#series: small towns faded dreams

[taeghi]

fleeting summers by park sunghoon | (m)

♫ song : sunsetz by cigarettes after sex

summary : meeting park sunghoon in the small town your dad moved into this summer is as vibrant as the sunsets you witness. but, as summer fades away so does your time together. hopefully when the next summer comes your paths cross again under the same sunlit skies.

genre : smut, fluff, angst, sadness????? mDNi

word count : 16,450

part of the enhypen series playlist

fleeting summers 

as the car winds its way through the quaint, sunlit streets of the small town, you sit in the passenger seat, your gaze fixated on the passing scenery. the town, a popular summer destination, boasts charming storefronts, and colourful welcoming banners and the air is tinged with sea salt and flowers. yet, despite the picturesque allure that surrounds you, there’s a palpable sense of reluctance lingering around you. this town, now your temporary residence for the summer, feels both enhancing and isolating. 

since your parents divorce earlier this year, your dad had decided to move to this idyllic escape town that might be a dream for him, but definitely not for you. this town is a separation from the familiar comforts of your home and friends. you wish you could have spent the summer with your friends like usual. your traditions having to be failed this summer since you’ve been shipped away to stay with your father for almost two months. 

the car finally turns into a narrow street lined with old wooden houses, and your new home comes into view. its rustic charm stands in stark contrast to the modern, more beachy houses that line the rest of the town. you can’t help but feel a sense of apprehension about spending the upcoming months in this solitary abode with only your dad for company. 

this town may be beautiful, but the prospect of a summer away from the people and places you hold dear casts a shadow over the otherwise vibrant scene unfolding before you. 

the creaking sound of the door echoes through the old house as you step inside the house, hearing your mother’s tires screech on the road as she avoids your dad. the air feels still as your dad hugs you and shows you around. you’re glad to see him, not being able to see him for months, but still, the dread of the long summer ahead of you ponders through your mind that your smile fails to show. 

you walk into the room that is now yours for the next couple of months. its wooden floor echoing with every step, so different from the fluffy carpet of your bedroom back home. the walls seem to sigh, bearing the weight of countless lives that have lived here before your dad. 

your gaze falls upon the bed- a new sanctuary of yours even though the mattress beneath your fingertips feels unfamiliar. it lacks the soft indentations that cradle you in the warmth and comfort of your own room. you lower yourself onto the bed, the lonely squeak of the springs accentuating the silence of the room. the sunlight filters through the thin curtains, casting a glow on the faded quilt your grandma had knitted you when you were a child. 

as you lay there, staring at the wood ceiling that matches the wood walls and wood floors, a sense of displacement settles within you. the room, though quaint, holds no trace of your essence. you close your eyes, attempting to reconcile with the alien sensation of this bed that will be your haven for the upcoming weeks. there’s a certain hollowness of the room that you aren’t sure you will get used to. 

the distant murmur of the town outside is a reminder that you can’t lay in this bed all summer. and that you had promised your dad you would be down for dinner soon. you sigh, filling the new, silent space that is now yours. 

in the beginning days that followed your summer stay, your dad, eager to catch up with you, took it upon himself to be your guide through the town. the air of teh small diner, filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sum hum of conversation became a familiar backdrop during your dinner talks. his favourite spot, he insisted, and you observed him warmly exhacning greetings with the regulars whose faces lit up at the sight of him. you were indtrocued to the many lives that intertwined in this town. 

the beach, with hits powdery sand and rhythmic waves, unfolded before you like a serene painting. seagulls swooped overhead, and the distant laughter of children created a soundtrack to the endless horizon. as you sat with your dad, the tranquility of the acne was interrupted by the approach of a man accompanied by his family. they greeted your father with familiarity and you observed them. the man’s eyes were kind as they spoke to your father and introduced his family to you. 

his children were your age, his daughter, karina, was beautiful as she greeted you. her fox like eyes still gleamed against the sun as they turned upwards into a smile. she told you that you could come along with her at any time and that she’d be glad to get to know you this summer. which you agreed to, but you knew you’d rather be alone the second you saw her prance over to her large group of friends all lounging around the beach. the girls were all beautiful and thin, and the bous they hung around with were tall and tan. you knew that you wouldn’t get along with them for too long if you went over there. 

your dad encouraged you to hang out with them for the entire day until the sun dipped lower on the horizon, indicating that it was dinner at the diner time and that you would not be hanging out with those kids for the day. 

“i know all the kids in this town and they’re all nice, y/n, why don’t you give them a chance?” your dad asks as you walk up to the diner. “what’re you gonna do? hang out with me for the rest of the summer?” 

“yes.” 

your dads amused scoff mixes with the diner door’s bell chime as he opens the door, letting you walk past him and to the usual booth you both liked to sit at, finishing the conversation for the night. 

in the subsequent days, your peripheral vision became a constant observer of karina and her friends. their laughter and presence frequently echoed against the backdrop of the town. the beach transformed into their playground whenever they stepped foot onto it. they played games on the busy boardwalk, their animated voices and screames carrying in the salty breeze. 

karina with her too sweet of a smile, repeatedly extended invitations for you to join their exploits. yet, an inexpeclicable hiestance rooted itself deep within you, an unshakable feeling that resisted the allur of their friendly gestures. your ad, ever optimistic, insisted that they were good kids and that you should hang out with them. despite the reassurances, a sense of skepticism lingered like a shadow in your heart. 

you observed from a distance, a silent spectator to their adventures that stretched from the dawn’s first light to the quiet hours of the night. 

as the sun dipped down once again, and the town’s lights flickered to life, you wrestled with conflicting emotions. karina’s smile clashed with the disquiet that nestled in your thoughts. the balance of trust and apprehension teetered on the edge, leaving you perched on the sidelines before drifting off to sleep.

amidst the lively chatter and laughter that enveloped the beach, you at in solitude, your eyes tracing the rhythmic dance of the waves. the distant sounds of games and talking washed over you, but your attention was anywhere but. you had become quite good at ignoring everyone around you. 

but as you glance to your left just once, your attention is drawn away to the presence of a lone figure sitting under a beach umbrella. a boy, seemingly ignoring everyone around him as well was immersed in the world of whatever book he was so intently reading. 

he sat on a faded beach chair, an air of quiet confidence surrounding him as he turned the pages of the book that was sprawled open on his lap. The sun cast a gentle glow on the tendrils of his dark black hair, and the slight furrow of his thick browns hinted at the intensity with which he absorbed the words on the pages. his isolation mirrored yours, a shared desire for solace amidst the lively backdrop of the beach.

intrigued, you asked your dad who the boy with the book was. 

you noticed his hesitant pause as he acknowledged the boy, his eyes briefly meeting yours before averting away, “that’s park sunghoon,” 

you hum, “what’s he like?” 

“he’s quiet, keeps to himself. but his family is nice, and well, they’re super rich.” 

a smirk spread across your face in amusement at the hesitant introduction.

“and why doesn’t he hang out with the others?” 

your dad shrugged, “he’s just like that, likes to be by himself.” 

you go back into your own world until dusk starts approaching. as the sky starts to become painted with hues of amber and lavender, you reluctantly withdrew from the solace of your thoughts on the beach. walking alongside your dad, the grains of sand clung to your bare feet as you made your way to the diner once again. 

glancing back towards the beach, your eyes inadvertently met those of the boy named park sunghoon. a mild surprise tinged your otherwise inscrutable expression, his gaze unwavering as you held it. a silent acknowledgement passing between you two. his eyes, dark and unreadable, seemed to mirror the guarded emotions you concealed with your own. 

you held eye contact until you turn away, your dad seamlessly diverting your attention to the impending decision of dinner plans. park sunghoon’s face remained in your head for the entirety of dinner, having to restrain yourself from asking your dad more about park sunghoon and his family.

the next time you saw park sunghoon was in the early morning, when most of the town still slept. the sleepy streets were apinted in hues of soft pastels and the distant murmur of the ocean mingled with the quiet footsteps of the early risers. as you walked towards teh cafe to get your dad and your usual coffee for breakfast, smiling to the locals that knew your father, your attention waas drawn to a tall figure in the distance, moving with large steps towards the beach. 

park sunghoon’s silhouette, etched against the backdrop of the waking town, exuded a quiet elegance. now that he was standing you could see how tall the boy was as his long strides carried him to the ocean. the morning sun, casting a golden glow on the surroundings, danced upon his tousled hair as if he had just gotten out of bed two minutes ago. 

you watched him until you couldn’t see him anymore, disappearing into different parts of town. you let yourself wonder why park sunghoon would be up so early, headed straight to the ocean, knowing that the other residents wouldn’t be there for at least another hour. there was an allure around him in the way he navigated the early hours. you wondered if he thought the world belonged to him as he headed to the beach alone. 

you didn’t see him again until later in the week. 

your room was light from the morning, coaxing you out of the embrace of your dreams. as you lingered in that hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness, your dad’s voice cut through the morning stillness as he ripped your blanket off of you. 

“hey, sleepyhead,” he laughs at your surprise, “i’m tired of you spending the whole summer holed up inside or hanging with me.” with your mumbled response he continues, “there’s a local book fair this afternoon and you’re going whether you like it or not.” 

a sigh escaped you as you half heartedly agreed and pulled your blanket back up to your chin. you snuggled back into your pillow, the prospect of leaving your cozy cocoon feeling like a monumental task. you hear your dad chuckle and say how much fun you’re going to have before leaving your room, leaving you to your drowsy thoughts. 

the book fair wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. as you wandered through the rows of stands and the smell of aged paper, you found yourself in a literary haven. there were various genres of books, both familiar and unknown. some titles sparked recognition and you found yourself drawn to the worn spines of used books. the newer books they offered were appealing, but not as interesting to you as your fingers traced over the covers. 

you’re in the quiet corner of the book fair, hidden among the bookshelves as you read over the titles in front of you. 

“read it?” 

you were so deep in thought that you didn’t even notice the boy next to you until he spoke. your eyes meet the eyes of park sunghoon and he smiles with a hint of cockiness dulled by the lack of volume in his voice. he’s there, standing in front of you. his black, messy hair is pushed back, casually tucked behind his ears and he’s wearing a hoodie that seems to be as born as the pages of the book surrounding him. you imagine that you share a similar exhausted look, despite his cockiness infiltrating. 

his smile makes you feel nervous, but the type that makes you comfortable at the same time. it’s almost familiar and oddly pleasant. it takes you a moment for you to register his question, a nod towards the book tucked under your arm. the paperback of a copy of richard brautigan’s “in watermelon sugar,”, which she had forgotten she had picked up. 

“yeah, brautigan. have you?” 

“for a book report. it was interesting, but kind of played out and too idealistic.” 

“well he wrote about love and life in a way that feels magical.” 

“there’s no magic in real life.” 

you frown slightly, “it’s about finding magic in simplicity, in the sweet things that you might miss if you don’t pay attention.” 

sunghoon smirks, “idealistic.” 

“optimistic.” 

both of you have stepped closer to each other as you spoke. you stand there in the aisle, a conversation between the strangers that feels oddly intimate as you argue over the meaning of ‘in watermelon sugar’. you wonder if he’s going to debate further or if those will be the last words you hear from park sunghoon. 

“i’m sunghoon.” 

“y/n.” 

the town has never been particularly peaceful. even at night, when majority of the locals have scampered back to their homes and the neighbourhood is shrouded in silence. the beach remains alive with activity. a small beach party, the boardwalks arcade games, the distant sound of a car driving by. you have grown accustomed to the constant chaos over the few days you’ve known park sunghoon. your neighborhood back home is usually quiet and empty, everyone absorbed into their very private, quiet lives. 

you and sunghoon find yourselves sitting atop the large rock sunghoon had shown you the day of the book fair. it looks over the glittering boardwalk across the beach. the sun has almost vanished, the sunset that once gleamed over your bodies is gone. you watch the scatter of people along the shore. 

you are wrapped in sunghoon’s oversized towel, much fluffier than the ones you own. your hair is still damp from swimming in the ocean earlier. the scent of saltwater surrounds the both of you. sunghoon keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye, noticing something new about you every time. 

you’ve grown comfortable with each other through the past week. like you’re a sanctuary for one another, finding solace in the time you spend together and away from your families. neither of you have discussed their hesitance to truth others, a silent understanding forged into the solace you’ve found. 

sunghoon has inherited his wariness from his family. who bestowed upon him a life of luxury but also a legacy of disdain. he’s mentionned that his father was an influential figure in business and was more absent than present. 

but sunghoon, despite his affluent background, hates the burden of his wealth and family. he’s spoken about how stifling his parent’s expectation of him are. the emptiness that accompanies the privilege he knows he should be grateful for. though, it’s a life he never asked for. true friendships elude him; those around him are acquaintances drawn to the park name and the facade he’s expected to maintain. 

you speak, breaking the silence between you two ontop of the rock, “do you ever wish you could escape all this?” 

sunghoon shrugs, exhaling a puff of smoke that you hate. he told you he smokes just because his parents hate it, too. “everyday. the money, the expectations, my future is basically set for me and i have no choice of it. it’s suffocating. i want to be normal.” 

“college is normal. can’t you escape there?” 

“i don’t know. my brother’s in college and he hates it. my parents are constantly nagging at him to get the highest of all grades. i just think it’ll be more chaotic.” 

“plenty of girls at college, and all the parties you could want.” 

“i’m done with parties,” sunghoon speaks with a certain resolve in his tone, “i’ve gone to too many and they’re all the same boring shit.” 

“but the girls wouldn’t be so bad,” you tease him, almost challenging him to agree. a part of you resents the way you sound, but the other part wants to hear his answer. 

“whatever. i think you’re forgetting that i’m a park, y/n, i could have any girl i want.” 

you laugh at his sudden cockiness that never seems to fade. it’s a refreshing change from the sunghoon who is pessimistic and secretive. it makes you happy to know that there are other sides of him that he hasn’t quite shown you yet. 

“right, a real heartthrob.” 

sunghoon nudges your shoulder with his, “oh c’mon, don’t act like you haven’t heard all the girls talking about me.” 

“shut up, hoon.” 

you lay back on the rock, sunghoon’s towel still around your shoulders. there’s a sudden squeal underneath you from the shore. a group of teens, the ones that you recognize as karina’s friends run along the beach, laughing as one of the boys picks up a girl and swings her around on his shoulder. you glance to sunghoon’s face, who’s watching the group as he walk further away. his expression is desolate as he takes a final puff of his cigarette before exhaling and smushing it against the rock underneath him and speaks,

“come on, let’s go. i’m tired of this rock for the night.” 

you wake up early in the morning, half expecting sunghoon to be sitting on your balcony waiting for you. but you realize he doesn’t usually wake up for another half hour. it’s become a routine to follow sunghoon out onto the beach early in the morning, before anyone else can get there. outside is light blue as the sun starts to rise for the day. 

you think about how yours and sunghoon’s worlds are so different. he was born into a life you could only ever dream of within your humble roots. his family’s summer mansion sits on the hill of the town, a beacon o luxury you know you could never afford in this life time. 

but, when both of you are together, those disparities dissolve. 

both of you yearn for an escape from this mundane town. the quiet rebellion against the expected paths tht your amily controls of you. you so wish to go back home, and sunghoon wishes he had a place to call home. the dreams of a different life connect you. 

just as you’re about to fall into another deep sleep, the embodiment of your desire to escape speaks, “wake up.” your eyes open and meet sunghoon’s, who’s standing above you beside your bed, “let’s go.” 

later in the day, you and sunghoon are sunbathing on towels at the beach. the sand underneath your feet as you close your eyes and let the sun hit your body. sunghoon is beside you, reading whatever book has his mind captured now. you think that this is perfect, if you could spend everyday of being in this small town like this, you wouldn’t complain as much. a bird flies over your head and squawks out to the others. 

“hey, sunghoonie,” a voice greeted him, “and y/n,” you look up to see karina standing over top you two. her long black hair sleek as she smiles so strongly. “what are you up to?” 

you shifted, propping yourself up on your elbows as sunghoon remained engrossed in his book, his attention unwavering, “just sitting here, what’s up?” 

a mischievous look glints in her eye as you speak, “well, i wanted to invite you both to a little party i’m throwing on friday night. it’s going to be so much fun!”

you exchanged a quick glance with sunghoon, who remained immersed in his reading, seemingly unfazed by the invitation. “oh, well we’ll think about it, thanks.” you replied, a noncommittal tone in your voice. 

karina, undeterred, leaned down a bit closer, her gaze shifting towards sunghoon, “oh come on sunghoonie. you’ve got to come, it’ll be a blast, you know how much we miss hanging out with you.” her voice came out as a purr, a flirtatious edge in her words that put you on edge. 

sunghoon, however, kept his focus on his book, his response a mumble of ‘whatever’. he seemed impervious to karina’s attempts at charm, an air of indifference surroudning him in her presence. 

you couldn’t help but smile at sunghoon’s unyeildeing composure, “we’ll see, karina.” 

but karina wouldn’t stand down. with a playful nudge to sunghoon’s foot with her own and a subtle wink that you’re sure you were suppose to see, she insised, “you better come sunghoonie. it won’t be the same without you.” before sauntering away, leaving your toweled area. 

as she disappeared from view you chuckled, “sunghoonie?” 

“shut up.” 

you don’t miss the quick smile on sunghoon’s lips before you lay back on your towel. you think about karina’s words, how sunghoon must have hung out with that group before. it would be no surprise to you if you hadn’t talked about the obnoxious group multiple times. you know sunghoon is secretive and keeps to himself, but karina seems to have known him too well for your liking. 

it’s something that bothers you for the rest of the day and sunghoon can’t help but notice. when you’re both sitting atop the rock that you’re usually on when the sun starts to dip into the ocean and he’s peeking over at you when he thinks you’re not noticing, he asks, 

“what’s on your mind?” 

“nothing.” 

sunghoon sighs at your answer, knowing that something in fact is but he doesn’t want to pressure you. he’s grateful that you never pressure him, never put any expectations on him like everyone else does. to you, he’s just sunghoon– nothing else. 

“how’d you know something is on my mind?” 

sunghoon smirks at your question, but doesn’t turn to look at you, only lights another cigarette that he knows you’re going to complaint about, “because we’ve been together everyday for weeks now– i know when something is bothering you.” 

you sigh and sit up so you’re shoulder to shoulder with sunghoon and have to unfortunately smell his cigarette. 

“i didn’t know you hung out with karina and them.” 

sunghoon shrugged, “i mean, we all grew up in the same town, i would have to at some point.” 

you try not to show your discontent with his answer. you turn your head away from him and watch the ocean with him. his smoke mixing with the clouds as you listened to the water hit the shore below you. 

“did you and karina date?” 

sunghoon scoffs at your question, pure shock spreading on his face, “what? no! never.” 

you roll your eyes at his answer and lay back down onto his towel. you listen to his laugh as he can’t believe your question. you try to ignore the red heat filling up your cheeks at his reaction. 

when the sound of the waves is the only sound between you again, sunghoon’s body stiffens as he continues to smoke. he glances over at your figure, your arm covering your face with a small frown on your lips that makes his heart clench. 

“the idea of me and karina dating bothered you?” 

“shut up.” 

“i mean, why would you even think that?” 

“well sorry, i thought you were the self-proclaimed heartthrob of the town.” you raise your hands in the air. 

sunghoon chuckles, “but why would i date her?” 

your voice comes out as a whisper next, half hoping that he wouldn’t hear it, “because she’s beautiful.” 

sunghoon indeed hears it as you speak from behind him. his eyes stay set on the ocean in front of him. the sun had gone down half an hour ago, leaving the town’s lights to fill up the place for it. you smushes his cigarette against the rock, letting out a deep exhale as he does so. your words make him wonder what you really think about him. 

when you think sunghoon is about to call it a night by the way he finishes his cigarette, his words stop you from moving to pack up your things, “ever been skinny dipping?” 

“what? no?” 

“me neither. wanna do it?” 

“right now?”

sunghoon scoffs as he stands up, “yeah, c’mon.” 

before you can realize, sunghoon is dragging you down from the rock and around it, towards the ocean and away from the shores eyes. he ignores your protests as you’re forced to follow him, his hand on your wrist controlling where you go. he held a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tugged you closer to the water. the water looked like silk as he it brushed against the shore. the moonlight twinkled against it, making a path of light to draw you in. 

sunghoon’s hand dropped from you wrist as you both stood on the beach, the water just reaching your feet everytime it hit the shore. sunghoon’s smile was usually contagious, but now you were more nervous than anything to smile. 

“i can’t sunghoon.”

“you can! it’ll be fun!” you shook your head no at his encouragement, “but if you don’t want to it’s fine.” you relax, ready to suggest something else you and him can do instead for the rest of the night. “i’ll just do it by myself.” 

despite your confused exclaim, sunghoon’s hands move to pull his shirt off of his body. his pale skin soaking in the moonlight as his bright smile gleams at you. 

“it’ll be fun and i wanna try.” sunghoon shrugs as he starts to untie his bathing suit bottoms. 

“oh my god,” you cover your eyes, not being able to believe what he’s doing right now. 

“up to you if you don’t wanna see the heartthrobs body.” sunghoon teases in a sing song voice. 

“i absolutely do not.” 

you hear sunghoon scoff and shuffle his clothes around. you make sure to keep your fingers over your eyes, ignoring the voice in your head wanting to look. because even though you would never admit it; sunghoon is a heartthrob. you’re very aware of how attractive he is and how every girl in this town fights for a chance to even look at him. but he’s you’re friend, even if sometimes it feels like more. 

hearing water splashing around symbolizes that sunghoon is making his (naked) way through the water. and not too long after sunghoon calls out to tell you that the “coast is clear” and that you can look. 

cautiously, you remove your fingers from your eyes and look straight ahead, meeting sunghoon’s through the meters of water and sand inbetween you. 

“how’s it feel?” 

“like i’m having a bath in a big bathtub.” 

you watch him for a bit, swimming around in the dark water. despite sunghoon’s constant complaints about the town, you knew he absolutely loved the water. you couldn’t ignore the grand smile on his face everytime he swam. but, his smile was never as big as it was then. as he swam around the ocean naked, with just your presence around him. you watched as he used the water to push back his black hair, revealing his foreheard that you would only see while he swam. you always thought he looked the most beautiful when he swam. he seemed to be more peaceful and less tense. 

“you sure you won’t come in? the water’s so nice.” his voice echoes across the water and against the rocks. he watches you as you trace your finger in the sand beside you, drawing whatever shapes come to your mind. “it’d be more fun if you came in.”

you sigh, knowing that you’re about to give in to the heartthrob’s begging. and you hate knowing that he knows you’re giving in to him by the annoying smirk on his face. “you better turn around or else the heartthrob may become a creep.” you hear sunghoon’s laugh as he does in fact turn around, telling you that his eyes are closed under his hands that he’s placed on top of them just be sure. 

trying to set your anxiousness aside, you start to peel off your shorts and bathing suit. you feel the warm, night air blow against your entire body as you stand on the beach. your clothes are in a pile beside sunghoon’s. you slowly start to ease your way into the ocean, watching the back of sunghoon’s head as you make your way to him. the water is surprisingly warm as you glide through it. you stop when you’re a meter away from him. 

“you can turn around now.” 

you're met with sunghoon’s goofy grin. he keeps his eyes locked on your face, taking in your features as it reflects the water and moon. the tips of your hair are sunken into the water, while the top is still dry. he can’t help but think how beautiful you are right now, in a way he knows you won’t understand. 

“how’s it feel? just like i said it would?” he’s answered with a splash of water and a ‘shut up’ from you. “c’mon, let’s swim.” 

and so you follow him, both of you laughing and teasing eachother as you swim through the ocean at night. you can see the town’s lights from afar. the boardwalks’ lights of the arcades and rides flashing as the residents play around. you and sunghoon aren’t too far away from other people, but it feels like it’s just the two of you for miles. 

when the water turns cold, under the cold moon, you and sunghoon float on your backs. your hands accidentally touch eachother’s as you let the waves control your body, but neither of you mind, and instead welcome eachother’s touches. you wonder what you two look like to moon who is hovering over you in full. maybe flowers, with all of your limbs spread out wide, enjoying the water you were subsided in. 

“i’ve never felt this free before. it’s like i’m being exactly who i am, without any masks or expectations.” 

your eyes glance over at sunghoon as he speaks. you can tell that he’s being genuine, the serious expression on his face as he keeps his head pointed upwards to the night sky. 

“i get that. there’s nothing else around right now, so.” 

“yeah, but it’s you– you make me feel seen and understood. it’s liberating, you know?” 

sunghoon’s gaze meets your own, and there was a softness, an unspoken understanding. the sound of the ocean became a symphony, a gently lullaby that underscored the vulnerability of the shared sentiments. your hair was kissed by the moonlight, a smile on both of your lips as you spoke truths. 

sunghoon reached for your hand, your fingers dancing across each other’s purposefully. 

“karina’s beautiful, sure, but with you, it’s so much different. it’s like your beauty is timeless, and not just in the way you look, but in the way you make me feel.” 

you think for a second he’s drank too much salt water for the day. and you want to push him off and tease him like you usually do, but his fingers wrapped around yours so strongly tell you that you shouldn’t. his eyes held honesty and gratitude as he looked into yours. you had so many thoughts racing through your head, struggling to get out.

“you’re beautiful, too, sunghoon.” 

the walk back to your dad’s house was wrapped in a comfortable quietude, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps harmonizing with the distant sound of crickets. 

sunghoon’s gaze, laden with the memories of tonight, occasionally meets yours as you traverse the familiar path. the connection between you has changed with an unspoken understanding that doesn’t demand words.

you both stop at the front door of your dad’s house. you and sunghoon were side by side, and share a quiet acknoelwedment that their night was now ending. you’re picking at your cuticles as you gently sway back and forth, trying to occupy yourself under sunghoon’s gaze. 

“good night, y/n.” 

