.”

I stare back at him at first in complete disbelief, “You want to me my Caregiver?”

“I’d be honored to.” He smiles back.

I squeeze his hands in mine and nod, “I love that too.”

I let go of his hands for a moment and give him a hug. He immediately reciprocates, hugging me back with a tight protective hug. And all at once it feels as though all my issues and problems start to melt away as my regression takes the wheels.

The Doctor immediately sees the slight shift, his careful Caregiver eye catches it. “There you are sweet one. It’s time for you to relax and have the best birthday ever.”

He grabs a party hat from his pocket and leans forward putting it on my head. “There we are! Perfect for the party!”

“Party?” I ask confused. What party?

“I have everything set up already. All I need to do is bring Lucky of course and the most important person of all you!”

I stared up at him in disbelief, “You’re throwing me a birthday party?”

He took my hand in mine again, bring it up to place a kiss onto. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to celebrate any one of your birthday’s alone, but never again. Never while I’m here.”

“From now, you get the birthday you deserve.” He looked into my eyes and lead me by the hand to the blue box.

I followed along, holding onto his hand tightly as he lead the way to the flying blue box. “The party is in there?” There’s no way we’re fitting in there.

“You’ll see.” He winked before unlocking the door and pushing it open. He guided me to go first.

The moment I stepped inside my breath was taken away. “It’s-….I mean how is it? It’s smaller on the outside than inside!” I smiled, looking around the place on pure wonder.

“That’s…” The Doctor started to say, “I haven’t heard that one yet.” He chuckled.

Inside the main Tardis area had balloons and streamers all about. I turned and looked at The Doctor. “This is all for me?”

“This all for you!”. He smiled seeing my enjoyment.

I looked at the center console with wonder. “Does that fly the box?”

“Well it’s not actually a box. Think of that as a disguise. This is actually a space ship and Time Machine.” He explains on.

I looked at him baffled. “No it isn’t. Really?! That’s insane!!” I scream look back at the Tardis interior with wonder.

“It is a lot to take in isn’t it?” He jokes, walking back over.

A small wrapped box catches his eyes, “Oh I almost forgot!” He runs over and grabs the box.

“This, is for you darling.” He hands the blue wrapped box over to me.

“You got me a gift?”

“Of course I got you a gift! Why wouldn’t I?”

“But you bought me my elephant and the cupcake and this, this is enough of a gift in itself.” I gesture to the Tardis. “You didn’t have to...”

He caressed my face, holding my face in his hands, “Y/N, I wanted to. You deserve the universe and more.” He makes a point of saying before placing a kiss on my forehead.

“Now what are you waiting for?! Open it up!” He smiles.

I look back at him with tears in my eyes, before I go to unwrapping this gift, and its…..

“It’s the lion from the toy store.” I hop the stuffie up and look at the Doctor in disbelief.

“We couldn’t have Lucky go on without his friend now could we?” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and looks down at the lion. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!! Thank you!” I turn and give him another big hug, tears falling from my eyes.

“Awwww! You’re so welcome Y/N.” He hugs back, gently rubbing my back.

But the tears don’t stop coming, the day full of surprises starting to catch up with me. Immediately he looks worries and silently ask to pick me up, which I give a nod yes in reply.

He picked me up and holds me on his hip as if I weight nothing. “It’s a lot all at once isn’t it?”

I immediately rest my head on his shoulder, nodding and wiping my tears away.

“A lot of big things and a lot of new things. So why don’t we take a moment to just take a breath before we go on with the rest of the party?” He offers and I immediately nod to. That sounds nice.

The Doctor starts to walk around the Tardis console room holding me in his arms, lightly bouncing and rubbing my back. The gentle movements start to relax me more and more. It’s been a long day and now? I think I just had too many shocks at once.

But it was amazing that he right away recognized that and went to help me. He’s a great Caregiver. And he’s also my Caregiver. But I had to ask…

“Why me?” I asked softly.

“What’s that sweetheart?”

“Why me?” I lift my head and look into his eyes. “You said this is a spaceship right?”

“That’s right.”

“So in all of the Galaxy and all of earth and all of London you chose me. To not just be my friend but my Caregiver? Why me?”

“Why not you?” He smiled back. But he could tell I wanted more of an explanation.

“Alright, you want the truth? The truth is, I was back in London after traveling a while by myself and that’s when I stumbled upon you in the toy store. Seeing you so happy just picking out a stuffie made me forget for a moment all the loneliness I had. And hearing it was your birthday was just icing on the cake.” He ends with a wink, happy with his cleaver pun.

“The truth is, I’ve also never had anyone to celebrate my birthday with. I’ve always been a lone too. And I didn’t want you to have to go through that feeling, that pain.”

“So as I started to run around making a happy birthday for you, I realized something. This wasn’t just my normal self taking over, I could feel a side of myself that I haven’t felt in a while come out, my Caregiver side.”

“I haven’t seeing a little rascal like you in a long time.” He boops my nose, “So I knew I had to make it extra special. And by the end of it, I couldn’t think of my life without having you in it, to take care of, to joke with, to do anything with!”

“So that’s why, out of all the people in the galaxy, I chose Y.O.U.” We both smile.

“Now, the party has just begun! Are you ready?” He looks me in the eyes and I nod my head excitedly.

“Good! Let’s gooo!” He runs down the hallways with me in his arms. I giggle the whole way.

There’s a room in this Tardis that’s decorated to the T with party supplies and decorations. There we spend the rest of the night together. First we play party games, then we eat more cake, then we play even more games, all while I start to learn more about him and he learns about me.

He’s an alien….but he doesn’t look it. And he’s from another planet. He’s always known about age regression because on their planet it was something people did without judgement…unlike earth.

He’s always been a Caregiver and he’s used to have Littles who were his companions but they sadly left. And now he has me!

The night slowly starts to settle down. His long coat and jacket are off as he sit on the couch with me in his arms. I cuddle up close to him, half asleep with both stuffies in my arms.

“I don’t want it to end.” I whine, trying to fight off sleeping.

“Well this is a Time Machine…tomorrow we can go to your next birthday.” He suggest chuckling.

I smile to the idea but shake my head, “Maybe tomorrow we celebrate your birthday!”

“My birthday?”

“Yeah! That way you’re not alone.”

The thought brings a sad yet happy smile to the Doctor’s face. “I would absolutely love that Y/N. Thank you.” I swear I could see a tear or two in his eyes.

Together we stayed like that. Me relaxing in his lap, head pressed against his chest, stuffies in hand. While he held onto me tightly in his arms, as if he was going to lose me. But I was going nowhere, and nether was he.

The Caregiver and the Little. Or maybe a better name for us, the birthday Little and soon Birthday Caregiver. Together at least and for as long as time itself.

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