“night, hoon.” 

before he steps away, he leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your temple, a sweet punctuation to their night. he turns with a final smile as you back up into the house, closing the door. 

you watch him as he makes his way home down the steet. the moon casted a soft glow on his silhouette as he got farther and farther out of sight. you couldn’t help but smile. that night may have been over, but you knew you’ll see him again the next day. the echoes of his laugh and the touch of his lips on your skin promise you sweet dreams as you crawl into your bed, under the cozy covers in the town you once swore you hated. 

on friday night, you and sunghoon were in karina’s family mansion. it felt like crossing into another realm where the music pulsated in the beautiful, large house. it was so much different than any other house you had ever been in. 

sunghoon’s reluctance to attend was palpable, yet the allure of your company prompted him to step into the grandeur of karina’s world. the mansion, a labyrinth of echoing laughter and vibrant lights, held the promise of a night that would clash with the usual transquility you and sunghoon had grown accustomed to. 

in the corner of the expensive, expansive living room, amidst the huge crowd that had also been invited, you and sunghoon were settled into a quiet cocoon of your own. the atmosphere was charged with frenetic energy of partiers, but you and sunghoon found comfort in each other’s presence. you thought maybe sunghoon was already so comfortable since he had been in this house before. he had known all the other people dancing and drinking around. meanwhile you, knew nobody and were in an unfamiliar place. 

though, sunghoon found it charming the way you were so curious about the party, the house and the people. his once skeptical eyes softened as he observed you. he admired you in a way he’s never admired anyone. you wanted to experience the party, but still chose to keep to yourself, with him. sunghoon with stoic demeansor, and you with a subtle glow than formed an oasis of tranquility he had allowed himself to enter whenever he was with you. 

through the loud music and large crowd, karina made her way to the two of you. though, she only addressed sunghoon at first. when sunghoon didn’t cave in to her mischievous greeting, a new sly smirk grew on her face as she turned to you instead.

“we’re about to start a drinking game. wanna join?” 

“no thanks, we’re good.” 

you nudged sunghoon at his answer, hating the way he always answered for you. 

“sure, karina, why not.” you tell her, wanting to see what games the people in this town really played. you ignored sunghoon’s glare in the back of your head as he follow you and karina to the large group of people settled upon the couches in the living room. you could tell sunghoon was concerned, but was hiding it with annoyance as he tried to tune out karina’s voice. 

you sat on one of the couches, sunghoon standing behind you on the other side of it. he kept his cup close to his mouth as he continued to drink almost angrily. karina explained the rules of the game to everyone, making sure all the players understood before she rolled the dice. 

you kept up with the rules and the game, moving your piece alongside the board everytime it was your turn and drinking or taking a shot when you needed to. you almost forgot sunghoon was behind you with all the commotion and concentration brought on by the drinking board game. 

each round of the board escalated with intensity. you found yourself navigating the fine line between the thrill of the game and the underlying currents of karina’s mischeif. you didn’t realize that the other players of the game had formed alliances as each turn was taken. you missed karina’s sly smile as she made sure everyone took their shots, heightening the levels of intoxication of everyone, but especially you. 

the room started to echo more with the clinking of glasses and boisterous cheers of others players. you started to sway slightly, beginning to feel the effects of teh deliberate excess of alcohol pushed onto you by karina. not being able to control your body completely anymore, you let your back hit the couch, your head lulling back to rest on the couch. there, you made eye contact with sunghoon who had stood behind you the entire time you played the game. 

as soon as sunghoon made eye contact with you, he could tell how wasted you had gotten compared to everyone else. he was already on edge with the amount of times karina had told you that it was your turn to take a shot. that she was telling you to take a shot when you weren’t even suppose to. 

“alright, that’s enough,” sunghoon declared, his voice cutting through the crowd. his eyes locked onto you with a steel determination of getting you out of here. 

karina, feigning innocence, looked taken aback when sunghoon started helping you up. “what’s wrong sunghoonie? we’re just having some fun. it is a party after all.” 

“fun shouldn’t come at the cost of someone’s well being. so c’mon y/n, we’re leaving, and we are never coming back, karina.” 

with a steady arm around your waist, sunghoon guided you away from the chaotic party. the air outside, crisp and refreshing, offered a stark contrast to the sweaty, crowd inside. 

the night air seemed to revive you the farther you got away from the party and the closer you got to sunghoon’s house. his grop remained on you, protective and reassuring and conveyed a silent promise to shield you from hurting yourself due to karina’s actions. 

as you walked through the dimly lit streets of the town, sunghoon’s large house ontop of the hill emerged. away from the raucous mansion that belong to karina. sunghoon’s steps were deliberate and measured, just wanting to guide you safely. 

sunghoon managed to bring you up to his bedroom quietly, both of you smiling sheepishly as you passed the head maid who took care of him as a child. you ascended the large staircase the lead to his bedroom. the hallways had tall, perfect walls that held photographs of the family. 

you couldn’t help but gasp when you saw sunghoon’s bedroom and the amount of space it held. the room exuded an air of affluence, the dimensions vast and adorned with subtle touches of opulence. the walls, painted in muted tones, cradled the room’s large windows that allowed the moonlight to cascade gently onto the plush furnishings. 

your eyes lingered on all the details– the elegant furniture, the soft glow of ambient lighting, and the artful arrangement of items that spoke of a meticulous sense of style. but you couldn’t help but realize that it didn’t seem like sunghoon at all, despite his name being on the awards showcased on the shelf in the corner. it was nothing like how you would imagine sunghoon to decorate a room. 

sunghoon settled you onto his bed, the plushness beneath you seemed to embrace you with a silent invitation to unwind. the linens, luxurious and inviting made you feel like you were in a hotel.sunghoon made sure the blanket was up to your chin, before he brushed a strand your hair behind your ear. he slowly started to back up, feeling as if he should go now that you were safe in his bed. 

but your hand grabbed onto his wrist, stopping him. 

“stay,” 

sunghoon and you layed side by side in his bed, your heads facing his high, posh ceiling. you could feel your hands being only centimeters apart at your sides, but neither one of you made an effort to connect them. an almost shy feeling taking over both of you as you layed in his bed. both of you could tell that the other was still awake. 

“how’re you feeling?” 

“better. less drunk.” 

“i’m sorry karina tricked you into drinking more, if i knew–,” 

“it’s fine, i should’ve been paying more attention.” 

a beat of silence took over his room once again. 

“thanks for taking care of me, hoon.” 

you hear sunghoon gulp beside you. neither one of you moving to look at eachother as you speak. you tell yourself to take a breath before you force yourself to move your hand to intertwined your fingers with his. instantaneously, both of your heads turned to face each other. 

now, you could see just how handsome sunghoon looked. his hair was messy against his pillow. his cheeks flushed a colour of red from the alcohol he had drank earlier. his pale skin was gleaming in the moonlight that the large windows let in. you could smell his laundry detergent so clearly that it was almost as intoxicating as the alcohol you had drank. 

without thinking, probably thanks to alcohol, you pressed a kiss into sunghoon’s temple as he did yours the night before. it was all you could think about. his plush, pink, lips against your skin. you wanted more. you couldn’t stop staring at his lips all day today, and you’re sure he could tell. 

pulling away from his temple, you stay only centimeters away from his face. looking down at him to take in his reaction. his eyes were serious as they bore into yours, unlike the playful look he had given you last night after he had kissed your own temple. 

just as you decide to shy away and regret your action, sunghoon is pressing his lips against yours. his eyes are closed and his pursed lips press onto your shocked ones. 

before you can kiss back, he’s pulling away from you, head laying on his pillow again. you only take a second before you’re pressing your lips against his this time. 

the kiss is passionate and longing. both of you have been wanting this and both of you know it. you found yourself so utterly, and completely drawn to sunghoon as you mesh your lips together. this simple kiss encapsulated so many emotions; exploring a new desired connection, the vulnerability woven into the fabric of the oment. it was a subtle revelation of emotions that surpassed the need for explicit articulation. 

as you parted, the unspoken understanding lingered in the air. the roomnow charged with the afterglow of your shared kiss. 

you didn’t break eyecontact and kept your faces only mere inches apart. sunghoon could physically see the need boiling up in your eyes as you continued to stare at him. he could feel his own stomach start to coil with the thought of having you. finally fulfilling the thought he’d been pushing to the back of his mind for weeks. 

“stop looking at me like that.” 

“like what?” 

you didn’t recognize your voice when you questioned him. your voice usually calm and low had turned into a higher mewl. 

“like,” sunghoon scoffed, “you wanna go further.” 

“i do.” 

“but you’re drunk.” 

“so are you.” 

sunghoon could feel his attempt at descalating the conversation fading with each quick answer you gave him. 

“please hoon, i like it when you take care of me.” 

with that, sunghoon forgot every apprehension as he slammed his lips against yours again. this time the kiss was more feverish, the passion soaring through both of you as you kept up the fast pace of the kiss. his hand comes up to grab your face, keeping it still as he makes out with you. you don’t fight for dominance as you let his tongue enter your mouth. as you swirl your tongues together, exploring each other’s mouths for the first time, you let your hand run down his shirt covered chest, stopping at the waist band of his pants. 

sunghoon suddenly grabs your waist, pulling you ontop of him. your knees are on other side of his hips. your hair dangling down as you have to look down at him. sunghoon places his hand around your neck, squeezing gentle to make you gasp out before he trails his hand down slowly, all the way from your neck, your chest, stopping at the bottom hem of your shirt. his warm thumb rubs slow circles on the exposed skin of your stomach, making you shiver. 

“you’re gonna let me take care of you like a good girl?” sunghoon’s voice is deep as he asks you, his brown eyes staring right into yours through his blank bangs that have fallen over them. he looked so good underneath you. 

you nodded, your eyes innocent with your answer. sunghoon’s hand landed on your neck, squeezing again. his eyes tense when he speaks again, “use your words princess.” 

“y-yes, i’ll be a good girl for you.” 

“good girl for who?”

“for you, sir.” 

sunghoon’s grip on your neck loosened, liking the sound of your answer. 

“take your shirt off for sir.” 

you don’t hesitate, your hands grabbing the bottom of your shirt and raising it over your head, dropping it off onto his floor beside you. your bikini top is tight to your chest. you watch the way sunghoon’s licks his lips as his hands go behind your back, untying your bikini to let it drop right off of you. 

you don’t feel exposed or bare as sunghoon marvels at your chest. his eyes scanning from one breast to the other to your face and back again, 

“fuck, you’re so beautiful, princess,” sunghoon compliments you as he sits up, his mouth pressing open mouthed kisses on your neck, “wish you could see yourself how i see you.” you whine at his words, hating how he knows you so well. hating how he knows all your insecurities and how much he loved them. 

his fingers find your nipples, squeezing them gently, testing how well you respond to it. he’s pleased when you arch your back into his chest, wanting more. he pulls and tugs on them harder, loving how you start to squirm. when he presses kisses into your neck you throw your head to the side, letting him have as much room as he needs. his lips that you wanted to kiss so bad feel like heaven on your neck. 

sunghoon’s hands grip your waist, guiding you to move back and forth across his crotch. you whimper at the first feeling of the friction. your skirt has ridden up, so your bathing suit bottoms are on display as you rub your core against his cortch. you can feel how hard his cock is inside his pants. 

sunghoon keeps his mouth on your nipples as you start to pick up your pace grinding down onto him. you alternate switching your hips from going back and forth to circling around. 

“fuck you’re so good at that, baby. making sir feel so good.” 

sunghoon keeps your close to him by keeping his hand on your back. he’s almost possessive with your body, not wanting it to go anywhere, like it belongs to him. and for tonight, you’ll let him own your body. he’s making you feel so good, finding all your sweet spots on your neck and chest. 

“that’s right, rub back and forth over that hard cock.” 

you whine out his name, your head thrown back. sunghoon’s free hand covers your mouth, stopping you from being too loud. he mumbles a ‘be quiet’ into your skin as he sucks on it, leaving pink marks and saliva all over your neck, chest and tits. 

sunghoon starts to rub you back and forth over his cock, leaving you with no control over your own body. you’re gripping onto his shoulders as you let him do as he pleases, using your body to get both of you to feel good. 

“kiss me,” your simple demand is quiet in his room as you both grind against each other feverishly. 

sunghoon presses his swollen lips against yours. you feel how wet his mouth is, happily taking his spit and lips into your mouth. you’re already addicted to his taste. 

sunghoon could feel your nails grip into his shoulder harder, leaving marks but he didn’t care. he could tell that you were close to your climax. he started to grind his hips upwards against yours. shoving his hand over your mouth to muffle your moan. 

“you gonna cum, princess? gonna show sir how well he takes care of you?” 

“yes, sir, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” 

sunghoon doesn’t stop, wanting to see you cum so bad. he’s thought about it for weeks. thought about how you would sound, look and taste. he watches as you struggle to keep your eyes open. your mouth wide open as your hips don’t stop grinding down. the friction becoming too much for your little clit as he drags your hips against his. 

“cum for me princess, that’s right, that’s right.” 

with his encouragement you throw your headback one last time, his hand covering your mouth roughly to quiet you. your body starts to shake on top of his as your orgasm washes over you. your clit spasming from the friction of your bathing suit and his jeans. your arms go weak and your chest collapses onto his. 

“fuck, sir.” you whimper out, your body still on adrenaline as your orgasm fades. 

“that was so good, baby. did so well for me.” sunghoon praises you. he presses soft kisses into your neck, different from how rough and harsh he was kissing and sucking only minutes ago. 

you look down ands ee the wet mess you had left on his jeans, almost embarrassed until sunghoon groaned at the sight. 

“nade such a mess on sir, baby.” you notice his hard bulge still in his pants, your eyes innocent as you look back to his. his eyes are soft as he watches you, his hands gentle as they push your hair out of your face. 

“you didn’t cum yet sir?” 

sunghoon shrugs, “don’t need to, watching you was enough.” 

“wanna see you cum, though.” 

before sunghoon can disagree more, you’re pulling his cock out of his pants. it’s red and hard. the veins are protruding as his cock is so stimulated from the friction of your hips from before. 

“spit on it.” 

you do as sunghoon demands. letting a long string of saliva meet his tip from your mouth. he groans out your name as he feel sthe warm liquid meet his hard cock. 

he takes his cock from your grip, starting to jerk his own cock up and down, staring right at your worn out face, saliva coerd chst and hard nipples that he had sucked and bit on. 

“you wanna taste my cum, princess?” 

his words make your stomach coil again, feeling the pleasure, desire and need build up again as you watch sunghoon jerk himself off in front of you. his arm is almost lazy as he pulls on his cock with your saliva as a lubricant. his head is thrown back against the headboard as he watches you, scans your body. 

“yes, sir, please. ‘ve been thinking about your taste for weeks.” 

sunghoon smiles at your answer, loving the way you’re so honest with him all the time. his smile makes you weak at the knees so you’re grateful you’re still straddling his lap. 

“g, gonna cum in a sec, baby.” 

“do it sir, wanna watch you cum so bad.” 

with a few more tugs on his cock, sunghoon hit his orgasm. he threw his head back and let out deep groans that you knew you would never forget. youor eyes were switching from looking at his face to where his cock was. white strands of cum were dripping down his cock and in his hand. he kept moaning your name, making you close your thighs instinctiely to relieve some pressure that was building again. 

when sunghoon’s orgasm had started to fade, you didn’t hesitate to swoop your hand down to his cock, collecting the fallen liquid that you oh, so wanted to taste. sunghoon watched you lick it off your fingers, a deep gutteral groan coming from his chest at the sight. 

the taste is salty in your mouth and you keep your eyes entrained on sunghoon until it’s all gone. sunghoon reaches over and grabs a tissue to wipe his fingers off, and then he grabbing another tissue. he reaches over to you, dabbing the tissues around your mouth and swiping it around the wet parts on your neck. the whole time, your heart was beating so loudly there was no way he didn’t hear it. 

for tonight, sunghoon carefully slipped your out of your bathing suit bottoms and skirt, giving you one of his shirts and boxer shorts to wear instead. he tried to ignore the achey feeling in his heart when you were fully dressed, and climbed into bed beside you. you rested your head on his warm, bare chest. his arm was kept around you, keeping you close to him. you quickly fell asleep, a soft smile on your face that made sunghoon want to kiss it. but sunghoon stayed awake for hours, scared then when he woke up again, everything would be wrong. 

you easily find sunghoon at the beach, despite the large crowd of people among it. it was the hottest day of the summer, and the beach was packed. unlike everyone else sun tanning, playing volleyball, swimming or making sandcastles; sunghoon was under an umbrella, his head thrown down into a book. you walk over to where he was, paying attention not startle him. he turns you before you even open your mouth to speak, like he’s been waiting for you. 

“hey, wanna go to the rock?” 

the rock is more quiet than the rest of the beach. it’s just the two of you up there, watching everyone else living life on the beach and in the water. it gives you both space to think. neither of you have spoken about what happened a few nights ago. the morning after, you both just woke up and got back to your normal routine as if nothing had happened. but both of you knew and could that something did in fact. 

“ever been out of the country before?” 

you asked him partly because you knew he had with his affluent background, and because you were curious about other places. you had only ever stayed around the city you were born in. your roots were planted there and you knew you would never go farther than this town you were in now. vacations were a luxury not afforded to families like your own. 

“yeah, a lot of places,” sunghoon admitted, “but it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. it’s always about business, never about exploring or enjoying.” he was a traveler by circumstance rather than choice. he had seen the world through the lens of his father’s business ventures. 

“if you could live in any country, where would you go?” 

“i don’t know.” sunghoon sighed, “somewhere far away. somewhere untouched by my father’s business dealings. maybe like a quiet beach.” 

“with hot beach chicks?”

sunghoon scoffed, “yeah girls love a mysterious stranger– and i could be that guy.” 

your conversation dwindled, both of you thinking about different things as you watched the beach scene unfold beneath you. the sun seemed to get hotter and dried out your mouth quickly. 

“what about you, y/n? where would you go?” 

not knowing of any places besides from the stories your dad use to tell you he went before you were born, your mind stuck on the place your dad said he needed to go to again before he died. 

“istanbul.” 

on one weekend, sunghoon’s dad needed him to accompany him to a business dinner in the nearest city, leaving you home alone for the night. your dad had gone on a weekend fishing trip with his friends, and wouldnt be back until the next day. 

the only light on in the house was the tv playing behind you. some sitcom that you were paying no attention to. you sat on a chair looking out the window. you watched as the trees blew in the dark sky, the moon raining down on them. you rested your head against the cold window, cooling down your body. 

this was the first night in a month that you had been alone. you’d spend your afternoons on the rock until it was pitch black out. and then usually sunghoon would talk to you from your balcony as you drifted off to sleep in your bed. 

you didn’t realize how much you hate being alone until now. maybe that’s why you didn’t want to come here this summer, because then you’d be away from your friends who would always keep you company. you don’t understand why you can’t be alone. you think maybe it’s because then you have to face all the thoughts you ignore and push away. you don’t have time to think about your problems when you’re with other people. 

that’s why you like hanging out with sunghoon. your brain completely shuts off when you’re with him. you’re so comfortable with him and know that he doesn’t expect anything from you. you don’t know how you’re going to go back to your hometown, away from him. where you’ll have to deal with everything, every problem, again. 

you didn’t realize you were crying until a tear lands on your lap. the t shirt sunghoon had let you borrow had risen up, letting yur thighs be the victim of your tears. you knew that you and sunghoon would have to separate soon, there were only a few weeks left until you had to go back home and sunghoon would have to go back to his fancy private school for the year. the town that holds both of your memories would be empty without both of you in it. 

despite the harsh contrast of your backgrounds, you and sunghoon were woven with each other. stitched together with vulnerabilities neither of you had shared with anyone else. you didn’t want to share it with anyone else except for park sunghoon. 

“y/n?” 

your body stops it’s shaking at the sound of his voice. and you were sure you’ve started to lose it. 

“y/n?” he says your name again, this time with a louder knock the wooden front door. 

quickly you get up from your place on the kitchen chair, making your way to the door. through the kaleidoscope window you see him. he’s standing there in a suit, but his white shirt is unbuttoned and his tie is wrapped loosely over his neck. when he sees you he tells you to open the door. 

when you do, he steps in, his body engulffing your own. he’s mumbling something about how he hates his father and how he had to walk all the way here and how he never wanted to go back home. when he pulls away he stops, 

“have you been crying, princess?” 

“no,” you wipe your cheeks quickly, “but you’ve been drinking.” 

“yeah, and i’m fuckin’ wasted.” 

you brought him up to your bedroom, where he sprawled across your small mattress. his pants and jacket are lost somewhere on your bedroom floor as he lays in his boxers and unbuttoned shirt. the edges of the mattress fail to contain his long legs, giving him an air of maturity beyond his years. 

from your vantage point on the floor, you observed him. almost a familiar ritual that you’ve always done. in your dimly lit bedroom, he appears almost perfect, submerged in darkness, almost authentically himself if he weren’t so drunk. you had never seen him so toxicated before, but it kept a small smile on your face as you watched him. 

“you look so pretty right now, y/n.”

“just right now?” 

“no, all the time. of course, all the time.” 

as he closes his eyes with a sloppy smile on his face, you imagine what it would be like to live with him everyday, to see more nights like this of him coming home drunk to bed, telling you how pretty you are. you know the parts that you imagine are just fantasies that would never come true, but you let yourself imagine them as memories that have already happened between the two of you. 

“got anything else to drink, princess? like some whiskey or somethin’?” 

“um,” you pretend to hum in thought, “i think i should just get you some water for now.” you start to rise from your position, balancing on your knees on the floor. your chin rested on the mattress, next to his veiny forearm. 

proximity has always defined your relationship in affectionate gestures. but, in that moment, as you exist so closely to each other, it transcends the familiar. it feels as if they are convering into one in this small room. like two individuals are finally completing into one person. 

“i’m just gonna go get water.” 

sunghoon’s hand reaches out to grab your wrist gently, “don’t go, y/n. the world is awful when you’re not here.” he confesses, his words lingering in the room, merging with the slow rhythm of his breaking, a cadence that aligns with the soft rain that has started outside. 

on the night that the town held their annual carnival, you and sunghoon chose to avoid it. you wouldn’t be joining it’s neon lights, laughter and kaleidoscope of colours. instead, you found yourselves at the desolated beach, forgotten by everyone in light of the carnival. 

you found a spot where the sand meets the gentle lapping waves. your bodies are laying down adjacent to the ocean. the distant carnival music becomes a faint melody, drowned by sunghoon humming some song you can’t think the name of. your fingers idly trace patterns in the sand as sunghoon gazes up at the stars. the scent of salt permeates teh air, mingling with the aroma of cotton candy you and sunghoon had previously shared. 

“what’s on your mind?” 

you scoff at his question, but still answer him, now you’ve become use to him knowing when you’re lost in a constant thought, “just, summer’s almost over, and then i’ll have to go back home and to school.”

“i’m sure going back to your home won’t be as bad as going back to my private school.” 

you don’t care that sunghoon watched you roll your eyes at his answer. because both of you knew that you would rather go to a rich private school than your awful public school. 

“but still,” sunghoon admitted, “i’m glad we had this summer.” the vulnerability in his words weaving a thread in your heart of affection for him. 

your eyes met each other’s, exchanging a look of understanding as the weight of reality pressed upon you. unspoken fears of the looming distance and unfulfilled promises in the future. sunghoon can see the gratitude and longing mixing in your eyes as they reflect his. 

sunghoon entangles his hand in yours, stopping you from tracing your usual shapes in the sand. his hand is cold compared to the summer temperature around you, but you don’t mind, you welcome it. his hand is large compared to yours as he drags his thumb over yours. you keep your eyes on eachother, full of longing and inevitable sadness. 

“come here.” 

you do as he says, rolling over in the sand so you’re half laying on his chest, your faces close together as your legs entangle so naturally, as if you’ve done this everyday for years. you think you use to shy away from not only sunghoon’s, but everyone’s physical affection. but with sunghoon’s, you gladly accept it before you can even think about it. 

like you don’t even think about it before you’re meeting sunghoon’s plush lips in a tender kiss. it was a promise sealed in the taste of salt and cotton candy on your lips, an unspoken pact to carry the warmth of the summer through the chill of the coming weeks. the ocean, a silent witness, cradled your fleeting connection– a memory etched in the sand. 

you keep making out gently. different from the last time when you were drunk and in his bed. it’s softer, like you’re scared the other is going to break. his hands are wrapped around your waist, keeping you tucked into his side. it feels so safe and natural to be with him like this that it almost scares you. 

you swing your leg up and over sunghoon’s hips, straddling him now. his hands stay on your waist as he looks up at you, the sand cushioning his head. again, without a thought, you slide his shirt off of your body. you hear him curse under his breath as your bikini top chest comes into view. neither of you really mind your hips grinding down onto his crotch. 

“should we go somewhere private, princess?” 

you shake your head no, “want you here, right now. you know there’s no one around.” 

sunghoon lets a deep grumble out from within his chest. one of his hands coming up to your head, pushing it down to meet his own, your lips meeting more intensely this time. the sounds of your lips smacking intrude on the sounds of the ocean behind you. 

your hands start to untie his bathing suit bottoms, he moves his hips upwards to help you slide them down his thighs. his semi-hard dick is in your view then. 

“spit on it, baby, like a good girl.” 

you let a drool of your saliva drop down onto his member, and then your hand meets it. it slowly starts to pump his cock up and down. sunghoon doesn’t take his eyes off of where your hand meets him. he lets out mumbles of praise as you continue. neither of you worry about being too loud as the sound of the waves and faint carnival music drown anything out from your corner in the beach. 

he tells you to keep going, making you speed up your movements of your hand. when his cock was fully hard he decided then that he quickly needed to be inside of you. 

“want you to ride my cock, princess.” 

“yes, sir.” 

you start to move to unbutton your shorts. sunghoon helps you slide them off with your bathing suit bottoms. when you straddle him again, both of you moan at the feeling of your wet pussy against his cock. you grab his cock, rubbing it through your wet folds. 

“no teasing, baby.” sunghoon grunts through his gritted teeth. you didn’t know that you could have this big of an effect on him. 

he helps you slide his cock inside of you. you sink down slowly on it, feeling every inch and vein of it. sunghoon’s other hand remains on your waist, squeezing tightly as the pleasure takes over him as well. when he’s hit as far as he could fit, he stops. he lets you adjust to his size as you swear to him under your breath that he’s the biggest you’ve ever felt. 

“yeah? i fill you up so good already, y/n?” he has a teasing smile on his face that you half want to punch and half want to kiss. but, you do the latter and press your lips onto his once more. the kiss is soft and innocent compared to how lewd the action was between your legs. 

you let out moans of his name mixed with curses, that let him know you were feeling just as good as he was. his hands stayed on your waist, helping you move up and down on his cock. 

“you’re so wet, fuck.” 

he licked and bite his lips, grunting as you slammed your ass down onto him. you could faintly hear the sound your wet core was making everytime your bodies collided. you planted your palms onto his bare chest, keeping yourself steady for your harsh and fast movements. 

sunghoon let his hand trail up from your waist to your tits, grasping them in his hand, tweaking your nipple through the bathing suit top. he smirked at your response, finding it amusing how sensitive your tits were. his hand moved to your throat, squeezing it with just the right amount of pleasure. you cry out how name at his gesture. your own hand snaking down to play with your clit, rubbing it in fast circles as you don’t stop bouncing down on his dick. 

sunghoon is in pure heaven at the state of you. you look so desperate as you slam your ass against his thights. your eyebrows are pushed together and your mouth is wide open. his hand keeps still on your throat, loving how it makes you move slopppier. your walls started to clench more around his cock; your name slips out of his mouth so beautifully. 

“you gonna cum, princess? gonna cum all over sir’s cock?” 

you let out a mumble that sounds similar to ‘yeah’ as you continue to reach the edge with his cock shoved deep inside of you. your body shook ontop of his as you came. your thighs clenching around his hips as you threw your head back into the night sky. 

sunghoon’s eyes became sharp set at the feeling of your silk walls pulsating. he started to force his cock up into your wet pussy at a speed you could barely comprehend. his hands were tight on your waist as he forced his hips up and down. 

sunghoon’s jaw was clenched as he focused on reaching his own high. his hard cock practically ripped you open. your cries started to become louder from being overstimulated from the pleasure. sunghoon could only focus on you and your pussy and how good you were making him feel. 

“fuck me sir just like that! so good! please!” 

your begging pushes sunghoon over the edge, your walls and cries too much for him. he releases his warm cum into you with a final, push into your pussy. you moan out his name as you feel him cum inside of you. his fingers stay tight onto your waist, for sure leaving nail marks from how tight he’s gripping your skin. 

your body collapsing onto his. both of your breaths mixing with the sand as you try to catch your breaths. both of you listen to the ocean and your uneven breaths as you relax from the sex. you feel his fingers trace shape on your bare back as he keeps his cock deep inside of you. 

neither of you bother to try to move for a while, finding comfort in each others presence– loving the way you felt so close to each other with his cock still inside of you. even when it’s gone completely soft, you both stay there, holding each other, trying to stop the minutes from ticking.

for the rest of the summer, the days melted into the nights and the summer sun continued to beam down on both of your skins. you and sunghoon became even more inseparable and irresistible of each other. each moment was something you wish you could remember vividly for the rest of your life. 

you spent more time exploring each other’s bodies. both of you liked the risk and adrenaline that came with almost getting caught. which lead to more sex on the beach. sunghoon sneaking through your balcony at night to make you cum. giving him blowjobs on the beach under the umbrella. following him up to his bedroom at night, avoiding the eyes of his parents and house workers. 

the nights were always alive when you swam against the waves. the silver glow of the moon, you and sunghoon would slip into the ocean, taking in the cool embraces of the waster as you revealed in the serenity of the night. sometimes, you’d find yourselves huddled around a bonfire, roasting marshmallows until they were golden brown. the sweet scent of toasted marshmallows lingered in the air and on your tongues. 

other nights, you’d find yourselves lazing around your bedroom, your head in sunghoon’s lap as he read richard brautigan to you. his voice weaving through the air like poetry. the words painted vivid images in your mind. every so often, you’d be following sunghoon around his mansion, a grant labyrinth of corridors and hidden rooms. each corner would reveal a piece of his world. with more exploration, the vast mansion turned more into a cozy home. 

the more fun you had with sunghoon, the more the bittersweet reality set in. responsibilities loomed in the horizon, promising to pull you both in different directions. the summer became a haven that you wished could be eternal. 

the night before you had to separate, your bedroom lay hushed in the muted glow of your bedside lamp, casting gentle shadows on the walls. the air was thich with the unspoken weight of impending farewells as you and sunghoon shared a quiet moment. a silent acknowledgement of teh fleeting hours left before needing to part ways for an unknown amount of time. 

laying side by side in the dimly lit room, the creak of the mattress beneath you was a subtle reminder of the transient nature of your togetherness. the soft hum of an old melody played from a distant radio outside your open window, filling the gaps between words with a melancholic undertone. 

sunghoon’s fingers danced idly through a strand of your hair, his touch feather light yet laden with a somber tenderness. the strands twirled and looped around his fingers like a silent dance. he tried to take in all the details of your hair, so he could remember every detail about you. 

as you traced abstract patterns on the ceiling, listening to the sound of sunghoon’s heartbeat, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with unspoken words and unshed tears. the scent of summer lingered, encapsulating the essence of your days spent together. 

the night outside remained still, save for the distant murmur of waves and occasional rustle of leaves. in the quiet room, it held the weight of goodbyes and resonance of shared laughter and whispered confessions. words that you knew neither of you would be able to speak to another soul.

the summer cast long shadows across the driveway as sunghoon stood at the end, a silhouette etched against teh golden hues of the warm evening. the atmosphere was saturated with unspoken emotions, heavy witht eh weight of impending goodbyes. you stepped off of the porch, the worn wooden planks feeling cool beneath your bare feet. 

sunghoon’s gaze met yours, a silent exchange that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. the air seemed to hum with the poignant awareness of an ending, and the usual busy neighbourhood hushed as if it, too, understood the gravity of the moment. 

the lowering sun cast long shadows across sunghoon’s handsome face, acentuating the contours of his features. his eyes held a mix of reluctance and acceptance, mirroring the conflicted emotions swirling within you both. the echo of shared laughter and whispered secrets lingered in the air, a symphony of memories that played softly in the background. 

you met him at the end of the driveway, your mother’s idle car waiting for you just meters away. 

“i’m going to miss you,” sunghoon practically whispered, his voice carrying the weight of too many emotions for either of you to handle. 

“i’ll miss you, too.” 

the town held its brath as your lips met in a tender, bittersweet kiss– a farewell painted with the colorus of sunset and promise of a tomorrow that belonged to different worlds. neither of you knew when the next time you would feel the others lips on your own. the kiss was as slow as possible, as if time stopped when you were connected. 

breaking away, your eyes locked onto his brown ones that you’ve had weeks to memorize for eternity. a lump formed in your throat as you struggled to find words that could encapsulate the depth of your feelings in that very moment. 

sunghoon speaks for you, “i’ll never forget you.” his fingers trace your jaw, feeling your soft skin he’s kissed a hundred times, for the last time. “or how overly idealistic you are.” 

“shut up.” 

the small amount of humour you both embrace hurts more than it should. both of your souls reluctantly embracing the inevitability of your separation. 

you start to backup towards your car, where your mom waits to leave for home, your fingers slowly loosing grip of sunghoon’s as the distance between your bodies increases. 

you only lose sight of him while you get into the car, telling your mother that you’re ready, even though you’re not. the engine hummed to life, the vibrations beneath the chassis resonating with the subdued rhythm of your heart. as the car began to pull away, your turned to face the back window. the neighbourhood unfolded in reverse, a mosaic of houses, trees and streetlights that once felt so comforting. 

through the glass, sunghoon stood on the gravel dirt road, a silhouette painted against the backdrop of fading daylight. his hand lifted in a half hearted wave, a mirror image of your own farewell. matching tear streaks adorned both your faces, glistening traces of emotions left unspoken in the twilight air. the sunset light covered his face in the most beautiful, devastating way. 

as the distance between you and him widened, the world outside blurred into a montage of colours and shapes. the weight of the unknown future hung in the air, a quiet ache taht nestled in the hollows of your chest. the car carried you further away, navigating the streets you once hated. 

you stole one last glance at sunghoon who was joined by your dad at the end of the driveway. both of them having sad smiles on their faces as they watched your car disappear into the distance. 

the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a final burst of golden streaks across the evening sky– an ending to summer. as the car turned a corner, your gaze remained fixed on the fading landscape, the remnants of a summer love etched in the recesses of your memories. each passing scenery of a familiar landmark was a reminder of moments shared with sunghoon. the quiet far corners of the town held the resonance of laughter, clandestine meetings and the stubble brush of fingertips that danced in the delicate way you would always remember. 

the ache in your chest matched the quiet tears that streamed down your cheeks, glistening in the soft glow of the streetlights. in the solitude of the car, you allowed yourself the vulnerability of grief, mourning the passage of summer and love that felt like a fleeting dream. 

you longed for the ability to rewind time, to relive the summer with sunghoon over and over again. the desire hung in the air, palpable and unspoken as the car glided toward the destination where the echoes of laughter had once been a symphony, now reduced to the gentle cadence of your own tears. 

the outside, familiar world had become a blur, and the quiet of the night seemed to mirror the hollowness you felt within. the knowledge that you might never see the silhouette of park sunghoon against the backdrop of summer’s fading hues was a devastating ache, a void that lingered in the spaces between breaths. the gravity of the impending absence seeped through your veins, leaving behind the remnants of a season that had slipped away, leaving you with nothing but the echoes of goodbye and memories that you hoped you could remember forever. 

the days that followed morphed into long, awful monotony. your once-familiar routine, once a source of comfort, now felt like an oppressive weight. each step echoing the absence left in the wake of summers ephemeral bliss. 

you and sunghoon had texted for as long as you could, before he had to hand in his phone at private school because of the strict rule that everyone hated : no phones allowed. how you ached to hear his voice once more. 

you continuously looked at pictures you had taken on your phone through the summer. tears streaming down your face as you looked at the digital face of park sunghoon– the face that you had kissed and touched and admired so many times just weeks before. 

the pictures became a tormentous reminder, and the once cherished routine back at home now felt like a cage, every corner haunted by the echoes of park sunghoon’s absence.  

weeks continued to pass since you had to say goodbye to sunghoon, and each day in your hometown felt slower and slower. your school that you once loved, felt like hell. the faces around you that were once your closest friends, blurred into a sea of strangers, and the classrooms became chambers of detached voices you couldn’t bare to listen to. your thoughts kept drifting back to sunghoon, the only person who seemed to every understand you. his absence cast a shadow over you that nothing seemed to fill. 

in the hallways, you found yourself thinking you had caught glimpses of sunghoon. his familiar silhouette passing at the end of the hall, only for there to be no one once you reached the end of it– or it was someone else who was very confused at your actions. every time, your heart raced, hope and anticipation intertwined– only to be shattered once reality settled in. sunghoon was miles away, across the country in a school you could never afford. 

at home, you found yourself imagining his presence beside you. every night, while you sat in a warm bath, your wet hair sticking to your nude back like it did in the summer when you would go swimming, you imagined him sitting across from you. the tips of his black hair wet as it dripped down his face and stuck to his forehead. 

you imagined talking and laughing with him. it was a mixture of conversations you already had with him, and ones that you wanted to have with him. the mirage of him would laugh when you wanted him to. you could almost feel his skin on yours when you imagined he would reach across the distance between you in the bath and brush your wet hair out of your face. you could hear his voice calling you his princess, and how pretty you are. 

and everytime, you would come out of your imagination with tears streaming down your face. knowing that you would never be able to speak with sunghoon again. he would never actually be across from you in the bath like how you constantly imagined and wished. it hurt everytime. 

it seemed that everything you did reminded you of sunghoon. your favourite books, like anything by richard brautigan, reminded you of him. you could only hear the words written across the pages in sunghoon’s voice. the memories of him reading those exact words to you in your bedroom or on the beach flashed through your mind. you swore you could smell the ocean’s sea salt on the pages when you flipped through them. 

you ended up having to shove all of brautigan’s books under your bed so you couldn’t see them. 

the sunsets in your hometown were no match to the ones that would set in your father’s town. you couldn’t imagine the ugly colours of your hometown’s sunsets fading into sunghoon’s skin. 

sometimes, you cursed park sunghoon– for ruining your favourite books, favourite smells, favourite sunsets. 

your mother told you that with time the pain in your chest would fade– but how much time would be needed for you to forget every single beautiful detail of park sunghoon? 

the weeks rolled on as they must do. and gradually, the familiarity of your old routine began to reclaims its space in your life. the once pervasive memories of park sunghoon were now relegated to the corners of your mind. with a quiet acceptance, you found comfort in the routienst aht had defined your life before summer. 

in the company of your friends you had welcomed you back so easily, laughter echoed through familiar hangout spots. the school activities you took part in became a buffer against the persistent ache of longing. you enjoyed walking into all the classrooms with your friends as you focused more and more on your studies during your final year of high school. 

acceptance came not as resignation but as a gentle acknowledgement that there is more to life than that town and summer with park sunghoon. the mundane moments, once overshadowed, now stood as peaceful moments that you found happiness in. you discovered a semblance of normalcy, a balm for the heart yearning for the touch of a distant memory that would only stay as a memory. 

when winter break arrived, so did the crisp chill in the air that you had seemed to have forgotten. 

on christmas, you called your father. 

you picked your nails as you gave in to the compelling inquiry of the park mansion. your dad’s response was delivered with a heavy sigh. as he stood by the window, his phone against his shoulder and ear, he gazed toward the distant hill where the mansion nestled. there was only a scattering of lights flickered in the windows– only the wait staff resided there now. 

“the town’s different now,” your father muttered, his eyes fixated on the silent mansion. “people are huddled up in their homes, or they’ve retreated to their own cities for the year.” his words painted a picture of a community cocooned in the winter’s embrace, a far cry from the lively canvas that had coloured your summer days. 

attempting to conjure the image your father described, you strained to envision the town shrouded in winter’s hush. streets once bustling with activity, now empty and serene. shops that echoed with laughter and music now adorned with boarded up windows. the once welcoming cool ocean water, was now empty and freezing. 

yet, despite your efforts, the mental image eluded you. the town you had known only as a summer haven resisted transformation in your mind. you could almost hear the distant echo of waves crashing against the shore and feel the warmth of the summer sun, rendering your attempts to superimpose a winter veil futile. 

you avoided your father’s questions about park sunghoon. 

spring unfolded its tender embrace, and with it came a cascade of changes that wove into the fabric of your life. as the days lengthed and the air became infused with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, you found yourself navigating a labyrinth of new worries, memories and responsibilities. 

graduating high school loomed on the horizon, a monumental milestone that carried the weight of farewells and unknown futures. the hallways now echoed with teh eancitipatory whispers of change. faces you had known since childhood broe expressions of both excitement and sadness, mirroing the kaleidoscope of emotions within you. 

with each passing day, the gravity of adulthood settled like a spring mist. responsibilities sprouted like delicate buds, demanding attention and nurturing. the carefree days of childhood were replaced by the dawning reality of independence. 

amidst the new chaos of growing up, memories of that fleeting summer lingered like the fragrance of blossoms that carried in through your open window. you had started packing your childhood bedroom into boxes for college, the smell of cardboard intoxicating.

the closer to college got to starting, the faster spring was ending and summer was beginning yet again. 

summer started with a cool breeze and a familiar conversation between your father and you. the invitation, as inevitable as the changing seasons, beckoned you back to the town where memories of sun-kissed days lingered in your mind. 

the journey back was like deja vu. the road unfurled before you as your mother drove you. a ribbon of asphalt winding through fields and quaint houses. the rhythm of the tires on the pavement was the exact same as the year before. but your emotions were different as you approached your father’s house. 

the scent of the town wrapped around you in a comforting embrace as the car stopped in front of your dad’s house you had grown to cherish. you didn’t hesitate running into the house, throwing yourself into your father’s arms, feeling like a child in them as he squeezed you tight. 

dinner that first evening back, carried an unspoken tension as you hesitated to broach the subject that had been gnawing at you all day. your dad, sensing your unease from across the table, cast a discerning glance your way before setting down his fork and signalling you to ask him whatever it was. 

“what’re the park’s up to?” 

the sigh that escaped your father’s lips held the weight of the room. 

he spoke of the parks, usually a steadfast presence by this time of year, but were absent from the familiar mansion that sat on the hill. 

you glanced  through the window, catching sight where the park mansion stood, a silhouette against the backdrop of the evening sky. the absence of lights within the mansion mirrored the void left by the infamous parks. your heart skipped a beat at the disappointment that settled within you. 

you spent the week trying to find the familiar silhouette of park sunghoon. the cafe where tendrils of his cigarette smoke lingered, was only vacant, devoid of his casual presence and the acrid scent of tobacco you had learned to tolerate.  the quiet rustle of pages turning under an umbrella at the beach failed to mask the silence left by his absence. 

evenings, once painted with the warm hues of sunset witnessed from your shared perch on the rock, now felt incomplete. the horizon, bereft of his mysterious gaze, seemed to echo the hollowness that reverberated within you. the eaves, crashing against shore were reminding you of the tears you had shed for him. 

seated on the familiar rock, where laughter and secrets were once shared with the sea, you felt the weight of his absence you once never knew you needed. the contours of the rock, etched with the memories of shared sunsets, cradled you with comfort you knew only park sunghoon could give you. 

in the quietude, with only a handful of people still playing in the water below you, you yearned for teh silhouette that had seamlessly woven itself into your summer memories. the absence of sunghoon cast a somber hue onto the familiar landscapes that had once been so comforting and alive. now, seated alone on the rock, you became an inadvertent observer by yourself. a lone tear fell down your sunburnt cheek. 

you thought of all the memories you had with sunghoon, and how they unfolded like a series of bittersweet snapshots. there was an anger and frustration bubbling up within you. a visceral response to the stark absence of his once-constant presence. yet, you found yourself unwilling to relinquish in those moments. 

the touch of his pale skin against yours lingered in your thoughts like the imprint of the summer sun on your skin. it was a sensation that spoke of lazy afternoons spent together, where time stretched and contored into your favour. anger brewed at the realization that such moments had become a repository of longing, each memory a testament to the void he had left. 

despite the storm within, you marveled at the resilience of of the feeling his lips had left on your own. within stolen kisses or passionate ones that never seemed to end. anger and frustration gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, teh desire for one more stolen kiss persisted, a silent plea that you knew he would never hear. 

you soon realized your cheeks were as wet as the times you had gone swimming in the ocean with sunghoon, or imagined him talking with you in the bath. tears were streaming down your face at the lost memories with park sunghoon that you would never get to relive. 

you put your head in your arms, cradling your mind as it physically poured its sadness onto your skin. 

“y/n? i knew you’d be up here.” 

a voice so achingly familiar sent shivers down your spine. 

the words hung in the air, resonating with a surreal quality that danced in disbelief. turning slowly, as if caught between reality and reverie, you met the gaze of the person standing behind you. 

“sunghoon? is it really you?” the question trembled on her tongue, you half expected him to vanish into the ether like the other mirages you had seen of him. 

“well yeah, how many other hearthrobs are in this town?” 

you thought he ought to be another twisted figment of your imagination– but he stood before you with an undeniable solidity. 

“say my name again,” 

a desparete plea to ground yourself atop the rock that was so high. 

“y/n.” 

the syllables rolled off his tongue, and with each utterance, the knot of uncertainty in your chest loosened. yet, his eye straced the tear-streaked canvas of your face, concern etched across his features, he asked, “what’s wrong?” 

within just a moment, the vulnerability of your emotions overcame the barriers that were once so high. rising from your rocky spot, you ran toward him, a blur of motion against the backdrop of the sun’s dying embers. in his arms, you found the familiar safety you had ached for for so long. the warmth of his embrace eclipsing the silent ache of separation. the sunset bore witness to a reunion, a collision of two souls that belonged together. 

as the final embers of the sunset retreated beyond the horizon, you and sunghoon lingered on the weathered rock, their bodies entwined in a shared desperation to erase the lingering echoes of separation. the world around them, now cloaked in the soft hues of twiling, seemed to fade into insignificance compared to the gravitational pull of their intertwined existence. 

“i missed you,” sunghoon’s tender admission hung in the air. 

“missed you, too.” 

as you gazed at sunghoon, his features etched in the soft twiling, you drank in the details like a parched wanderer, sumbling upon an oasis. his eyes, a familiar tapestry of brown, spoke volumes that only you could relate to. a subtle play of light and shadow danced across teh contours of his face, creating an ethereal portrait that she committed to memory as if this moment was too precious to last. 

the disbelief lingered, a nagging whisper that quesitonned and ruined the reality of this reunion. as if unable to fully comprehend taht he was here, tangible and real. you traced teh outline of his features with your finger, fearing that he might vanish like many of your dreams before. 

“i got caught up with family stuff and graduation, you know how they like lavish, grand events that never end,” sunghoon confessed, his words fixing the anger and frustration that had been boiling up in your chest for months. “i thought about you every day and prayed you wouldn’t forget about me.” 

“i could never forget you.”

in the pregnant pause that followed as sunghoon took a breath, “ i want to take you to istanbul, as soon and as long as possible.” 

you didn’t hesitate to say yes. a pact so easily forged between a kiss. 

the prospect of more sunsets with park sunghoon in a city you had only dreamed of filled your future with excitement and adventure as you felt the gap between you and sunghoon melt into the rock underneath you. 

the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze seemed to echo the murmurs of your hearts, both carrying a weight that sought release. 

“i love you,” the words hung in the air as you spoke it back and forth to each other until your cheeks both hurt from smiling. 

your eyes, reflective pools that mirrored the emotions swirling within, didn’t leave sunghoon’s gaze. his hand found its place in your own, your fingers intertwining between your bodies. 

as you layed together on the familiar rock, overlooking the town that had witnessed teh intricacies of your journey, a sense of completion settled over them. the warm season had been a net that carried all over your quiet revelations and discovery of love that neither of you had searched for. 

the echoes of richard brautigan’s words and the smell of sea salt in the air, a reminder that in the ordinary moments, profound happiness could be discovered. 

and so, with the setting sun casting a final golden glow, they embraced the conclusion of a chapter that had unfolded with the grace of a young, summer love. in the quiet symphony of the evening, sunghoon and y/n had not just found an end, but a beginning– a promise to find more sunsets and love together. hand in hand, the story of their summer love whispered its conclusion to the tranquil waves of the ocean, leaving behind a lingering feeling of each others lips, shared sunsetz and the acceptance that maybe being too idealistic was okay. 

the end. 

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

stay safe everyone :)

[hellishjoel]

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

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“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.  You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Welcome to hell. 

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside. 

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner. 

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant. 

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers. 

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine. 

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You. 

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons. 

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off. 

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together. 

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot. 

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself.  But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of. 

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie. 

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk. 

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly. 

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout. 

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face. 

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist. 

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that. 

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other. 

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot. 

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit. 

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later. 

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump. 

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight. 

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look. 

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms. 

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers. 

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance. 

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile. 

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you. 

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up. 

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip. 

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign. 

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one. 

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift. 

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion. 

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig. 

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs. 

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it. 

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’. 

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop. 

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.” 

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner. 

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back. 

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife. 

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front. 

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a  large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots. 

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral. 

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest. 

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more. 

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try. 

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features. 

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent. 

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed. 

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it. 

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact. 

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”. 

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now. 

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter. 

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked… 

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead. 

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor. 

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze. 

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs. 

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot. 

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him. 

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.” 

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses. 

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction. 

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!” 

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation. 

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex. 

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice. 

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation. 

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted.  Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s. 

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter. 

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter. 

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace. 

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name. 

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet. 

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar. 

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured. 

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum. 

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway. 

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.” 

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion.  You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.” 

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs. 

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.” 

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief. 

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.” 

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,  you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here. 

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight. 

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform. 

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake. 

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday.  Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting. 

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long. 

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley. 

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better. 

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze. 

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause. 

“So, you want me to go back inside?” 

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground. 

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you. 

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips. 

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch. 

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off. 

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his. 

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about. 

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. 

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those. 

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good. 

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing. 

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him. 

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head. 

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him. 

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options. 

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times. 

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows. 

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room. 

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.  

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick. 

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large. 

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch. 

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny. 

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.” 

The two of you moaned in unison. 

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none. 

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly. 

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons. 

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours. 

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do. 

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall. 

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back. 

He grumbles something. 

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face. 

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath. 

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil. 

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing. 

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent. 

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan. 

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm. 

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings. 

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock. 

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him. 

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms. 

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie. 

‘M not doin’ anything. 

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments. 

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into. 

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork. 

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face. 

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time. 

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own. 

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week. 

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early. 

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one. 

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables. 

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands. 

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?” 

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.” 

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear. 

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence. 

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.” 

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk.  “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?” 

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.” 

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while. 

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too. 

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner. 

---

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[obriengf]

24 Crayons || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: A boy met a girl in the midst of innocence, and formed a friendship that would last the ages. Words: 1.1k Warnings: omg just cuteness to the max Notes: written in third person, remaining chapters set in first person!

part one of TWENTY FOUR - a stiles stilinski series (masterlist)

Innocence was the simplicity of a sunny day; the way the light warmed skin and caught reflections in a twinkling gleam. It was the gentle hum of a small Californian town, filled with buzzing townsfolk in suburban settings and singing birds that found sanctuary in the surrounding wilderness. It was the floral scent of garden-lined sidewalks that was encapsulated within a plethora of beautiful flowers. But most of all, on this very particular day, innocence was the budding friendship between two children on their first day of kindergarten. Brown, doe-like eyes, peered upward as lips jutted out in a pout. They belonged to a young boy as nerves overtook his small body, worried about being alone and away from his parents. His hands were small as they gripped onto the pant legs of his father before cementing his little feet to the pavement below. He was refusing to move; head shaking, frown quivering, cheek rubbing against khaki-coloured material. "Stiles, honey..." A tender voice cooed, a woman with dark brown hair and the sweetest of smiles now moving to crouch to his level. She was among the shining light of the sun, ethereal glows highlighting her frame before a hand with a loving touch cupped the young boy's face. "You'll have the best time, I promise. Once you make some friends, you will love it here." "B-but you and dad are my friends!"

The woman's gaze saddened as they flickered up toward her husband, a mutual conversation of silent expressions and empathy. With a tender pat to her shoulder, the woman stood, instead replaced by a man with kind eyes and a gold badge that glimmered in the light. Stiles' focus moved to the word 'Deputy' as his small finger dragged over the engraving on the golden metal, his sobs quietening only in the slightest.

"Do you want to see the special big boy present we got for your first day, bud?" The man spoke with a gentle tone before being met with a sniffle and hesitant head nod from his son. He was careful as he dug through the spiderman backpack in front of him, his facial features contorting with funny expressions to make Stiles laugh. The sound of happiness made the man sigh with contentment as he pulled out a yellow box - colours, one of every rainbow shade, were lined up perfectly and ready for a creative imagination.

"Crayons!" Any prior sense of despair had dissipated as the boy's eyes grew, childlike wonder and jovial sounds now becoming his persona in the way his parents had always known him. The box was grasped with delicate fingers before small arms were thrown behind the father's neck, holding him in a loving embrace.

The man smiled. All surroundings slowly faded as this family of three stood within their bubble of perfection - of love, and purity. Everything was right in the world, and nothing could stand in their way.

Stiles stood off to the side; his senses were on alert, nervousness working through his small frame as he overlooked the large classroom and the many bodies that took up its space. He was too shy to speak to anyone, and he felt as if the room began to close in on him the longer he isolated himself. He dreamed of being back in the arms of his father, to be looking up at his mother's graceful smile that made all the scary moments go away. Everybody seemed to have someone and Stiles had never felt so alone.

It wasn't until he looked across to the far side of the room - past the children playing with their toys, and his new teacher talking to other adults that he didn't know - that he spotted another that seemed as lonely as he did. She had her back turned to him, but he could tell that she was sad by the way her pencil moved slowly over the page in front of her.

Little feet padded with caution as Stiles made his way toward her, the box his father gave him clutched tightly to his chest as a reminder that he was a big boy now and that alone was enough to give him some courage.

He cleared his throat, voice quiet as he peered over her shoulder, "Can I sit with you?"

Her head shot up with surprise to hear another voice, body turning quickly to see a young boy with the biggest brown eyes she'd ever seen. She nodded eagerly, pushing the chair beside her out for him to drop beside her. Stiles felt relief, his smile wide with anticipation as he stuck his hand out - something his father taught him when saying hello to new people. The girl looked at him funny before she smiled too, her hand sliding against his easily.

"Hi, my name is Mieczyslaw!" He spoke quickly, the sound of his name amusing as it came from his young squeaky voice. It didn't make it any easier to understand with the tooth missing from his bottom row, either.

Her head tilted, lashes fluttering as she thought of what he said. The girl hummed, "Mich.. ca.. slor?"

Stiles laughed loudly, his grin growing wider, if even possible. The boy nodded, "Kinda, but it's okay, it's hard to say sometimes."

The girl giggled along with him, her body turning further in her seat until she was facing him front on. "That's a funny name!"

"It's my grampa's name.." He started, shuffling closer to the girl, "But you can call me Stiles! Erry'one calls me that."

"Okay, Stiles. That's a funny name too!" She followed his earlier sentiment as her small hand was thrown toward him, ready for another shake, "I'm Y/n."

He took it gladly, "I like that name, it's pretty. Y/n."

A red hue dusted her cheeks, a mix of excitement and happiness as she found someone to talk to. And he was someone that made her laugh, which she liked most of all.

Stiles wasn't afraid as he put his box of crayons on the table between them, a sense of pride filling him as he saw her eyes widen in amazement. He patted the top, "My dad and mom gave me these."

"Wow! And you got the big box too, with all the good colors!"

Stiles' smile never faltered, and he knew that he liked you straight away. You were going to be a good friend. "Yeah! I haven't opened 'em yet. Did you wanna color with me?!"

That was the beginning of an unbreakable friendship, the first chapter in the lives of you and Stiles Stilinski.

[kookygranger]

Is This Desire?

Firefighter!Steve Harrington x Witch!Reader

Steve Harrington falls for you a little harder every time he meets you. Now you're free to live your life and he's ready to make a move on the girl he thinks about every day.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut-ish (allusions to sex), secondary character death, witchcraft, reader is a town outcast, fem!reader, no upside down/no hawkins au

Word count: 2k

Author's note: This story is inspired by a trippy and vividly detailed dream I had, minus the lovechild because that's not my vibe but good for dream me I guess.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter One: When Under Ether

1979

The first time Steve Harrington saw you was on a brisk fall night. Brown leaves lifted in small whirlpools down the street as children’s laughter and sugar-induced screams permeated the air. It was Halloween.

Steve wanted to dress up as Robin Hood, his outfit complete with feathered cap and fox tail sitting on his navy-blue bedspread at home, but his friends thought trying was lame now – so he settled for a ripped shirt and a half-assed green face paint job. He wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to be a zombie or Frankenstein’s monster.

He’d done that a lot lately. Changed things about himself that others his age suddenly found uncool or only suitable behaviour for babies. He may not have known as much as the kids that sat up the front of class, but he knew one thing for sure, he didn’t want to be thought of as a baby.

Maybe that’s why he was stood in front of the rotting wooden gate that led up to the house at the end of Maple Street, so far away from the rest of the neighbours that it could only barely be counted. Unless it was to get its own street name entirely, which right now Steve felt like it could, as far away from safety as possible to his small legs.

See, the old Ravenwood house was only spoken about in whispers, its history revealed in rumours perpetuated by ghost story obsessed children for as long as anyone can even remember the house being occupied. And with its peeling paint, overgrown and weed-riddled front yard, and creaking front porch, it was a ripe opportunity for a young boy to prove that he was no scaredy cat on All Hallows’ Eve.

Steve walked up the sunken stone path with his two friends in tow. Tommy, the boy who’d suggested the dare earlier in the night brought up the rear of the small group, knobbly knees knocking together.

Steve was wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans when a flurry of bats, unnative to this part of the world, flew into their path, screeching only slightly higher than the two boys behind him who ran straight back through the front gate. His heart battered against his ribcage as he squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath like his grandma had taught him to when he’d get mad or upset, and when he opened his eyes he saw you.

Watching curiously through the second-floor window, where you sat perched inside, a warm glow framing your small body. Steve thought you looked to be the same age as him, but he’d never seen you before. He smiled that charming Harrington grin he’d been told he possessed, then waved – you, more shyly returned the gesture. Then he’d heard his name called somewhere back beyond the threshold of this strange house, and he’d returned to his friends. Brushing off the ill attempt at machismo with talks of scoring candy.

When Steve’s head hit his pillow that night, veins pumping with sugar, he thought of you. He would never forget about the girl in the window. A beacon of light that dissolved his fears.

***

1986

The second time Steve saw you everything faded away into the background.

He’d been swapping occupational war stories with Robin at the bar in town, the one that didn’t refuse service based on age but based on your likeability according to the bartender. He’d made his way up to the bar through the lively post-work week crowd to order another round when he saw you. Through the far from sober bodies, tucked away on a barstool up against the wall, your hands playing with a sodden beer mat as your eyes wandered, people watching, Steve Harrington swore he saw the face of an angel.

Although time had changed you both, bodies growing up and through awkward stages, arms and chests filling out to be hugged now by the scratchy material of Steve’s striped polo and the soft cotton of your dress, your legs strong enough to bring a grown man to his knees (as far as Steve was concerned), the glint of a thin silver chain on the wrist that supported his big hands enough to capture the attention of almost all the girls in town – Steve had still known. It was you. By looks alone, you may have been a far cry from the little girl in the window, but he knew.

Inexplicably, for he could not cite the hairs on his toned arms raising at the sight of your eyes gazing back at his, or the warm, tight feeling in his chest he’d only ever felt once before as proper methods of identification. But your shy smile and hitched breathing as he drew near only confirmed it for him.

And before he knew it, his lips oh so close to yours, shining after his tongue had poked out to wet them were asking if you wanted to get out of there.

“Yes.”

Robin would later get more than her fair share of making up for his total abandonment of her without so much as a goodbye, but in that moment he couldn’t think of anything else but you.

How he could taste the bitterness of your perfume on your skin when he kissed your bare shoulder, how you sounded when he sucked on the skin under your ear and the vibrations you made together when he swallowed your moans, how you squeezed his hand that held yours beside your head laying on the pillow that wouldn’t be rid of your scent for a week after, and how you kissed him deeply after the seventh time he’d asked if you were still okay, if you still wanted this as much as he did.

When you left him, asleep with kissed lips parted in soft snores and hair mussed, the marks he’d left on your neck and thighs would serve you as a sweet reminder. The scent of sandalwood and vanilla followed you as you snuck back into your house through the back door, the quiet creak masked by the singing cicadas. Your uncle exactly where you'd left him, still sleeping off the extra spoonful of valerian extract and dried chamomile you’d steeped with his tea to buy yourself a little more time out there.

Where magic was forbidden. Where children threw cruel comments and the adults they’d overheard them from ushered them across the other side of the street. Out there where people would never be understanding of you, and boys who could trick you into giving up your power ran rampant.

You’d thought – hoped, dreamed – that maybe on your eighteenth birthday you could get a kiss. A moment of normalcy outside of your life stuck in this house but what you got was so much better.

What you got was imprinted on your skin with the lingering feeling of his lips.

***

1993

The third time you meet Steve, you breathe in your first taste of free air.

Steve had volunteered to take a ride with the EMT to transport a body to the morgue, on an otherwise slow shift at the firehouse. The only other one in town had called in sick and the nearest hospital was a town over.

When the bus turned down Maple Street, Steve immediately felt off. A sense of dread washed over him and only increased when the car continued off the main street and down the dirt road that led to the Ravenwood house. As the vehicle kicked up stones and a cloud of dust in its wake he’d been hit with a sudden wave of déjà vu, remembering dreams that felt as real as memories of walking up this path only to find himself back at the start over and over again.

When the bus finally came to a stop in the driveway Steve barrelled out, running up to the front door in a panic, his raised fist ready to knock it down before it abruptly opened. Exhaling quickly at the site of you, the sinking feeling in his stomach alleviated as he took you in for the first time in years.

You’re dressed for mourning. A soft black dress and scuffed boots, hair pulled back to reveal a bare face that Steve had the sudden urge to kiss.

“H-Hi.” He managed to stammer out a greeting as his colleague finally caught up to him, walking up the creaking steps to your front porch.

“He’s in the bedroom.” You held open the front door, moving aside to let them in. Voice small, smelling of lemon, cedarwood and white musk and Steve had to physically keep himself moving as he brushed past you.

Your uncle laid stiff on a double bed, on top of the covers and dressed in a tattered corduroy suit as if ready for viewing, his body now an empty vessel left only for a ceremonial send-off. A white handkerchief covered his face, a small bundle of dried cypress and sweet cicely perched on his forehead. A breeze from the open window across the room swayed the hem of your skirt as you stared at him.

Steve pointed to the handkerchief, asking you if they could move it but stopped his movements right away when you tensed. His colleague tells you it’ll have to come off during the autopsy and you fold, asking if it can at least go back on afterwards.

“Once we drop him off he’s out of our hands ma’am.”

“I’ll make sure it does,” Steve placates you and you offer him a small nod in thanks. He barely remembers to breathe.

You followed the stretcher out to the bus, a rumbling of thunder catching the two men’s gaze up to the sky when the back doors thud shut. The view was clear when they entered the house, no forecast for rain on this mild summer’s day. Now fat drops began to hit the ground with the rolling in of grey clouds. Steve looked down and noticed a small smile on your face.

You took a deep breath in with eyes softly shut. “I think I’m gonna go for a walk.” You took off down the front path, stopping at the front gate when Steve called after you, asking if you were sure as the rain only intensified.

You just turn and smile at him, waving with a fixed mind. “It’s cleansing.” Only to disappear into the tall grass fields across from your house in a blur of black. Walking away, a free woman.

The front door creaked closed, making Steve’s companion jump.

“Freaky.”

After that day Steve hears of regular sightings of the girl who grew up in that house. Gossip of blooming, bright lavender and bluebells, buzzing bees – life where there once was nothing but rot and death. A fixed white picket fence and carefully laid stone-path that led up to a now bright and welcoming looking house at the end of Maple Street. But this was still a small town and generational rumours took more than a fresh coat of paint to cover up. The witch who lived at the old Ravenwood house was still feared among small minds.

***

The fourth time Steve Harrington saw you he was dropping Robin’s overdue books off at the library on his way to work. Navy blue t-shirt hugging his biceps, tucked neatly into his uniform pants, the stomp of his steel-capped boots muffled by the scratchy charcoal carpet.

Robin had sent him in the hopes that he could get her late fees waived. He’d spritzed an extra spray of his cologne on before leaving their shared apartment, Harrington charm plastered on his face as he prepared to win over an elderly lady who was reminded of her husband when they first met. Only, the person behind the counter wasn’t wearing a blouse with a frilly collar or sporting a purple rinse quaff.

The person who greeted Steve was wearing a well-loved PJ Harvey shirt, with long braids running down her back, flashing a timid smile that ripped through his chest.

“Hi, Steve.”

End note: If you want dedicatedly researched, heart-wrenching witch core you should go read @storiesbyrhi's Eddie fic Burning Yarrow. I'd also recommend @rosewaterandivy's S.H. x witch!reader story, which is just blow me down gorgeous. Their words probably inspired the dream that inspired this story ✨

Thank you for reading! x

Steve edit by @/vasguett on pinterest

[kitweewoos]

The Artist

Tommy Kinard spent his childhood being terrified of the idea of soulmates, hearing his father's drunken rants about how unnatural it is, how horrible, how absolutely disgusting it was that soulmates thought they were real and special. Then, when he was just about to turn thirteen, it appeared on his hip, a triangle that faded towards the bottom edge, right against his skin. He tried to hide it, and he almost managed it, until he was changing one night and his father stumbles into his room, drunk off his ass, trying to find the bathroom. He tried to cover it up, but his father had already seen it, and he was pissed. He dragged Tommy into a clinic downtown where a doctor put him under anesthesia and cut his soul mark out of his skin, leaving behind a small scar instead. When he was old enough to get out of his small town, he did, signing up for the army and signing up to learn to be a pilot. When he got out, though, his body hurt and he had nightmares. Instead, he turns to using his body in other ways, modeling for fashion magazines at first, then on fashion runways, in music videos, and fitness magazines once they realize he's physically fit. When he finally retires, he has enough money to follow his dreams of being an artist, a skill he's hidden for years and years, but now, he gets to put his work on display loudly and proudly.

The Model

Evan Buckley has wondered what his soulmate is going to be like since the small triangle appeared on his hip. His mother was overjoyed for him and started talking about having a daughter-in-law someday, and he let her celebrate however she wanted, because at least she was paying attention to him. His father was less thrilled but let Evan live his life regardless. He imagined, though, what his life would be like when he finally met them. After he escaped Hershey, he floated through life, trying to find a place to belong. He drew what he saw, and he sold paintings wherever he went, and he really just wanted to pursue a life made up of artists and gallery events. He finds his way to Los Angeles, and makes friends with a group that keeps him focused and calls him Buck. Art doesn't pay the bills so he takes the first modeling job offered to him by a friend, which leads him to another, and another, and another job, and he can finally pay his rent, and make his art without worrying about if this painting will pay for his next meal.

The Soulmates

It's a favor to his friend and now his brother-in-law to be, that he shows up to a stranger's studio to be a model for their new series. He's "perfect for it," according to Chimney, and this friend is a genius, Buck is going to want to be a part of it. So, Buck shows up to a studio with minimal info and finds the most gorgeous man he's ever seen waiting in a pair of paint-stained jeans and a smock over a blue Henley, with a square jaw and a cleft in his chin, and Buck immediately wants to know more.

"Hi, I'm Evan, Evan Buckley, or Buck, whatever you want to call me. Chimney said you needed a model?" "I do, yeah. I'm Tommy, and it's nice to meet you, Evan. Did Howie happen to tell you anything about what I'm looking for?" "He mentioned it involved nudity, but that's all." "Well, that's part of it, that's certainly a big part of it, but I'm doing a study on soul marks and how they move with the body." "Oh! That's awesome! Mine's not in a very malleable position, it's on my hip right here, so if that's not helpful, I get it." "Let me see?"

He doesn't expect the slight gasp as he lifts his shirt and tugs down his pants so that Tommy can see it. He doesn't expect Tommy to be drawn into him, to reach out and ask permission before tentatively brushing the dark triangle on his hip. He doesn't expect Tommy's soft little breath as he touches him. He doesn't expect Tommy to say, under his breath, that he never expected to find him, that he's given up on it.

"I'm sorry, are you saying that we're soulmates? Prove it."

Tommy takes off the smock and then draws up his shirt to reveal a long, harsh surgical scar in the same spot that Buck's mark sits.

"I can't. My father had it cut away when he found out. I can't prove it, I don't even have photos of me as a kid with it because of that, but - we are. Your mark, it's exactly what mine was before it was removed."

Buck wants to believe him, so he strips off his shirt, and tells him they'll start with one session for Tommy to work on his series and then they can get some drinks, some dinner, and if they're soulmates, they won't ever want to stop. Tommy smiles, and agrees, and sits down at his easel while Buck strips off the rest of his clothes and sits on a stool in Tommy's view. He turns the way Tommy tells him to, and sits well even when he wants to move, and Tommy praises him for how good he's doing, and how well he follows direction. The praise seems to be easy and free-flowing for Tommy, and Buck does want to stay here forever, listening to Tommy hum as he sketches and lets his eyes linger. He doesn't need to go to drinks or to dinner, he already knows that Tommy's it for him. This is forever, and he smiles to himself knowing that he's finally found his home, even if no one else will believe them when they say they're soulmates. It doesn't matter, because they know. They know that this is their fate, and they've found it together.

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Mamma Mia | prologue

listen to: Mamma Mia - Abba (Movie cover) | Crazy- Aerosmith | Everybody wants to rule the world- Tears For Fears | Our Last Summer- Abba (Movie cover) (playlist here)

warnings: accidental pregnancy, smut 18+, raising a child alone. warnings will be added as the story progresses. Nothing for this chapter in particular.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

The sound of the waves crashing against the sand is muffled by the music in your headphones as you take the view in. The salty air breeze, the heat of the sun warming up your skin just fine, soaking up in the way your whole body felt like it was buzzing. Everything just felt so right. You rode your bike with no hurry down the Marina, tasting the moment. 

You arrived the night before at your parent’s house. They were still hugging you like you’d graduated Law School yesterday when in reality it had been a month but you just guessed the happiness for a law degree lasts longer than your high school and your bachelor’s degree. You got them, not everyone went to Law School, not everyone was the daughter that your parents had and although yes, you were happy you were done with Law School, in all honesty, you were even happier about returning to San Diego and what the summer held for you because after this it would all change. 

That kind of loving turns a man into a slave, 

That kind of loving sends a man right to his grave

You mouth the lyrics, being able to taste the air. It tastes just the same and smells just the same as before. Part of you almost wants to scream, seeing the town again, coming after what felt like a decade, when in reality it’d been five years. Your father had guessed that you might feel nostalgic about returning, might feel adverse to your memories from high school for some reason. You don’t. You’re happy to be here, to come home after a long, long time. It held a million promises of summer, of what might be. 

Arriving at James and Augustine’s place wasn’t hard at all, you’d been watching that house since you were freshmen in High School, and now a promise that had lasted over ten years was finally completed. You felt so warm on your chest as you stared at the house for a moment, in secret. If it was up to you, you would’ve screamed from the front lawn, but you didn’t, you wanted a minute to remember the moment forever. 

It was a small two-floor house, a faded white over it with roots climbing over the wall of the plants that surrounded it. It definitely needed to be repainted but you didn’t care. The backyard and front yard also had orange trees, the orange giving a homey touch to the house. There was a warm feeling in your stomach as you watched. 

That kinda loving makes me wanna pull down the shade, yeah!

That's kinda loving, yeah. Now I’m never, never, never gonna be the same. 

You kept on singing as you parked your bike on the front lawn and quickly walked towards the porch. Taking a deep breath, you unceremoniously opened the door as if it was your own. It technically was yours too. The house smelled like oranges and lemon and as you walked in you felt like you could cry. The main door led to a big living room to the right and in front of it, a small sunroom led to the backyard. As you walked a little bit further, to your right you found the small green kitchen and in front of it, a spiral staircase next to big open windows. 

The house was filled with light, warmth, and everything you’d dreamed of. 

Suddenly, you heard footsteps and at that moment you saw her. That red long hair was falling from her messy bun as she ate a long baguette while watching her phone. You waited for her to see you, not wanting to scare her and make her trip on the stairs, which was something Augustine would probably do.  

And then, her green eyes fell on you. 

The scream was basically so loud that you were sure that the neighbors might’ve heard it but you didn’t care, you ran towards her screaming at the top of your lungs too, crushing her into a hug at the start of the stairs, she launched into your arms with little thought on the baguette that immediately fell on the floor. 

“Jamie! She’s here!” Augustine screamed while you laughed as she held you by your waist and kissed you on the cheek repeatedly.“Oh my god! I can’t believe you’re finally here!” she gushed while you continue to giggle. 

“Jamie!” you screamed this time, hoping your other best friend would climb down the stairs. You heard some tired steps on the ground above you but when James showed up her face from the spiral staircase, as soon as her eyes fell on you, her whole face lit up. She screamed as she climbed down just like Augustine had done and then fell into the arms of both of you

“Can’t believe you’re right here?” she squealed as she held you both tight, her brown hair tickling your cheek as she kissed your cheek. 

“I’ve missed you guys,” you mumbled against James’ cheek while they laughed. 

“That’s what you deserved for going to New York to be a big shot lawyer,” James teased you as she finally let go of you before pushing you gently, feigning annoyance while you slapped her softly on her arm. 

Augustine didn’t miss a beat as she grabbed both of your hands and quickly led you to the sunroom, near the back patio. A serious look on her face as she sat you down on the main couch while James and she took the seats in front of you, almost like an interrogation but you only could bite your lower lip from the excitement. 

“So what’s waiting for us this summer? What’s our main goal?” Augustine asked as she looked at you seriously. 

“What we’ve always planned,” you answered as you pulled your knees up, legs against your chest. “Make some memories,”

“So, you’re finally going to sleep around?” You pushed James' leg softly from the couch and she laughed. 

“James!”

“Want to finally kiss more than one boy a night?” Augustine chimed in while you feel your cheeks getting warmer and warmer. 

You nodded. It’d been a while since you’d planned this since you’d planned that this summer was the one you were going to get loose. In all honesty, you’d thought about it for years now. Being a good daughter, someone who could calm down your parents, and a responsible shoulder to lay on was your goal. All through your childhood, to teenager, to young adult, you’d never actually done something that you wouldn’t tell your parents. You didn’t get loose, you studied and you worked, that was it. 

“Are you telling me that you’re finally letting loose this summer?” James asked as she gazed at Augustine. 

“Before you leave us again?” Augustine asked, pouting as she looked at you. 

“I’m telling you that this is the last summer before I go to London we are going to have the best summer of our lives!” You replied back as you took her hands and then screamed with joy while you pulled them, making them fall on the sofa next to you. 

Seven years later, 

The sound of the waves crashing against the sand is muffled by the windows in your car as you take the view in while staring at the sunset. The sky is painted with hues of purple, yellow, and orange in the most beautiful glow that you could recall in a few weeks. 

It’d been a while since you stopped and just watched what was around you, recalling how lucky you are for living here. Pulling a window down from your car, you close your eyes, the salty air breeze makes your hair a little bit sticky but it’s fine, you’re used to it by now, you let what was left of the sun soak in your skin as you finally take a deep breath. 

It was finally July and everything felt heightened as if something had shifted in the air. You aren’t quite sure what is it, you aren’t sure just yet but you can feel it in your bones. 

Since Inés was born you usually got those gut feelings, as if someone was telling you that something was coming. But Inés wasn’t sick, she hadn’t forgotten any homework, you were up to date with the errands of the house, your mom was fine, your friends were fine, and your work was perfect. 

Everything was fine, and yet it wasn’t. 

A part of you wanted to attribute it to your fight with John but honestly, as you’d grown up you’d learn that as long as Inés was okay, everything else was too. So, you stay there for a while, shaking off the feeling, letting your body relax as you close your eyes and listen to the ocean. 

It is a warm feeling, like cinnamon and honey mixed together, and you let it coat your body. Salty air and the ability to breathe with a little more ease are things you never want to take for granted but you always seem to do when life gets too busy, which is often. 

“Thursdays night are mommy’s night,” you tell yourself and get down from your jeep with ease before walking towards The Hard Deck. 

The little bar definitely had managed to stand the test of time. It had been around for as long as you could remember, located just off the main drag, it was the most popular spot for everyone that lived in the area. On this particular day, the sun was setting and bathing the Hard Deck in this beautiful orange glow, you feel the warmth on your skin and close your eyes. 

Thursdays night is mommy’s night, you recall your beautiful six-year-old daughter, Inés, saying when you’d suggested that you wanted to stay over with grandma and her, she disagreed in the most explicit way. Secretly you were delighted that your daughter was so strong-willed but on the opposite end, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit remorseful about the ritual. 

You’d created the tradition early on in her life when you’d become too overwhelmed with taking care of her on your own. It had happened when she was six months old, James and Augustine weren’t around and she just wouldn’t stop crying as you were trying to finish research for a case a partner had personally given to you so you could prove to her that you could do the job. It came to the point when you’d have a total mental breakdown, unable to get her to eat, unable to get her to sleep, and unable to calm her down; you’d driven to your parent’s place, fat tears falling from your eyes as you and Inés cried in chorus. Inés had calmed down as soon as she was in your mother's arms and you too, quickly got to work and delivered the research before the deadline. 

Soon, it became a tradition. Your mother would care for Inés and you would get ready to work non-stop for around four hours before you pick her up around ten. It was only until last year that Thursdays weren’t used only for work, now, you were often using them to gout out with your friends and go on dates. 

But not today. 

As you walk through the doors of the Hard Deck, you are greeted by the familiar smell of beer and sweat. The bar was crowded, packed for a Thursday and the noise level was high, but at the moment you didn't mind. You didn’t have it in yourself to really scan the place, you walked right to the bar where you find a spot, and quickly leaned on the wooden table, taking a deep breath. 

“Long day?” you can hear Penny’s voice as you raise your head to be met with her green eyes and her soft smile. 

“Sort off,” you groan as you finally take a seat while you look around at the bar, it’s almost always the same view. 

Navy officers, mechanics, people from around town, Top Gun students, those damn Top Gun students. You can identify them easily now that you’ve been living here as a grown-up. You didn’t back then. 

“White wine?” Penny offers, snapping you out of your thoughts. You shake your head as you dangle your keys from your right hand. 

“Driving,” you state as you sigh defeatedly. 

“James didn’t come with you?” she asks with a frown as she still pours the wine into a glass in front of you, before taking the keys from your hand. A part of you wants to protest, but another part of you really knows that you need the wine at the moment, you need to relax and it’d been a while since you had that awful feeling in your gut. 

“No, she was busy and so was Augustine,” you say as you take a sip of your wine and smile at Penny, who winks at you with ease. 

That’s one thing about Penny Benjamin, she never lets anything get to her. Since you’ve known her, you had admired her for it. If Amelia was sick, Penny wouldn’t be fuzzing around. If someone missed a shift at The Hard Deck, she would replace them or find a replacement without complaining. Since you were young, you knew you needed a little bit more of that; ten times more when Inés was born.  

“And you decided to drink alone,” Penny stated calmly as she serves a couple of drinks to the guys next to you, they are clearly young, Top Gun students without a doubt and they are not so subtlety checking you out. 

To be fair, you’d gotten ready before the fight with John. You were wearing a strapless white short dress that let your legs be the center of attention, your hair put on a clean bun, and a pair of strappy heels. It’s pretty, you look pretty, you know it but you still dislike the distasteful way they look at you. 

“John was supposed to come tonight, we fought,” you say as you try to ignore the young pilots. Penny lets out a small ‘mhm’, knowing exactly what she means. 

John was a lawyer from another law firm in Los Angeles. He’d been trying to take you out on a date since he saw you in the meeting for a merger between both of your clients, you’d denied his request saying that until the merger was completed, he couldn’t contact you for anything other than work. He was patient and agreed with you, therefore, a month ago as soon as you’d stepped out of the conference meeting where the papers were signed, you received a phone call from him. 

You’d been dating for over a month and he was perfect on paper. He checked each and every one of the boxes that you’d written down one night with Augustine and James when you were younger. He had a stable job, he was smart, he was good with servers, and he had his own place in LA, sex was good, and yet the most important thing that you hadn’t managed to check was how he got along with Inés; which in turn was taking a toll on your relationship.

“Got it,” Penny assured you as she gazed at you. “What does Inés think about him?”

You raised your eyebrows and then sighed. “No clue,” you answered honestly before taking another sip of wine. “She avoids the topic,” you explained to her.

Penny now raised her eyebrows. “She’s six,” she laughed and you smiled. 

“She’s smart, like her mother,” you answered. 

It was true. Inés was the smartest kid you’d ever met, she was way more advance than you were at that age, and she was way more advance than any kid her age. Most importantly, she was kind and loving, she was so caring that you were afraid sometimes for her. You didn’t want her to be naive, you didn’t want her to get hurt like you were. 

“Why’s so packed today?” you ask Penny, changing the topic quickly as you looked back and see more people arriving. 

“Why should I know?” Penny ask, feigning innocence as she served you a little bit more wine. 

You scoff softly while you look at her. “You know everything, Penny Benjamin,” you say softly as you shake your head and take a sip of your wine. 

Feeling your body relax a bit, you wonder if it was stress getting to your body. Knowing that there’s actually nothing to worry about, you’re okay. 

And then, you hear him. 

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain,” his voice raspy and delicious as it was seven years earlier. “Too much love drives a man insane, you broke my will but what a thrill,” 

Your stomach sinks in a matter of seconds as you gaze toward the piano.

He hadn’t changed that much from the first time that you’d met him. The sun-kissed skin that for some reason you knew stayed on despite living through the winters in Virginia. The amber locks, the same that turned into curls if he brushed his hair in a certain way after dipping in the ocean. His cheeks, the warm and reddish blush still there, like it was after you kissed him for the first time. The famous mustache that now seemed much fuller and a bit more cared for above that damn smile, the same one that had brought you to your knees all those years before. 

He’s changed now though, his build is much bigger now. You can tell by the way that stupid Hawaiian shirt is hugging his arms as he plays the piano. He seems more confident than he did back then, all of those doubts don’t surface anymore as far as you can see. 

And, after all these years, he is still as beautiful as he was when you met him. 

Part of you wants to be wrong but as he continues to sing to his friends, not looking in your direction, you know that it is him. Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, you remember the taste when his name first fell from your lips. 

“Goodness gracious, Great Balls of Fire!” you hear him scream again, his fingers expertly playing the piano as you watch him from afar. 

Then, his friends start to howl loudly as he continues to play the tune. It is only until then, that your eyes fall on the people behind the piano and you see him. 

Those doe-eyes were the first thing that you see like you did the day you met him. The crinkles on his eyes are a bit deeper now than back then, they always crinkled like that when you saw him. His long feathery lashes that brushed against his gold-framed glasses are still there, they still complement the warmest blue eyes that you had seen back then and even now. The brown locks were still there, you could tell they still turn golden in the right light, but now they were perfectly combed and arranged even as he is bumping his head to the music, not like back then. He looks basically the same, soft and intelligent. 

Everything Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd did outside your bed was gentle and soft, you can still recall his fingertips over your cheek as he pulled you in for kisses. 

And a heavy feeling on your chest now makes you want to throw up as you see him, see them. 

Deep down, you know what it means for you if they are back, even for a little while, and they see you. You know you have to get out of there.

“Pe-Penny,” your words stumble against the other as Penny’s face drops as she turns to see you, you’ve suddenly become pale, the usual blush on your cheeks completely gone. “I, I have to go,” you manage to say as you climb down from your seat, people are still dancing around you and screaming along with Rooster’s voice. 

Approximately, you have around thirty seconds before he finishes the song and if you don’t go out now, they could probably catch a glimpse of you. 

“What, you just got here?” Penny asks as she looks at you with concern while you examine how to make your way out of the bar but it’s too crowded.

“I just, I need to,” you pant but suddenly, someone pushes you and the glass of wine that you were about to hand to Penny, drops from your hand, breaking into a thousand pieces on the ground, many people finally turn around as Rooster’s singing the last notes of the song. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for it too, and I-”

You know you have to get out of there, you just shake your head to Penny, mouthing a small ‘sorry’, and then as you give a step back before you turn around, your back hits someone’s chest. 

“I’m so-” you start to say as you turn around and then your heart sinks. 

You had decided back then that living in California and New York allowed you to be surrounded by the most beautiful in the world but when you met him, you’d decided that there wasn’t anyone as beautiful as him. 

It was like seeing a performance, watching him move through the world. You could still remember it, the way his sea-foam eyes roamed a place, a similar way to when they roamed your body. The way he stood up, the way he leaned against a wall, the way his mouth twitched in just the right way, the suave way he approached everything, the confidence that exuded him like he knew he was meant for something bigger. 

He still had it. 

His sea-foam eyes weren’t as gloomy as they were when you saw him last, instead now, they were gleaming in a similar way to the day they had when you’d first met him. The wrinkles in his forehead were a bit deeper now, you’d always teased him about it but they accompanied well when he had that determined look on his face. His dimples were still there, and his lips, those lips as always quirked up into a familiar smirk. Those damn lips that after all those years still made your cheeks warm up, even after you’d just gone pale. 

He is still as gorgeous as he was the first day you met him, which in turn, only makes you want to cry even more. 

There he is, the bane of your existence. 

“Good to see you, Honey,” Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin says as your eyes meet his. 

***

author's note: thank you for your patience! I really love you a lot and I hope you like it a lot!

***

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[loveshotzz]

There’s a place for me

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Chapter 1/?

Summary: On the run for wrongful murder charges, Eddie finds himself stopping in a sleepy ocean side town far enough from Hawkins where he can lay low for awhile. Running from the people that want him dead, his only hope is that his past doesn’t catch up to him. Especially when he meets the pretty eye’d waitress up the street.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: slow burn, angst (Eddie hates himself for running) eventual smut, strangers to lovers. My blog is 18 plus.

A/N: this concept was sent as a request by my irl friend @elthreetimes and as soon as I read it, there was no way it could just be a one shot. It needed to be a series. I feel so lucky that you trust me to bring this story to life, and I hope you enjoy this. Also I couldn’t have done this without my hellfire crew @myobmaya @boomhauer @subparwritersuperbreblogger @sweetsweetjellybean for bouncing ideas and characterizations with me. I seriously couldn’t have written this with out you guys. This is the most ambitious story I’ve ever tried, so here goes nothing. Also bonus points for anyone who guess’s who which character Ron is based off of.

*comments, likes, and reblogs would mean so much if you enjoy my work 💘

For days it felt like all Eddie did was drive, the passage of state signs was his only measurement of time. The hours blending together like the lines on the highway, tangerine skies bleeding vermillion the colors remind him of Chrissy eyes after they exploded inside her head. The beauty of it all being taken away as the image of her crumpled body replays over and over in his mind. With no destination he was driving on auto pilot, only deciding where he was going the third night in.

Hair dripping from the storm outside, his fingers feel bruised from switching out his plates for the third time. Sitting in the back of his van tucked away on the side of a dirt road somewhere in West Virginia, it was the first time in his life he was thankful his dad had taught him a thing or two about evading the law. Stripping off his wet jacket he knew he needed to find somewhere to go. He couldn’t keep driving aimlessly, he didn’t have the money for that. The only cash he had was whatever he’d gotten from his deals earlier in the week, thankful he didn’t spend it on the re up that was suppose to happen the night before everything changed.

He’d never seen the ocean, an elusive place he could only visit in his dreams. Stopped on the boarder between West Virginia and Pennsylvania he wasn’t that far from the east coast. Using his lighter to illuminate the road map he’d found stashed in a messy wad in his glove box he guessed it was maybe a 10 hour drive from the coast. Throwing the idea of sleep out the window with wet clothes making it impossible for him to get comfortable he decided to do what he’s done this whole time, drive.

Watching the early morning sun slowly seep into through the storm clouds the grey sky fades to a more comforting cerulean. Eddie drove with the kind of determination that he wish he’d used to pass high school. Maybe he wouldn’t even be in this mess if he’d just graduated when he was suppose to. Convincing himself he would have been long gone playing guitar in any city that wasn’t Hawkins, he lets himself wallow in self pity till his tires bring him to the ocean.

——

Finding his way into a nameless town that wasn’t even listed on his map, it made Hawkins look like New York City. A small strip set on top a broken battered road - he swerves to miss the never ending onslaught of pot holes. The few shops they had were attached to a single grocery store, the sides of the buildings eroding away from the misted wind. Snorting to himself - of course this is where he ends up, a beach side ghost town. Eddie catches the Help Wanted sign hanging in the window of the diner that lay nestled at the end. Sticking out from the rest, the way it’s lit almost makes it look like it glowing against it’s drab surroundings. It was also the only place he’d seen with any sign of human life.

The lights of The Sleepy Hill motel greet him like the four seasons, when his tired van pulls into the mostly empty lot. The flashing vacancy sign is a promise of a bed, his bones worn down and sore the weight of everything finally kicking in. When his dirty white Reebok’s hit the ground his arms reach for the sky in a kitten stretch of his whole body, eyes closing he relishes in the pops he feels in his spine.

Inhaling a deep breath the salt in the air stings his nose, the mist off the shore making his bangs stick to his forehead. Pulling a runway strand of hair from his cheek he finally takes everything in. On one side of him there was nothing but an endless expanse of tumultuous waves raging against the shore line. The storm clouds he had out run were making their way back through, the lingering bitterness of winter still hanging thick in the March air. It wasn’t like the kind of warmness he’d seen on the postcards, or the in the stories that Rick told, this wasn’t Venice Beach. The sight of a light house in the distance brings a slight feeling of comfort when he watches the strobes of light break through the purple hues of the darkness starting to set in over the horizon. Eyes lingering he lets himself sit in it for awhile watching the waves crash into the broken brick holding it up from falling into whatever laid in the water beneath it. When he turns his attention back to the town that took him less then a minute to drive through, the red “EAT HERE” sign that spun on top of the diner mocks his stomach when he realizes it had been almost a whole day with out any real food.

Slamming his car door shut, he takes quick strides to the back making a mental note to drive to the next town over at some point tomorrow to switch out his plates again, it was too risky to try to do it with any car in a town like this. Eyes darting nervously he opens his back doors with shudder that rings out over the sound of the waves. Furrowing his brows in concentration he starts digging though the blankets in the back searching for the outfit he’d found balled up a few nights ago. Forgotten about after a sleep over at Gareth’s, the memory of a time where his life wasn’t like this hurts in a way that he can’t explain. Maybe he wasn’t as miserable as he thought he was — all the little things he took for granted now at the forefront of his mind.

He hadn’t let himself think about Wayne. Maybe it was the adrenaline that kept his mind from going there, or that thing he’d heard about when your own mind blacks things out to protect you, but he hadn’t thought about what that must’ve been like for him to come home to that.

A life less mangled girl he didn’t know and a nephew that no one was going to find. Eddie just ran without a single thought as to what that would mean for him. Scowling to himself he blames the Munson blood that runs through his veins. Images of his Uncle slumped over with tired shoulders, shuffling into the trailer in the early morning hours when the sun is just peaking through the trees. Boots heavy from another double at work, walking right into the nightmare that Eddie left him with.

Eye’s burning he holds back his tears grabbing the balled up shirt and jeans giving them a sniff. They didn’t smell clean but they smelt better then what he was wearing now and that was just going to have to do. Fingers crossed the motel clerk would let him rent a room with out an ID, he was desperate for a shower. Shoving the garments into his backpack he takes another deep breath ignoring the sting this time, closing his eyes he fights away all the emotions that are ready to spill out. Clearing his throat he cracks his neck before slamming the metal doors shut.

Half way across the pavement Eddie stops in his tracks when he see’s the guy behind the counter. Not much older then him there was something oddly familiar about him, when he glances up catching Eddie in his line of sight. Shaggy brown hair parted down the middle and big teeth protruding from below his upper lip, his beady eyes squint as he tries to figure out what Eddie was doing. The sound of a distant boat horn is what makes his feet finally move again, the boy behind the counter standing up as Eddie closes the distance.

There’s a small chime when the glass door swings open, the warmth of the lobby heats him in a way he hadn’t realized he missed until its hits his skin. There’s an awkwardness that hangs thick in the air when the door closes behind him. Eddie hadn’t talked to another living soul in days besides mumbling the amount of cash and on what pump at gas stations. The man behind the desk who’s name tag said ‘Ron’ was staring at him like he was trying to pin point something familiar about the metal head, and it was making Eddie’s palms sweat. The anxiety of being caught tightening in his chest. Scratching the back of his neck he clears his throat.

“Hi — hey, man I’m uhh- I’m looking to get a room?” He tries to hide how startled he is at his own voice having not heard it in hours.

Ron’s silence doesn’t break much to his dismay as he takes in Eddie’s appearance. Dark eyes trail over his disheveled form before flicking back towards his van in the parking lot. It wasn’t just his palms that were sweating now.

“What’s your deal? You some kinda rockstar or something?” Ron finally breaks his silence, stunned it takes Eddie a minute to comprehend what exactly he’s being asked. When he finally wraps his head around the question he has to actively stop the snort that threatens to come out.

Looking down at his wrinkled hellfire shirt, the cotton is stained with a mixture of dirt and grime from the nights in his van. The whites of his Reebok’s barely visible under the dried up mud from last nights storm. Having caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the door on his way in, he knew his wild mane looked like a bird had laid nest in it.

“Excuse me, what?”

Ron sucks his teeth shrugging.

“You just look like that Van Halen guy, but there’s no way you’d be here if you were actually him I’d reckon.” He says matter of factly before sitting back down in his desk. “And he wouldn’t look like he just rolled around in a pigs play pin. Or maybe he would? I don’t know the life style of a celebrity.” He adds with a wave of his hand.

Stunned and completely unsure of how to respond to the man in front of him, the conversation was not going a direction Eddie had even seen coming. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, he finally finds his voice again.

“Yeah, not Eddie Van Halen. My name is Eddie though, Eddie umm Henderson.” He winces internally when Dustin’s last name leaves his mouth.

“Eddie Henderson? That’s not very rock and roll.” Ron tuts before looking up at Eddie from his computer.

Feeling his frustration start to reach it’s tipping point, his fists clench at his sides before they release. Running a hand over his face he exhales sharply through his nose mustering up enough self control to answer politely.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Eddie pointedly looks at his name tag before adding with a curt smile. “Ron.”

Arching a brow, the man at the front desk brings his attention back to the computer screen with a hum. The awkwardness from before becomes almost suffocating in the small room. The growing silence between them lasting long enough that Eddie starts to panic.

“Look man, I’m just trying to get a room for a few nights then I’ll be out of your hair okay? I’m not some rockstar who’s gonna trash the place. I’m a nobody.”

Eyes never leaving the screen the sound of the mouse clicking is the only noise filling the space.

“Got an I.D. Eddie Henderson?” Ron’s tone is flat when finally looks up at eddie through the hood of his lashes, his own irritation clear on his blemished face.

The question he knew was coming still stiffens his body when it leaves his mouth, but the thought of another night sprawled out on the damp blankets on the metal floor of his van is enough for the burning sensation of tears to sting his tired eyes again. Shuffling on his feet, he readjusts his backpack.

“I’ve got cash, I can pay for at least two days up front.” Stepping closer to the desk his fingers drum against the counter top nervously, doe eyes pleading to show him a shred of mercy.

“No, I.D. No ro—“

Digging the 200 of the 250 he had left from his pocket, he slaps it on the desk in a crumpled lump. His survival instincts kicking in with a new level of stubbornness he didn’t know he had. He wasn’t leaving until he had keys to a bed and a shower.

“Please, man. I’m begging you.” The tears that had been threatening fall finally breach his strong hold, a single droplet landing onto his bottom lashes. He wipes it away quickly with the back of his hand, sniffing he closes his eyes collecting himself again. “I’ll keep to myself, you won’t even know I’m here.”

Ron’s eyes soften at the desperation is Eddie’s voice, despite policy there was something sincere about the mysterious stranger standing in front of him.

“200 will get you three nights.” Reaching over the counter he grabs the crumbled up bills before standing up, turning to the wall of keys behind him.

Relief floods his body as he watches Ron’s fingers skim over the glistening metal dangling from the dark blue wall. Blinking back tears the tense muscles in his shoulders release some of the stress they’d been carrying for the last 700 miles.

“Room 10, it’s at the very end. No parties rockstar.” Handing over the single key, it hung from a round burgundy keychain, a faded gold 10 stamped onto the plastic. Eddie can’t help but actually laugh this time, his mood lifted for a fleeting moment.

“Seriously, thank you. You won’t regret this I promise.” Snatching the key before he had a chance to change his mind, he clasps both hands together in front of his face bowing slightly in appreciation.

“There’s free coffee in here every morning. If you bring your key to the diner up the road you get a ten percent discount. We don’t have laundry but there’s a laundromat next to the grocery store, it’s open weird hours you’ll have to check the sign.” Ron prattles on, his voice becoming more professional now that Eddie was a paying guest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Walking backwards Eddie kicks the door open, the chill in the air sending a shiver down his spine.

“Nice to meet you Eddie Henderson.”

—

The walls of the motel room match the ones in the front office, the sapphire paint chipping at the edges of the ivory trim. The single bed in the middle was covered in a crimson duvet, two fluffed pillows propped against the black head board tempting him enough that he almost throws the idea of a shower and food out the window. Toeing off his shoes, the socks that should be a crisp white are the color of ash and it reminds him just how dirty he really is. Dropping his bag on the floor he starts peeling off his clothes making his way to wash off the last 72 hours.

A satisfied groan falls from between his chapped lips when the heat of the water hits his skin. Tilting his head back he lets it run through his thick tangled waves, pooling at his feet the water is tinged brown. Turning he faces the stream with closed eyes letting it wash over his face as he tries to find peace in his thoughts. The fear seeing Chrissy suspended in the air every time he closed his eyes was what prevented him from the sleep his strained body needed.

After spending longer then he should wrapped up in the warmth of the shower, he can’t ignore the growling in his stomach, remembering the discount at the diner he forces himself out.

The cheap blow dryer makes his hair frizz with more volume then he was used to, holding it down with both hands on either side of his head he sighs exasperated when he lets it go and it bounces back with more force.

Whatever, he didn’t know anyone here and he wasn’t going to be around long.

Changing into his cleaner clothes, he pats down his jeans feeling something in his back pocket. Reaching behind him his fingers come in contact with the thin plastic foiling of a crumpled half full pack of cigarettes he’d left in a drunk mess one night.

“Fuck. Yes.” He mutters to himself feeling a little more like a person rather then just a passenger in his own body for the first time in the last three days.

Grabbing his jacket off the bed nimble fingers search for his lighter once the leather is wrapped around his shoulders. Smirking when he finds it, he heads for the door grabbing his key off the off the dresser. Turning around before he leaves he takes one good look at his new home for the next few days. It wasn’t much but it was better then hiding off on the side roads begging to get caught.

——

The rocks crunch under his feet as he walks up the wounded asphalt towards the diner, the mist in the air taming the poof in his hair as he struggles to get the cigarette lit. The hint of tobacco on his tongue teasing him as the gust off the shore snuffs out the flame every single time.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” dangling in his lips he stops for a second to switch positions so his back was facing the direction of the wind. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Grumbling he snatches it out of his mouth in a huff before shoving it back in his pocket. Keeping his hands dug in into his jacket his face is set in a hard glare as he hits the parking lot of the diner. The inside gleams brightly and it’s the stark contrast to the dark moody-ness of his thoughts and the outside.

There’s families gathered in the windows laughing in the warmth of the light and he does his best to ignore the pang in his chest. Shoving down the realization of just how alone he really is now, he wasn’t ready to mentally unpack that yet.

Opening the single glass door of the entrance, the sound of the oldies station plays under the low hum of everyone’s chatter. Red vinyl covering the seats, a row of booths line the outside, the white walls barely visible decorated, covering almost every inch in various collectibles. The long bar attached to the kitchen extends down the length of the restaurant lined with stools.

Unlike the booths, the bar was filled with truckers and waderers. Hunched over their food alone in their thoughts. Taking a seat where he belonged the chain of his wallet clinks loudly against the metal of the stool.

The menu was already laid out on the formica counter top, just a page long the corners of the lamination are creased after obvious years of use. His eyes strain to read the red words that pop out against the white of the paper, the sleepless nights slowly catching up to his body. He tries pulling it further from his face to get a better look completely unaware of the pair of eyes watching him.

“Need some help with the menu?” A melodious voice breaks his concentration. Looking for the owner he comes face to face with you.

Almost as if someone knocked the wind out of him the softness of your features stuns him enough that he can’t find his voice. The dress you wear as a uniform wraps tightly around your curves and he fights his eyes from wandering. Hand on the counter in front of him you lean into his space, the smell of maple syrup hits his nose — sickly sweet he wants nothing more then to close his eyes and bask in it. Your warm gaze lands on his face and it feels like he’s looking up at the bright sun on a summer day. You didn’t look like you belonged here.

Realizing he hadn’t answered you, he clears his throat trying to shake his nerves. He was never good at talking to girls, especially not girls that looked like you and definitely not under these circumstances.

“You’re new around here.” You grin eyeing the slightly disheveled boy in front of you.

“Do you have burgers?” Blurting out his question he closes his eyes embarrassed when he realizes he’s ignored your observation too caught up to think straight. “Sorry.”

Laughing sweetly you take the menu from his hands finger tips brushing against his, the connection making his cheeks blossom pink.

“Sure do, how do you want it?” Pulling out your pocket sized note book from your apron, his eyes catch the red of your nail polish and for some reason it makes his cheeks deepen to match.

“Medium is —uh, is fine.” Scratching the back of his neck he watches the way your pen swoops gracefully against the paper.

“Fries okay?” Looking up at him from under your lashes his breath hitches loud enough for you to hear, the reaction making you bite your lip in a smile.

“Yeah, fries are, fries are great.” Exhaling loudly he gives you a tight lipped smile wishing he could bury his head in the sand.

“Anything to drink?” Ripping the page you turn around slipping it through the small window of the kitchen behind you. The line cook grabs it with a curt nod before you bring the full force of your stare back to him.

“Water is fine.” The sentence is short but he gets it out with out a hitch at least. Rubbing his hands nervously on his thighs he catches the mischievous glint dance around your eyes.

A small knowing smirk plays on your lips before walking away to the drink station at the other end of the long bar.

“Real fucking smooth.” Eddie grumbles to himself catching the attention of the trucker seated next to him.

“If that makes you feel any better son, I think she thought it was cute.” The gruffness of his voice reminds him of his Uncle, the few moments with you had made him almost forget about why he was here in the first place. Guilt slowly starting to eat away at him as he tries to re focus his thoughts, the familiar sting coming back to his eyes.

Before Eddie has a chance to respond your sliding the glass in front of him, eyes never leaving his as you pull out a straw from your front pocket. This time he’s strong enough to hold your gaze even if the red on his cheeks spreads to his neck.

“It’ll be like 15 minutes, Freddy’s pretty quick.” Nodding back towards the kitchen, Eddie tries to listen to you but he’s too focused on the sheen of your lip gloss. A sharp elbow to his side snaps him out of his trance, his new friend trying to help him out.

“Oh— okay, thanks.” Dropping his eyes down he brings all of his attention to unwrapping his straw, silently scolding himself for being even less smooth then the first interaction. The only reason he knows you’ve walked away is the loss of sweetness that settles in the air in your presence.

Shoving the straw in his drink, the ice clinks loudly against the glass before taking a big gulp. When the water washes over his tongue in a wave of rejuvenation, he closes his eyes humming in satisfaction sucking more then half the glass down before pushing it away with a wipe of his mouth. He can feel what the needed hydration does for him in his finger tips, his brain function starting to sharpen.

Chocolate eyes finding you again, he watches the way you move around the restaurant with ease. Everything you were doing seemed second nature, bending down to meet the kids at eye level he watched the families stare up at you with the same adoration on their faces. It wasn’t just him you effected like that, it was every one.

Cleaning off one of the booths, he watches you bend over the table — selfishly letting his eyes wander your body in the way he’d fought off before. Expertly stacking the dirty plates in your arms, you shove the cash tip they’d left in your apron. Turning on your heel you catch his stare, stopping for a brief moment before your lips tug up in a way that makes him avert his gaze — but even he knew it was too late. He’d been caught.

Closing his eyes when you walk by he inhales deeply, chasing the comfort your scent brings. You smelt like Sunday mornings with his mom, the only childhood memories he was fond of. He watched as you disappeared through the double doors of the kitchen, loud voices greeting you once you were hidden in the back. It was obvious you’d been here for awhile. The urge to try and piece together your story is a welcoming distraction from his own.

You aren’t back there long before you push back through with a toothy grin, shaking your head in amusement. An irrational hint of jealousy settles deep in his gut at whoever was making you laugh like that. The high pitch ding of the kitchen bell brings his attention back to the small window, a burger and fries so warm he could see the steam coming off the bun sit waiting for you to collect. Brain going empty he can feel himself start to salivate, his hunger taking front and center in his mind now.

Too focused on his food he has better self control of his eyes when you go to grab it. Sliding the plate in front of him Eddie mumbles a thank you before snatching the burger, ignoring the way it heats under his finger tips.

Taking a giant bite he immediately opens his mouth at the shock of the burn, his initial reaction to spit it out is stopped when he looks up to see you watching him with crossed arms as you lean against the back counter.

“I would have told you to give it a minute, but I thought that was obvious.” Teasing him, Eddie fans his open mouth searching for reprieve only swallowing it when the pain subsides. Taste buds inflamed and seared he takes another gulp of water basking in the way it soothes his mouth.

“Sorry, I haven’t really eaten all day.” Grabbing a fry he dunks it into the small ceramic cup filled with ketchup before tossing it into his mouth. Curious eyes land on yours making him wonder what’s keeping your attention as he eats with out manners.

“So, what are you running from?” Choking on his food at your question his eyes go wide, maybe the news had made it’s way over here.

“W-what do you mean?” Swallowing loudly his appetite suddenly disappears.

“I mean, I’ve never seen you before. People either move here to run from something or they’re just passing through.” You shrug as if your question was nonchalant. “So are you a runner or a wanderer?”

“What are you?” Eddie counters back arching a brow before taking another sip of water.

The smirk you give him is almost devilish when you push yourself off the counter invading his space again. The smell he can’t get enough of swirling around him in a dizzying effect.

“I’m a runner.” There’s something hidden behind your eyes that he can’t decipher when you give him your answer unashamed. “I told you mine, it’s your turn now.”

Of course you weren’t from here, how could you be?

“Runner.” He says simply already nervous he shared too much. Averting his eyes he plops another fry in his mouth before he remembers that this 15 dollar meal was gonna put a significant hole in his remaining funds.

Looking back up from his food he sees you’re already half way down the bar walking he hasn’t even asked you about the Now Hiring sign dangling from the window.

“Hey! — I mean wait.” Eddie’s outburst catches you and half the diners attention and despite his embarrassment he doesn’t miss the way your lips curve up when you make your way back to him.

“Yes?” Raising your eyebrows in question you plant both hands on the counter top in front of him leaning forward a stance that keeps his Eddie swimming.

“I saw your help wanted sign in the window.” Clearing his throat for more confidence “How would a runner apply for said job?”

“You haven’t even told me your name, and you don’t even know what we’re hiring for.” All valid points leave your mouth and he nods with a scratch of his head.

“It’s Eddie, Eddie Henderson.” He said it once and now he just has to roll with it, he’ll apologize to Dustin if he ever sees him again. “I’m not picky, I’ll do anything. Just in desperate need for some cash.”

“Well Eddie Henderson, I guess that means you’re planning on staying here long enough to get work huh?” Tongue poking the side of your cheek he can tell there’s ideas bouncing around in your head.

“Yeah, for a little bit.” Eddie didn’t want to tell you that his time here was numbered in the single digits or that he needed the work so he wouldn’t become completely homeless in the next few days while he ran from the law.

Blowing out a loud breath, you drum your hands on the counter before turning around towards the white board behind you with various names and schedules scribbled on it. He wondered which was you. Grabbing an application from the stack that was pinned on the board you turn back around around pulling a pen from your pocket. Clicking it open you set it down for him to fill out.

Eddie wastes no time in scribbling out his fake information, chest swelling with excitement. He didn’t think it would be this easy and despite your stare making him nervous he could feel his own smile pull at his lips just for a moment.

“I’m just gonna need an ID to show my boss.”

The sentence leaves your mouth and Eddie wants to fucking scream, his grip on the pen becoming so hard he was close to snapping it in half. It was an issue at the motel why wouldn’t be an issue here? It’s not like he didn’t have one, it just had all of his real information on it. Information that had the potential to get him caught.

“I- I don’t have one.” It’s quiet when it leaves his mouth voice shaking and defeated. Meeting your eyes again he notices how they soften as if you could read his mind.

“You moved to a new town without any ID?” You question is gentle when it comes out watching the way his shoulders slump. The first smile you’d seen grace his handsome features slowly fading away.

“I’m afraid I can’t give this to him with out some kind of proof as to who you are.” It’s lame when it comes out of your mouth and you wish it could be different when you watch his big doe eyes glass over.

“It’s fine, I’ll figure something out. I appreciate the help none the less.” Eddie gives slight nod pushing the application away, his brain already starting to reel with no back up plan lined up. He feels fucking stupid.

Unsure how to comfort the cute mysterious stranger you shove your pen back in your pocket giving him your most apologetic look. The air shifting into something that felt like you should give him privacy— you walk away as he digs for his wallet.

Throwing a twenty on the table, he’s too embarrassed to even ask for the discount. He takes one last big bite of his burger before goes to stand up, the sudden urge to sleep becoming over powering with the hope a better idea would come to him tomorrow.

“Hey, actually.” Your honeyed voice drips through his very obvious despair.

Stopping him before he had a chance to leave, Eddie’s chestnut eyes meet yours in question.

Biting at your bottom lip, he can tell your nervous to ask him whatever was bouncing around in your head.

“Do you know anything about cars?” The thought of your late grandmothers car sitting motionless in your drive way comes to mind and how desperate you were for a pair of working wheels.

“I mean I’m no mechanic, but I can do the basics.” He offers back with a shrug.

“Good enough for me, I live by the beach not far from the motel down the road, it’s a shitty yellow house you can’t miss it. I’ve got a car you can come look at tomorrow, if you think you can fix it I’ll hire you myself.” Eddie doesn’t know why you’re being so nice to him but he’s not going to turn you down the offer. Even if he can’t fix it, he sure as shit was going to figure out how.

“Alright, sure yeah, I’ll come by.” Trying to contain his excitement the smile you’d already missed comes creeping back to his face.

“Perfect, I’ll see you around 10? I’ve gotta work at 4 so that should be plenty of time for you to come take a look yeah?” Not wanting to tease that six hours is plenty of time to do a normal check up on a car he just nods instead.

“I’ll be there at 10.” With a nod of his head and the first genuine smile on his face in days, he pushes back out into the developing storm.

——

Head swirling with the events of the day the cheap motel bed moans under his weight as he stares up at the water marks on the ceiling tile. The feathers of the pillows underneath him bring back the heaviness of his eyelids as all the muscles in his body finally relax. The fear of sleep slowly slipping to the back of his mind when the softness of your smile replays on a loop behind closed eyes.

——-

Taglist: @newlips @bimbobaggins69 @munsonology @triplethreat77 @edsforehead @manda-panda-monium @emotionaldreamer @eddiesprincess86 @micheledawn1975 @lil-graveling @b-irock @munsonmunster

If I missed anyone please let me know!

[drewharrisonwriter]

Lifeline - Ch. 1: How It Used to Be

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader, referred to as “Honey” 

Series Summary: After basically being dropped and rejected by every PR agency in Hollywood for being such a huge liability, Dieter Bravo must work on resetting his public image in the most unexpected ways.

Author's Notes: I have been working on this fic on and off for the past year, and this story is a little personal to me. Yes, I am trauma dumping in some scenes lol but I also want to say that there will be so many unrealistic things about Hollywood, actors, and PR/Marketing agencies here, to which I apologize.

Warnings: Angst, a little drama, lots of flashbacks. More warnings to come as the story progresses.

Read this on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

He used to tell it like it was a scene out of an old movie—one of those moments that felt too perfect to be real. It was his mother’s second wedding, small and intimate, set against the backdrop of a Hawaiian-themed afternoon that felt worlds away from the life he’d been trying to build in Los Angeles. He had just flown back in that morning, still half-asleep and nursing the familiar sting of another failed audition. At thirty, he was barely scraping by, a struggling actor on the outskirts of a dream he couldn’t quite reach, but today wasn’t about him.

Dieter had stepped into the backyard, the one he’d known since he was a kid, and there she was—Honey. Twenty-one now, far away from the chubby teenager he remembered, dressed in a red dress that clung to her in all the right ways, standing at the far end of the room with a glass of brandy in her hand. The guests milled around, voices mingling with the soft strum of a ukulele, but all Dieter could see was her. He remembered how she smiled, that kind of smile that could light up a whole damn room, the way she looked when she thought no one was watching. She didn’t seem to belong there, not really—like she was too much for this small-town backyard wedding, too much for the quiet life he was still tangled in.

He’d always say it was like everything else went blurry, fading into the background as he watched her from across the room. Time slowed, like in the movies, and it was just him and Honey, her red dress vivid against the lush green of his mother’s backyard. He didn’t know how long he stood there, rooted to the spot, just staring at her, but it felt like something clicked in that moment. Like he was seeing the leading lady of a story he never knew he was meant to be a part of.

Months later, when they were tangled up in sheets,  drifting off to sleep in his old apartment, he’d whisper in her ear the day he found her. About the first time he saw her, how she looked in that dress, how the sun caught in her hair and made everything feel warm and bright, just for a second. And Honey would smile and love it, because she always loved him, she tells him—she’d close her eyes, let out a soft laugh, and he’d tell her how he’d walked in, still in that wrinkled white shirt from the plane, and how the rest of the room disappeared as she came into view. She’d smile and slowly run a finger down the slope of his nose as he spoke, like she could see it all happening again, and for those moments, Dieter could pretend it was enough to hold on to.

Now, though, Dieter couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever find another moment like that. Or worse—if he already had, and that was it for him. He wondered if he’d feel that rush again, that movie magic. And if he did, would it feel like the first time he’d seen Honey in that damn red dress? Would he tell the story the same way, with the same stupid grin on his face, and pretend it was something new?

God, he hoped not. Because no matter how hard he tried, Dieter couldn’t let go of that first time and he doesn’t seem to want to let go of it all. The way she made him feel like maybe he was someone worth seeing, someone worth noticing in a sea of people who’d never quite looked at him that way before. Even now, when the spotlight was finally his, when he’d gotten everything he thought he wanted, Dieter knew that nothing would ever quite measure up to the way she’d looked at him that day. Honey, the girl in the red dress, the one who saw him before anyone else ever did.

He hated that he couldn’t rewrite that scene, couldn’t replace it no matter how many times he tried. And as much as he wanted to move on, to find something and someone else that felt just as good, Dieter knew that part of him would always be standing in that backyard, watching her smile, wishing he could step into that frame now and relive it all over again.

–

Dieter sprawled across the leather couch in his spacious Sherman Oaks home, staring at the ceiling as the late morning sun streamed through the oversized windows. The house was too big for one person, filled with all the trappings of success: expensive art on the walls, designer furniture he barely noticed, and a backyard pool that sparkled under the California sun. It was the kind of place meant for a family—big, open spaces perfect for kids, a kitchen begging for Sunday breakfasts, and bedrooms waiting to be filled. But it was just Dieter, alone, scrolling through his phone in an old green bathrobe that had seen better days, a coffee-stained t-shirt, and a pair of mismatched Crocs.

His thumb moved aimlessly over the screen, flipping through the usual parade of celebrity posts, promotions, and glamorous snapshots that made up his feed. His own account was filled with a mix of movie promotions, behind-the-scenes selfies, and the occasional controversial photo of him in his latest ridiculous outfit—a ratty fur coat or nothing at all, surrounded by people he’d barely remember the next day. Lately, it seemed like every headline had his name attached to some new scandal: the models, actors, and random flings who drifted in and out of his life like a revolving door, both men and women, sometimes all at once. It was the kind of attention he used to crave, but now it just felt empty.

Then, as if the universe was playing some cruel joke, his thumb froze on a picture that pulled him out of his haze. It was Honey.

She was standing in front of the Griffith Observatory, LA sprawling in soft, golden hues behind her. She was dressed simply, not in red but in a vibrant green dress that reminded him of summer, carefree and effortless. Honey’s smile was wide, the kind of smile that lit up her whole face, and she looked like she belonged there, even though she’d always been a small-town girl at heart. The caption was short, just an emoji and “LA for the weekend!” but to Dieter, it was like a punch to the gut.

She was here. In his city. And she looked happy.

He couldn’t help but tap on her profile, scrolling back through her recent posts. There were pictures of her at events, hanging out with friends he didn’t recognize, and singing at small, intimate bars where the lights were dim and the crowd was close. Honey was always singing—it was her secret dream, something she’d only ever joked about back when they were together, curled up on his old porch. She’d never taken it seriously, but now it seemed like she was finally letting herself have that spotlight, even if it was just a small one.

His scrolling slowed when he noticed something new—a link to another account tagged in her bio: “@TraceMarketing.” Dieter tapped it, curiosity gnawing at him. It was a business page, polished and professional, showcasing her new venture: a boutique digital marketing and PR business. Posts highlighted her clients’ successes, photos of Honey at meetings, and little motivational quotes sprinkled between updates. It looked like she’d traded her teaching job for something entirely different, something bigger. The realization hit him: Honey had moved on from more than just their old life. She’d moved on from the safe, predictable path she’d once clung to, and Dieter was suddenly painfully aware of how much time had passed, how much had changed.

As he scrolled through her business page, flashes of old conversations flickered in his mind.

* flashback *

It was a warm summer evening, the kind where the sun hung low in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow. Dieter was sitting on his porch steps, strumming his beat-up guitar, his fingers lazily picking out the chords to “Let It Be Me.” Honey was sitting next to him, leaning against the railing, her eyes half-closed as she hummed along.

“You know,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at him with a playful smile, “you could be famous one day. I can see it now—Dieter Bravo, Hollywood’s leading man. You’d have to beat the girls off with a stick.”

Dieter laughed, shaking his head. “I’d settle for landing a decent role in a local commercial at this point. Maybe a toothpaste ad,” he joked, strumming the next chord. “And what about you, huh? You’ve got a voice that could fill stadiums. You ever think about making it big?”

Honey rolled her eyes, nudging him with her shoulder. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just quit my job, move to LA, and become the next pop sensation. I’m sure the kids in my class would love that. ‘Miss Honey’s off chasing her wild dreams,’” she mimicked, laughing softly. “No, I think I’ll stick to singing for you and the cats that wander by.”

Dieter looked at her, his smile fading into something softer, more serious. “You could do it, you know. You could do anything.”eyes. “Maybe. But some things are better left as dreams for some people, unlike yo

She shrugged, but there was a wistful look in her u–” She poked at his chest and he chuckled. 

“You, Mr. Bravo are meant to make it big.” She tells him and he shakes his head, smiling like he doesn’t believe her and part of him really doesn’t.

* end of flashback *

Back in the present, Dieter shook his head, pulling himself from the memory. Honey had changed. She was no longer just the sweet schoolteacher from their hometown; she’d built something for herself. He wondered what had finally pushed her to leave, to take that leap she’d always laughed off. He wondered if she’d found what she was looking for, or if she was still chasing that dream, one client at a time.

His thoughts drifted back to the way Honey used to be with him—gentle, caring, and always ready with a home-cooked meal after a long, exhausting day. Back when he was still trying to find his footing as an actor, driving hours to perform in a rundown theater a few towns over, she’d always be there when he got home. She’d greet him at the door, the smell of something warm and comforting drifting from the kitchen. Honey was his sanctuary, the one constant in a life that felt like it was always on the edge of falling apart.

* flashback *

Dieter dragged himself through the front door, dropping his worn-out bag by the entrance. His feet ached from hours of standing on stage, and his mind was still buzzing with lines, cues, and the lingering sting of a director’s harsh critique. He felt like a failure, but then he caught the scent of garlic and herbs, and the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.

Honey popped her head out of the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour. “You’re home! I made your favorite—lasagna and garlic bread. Thought you could use a little comfort food.”

Dieter managed a tired smile, his heart swelling at the sight of her. “You’re the best, you know that?”

She grinned, wiping her hands on a towel as she crossed the room to hug him. “I know. And you’re not too bad yourself. Go sit, dinner’s almost ready.”

They ate on the couch, Honey curled up beside him, her feet tucked under his thigh. They talked about his day, her students, and all the little things that made up their world. When he’d vent about his struggles—the endless auditions, the rejection, the feeling that he was running out of time—she’d just listen, offering quiet reassurances and gentle touches that told him he wasn’t alone.

And later, when the lights were low and they’d drift into bed, the connection between them was electric, intimate in a way Dieter had never known before. They’d move together slowly, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. Honey would trace her fingers over his skin, whispering little affirmations that he clung to like lifelines. It was the kind of intimacy that made him feel seen, loved, and enough.

* end of flashback *

Dieter blinked, shaking off the memories that clung to him like a fog. He picked up his phone again, staring at Honey’s smiling face on the screen. His life now was filled with parties, late-night escapades, and a string of relationships that never seemed to stick. He was the subject of constant tabloid fodder, a walking scandal wrapped in designer clothes and bad decisions. People saw Dieter Bravo, the star, the partier, the man who had everything—but none of them saw the guy who once dreamed of a quiet life with the girl in the red dress.

The house he’d bought in Sherman Oaks was supposed to be a fresh start, a perfect family home with a backyard big enough for kids to run around in and a kitchen that felt like the heart of the house. But it was just him, rattling around the empty rooms, filling the silence with distractions. Sometimes, Dieter would catch himself imagining Honey there—her laugh echoing down the hallway, her shoes by the door, her favorite coffee mug on the counter. He wanted that life, even if he didn’t know how to keep it.

He scrolled through Honey’s profile one last time before setting his phone down, the weight of it all pressing heavy on his chest. She’d moved on, built something new, and all he had were the memories of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. Dieter sighed, staring out at the LA skyline, wondering if he’d ever find his way back to something that felt like home.

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[morning-star-joy]

what a wicked thing (Javier Peña x F!Reader) part 1

Unfinished & Discontinued

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader, Post-Season 3

Summary: Javier Peña isn't just an asshole—he's the asshole who broke your best friend's heart by leaving her at the altar. When he returns to Laredo, you're determined to never give him the time of day. But it seems that Javier enjoys getting under your skin a bit too much.

Series Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI Enemies/Rivals to Lovers, Language, Alcohol/Cigarette Use, Mentions of Anxiety/PTSD, Angst, Slow Burn (probably), Eventual Smut.

Wordcount: 3k

A/N: Biting the bullet and sharing the first part of the Javi series I'm working on, to set up the premise and build up the courage to step outside my Joel comfort zone. And THANK YOU @thetriumphantpanda for being my beta reader for this, my Javier Peña expert, ily!!

part 2

There were times where you hated still living in the town you grew up in.

One of those times was when you had returned after you had tried, and ultimately failed, to get away from the small, suffocating community that was your hometown. 

You had left with the naive hope that you could create your own life, live for yourself, and only yourself, somewhere else.

When that didn’t work out, you had run back to Laredo, moving back in with your parents and hating every moment you stepped outside of the house, your every step followed by whispers and rumors of why you had come back so soon after graduating college.

You brought your hard earned Master's degree in Library Science back with you, using it to get the one local library up to par, and taking over when the last librarian retired. It was a good way to keep your head down and focus on something, ignoring the murmurs of conversation about you that surrounded you from every angle until eventually the speculation faded away.

Even when you had fully moved back in with a steady job, there was a voice in the back of your head screaming at you not to settle down there. 

You didn’t want to be stuck in this backwater hole in the middle of nowhere Texas for the rest of your life, unable to avoid seeing people who had known you from the moment you were born. People who knew every irritating detail, every aggravating blip in your life like the back of their hand—but where else was there to go?

Another one of those times you hated being stuck in that town was before you left to pursue your Master’s, wanting to stay by your best friend’s side when she decided to marry her first love.

And it was by her side that you stayed when that motherfucker jilted her, leaving her heartbroken at the altar and never so much as looking back.

Good riddance, was all you had thought when her ex-fiancé ran off to play the goddamn hero far, far away from where he could ever hurt her again. Asshole.

Only when Lorraine had assured you that she was okay, that you could get the hell out of Dodge and live the life you had always dreamed of, did you leave.

And then you came back.

And so did Javier Peña.

So now you found yourself in the latest of the moments where you despised being trapped in your hometown, and maybe the one where your ire towards the place was the greatest.

Because now you had to share it with him.

It was odd, and a bit disturbing, how well you were able to fit back into your old skin when you returned to Laredo.

You had always been known to be quiet and respectful. A thoughtful straight-A student, a faithful girl that never missed a Sunday service.

When you finally escaped, you were able to shed all of that off your body, turning it into something new, something sexy, something powerful.

You could be sharp and shrewd, daring and sinful. Anything you wanted. You could be, you could do, anything you wanted.

Until you did the wrong things, and then you found yourself back in your childhood room.

Back to being the shy little thing. Back to being the good girl.

All the growth you had made, it was gone within a week, fitting back into the box of what everybody in Laredo wanted you to be.

Polite smiles and faking laughter filled your days. The only time you found real joy were those moments in the library when nobody was bothering you, and you could get lost in the aisles, sorting and reading to your heart’s content.

You remembered one such day, how you were in a more chipper mood as you carried a box of back copies of recent newspapers down to the basement archives. 

The room was an asthma attack waiting to happen, but you didn’t mind the layers of dust, dirt, or the fire hazard. Instead, you found something magical about being surrounded by piles of that much history, local and far-reaching, not knowing what events you would read about if you reached out and grabbed the first paper to graze your fingertips.

Reaching into the box you had brought with you, you began to pull out and sort the papers, falling into an automatic process of sorting until you paused, fingers brushing against the picture of a face you recognized in printed ink.

It was older, maybe even wiser, but still just as capable of pulling a surge of annoyance from you. It was the same irritation you felt whenever you heard his name around town, followed by the most recent news of his efforts to end the drug wars.

Seemed like he had actually succeeded, based off of the article you were now glancing over. You read his name, staring at it as your eyes narrowed slightly, skimming over his accolades before shaking your head and tossing it back to the top of the pile to pick up and place in their rightful spot.

Part of you was a bit surprised that you hadn’t yet heard that he had taken down Escobar, but then you figured you had finally managed to shut out news around town of what he was doing every time you heard his name.

Good for him, you had thought with no small amount of bitterness as you turned off the light in the room before leaving.

Your grudge was childish, yes, but it was your best friend he had not only snubbed, but hurt. Deeply. Lorraine had issues with allowing herself to be happy in another relationship for years, until she finally got married to a man who actually did deserve her.

Deciding it was worth no more of your time, you shut the door behind you, leaving all memories of him amongst the cobwebs.

Or, you tried.

It seemed that fate had other plans for your locked up thoughts of Javier Peña.

After seeing that newspaper in the library’s basement archives, you began to notice his name mentioned more around town, but you still tuned it out, more as a knee jerk reaction at that point than intentionally so.

You were almost mad at yourself for this mechanism to preserve yourself from unnecessary annoyance when you came face to face with him for the first time in nearly a decade, completely unprepared and fully taken aback.

Old habits were hard to shake, and you were sticking to Lorraine’s side for most of Danny’s wedding, sharing knowing smiles and old jokes whenever you could duck your heads together during the reception.

So of course the moment when you left to use the bathroom, Javier fucking Peña had taken your place by her side when you returned.

You froze at the edge of the room, heart in your throat as you watched them stand together, looking as handsome a couple as the day before he left her waiting at the altar.

Javier flashed her that heartstopping smile, and you stiffened, jaw ticking as you realized he was flirting.

Flirting.

With his ex-fiancée.

You scoffed, arms crossing over your chest as you watched, anger bubbling in your chest as he had the audacity to sit next to her, to lean in close and talk to her with those stupid big brown eyes that could melt the coldest of hearts.

Shaking your head, you quickly turned away, passing by Randy as he gave you a smile that you returned by reflex. When he paused to ask if you were okay, you murmured an affirmative, continuing on your way and only looking back to watch with a sick satisfaction as your best friend’s husband walked right up to where she sat with her ex and sent him packing.

Still, you didn’t pause in your steps until you were outside, far away from the constant commotion of these big town events as you pulled out a pack of cigarettes from your purse. You placed one between your lips and flicked your lighter until it was lit, finally finding relief as your lungs were filled with that sweet rush of nicotine.

That was one habit that you hadn’t managed to kick since returning to Laredo, even though you had managed to hide it well from those that it would concern.

So distracted by the relief the cigarette offered, you almost didn’t notice the moment where you were no longer alone.

But you had always been a bit more anxious than most, and you picked up on the sound of movement near you.

Turning with your cigarette pulled from your lips, you were ready to hastily stomp it out when you saw that the other person who had found your hiding spot was none other than the one whose presence had driven you out here.

Javier didn’t seem to notice you for a moment, spitting a wad of gum into the grass as he placed his hands on his hips and stared out into nothing. When he closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face, you were almost foolish enough to think you could sneak away without getting his attention.

But when you moved, a breeze shifted past you, carrying the smoke from the cigarette you had yet to snuff out right over to him.

Javier froze.

You froze.

His hand fell from his eyes, face lifting into the air as he sniffed once before turning his head right towards you.

Fuck.

You made eye contact with Javier Peña for the first time in—shit, you didn’t even know when you actually last had a conversation with the man, or even had his attention on you. Whenever you were around him before, you were with Lorraine, so his focus was most definitely not on you.

Even then, you were never Lorraine’s most bubbly friend, even though you were her closest. You preferred to stick to the edges of a crowd, Lorraine liked to be in the center, and Javier wanted to be with her.

Until he didn’t.

You couldn’t control the way your eyes narrowed slightly, even as Javier’s gaze flickered from your face to the cigarette in your hand, still blowing smoke from your fingers directly towards his face with the direction of the breeze.

His eyes moved back to you then, moving down your form, up again and—Jesus, was he checking you out?

Really?

You could almost laugh, but you were struck silent in that moment, too taken aback by the bizarre circumstance you found yourself in as Javier took a step closer towards you.

“Hey there,” Javier greeted almost hesitantly, looking at the cigarette again, and suddenly, you felt a surge of spite in that moment as his fingers twitched at his side. 

Clearly itching for a cigarette of his own, and probably hoping he could get one from you.

Bringing your cigarette back up to your lips, you took a long, slow drag of it, trying not to smirk at the way he licked his lips as he watched you hold the smoke in your mouth for as long as you could before blowing it out.

The puff of smoke carried right back towards him on the breeze, and Javier swallowed thickly, an autonomic reflex from the nicotine craving before he glanced from your mouth back up into your eyes, his own gaze darkening, lips pulling up into his own small smirk he clearly wasn’t even trying to hold back and—

No.

You reached back into your purse to grab the box of cigarettes, flicking your wrist to send it flying to him, not bothering to glance back to see if he caught it as you turned on your heel to walk away.

Still, you heard the sound of the small box being clasped between his large hands behind you, and you threw your cigarette to the ground, crushing it under your heels as you walked away.

“Can I—”

“Figure it out,” you said blandly, surprising yourself with the amount of venom in your tone as you left Javier standing there, with a half-full box of your cigarettes and no way to light them.

You hoped you’d never have to see him again.

Javier knew you.

He knew that he knew you.

But he couldn’t remember you.

And it was driving him fucking crazy.

That moment where he had run into you outside of Danny’s wedding, when you had blown the smoke directly into the breeze so it carried to his face, it hadn’t been an act of seduction.

He was used to flirting—lidded eyes with pupils blown wide, licking lips with batted eyelashes, chests with tempting cleavage pushed out to beckon him in—but you had been doing none of that.

Your arms had been crossed over your chest, eyes narrowed slightly in a show of what almost seemed to be defiance. A challenge.

And, fuck, that look was far more attractive than any way you could have intentionally seduced him.

Old habits die hard, and Javier couldn’t help but give in to both that craving for nicotine, and something a bit more satisfying in that moment as he looked over you, taking in your curves that were only slightly accentuated in the modest, pale pink sundress you wore. He wondered just what you were hiding underneath that thin fabric, what you would look like—

Javier had blinked himself out of the unabashedly horny thoughts that had begun to stir inside his mind, catching the box of cigarettes you had tossed towards him before it hit him right in the face.

Some part of him thought he kind of deserved that hit, wincing anyway with a small surge of guilt at how quickly his mind had turned towards the desire for sex—back in Laredo for only a day, and he was searching for the nearest pussy to wet his dick.

But then you had cut him off before he could even finish trying to ask you for a light—purely innocent, he lied to himself—telling him those three sharp words that had stuck with him even as he fled Laredo as quickly as he had returned.

Figure it out.

There was an undertone to those words that Javier couldn’t quite (ironically) figure out—a twinge of an emotion almost akin to bitterness, and he found himself staring at the back of your head as you disappeared back into the building, wondering to himself who the fuck you were and why he had never seen you before.

But the more he thought about it, replaying that infuriatingly short interaction in his head the whole trip right back into the world of fighting a losing war he had trapped himself into again, the more Javier got the strange sensation that he did know you.

But he couldn’t place you, couldn’t remember what he could have done to make somebody in Laredo treat him that way.

Maybe he was just a masochist, but something about the whole thing intrigued him. 

You couldn’t have been a one-night stand—he didn’t start having those until after he escaped his hometown, having spent most of his youth there with Lorraine or a few other girlfriends wrapped up in his arms.

So what did that make you?

Why did you speak to him so apathetically?

Why did you still give him your cigarettes?

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

Javier sat on the edge of his bed one night, back in Colombia with a new woman asleep in his bed. He flicked the top of the cigarette box open with his thumb, holding the flickering lighter up with the other so he could read the four words scrawled in sharpie across the inside of the lid.

You can do this.

Obviously the words were not meant for him. You had probably been so eager to rid yourself of his presence, for whatever reason that he was driving himself crazy trying to figure it out, and forgotten you had written it there.

Still, Javier found himself looking at it a moment too long whenever he needed a cigarette, wondering who you were and why you needed that message written for yourself each time you itched for some nicotine.

Figure it out.

But it was that blunt phrase that stuck with Javier the most, ringing in the back of his head whenever he hit a roadblock or felt like he was forever moving backwards in trying to end the pain this godforsaken unwinnable war caused countless people. 

Innocent people. 

People he couldn't save.

People whose death he was responsible for.

There was no encouragement in your voice when you had spoken to him. No idolization for a hero that everybody else in Laredo treated him with—even Lorraine had shown it in a way, insinuating that he had ended up where he wanted to, where he needed to be.

In cruel, cold reality, Javier could hardly fucking sleep at night. Haunted by the things he had seen, the things that he had done because of what he had seen.

And on those nights, he’d open up that cigarette box, studying the curves of your lettering even when he had smoked through all the cigarettes in it, except for one.

Wondering.

Strangely enough, he found himself relying on the straightforward sentiment you had told him at the wedding more than the encouraging one on the inside of that lid, the indelicate way you spelled out exactly what he needed to do.

Figure it out.

Because that was what Javier had to do.

It was all he could do.

Figure out a way to end this fucking cesspool of corruption, once and for all.

Then maybe he could go back home and actually look his father in the eye.

Maybe he wouldn’t despise himself when people he had known all his life lauded him as a hero.

Maybe he could return that last cigarette with its original owner, figure out who the fuck you were, and why you seemed to be the only person who didn’t see him as something he wasn’t.

Figure it out.

He would.

He had to.

[wynndigogh]

Bring me a dream...

You stand brushing your teeth in an outdated bathroom. 

The light over the vanity appears to be from the sixties and considering the way the bulb flashes and surges every few seconds with a zz-ut-zhut sound, it may be that old as well.

The light it gives off is yellow and dull; however, you aren’t very sure you’d like a bright view of that bathroom anyway.  The tub, sink, and toilet have more rings than the Olympics logo and the faucets are pockmarked with rust.

The tiny mosaic flooring tiles are missing in random spots and the bold floral designed wallpaper, which you are sure at one time contained bright yellows, oranges and greens, is now a faded façade that is barely clinging to the walls.

You roll your eyes and spit the last of the toothpaste foam from your mouth, “Not exactly the Hilton, but a bed is a bed.”

With a sigh you exit the small washroom, opting to leave on the flickering yellow light and close the door just enough to for it to act as a nightlight.  You are single, traveling alone, and unfamiliar dark rooms are intimidating. The sliver of light from the bathroom brings you some small amount of comfort, no matter the poor quality.

You walk stiffly through the small motel room.  After two straight days of driving, with little rest, your body feels like stone.  In your overly caffeinated, yet insanely exhausted, state you are trying to remember exactly why you thought driving from Georgia to your job interview in Oregon would be a good idea.

Ah, yes, Skinwalker Ranch. 

You started watching the spooky series on the History channel months ago and have become obsessed with the thought of other-worldly portals that connect our world to places unknown.  In a misguided a-ha moment you decided to drive, instead of fly, so that you could pass through Gusher, Utah just to be close to the supposed interdimensional portals. 

You know getting on the actual ranch will be a no-go, but you want to be in the town, as close as possible to the actual ranch, just to see if anyone has tales of their own to share of extraordinary happenings in the area.

So, that is how you ended up in this rundown motel pretty much in the middle of nowhere. 

With a sigh, you pull back the old comforter on the bed, noting the dingy sheets with a shutter.  You hesitate for just a moment, contemplating if you should put leggings under your oversized tee shirt, but your tired body encourages you to tough it out.  Reluctantly, you crawl into the bed. 

Since your last coffee was only an hour ago, a desperate attempt to make it to Gusher before your heavy eyelids forced you to stop, you are a little too wired to just drift off to sleep.  So, you pull out the latest creature-feature romance novel that you’ve been reading and turn to your ear-marked page.  You will read until the caffeine-kick wears off.

The small room is quiet except for the faint zz-ut-zhut from the blinking bathroom light. 

In fact, the whole motel is as quiet as a graveyard.  You doubt any of the other rooms have occupants in them.  The parking lot was empty, and the front desk clerk seemed genuinely surprised to be checking someone into the establishment.

You twist to your left side, trying to get the aged lamp beside your bed to illuminate your book’s page.  You need to see the details clearly; the story is just getting spicy. 

The story’s heroine has been fighting a growing attraction to her Centaur field-guide, whom she hired to lead her through a dangerous forest.  A recent Trogg attack has the suppressed protagonist clinging to the Centaur’s broad equine back as he races her to safety.  The author is detailing the baritone sound of his huffs of exertion, the heated moisture coating his muscles, and how the heroine is enjoying the bouncing rhythmic friction of the chaotic ride just a little too much.

You subconsciously swallow and rub your stacked legs together out of need.  You feel a slight ache in your nether region followed by the tell-tale sign of slick starting to gather at your entrance.  You shift your position, and the bedsprings protest with a squeak and a hiss.

You flip the page in your book, and you are halfway through the first sentence at the top of the page when the thought finally registers in your tired mind, did the bed just hiss?

You lower your paperback book to scan the bed and the dimly lit room.  The fossil-age lamp beside your bed and the sliver of yellow bathroom light illuminates the area around the bed decently enough but they do little to chase away the deep shadows in the far corners of the room. 

Oh, how you hate the dark.  Ever since you were a child, you always felt like the darkness itself was watching.  Watching and waiting. 

The longer you look at the shadows of the room, the more your skin wants to crawl with goosebumps.  You know it’s silly and that it is probably just your anxiety of being alone in an unknown space, but that same feeling of being watched surfaces in the back of your mind.

However, after a moment of observation, nothing seems amiss.  With a shiver and a shake, you turn your attention back to your book.

By the middle of the page, the heroine is reaching her peak bouncing up and down on the Centaur’s back.  You are fully invested in her ride, fantasizing about riding astride the strong creature yourself.  As your mind wanders, your body reacts to the imagery.  Your nipples harden under your nightshirt and your internal temperature peaks causing you to sweat.  You throw off your covers and start to fan yourself with your book, when you hear a muted in-take of breath, like a soft gasp.

In shock and fear, you bolt into a sitting position, “Who’s there?”, you call out in panic.

Your eyes and ears strain for clues.  The only movement and sound coming from the flickering bathroom light. 

Seconds tick by, counted off by the zz-ut-zhut of the old light bulb. 

The stillness growing into an uneasy stalemate.

You shift nervously on the bed.  Preparing, waiting.  Yet, nothing happens. 

Slowly, your racing heart begins to ease.  The muscles around your eyes begin to relax as your body adjusts to burning through the last of your caffeine-high just now. 

As your eyelids grow a bit heavy, a yawn surfaces.  Your face contorts in the yawn, your eyelids shielding most of your vision.  That’s when you see it, a flash of light deep in one of the room’s shadows. 

No, that isn’t right.  It wasn’t a light, there were two.  You saw two flashes of light, almost like the blink of dual fireflies, in the corner across from you.

You quickly stifle the yawn, blinking back the reflexive tears from your eyes, and stare hard at the space.  Only, the lights don’t reappear. 

Was it your imagination?  Is your fatigued brain experiencing hallucinations? 

You focus hard on the corner, and you see something…at least, you think you do.

Is that…a shadow? 

For a moment it’s there and then, with the next blink of your eyes, it’s gone again.  Was something there?

You strain to see.  Your eyes sting with dryness and feel gritty, even as tears from your yawn leak from the corners.  You squeeze your eyes shut repeatedly, trying to lubricate them.  Surely, you’ll be able to blink away the fog that seems to be forming on your pupils, obscuring your vision.  However, no matter how many times you try, your eyes refuse to focus.  You use the heel of your free hand to rub one orbital, in a pitiful attempt to literally wipe away the opaque quality of your vision.

Deep in the corner, the shadow flickers into existence and two glowing orbs reappear.  The orbs aren’t the luminous bottoms of bugs, they are two glowing eyes staring straight at you.

For just a moment, shorter than a gasp, your heart stops.  Pausing in stillness, preparing for the surge. 

Then, with the quickness of a lightning strike, the adrenaline jolts through your system.  Your heartrate spiking, sending blood to your muscles, preparing you for fight and flight.

You instinctually shriek and fling the book in your hand at the tall form in the darkness while simultaneously rolling off the far side of the bed with a resounding thud.

“Tsk, tsk, is that any way to treat a coveted possession?”

The voice that you hear from your hiding spot beside the bed is masculine.  It has an elegant cadence with an accent you can’t place.  It sounds otherworldly, almost ethereal, and yet hollow, like it’s muffled.  The sound of a male voice inside the room with you triggers the third fear response, freeze. 

You are utterly frozen in place on the grimy carpet, your mind racing.  Who is it?  How did he get in?  What does he want?  The sound of soft footsteps interrupts the chaos storming through your mind.  The footfalls are coming closer. 

Over the lip of the mattress, you see a dark hooded figure leisurely making his way around the bed.  You just stare with wide eyes as he comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, stares down at you, and tilts his head to the side inquisitively. 

Is it panic or shock that has your back glued to the floor, your body unable to move, or is it awe?  

The man, no – that isn’t right, it can’t be right. 

The being standing over you has swirling, glowing eyes.  You watch as the color of those luminous orbs shift and twirl in tones of blue, white, violet, and gold.  They are oddly mesmerizing and unnerving at the same time.  Just as your mind starts to get those in their depths, he breaks eye contact, and you watch those shimmering rings of light trace a line down your body, lingering with interest on the peaks of your nightshirt and the exposed swatch of your lacy underwear.

After a long pause at your lacy covered apex, those shining eyes blaze white and lift to make eye contact with you, “My lady, I do believe you are in need of my assistance”.  His eloquent, ethereal voice placing emphasis on the word ‘need’. 

The bedside lamp casts enough light to reveal his face beneath the hood. His eyes aren’t just floating orbs, they are pupils set in a pair of elongated eyes, framed high and tight by steep cheek bones.  His skin, a deep velvety blue with sparkling specks that catch and reflect the light, resembling a starry night sky.  You can only see a small portion of skin around his eyes, and you understand why his voice sounds muffled, he’s wearing a mask over the lower half of his face.

You hear screaming.  It takes you a moment to realize the sound is coming from yourself.  Your voice sounds so far away, like you are having an out-of-body type of experience.

The creature…being…man, whatever he is, raises his finger to his masked mouth and issues a command, “Shhhhhhhh”.  

A glimmering tendril of some type of floating substance, ribbons out from his hand, wafting over you, and stealing your panic.  Like a drug, your body starts to feel heavy and your voice stalls in your throat.

“Allow me to help you”, his foreign accent drawls out from behind his mask.  The shapes of his swirling eyes pinching thin, in what could be a cheeky grin, as he reaches down and takes your delicate hand in his indigo colored one, pulling you to your feet, your body just obeying.

Standing toe to toe it is apparent that this being is tall, at least 6’4” because your petite frame is only reaching the top of his chest. 

You are staring up into those hypnotic eyes when you feel him grip your chin.  His fingers are tipped with dark claws, and he is careful not to stab them into the tender flesh of your face.

“Are you hurt?”, he questions behind his barrier, “Maybe I should check, eh?”

His long eyes turning cheshire-shaped from another impish grin.  You are feeling too dazed to protest when his free hand glides over your shoulders, down one of your sides, and pauses on your hip, gripping into the amp flesh.

“Who-what are you”, your words come out slow and groggy.

“Hmmmm, I am called many things by your kind, faerie, demon, Sonnaya Tuchka, Ole Lukøje, Pesochnyy chelovek, we call ourselves Zeez; however, my favorite is your tongue, what you called me when you were youngling.”

The creature pauses staring at you; your transfixed dreamy stare telling him that you were not processing his words as quickly as he is speaking.  He watches patiently as the information clicks into place in your mind, your eyes widening ever so slightly with the realization that you two have met before.

“You, my desert flower, called me The Sandman.  But, if you wish, you may call me by given name Der.”

Der’s face loses its brash flirtatiousness and takes on a more somber look, his eyes phasing more blue, as he releases your chin to run his outside of forefinger down the side of your cheek.  The action doesn’t feel intrusive or offensive, it feels more familiar…sad.

Your gaze swipes lazily across his face as your mind tries to fight through the haze clouding it.  You take in the colors and reflecting light of his skin, those enthralling eyes, and then your sight slides down to his covering.

“Why do you wear a mask?”

You watch the tall being’s shoulders shake with a huffing laugh, “Always the curious one.  You asked me the same thing when you were much smaller.” 

He lifted a claw tapping the hard mask, the sound telling you it is made of some type of hardened leather or shell of some kind, “This is the burden of my kind, if we wish to remain culturally acceptable and welcomed in our world.”

Your forehead draws together in confusion. 

Der’s eyes twinkle with mischief as he continues, “My kind’s verbalizations can be very persuasive without a filter to cushion its affects.  The other species of my world grew tired of losing partners to my kind’s talented tongues.”, he finishes with a wink.

Ah, his words are as beguiling and seductive as his eyes and the mask acts as his muzzle.  Interesting.

Maybe it’s the fact that you were nose deep in a creature-feature smut book just prior to his arrival, or the fact that you haven’t been laid in longer than you’d like to admit, but your mind betrays you.  An intrusive thought pops up out of nowhere, and your inner voice wonders just how tantalizing a sexual experience with this Zeez would be.

You feel Der’s glowing eyes on your face and, almost as if he reads your mind, the swirling vortexes of his pupils surge from a golden hue to bright white.  You watch the glowing whirlpools circle into ever deeper depths, pulling you under with their currents.

One moment you are standing in a dingey motel room with this otherworldly creature, the next you are sinking in a sea of sand.  The particles rush up your body as you sink further into the abyss.  Your nightshirt is lifted from your body and pulled away by the grit’s undertow. 

Down you slide through the bottleneck of the sandy spiral, landing carefully on a bed of dark mist.  The hooded Zeez astride above you, smiling like a cat who ate the canary, behind his thick face mask, at the sight of your topless form on display for him.

“I have waited a long time for you to ask this of me”, Der purrs in his ethereal accent.  His indigo hand reaches up and detaches the muzzle from his lower face, revealing the remainder of his deep velvet skin and a wide fanged smile framed by a delectable set of dark blue lips.

Feeling self-conscience and exposed under his blazing glare, and his smile that is barely hiding some vicious looking teeth, your arms crisscross over your breasts in a protective manner.

“I-I thought you couldn’t remove the muzzle.”

Der opens his mouth, and a tongue of sand licks the tip of one fang, "Ah, but we are not in my world, my little desert flower, we are in your inner world.  Welcome to your dreamland.”

Without his face mask filtering his essence, the full force of the Zeez’s influence slides over you making you feel heady and drunk with euphoria.  The effect steals the air right out of your lungs, causing beads of sweat to pebble across your skin, your muscles to twitch for release, and your back to arch from the cool dark mist.  With just two short sentences, his words alone have you teetering on the precipice of an orgasm. 

An unguarded moan slips past your lips causing him to chuckle.  The sound of his chuckle, much like that of sand flowing through a wooden cylinder ‘rain-stick’, is its own form of a soothing aphrodisiac.

He leans close and whispers into your ear, as your eyes flutter in ecstasy, “Hold on, my flower, I’ve waited too long for this opportunity to pluck you.”

The inner walls of your pussy twitch in rhythm to his vocal cadence.  To keep from crying out you bite hard into your bottom lip, breaking and bruising the delicate skin.

“Tsk, tsk, is that any way to treat a coveted possession?”, he growls at you in his thick accent. 

You squirm as the slick between your legs becomes so abundant that it is pushing forward, up around your clit, “You-you, sa-said that about my-my book”, you stutter as your mind’s focus splits between talking and the throbbing of the delicate nub in your apex.

Der literally purrs.  His body vibrating above yours, tickling your exposed skin, he’s so close to your ear you can feel his lips brushing the shell with each word, “I was never talking about the book, Love.”

His purring, his lips caressing your ear, along with his declaration pushes you over the edge.  Your inner walls clinch in release.  Your hands forget their mission to guard your modesty and reach out fisting his hood cowl as your body shivers in release.

Der sighs in slight disappointment.  “Next time I will need to keep the mask on until we are further along, you are delightfully sensitive.”, he chides with a salacious grin.

Your release subsides and he slides your hands from his cowl.  As you lay cool in the swirl black mist of your own dreamland, the Zeez releases the clips of his hood cloak, shedding the heavy covering and exposing a torso that you were not expecting. 

Instead of a swath of blue, speckled skin, you are shocked to see short sleek indigo fur coating his neck, the backs of his muscled arms, across his stout shoulders, and down his strong back.  The inner portions of his torso, his chiseled chest, and washboard stomach, sport that starry skin that matches his face.  A face that, now you can see, has a pair of long pointed ears on each side of its head.

Farther behind him a new astonishment swishes through the air, catching you off guard and causing you to jerk in surprise.  A long thin tail with a furry tuft at the end whips back and forth in anticipation.

You are in a state of shock and awe, staring mesmerized at the unique being above you.

“What are you?”, is what slips out of your mouth without going through your internal filter.

That same raspy chuckle of his, slides over your skin like a caress, “I am a Zeez.”

Seeing the lack of recognition, or satisfaction, on your face from his answer, he pauses a moment to rethink his approach.

“I guess your kind would most closely associate my species with your mythical Sphinxes or Manicores. We are timeless creatures with no natural end.  We originate from a cold dark desert in my world”, you watch his eyes dim a deeper hue of blue than you have noticed previously, “but that area is no longer ours.  We now live among tribes and clans of many.”

His long tail gives a sharp whip, creating a snapping sound and breaking his reverie.  Der’s eyes shift back into their golden, white tones as he stares down at you.  His fanged grin grows wide, and his purr returns tenfold.

Suddenly, you feel like a cornered mouse.  Plump and ripe for the devouring.

“You smell delicious”, he rasps out above his vibrations.

TO BE CONTINUED if you want(because it is time for me to catch some Zeez 😘)….

@thelaundrybitch @leoandraphssoulmate @kokosworld95

Author Note: There are three points to know about this story.

1. You may be surprised to learn that Der (and his species) are a MINOR character in my main book series that I'm trying to finish. I wanted a way to expand and explain more about Zeez and this story was born.

2. The book that Der's human is reading in this story will be a vehicle that I will use to introduce other MINOR characters/species from my books as well. So, yes, you will get the read the Centaur's story too, which will feature many of my own creature creations.

3. There is SOOOO much more to Der and his human's story. I am happy to tell it if anyone is interested. The amount of detail and I have created for all the characters still amazing me. (I have no life LOL).

Eh, let's throw a 4th point in here. Der's species was born from an a scene in an actual dream I had. It may not come across as well here in this story, but in further expansions of the story, it explains that humans can only see Zeez when they are tired or sleepy.

Hence the phrase...."catching Z's".

[taeghi]

fleeting summers by park sunghoon | (m) *TEASER*

RELEASE DATE : SUNDAY, JANUARY 28TH, 2024

♫ song : sunsetz by cigarettes after sex

summary : meeting park sunghoon in the small town your dad moved into this summer is as vibrant as the sunsets you witness. but, as summer fades away so does your time together. hopefully when the next summer comes your paths cross again under the same sunlit skies.

genre : smut, fluff, angst, sadness????? mDNi

▶ play song?

part of the enhypen series playlist

as the car winds its way through the quaint, sunlit streets of the small town, you sit in the passenger seat, your gaze fixated on the passing scenery. the town, a popular summer destination, boasts charming storefronts, and colourful welcoming banners and the air is tinged with sea salt and flowers. yet, despite the picturesque allure that surrounds you, there’s a palpable sense of reluctance lingering around you. this town, now your temporary residence for the summer, feels both enhancing and isolating.

since your parents divorce earlier this year, your dad had decided to move to this idyllic escape town that might be a dream for him, but definitely not for you. this town is a separation from the familiar comforts of your home and friends. you wish you could have spent the summer with your friends like usual. your traditions having to be failed this summer since you’ve been shipped away to stay with your father for almost two months.

the car finally turns into a narrow street lined with old wooden houses, and your new home comes into view. its rustic charm stands in stark contrast to the modern, more beachy houses that line the rest of the town. you can’t help but feel a sense of apprehension about spending the upcoming months in this solitary abode with only your dad for company.

this town may be beautiful, but the prospect of a summer away from the people and places you hold dear casts a shadow over the otherwise vibrant scene unfolding before you.

the creaking sound of the door echoes through the old house as you step inside the house, hearing your mother’s tires screech on the road as she avoids your dad. the air feels still as your dad hugs you and shows you around. you’re glad to see him, not being able to see him for months, but still, the dread of the long summer ahead of you ponders through your mind that your smile fails to show.

you walk into the room that is now yours for the next couple of months. its wooden floor echoing with every step, so different from the fluffy carpet of your bedroom back home. the walls seem to sigh, bearing the weight of countless lives that have lived here before your dad.

your gaze falls upon the bed- a new sanctuary of yours even though the mattress beneath your fingertips feels unfamiliar. it lacks the soft indentations that cradle you in the warmth and comfort of your own room. you lower yourself onto the bed, the lonely squeak of the springs accentuating the silence of the room. the sunlight filters through the thin curtains, casting a glow on the faded quilt your grandma had knitted you when you were a child.

as you lay there, staring at the wood ceiling that matches the wood walls and wood floors, a sense of displacement settles within you. the room, though quaint, holds no trace of your essence. you close your eyes, attempting to reconcile with the alien sensation of this bed that will be your haven for the upcoming weeks. there’s a certain hollowness of the room that you aren’t sure you will get used to.

the distant murmur of the town outside is a reminder that you can’t lay in this bed all summer. and that you had promised your dad you would be down for dinner soon. you sigh, filling the new, silent space that is now yours.

amidst the lively chatter and laughter that enveloped the beach, you at in solitude, your eyes tracing the rhythmic dance of the waves. the distant sounds of games and talking washed over you, but your attention was anywhere but. you had become quite good at ignoring everyone around you.

but as you glance to your left just once, your attention is drawn away to the presence of a lone figure sitting under a beach umbrella. a boy, seemingly ignoring everyone around him as well was immersed in the world of whatever book he was so intently reading.

he sat on a faded beach chair, an air of quiet confidence surrounding him as he turned the pages of the book that was sprawled open on his lap. The sun cast a gentle glow on the tendrils of his dark black hair, and the slight furrow of his thick browns hinted at the intensity with which he absorbed the words on the pages. his isolation mirrored yours, a shared desire for solace amidst the lively backdrop of the beach.

intrigued, you asked your dad who the boy with the book was.

you noticed his hesitant pause as he acknowledged the boy, his eyes briefly meeting yours before averting away, “that’s park sunghoon,”

you hum, “what’s he like?”

“he’s quiet, keeps to himself. but his family is nice, and well, they’re super rich.”

a smirk spread across your face in amusement at the hesitant introduction.

“and why doesn’t he hang out with the others?”

your dad shrugged, “he’s just like that, likes to be by himself.”

you go back into your own world until dusk starts approaching. as the sky starts to become painted with hues of amber and lavender, you reluctantly withdrew from the solace of your thoughts on the beach. walking alongside your dad, the grains of sand clung to your bare feet as you made your way to the diner once again.

glancing back towards the beach, your eyes inadvertently met those of the boy named park sunghoon. a mild surprise tinged your otherwise inscrutable expression, his gaze unwavering as you held it. a silent acknowledgement passing between you two. his eyes, dark and unreadable, seemed to mirror the guarded emotions you concealed with your own.

you held eye contact until you turn away, your dad seamlessly diverting your attention to the impending decision of dinner plans. park sunghoon’s face remained in your head for the entirety of dinner, having to restrain yourself from asking your dad more about park sunghoon and his family.

RELEASE DATE : SUNDAY, JANUARY 28TH, 2024

[baronessblixen]

For the last time...

Prompt: 1. "It's not too late, let's go."

IVF arc, angsty fluff: They're supposed to go to the Gunmen's Halloween party, but there's something they need to make sure of first. (wc: 1,320)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 31: Trick or Treat

When she asks Mulder what she can bring to the Gunmen’s annual Halloween party, she doesn’t expect him to say paper towels. But he does. She repeats the word, and he laughs, saying yes, paper towels and he’ll explain later. That is why she’s at the drugstore at 5 p.m., looking for said paper towels. Except she’s in the wrong aisle. In front of her are pictures of smiling women, chubby-cheeked babies, and blue skies.

Pregnancy tests.

At first, she just stares at them. She just took a wrong turn and now she’s confused as to why there are pregnancy tests. Then, she takes one from the shelf. Just to see what it says. This isn’t the first time she’s buying a test. If she’s buying one, anyway. She bought one once, when she was in college where she prayed every night that she wasn’t pregnant. Another one a few weeks ago, and this time praying that she was. In the end, she’d been pregnant neither time. Third time’s the charm, she thinks.

“Paper towels,” she mumbles, reminding herself why she's really here, but she’s unable to leave the aisle. Her period is late. Has been for a few days. She didn’t think much of it – still doesn’t. It’s been late before. With their job, it seems a given. And yet.

She stares at the boxes and she thinks of Mulder. They only just started being intimate. She can still count their sexual encounters on one hand. That’s how new it is. Just thinking of him makes her feel warm all over. Somewhere across town, he’s getting ready for the Halloween party at the Gunmen's, unaware of what she’s going through. ‘We don’t need condoms’, she’d said that first time. Maybe, she thinks, glaring at the boxes, she was wrong.

She decides to buy a test. An emergency pregnancy test, so to speak. She quickly makes her way through the store, picking up the paper towels, and a bag of candy corn, suddenly craving the overly sugary treat. She pays for everything and hides the pregnancy test at the bottom of her bag. It’s in there just in case, after all.

At home, she puts the pregnancy test and its implications out of her mind. But every once in a while, she glances at her bag, where the test remains hidden. She snacks on the candy corn while she gets ready and waits for Mulder.

“Trick or treat.” A voice that’s distinctively Mulder’s follows after a series of knocks. Scully smiles, opening the door to him. He’s surrounded by several small kids, all grinning up at her, some of them with missing teeth. There’s a little Batman, a Spiderman, and a witch. Luckily, she prepared a bowl with candy and she hands each child some of it, and every single one thanks her. Watching them, she tears up, her hormones overwhelming her.

“Have a spooky night,” Mulder says to them and they giggle as they make their way to the next apartment.

“Hey you,” he says, but his smile quickly fades. “Scully? Are you okay?” She nods, turning away from him because she’s convinced she will start crying any second. She hears the door click close and Mulder follows her inside. He’s gentle as he puts his arms around her from behind.

“What is it?” he whispers into her ear. “Did something happen?”

“No,” she replies truthfully. “I think I’m just tired.” She doesn’t want to burden Mulder with possibilities. Or pipe dreams. She isn’t pregnant. She can’t be pregnant. Buying that test was the worst idea she’s had in a long time.

“We can just stay in,” he says. “Hand out candy to the kids, go to bed early.”

“We’re not 80, Mulder,” she says, finding herself chuckling. She hopes they’re still doing this in 10 years, in 20. Maybe even when they’re 80.

“I know we aren’t.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “I can think of lots of things we can do staying home.” He’s nuzzling her neck, his nose tickling her skin. She playfully pushes him away and he just grins at her with a dreamy look. What if their child smiles that exact same way? Her expression falters. There is no what if. There’s no child.

“Hey, what did I say? I know it’s Halloween, but you’re scaring the shit out of me.” Instead of answering him, she picks up her bag and hands it to him.

“Look inside,” she says quietly. He takes out the paper towels and then gasps. His eyes shoot up and meet hers.

“Is that- did you take it? Are you? Is it? Are you all right, Scully?”

“I didn’t take it. I don’t know why I bought it. I’m late, and I- I just stood there and I got it just in case. It was a dumb idea.”

“Since when do you eat candy corn?” Mulder asks and for a moment she’s perplexed. He points at the small bowl on the table. “You hate that stuff.” Unlike him, who stuffs one of the colorful treats into his mouth.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I felt like eating it.”

“Take the test, Scully,” he says, pressing the box into her hand. “I think… I think maybe today is a good day to test fate.”

“The Gunmen are expecting us.”

“They can wait. This can’t.”

“It’s not too late,” she says, trying to tug at his sleeve. “Let’s go.” He slowly shakes his head at her. It’s now or never.

“I’ll even hold your hand.”

“While I pee?”

“If that’s what you want,” he says solemnly.

“You can hold my hand after.”

And that’s what he does. His hand is sweaty, and she feels the restlessness inside him. If he weren't holding her hand, he'd be pacing. But she needs his strength, and he gives it to her willingly.

“Do you want me to talk?” he asks. “Or be quiet? I can do either.”

“You can talk, Mulder,” she says softly, smiling.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first.”

“This is too important,” he says. “I don’t want to jinx it. Which one do you think did it?” She turns to look at him. “I think it was the second time. Not the first. We didn’t know what we were doing. The second time. I think that’s when it took.”

“Mulder, we don’t know what the test is gonna say.”

“When have I ever been wrong? About anything that’s important?” She wants him to be right. She’s never wanted anything as much as this. “Your hand is ice-cold, Scully.”

“I’m nervous.”

“So am I, but I have a good feeling. A very good feeling. How much longer?” A moment later, the alarm dings. Scully’s heart races in her chest. The next second will change everything. The greatest joy or the biggest disappointment.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she says, her voice breaking. “Can you look?”

“You want me to do it? Are you sure?” She nods, tears in her eyes. She watches Mulder reach for the test with trembling hands. Her eyes are on his face, trying to read it. He blinks at the small plastic stick before he turns to her. “Trick or treat, Scully?”

“What?” she asks.

“Trick or treat,” he repeats, trying to keep his face neutral. But there’s something. A glimmer. Her heart is still racing, but she’s going to take a chance.

“Treat,” she says.

He shows the test to her, his hand shaking. “We’re gonna have a child,” he says with a laugh.

“We’re,” she begins, breaking off. She takes the test from him and there it is. Clear as day. She’s pregnant.

“I knew it when I saw the candy corn,” he says, taking her into his arms. “You’re pregnant, Scully. We did it. We got our miracle.”

“We did,” she says, still in awe. “We really did it.”

[elvensemi]

I'm Publishing Serial Webnovels

Hi guys! I'm @elvensemi, and some of you might know me from writing Dragon Age fanfic Keeping Secrets, or from writing weird gargoyle porn with @unpretty, or from that time I accidentally told a popular blog I write dragon porn on my main blog @solitarelee, or maybe from that one fanfic where the knight with a crossdressing kink fails at slaying a dragon so hard he gets seduced!

I've graduated college, and you know what that means! Student loans Free time! And so I'm finally pursuing my long term dream and publishing serial webnovels. The short version is: ebooks, I'm publishing ebooks via Patreon to see if it works because I don't want to deal with Amazon and marketplaces. Chuck Tingle does it, kind of!

I am writing such things as!

The Problem with Faeries An urban fantasy series for fans of Holly Black, featuring faeries and a librarian who has been cursed by a witch to turn into a tiny dog at night.

Everything at Once A coming of age fantasy novel set in a post-post-apocalyptic world full of many monsters and very few humans, with a nonbinary (genderfluid) protagonist and a rotating cast of gods and monsters.

The Demon Isles An adult romance series set in the same world as Everything at Once, this one's for the monsterf*ckers. Step into the shoes of an escaped slave who's been stranded in Fantasy Australia But All The Dangerous Things Can Be Seduced.

A Place Among the Stars An adult sci-fi political space opera that is also technically just solidly omegaverse sm*t plus space dragons. That's right, one of my friends dared me to write omegaverse and I overdid it and now they're aliens! All for you my friend.

Novelizations of works that previously existed only as RPs, such as Sanctuary and The Kingdom of Aeris.

AND SO MUCH MORE.

For $5 you get access to SFW material, and for $10 you get access to that and the things that are not SFW. You can view a full summary of the serials I'm working on at tinyurl.com/SemiSerials , or click the read more.

The Demon Isles (NSFW, Second Person)

Oceanside is a world full of elves and gods, monsters and magic. You, however, a human with no magic, no martial training, and a fear of... most things. Stranded on an unfamiliar island full of monsters, you must learn to harness humanity’s true power in order to survive. The issue with that is, as far as anyone can tell, humanity’s true powers are friendship and fuckability.

The Demon Isles is a erotic, second-person monsterfucking romp through the dangerous Demon Isles. The second person character is referred to by gender neutral terminology and they/them pronouns, physical appearance left ambiguous. Sex scenes have two versions with different sets of genitalia for the main character. Tags and content warnings are available for each chapter.

The Problem with Faeries (SFW, Third Person)

The problem with faeries is that we love them. We know all the sharp and cruel ways they twist us apart and we love them with a helpless, hopeless foolishness that never fades until it destroys us.

Bree is a human living in Valesport, a small town on the east coast of the United States that functions as a secret haven for the supernatural. As a cursed human, it’s one of the safer places for her... at least, safe from other humans. Everything else Valesport has to offer remains a threat. She’s already had her run-ins with werewolves, vampires, and whatever the hell Jean Cernunnos is... so, in retrospect, she was probably due to get into trouble with the Fae.

A fan favorite finally finding a venue of publication, The Problem with Faeries is a SFW urban fantasy with a side of romance perfect for fans of Holly Black. It is third person and follows the point of view of the protagonist, Bridget “Bree” Corey, as she finds herself tangled up trying to navigate faerie drama and her own personal feelings, neither of which she is particularly equipped to handle.

Everything at Once (SFW, First Person)

Babs wants everything the world has to offer... everything except what it’s actually prepared to hand over. As the eldest child of the ruling noble family--or what passes for it--of the only human village remaining old and large enough to still have a ruling noble family, even if just in name, Babs’s whole life has been laid out in front of them since the moment they were born. And they want none of it. However, after a bold escape from the village they knew all their life, they find themselves adrift in an unfriendly world of monsters and magic that seems much larger and much less friendly than they had hoped.

Everything at Once is a SFW fantasy novel set all over the world of Oceanside as our determined protagonist, Babs, attempts to explore all there is to explore and experience all there is to experience (it is possible they have not thought this through). Babs is a non-binary, gender fluid illusionist referred to varyingly by he, she, and they pronouns based on presentation. The story is a first person mixed POV exploring a wide range of characters and topics, but always staying focused on the many transformations of the main character as they learn what it is they want... and what it is to want.

Future Projects: Projects that are in development but do not have a set release date yet.

A Place Among the Stars [Working Title] (NSFW)

A Place Among the Stars is a NSFW erotic political space opera featuring Omegaverse style aliens and also space dragons, amongst other alien races. It features two protagonists: an exiled and excommunicated Saint who once led a cult that threatened the peace and stability of his homeworld, and a mid level government official presiding over the walled ghetto where the Ab’ed keep all foreign visitors and immigrants to their planet. They quickly find themselves entangled: politically, as the Saint once again threatens the stability of the world around him--in more ways than one--and sexually, as the tension between the two reaches a fever pitch.

Sanctuary (NSFW, Third Person)

Most people would consider Ren unlucky. After all, she’s been homeless since she was a child, has no living family she knows of, and she was recently kidnapped by sex traffickers and ripped away from the city she had been living in for years. But as far as Ren is concerned, she’s the epitome of good luck: not only has she survived all the things life has thrown at her, but she’s escaped said sex traffickers and even found shelter in an abandoned, boarded up cathedral. The fact that the cathedral, undisturbed for a century or more, is home to a guardian whose only experience with the world is violently murdering intruders, well... once again, whether that’s good or bad luck is based purely on interpretation.

Sanctuary is a NSFW urban fantasy erotic romance featuring a cis female protagonist and a male (as these things go) gargoyle love interest, as well as a mix of other romantic interests (primarily M/F with some F/F or NB/F thrown in). Tags and content warnings are available for each chapter. This fan-favorite returns in serialized, ebook form for easy reading. Follow Ren’s journey anew from mixed perspectives as she explores the streets of Valesport and finds something she’s never had before; a place to call home.

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 7: There Is A Hole In My Soul That Can Never Be Filled

Chapter Seven.

Oh, the truth, The damn hard truth, That I didn't think I was capable of love, Loving anyone, even you, But then you, undeniable you, You came to me like a dream, And you changed me through and through, Oh because I, I was a broken man, Never thought that I could love again, I thought I'd leave this world a lonely man, But then you, undeniable you, Changed me through and through

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 9,528

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of hospitals, mentions of money problems, parental style arguing with Hop, mentions of possible near-death experiences, mentions of mental health conditions, allusions to addictions, eye contact. Lots of eye contact. We're almost through the Stancy storyline, I promise.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Chapter Seven: There Is A Hole In My Soul That Can Never Be Filled

The incessant beeps were driving you insane.

Your head was pounding and all you wanted to do was sleep. Sleep until nothing hurts anymore. But that god-forsaken beeping wouldn’t stop.

You could hear chatter around you, muffled and distant, but there nonetheless yet you couldn’t recognize any of the voices. For a moment, you wondered if you were in one of those half-awake states. That you had slept through your alarm and your body was too slow in waking up, knowing that the school rush would be hectic.

You wanted to slam your arm on top of the alarm clock and throw it across the room in an attempt to quieten it, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force your arm to move.

Trying with all your might, you tried to peel your eyes open, the beeping increasing in tempo when you realized it shouldn’t be this hard to wake up. The voices around you drew closer, your name falling from unrecognizable mouths, a futile attempt to pacify you as you began to panic.

Everything smelt a little too clean as if someone had scrubbed every inch of the room with bleach before bathing in antiseptic. An underlying bitter smell, leaving an aftertaste on your tongue akin to that of iron.

It wasn’t until your eyes finally peeled open that worry bubbled into panic, settling under your skin, merging and fusing with your bones as you realized you didn’t recognize this place, and the insistent beeping was not your alarm clock.

You expected the pain to hit you, but your body remained numb, tingly almost, as if you hadn’t moved in too long, pins and needles bursting through your limbs and you weren’t sure whether to remain still and let them fade or to shake your body in hopes of forcing them from you.

Turns out, the latter wasn’t even an option.

More mummers from around the room, a soft, soothing voice trying to reassure you of your safety, but the words of strangers fell flat. Your body was still in fight or flight, and all you wanted to do was run.

Run far away from this place. Far away from Hawkins. Far away from the Midwest.

The private waiting room wasn’t as full as it was earlier in the evening, and despite the young boys’ insistence, Mr and Mrs. Wheeler had driven them home an hour or so ago.

Nancy, however, remained in her seat, Steve’s offer to drive her home being the only reason her mother had allowed her to stay. Her leg bounced as she checked her watch for what felt like the millionth time in the last couple of hours.

Will had woken up earlier, a sigh of relief erupting from the small waiting room, but she refused to leave until she heard how you were.

They’d rushed you to Hawkins Memorial in Steve’s — much faster — car, your head resting in Nancy’s lap, the girl trying her best to keep you conscious as Jonathan continued to hold the stained pillow against your body.

It was there that they ran into Joyce and Hopper, the kids turning up a little later to be checked over, and once they’d realized Will had been found, they refused to leave, so Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler offered to drop the rest of the kids home when they got news on the boy.

Jonathan had rushed home to pack him a small box of items and had since returned to his brother's side, unwilling to leave him, Joyce was much the same.

Although Hopper was beyond relieved that he had managed to find the boy and rush him to the hospital, the teens’ pale, worried faces as he questioned your whereabouts made his heart drop.

Nancy had explained what had happened, why you were here, and Hopper was certain the minute you were out of surgery he would kill you himself.

His head shot up, watching as a nurse entered the small room, her eyes looking around for someone she wasn’t going to find, eventually settling on the Chief instead,

“She’s awake, but she’s very groggy.”

Hopper stood, stepping over his fallen hat without a second thought as he made his way toward the door, only to be stopped by the nurse’s outstretched hand, “I’m being serious, Chief. She lost a lot of blood, and she’s very confused. She doesn’t need a grilling from the police right now-”

His eyebrows pulled together, a mixture of annoyance and offense at the nurse’s words, “I’m not here to question her.”

Despite his effort to move forward, he was halted once again, “Then I’m afraid it’s only parents or guardians at this time. I’ve already told the last officer-”

“Look around, do you see her parents anywhere? Now I’m going-”

“Other officer?” Nancy questioned, her eyes darting between Hopper and the nurse, “What other officer?”

“The one hanging about by the room... Chief? Chief!” Hopper bumped the nurse out of the way, long legs marching down the corridor until he reached your room. His hand flexed over the gun that was resting in his holster. There were no officers outside, and as he peered through the small window of your door, he couldn’t see anyone in there either.

Pushing the door open, Hopper froze as he looked over your frame, finding himself unable to fully catch his breath.

He hated the clinical smell of hospitals, and if he closed his eyes, he could’ve easily been transported back to 1978. To New York… To that hospital.

Forcing a deep inhale through his nose, Hopper pushed himself forward, one step at a time as he approached your bed, his heart pounding in his ears, and the slow, steady beeping of the monitor was the only thing that kept him grounded. You were here, and you were alive.

Your name fell softly from his lips as if he was almost too scared to wake you. Or himself. Because what if he was back in that waiting room, life forever on a loop of tragedies that began and ended in a hospital? He couldn’t help but believe that he definitely was cursed.

It took two more calls of your name — and the feather-light drag of fingertips along your forearm — before you arose, eyes wider and more alert than before, gasping for breath as much as you were for something to ground you. Something you recognized.

The beeping — the same annoying, unceasing noise — seemed to get louder, the tempo increasing more and more as you panted, your heart feeling like it was going to burst from your chest at any given moment.

You could hear your name being called, at first gently, almost soothing, before that too became more frenzied, a strong hand gripping you as you sat up, stopping you as your frantic hands tried to rip the wires from your body and off your face, panic and flight set in all too quickly, evading your senses and blinding you to what was really there, the pain from your tugging stitches merely a thought on the back burner of your mind.

More voices joined the chaos, but you focused on one. The only familiar voice in the room, the one now telling you to breathe, instructing your breaths as if you were a child.

His scent was less familiar. Once tinged with a dark-colored liquor, now only the faint stale smell of smoked cigarettes and a sheen of sweat invaded your senses, but above all, a deep, woody smell that you could never quite describe. Not cologne or aftershave, but something wholly natural. Something utterly Jim.

It was Jim.

The nurses surrounded you — ready to sedate you — but Hopper shooed them off, his grip only tightening as you clung to him, words babbling out of your mouth without much control as your weary, drug-addled brain tried to fight its way out of the fog. Stuttering, you couldn’t contain the tears that fell from your eyes when you finally realized you were safe. You’d lost consciousness in the back of Harrington’s car, but your night was foggy even before that, unable to fully recollect how you had got here, the fragmented memory of tonight only coming back in flashes.

Once your heart rate settled the nurses backed off, but Hopper continued to hold you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks and dropping onto the top of your head and for a long while, the room was filled with silence.

It was Hopper who eventually broke it, his voice gruff before he cleared his throat, “What the hell were you thinking, Kid?”

You didn’t reply, and he didn’t give you a chance to, “You could’ve been seriously hurt. God dammit, you were seriously hurt.”

Of course, he knew why you’d agreed to go with Nancy and Jonathan, the former explaining everything to him once her own parents had left the hospital. The monster would’ve been heading right for himself and Joyce, and they would've been completely unaware. You had to distract it, to lead it away. You were willing to sacrifice your safety for Will’s, Joyce’s, and his own.

In hindsight, it really was a terrible plan. Dangerous, too. But once you’d seen Joyce’s warm, brown gaze from your doorway the next morning, her bottom lip wobbling as she approached you slowly, you knew you’d do it again and again. Without question or hesitation, and despite any trepidation.

She had explained how Hopper and herself had found Will, that he had managed to find his way to Castle Byers — a den he and Jonathan had made the day their father left home for the last time — and was on the brink of death. How Hopper had revived him, and that the boy was now healing only a few rooms away.

Once he was well enough, Joyce wheeled him down to see you and despite her not wanting to leave his side, she entrusted you with him when she went home to shower and collect some more items for the boy. Plus, Jonathan wasn’t far from his side most of the time.

Will sat quietly coloring whilst you stared at the hospital door, waiting for the one person you wanted to see to walk in. But, as usual, you were left disappointed and embarrassed.

You couldn’t leave until a parent or guardian had signed you out, and you were already feeling nauseous about how much this visit was going to cost you.

Will and Jonathan had returned to the boy’s own room earlier — Will was still recovering and needed his rest — when the door handle of your room turned, your heart leaping to your throat in desperate hope.

Everyone you had expected to see had already visited you. Nancy had come by earlier that morning, the tension between herself and Jonathan almost palpable, awkward enough that you were prepared to leap from your 10th-story window just to get away from it.

You’d questioned the girl once Jonathan had left, but Nancy shrugged and told you Jonathan was focusing on his mother and brother right now, and she understood that. It was then you realized the one thing Nancy Wheeler couldn’t do was feign nonchalance.

It was the tall head of hair that pulled your brow into a frown, forehead wrinkling as you watched the boy almost timidly slip into your room with one hand behind his back before he settled on the uncomfortable chair that had been placed in your room per Hopper’s demand.

You watched him for a moment as he looked anywhere but your direction, discomfort evident on his face, and it took a solid two minutes before either of you spoke.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” your voice was still a little gravely, and you watched as Steve picked up the cup of water from your bedside table, only to place it back when you shook your head.

One hand scratched the back of his neck as the other clung to a denim jacket, “I, uh… I didn’t know whether or not I should come. I mean, I didn’t think that you’d wanna see me.”

“And yet, here you are, Harrington.”

You didn’t mean to sound so standoffish, but this situation was still so surreal. If you’d been told just two weeks ago that Steve Harrington, of all people, would be visiting your bedside you would've slapped them silly. It wasn’t until you saw the dusty rose on his cheeks that you backtracked,

“I just… I didn’t expect to see you here.” His cheeks remained stained pink, but his eyes finally met yours.

“I didn’t know if I was actually gonna come,” he sent you a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his amber eyes, “Was even less sure that you’d actually want me here.”

Nodding, you couldn’t help but scan your gaze over his still bruised face, wondering what he’d told his parents about his injuries, or if they’d even been home to notice them.

“Why did you come back?”

Your question caused Steve’s dark eyes to dart away from you, eyebrows furrowed as if that night was the last thing he wanted to think about because he could still hear your blood-curdling scream when it was too quiet. Running his hand through his hair before scratching at the back of his neck again, Steve eventually met your eyes, “I uh… I was about to get in my car when I saw the lights flickering. I heard everyone yelling, and then I heard a scream...”

His voice trailed off as he peered up at you from underneath his lashes as if he was revealing some dark secret and wasn’t sure how you’d respond. Instead, you nodded, fingers playing with the rough hospital blanket,

“Thanks, Harrington. I owe you. And I’m sorry if I stained the back of your Beamer,” at his confusion, you continued, “Nancy told me that you drove me here. I’d offer to pay for the cleaning, but I think this place draining any savings that I already don’t have.”

You said it in jest, but Steve could see the underlying trepidation that you tried to repress.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

You nodded as the room filled with silence, the repetitive sound of your heart monitor only adding to your restlessness. You were positive the noise was now embedded in your brain.

Steve’s thumb traced over a button on the jacket he was still clinging to, his heart stinging a little at the other girl’s name. After dropping Nancy home the first night, she hadn’t spoken to him. He had only tried to contact her once, Mrs. Wheeler letting him know she was busy, and Steve had realized he needed to give her time despite wanting nothing more than to drive to her house and apologize profusely. Instead, Steve had put all his efforts into this stupid, denim jacket.

As if the thought had prompted him to remember why he was here, he placed the jacket on the bed, ignoring your perplexed gaze, “I uh… I found this on the Byers' driveway. Kinda why I stopped, too.”

Unfolding the jacket, you couldn’t hold in the huff of laughter, gratitude pulling at the corners of your mouth.

Cheeks painted pink, the boy stuttered for a second, refusing to make eye contact, “I… I managed to get most of the blood out. My Mom only has Daz, I hope that’s okay-”

“Steve,” your voice stopped his babbling, his big, doe eyes gazing toward you, “Thank you.”

A moment’s silence passed between you both despite Steve’s mouth opening and closing a few times as though he was doing his best impression of a fish. You knew he was looking for the right words to say, but knowing Steve Harrington, it could take a while.

Before Steve managed to find those words, the door swung open a little too quickly, Hopper wandering in with a brown bag filled with what you presumed was lunch. His step halted as his eyes darted between yourself and the boy, watching with a furrowed brow as Steve stood up, brushing the nonexistent dirt from his hands onto his jeans.

“Chief,” an awkward smile pulled at his lips, much more of a grimace than anything else.

“Harrington.”

Hopper didn’t bother to move, forcing Steve to make his way around him instead after bidding farewell as he finally took his leave.

Once the door was closed, Hopper made his way toward you, reclaiming the chair Steve had just left, “Didn’t know you two were friends.”

Rolling your eyes, you released a petulant sigh, “We’re not, he was just dropping something off.”

It took Hopper a few seconds, but eventually, he muttered a half-assed reply before pulling out two sandwiches from the bag. He held the two options up, allowing you to pick which one you’d prefer before unwrapping his own.

Inhaling sharply, your hands gripped around the scratchy hospital gown as if that could stem the pain you felt as you tried to sit up.

“Hey, hey, hey! Go careful, or you’ll tear a stitch.”

“It hurts,” you grumbled, allowing Hopper to help you sit up a little despite his mouth being full of turkey and bread.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s what the drugs are for.”

“I know, but I’m not using any,” unwrapping your own sandwich, you picked at the crusts as Hopper sent you a sharp glare that you could only roll your eyes at, “Do you know how much they charge for that shit? Hop, I’m never going to be able to pay these bills, and the only reason the hospital hasn’t kicked me out on my ass yet is because of you.”

Swallowing down a bite of his sandwich, Hopper wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, brushing the crumbs onto your bed, not that you took much notice, “Kiddo… You need that pain medication. Don’t worry about anything else-”

“My Mom lost her job,” your previous hunger had all but vacated the building, leaving you to place your food back onto the Saran wrap, “and somehow, I don’t think my shitty part-time job at the arcade is gonna pay the bills. We can barely afford the heating in winter, these hospital bills are going to absolutely crush us.”

Hopper’s blue eyes met yours, hardened over the years but somehow still soft, “You ain’t paying for shit, Kid. It’s covered, don’t worry about it-”

“I am not taking money from you, Hop-”

“Relax, it’s not mine. There’s uh… Some people are gonna come meet us later. Scientists. They’re talking to everyone involved, already paying the Byers’ hospital bills… They’re paying for yours, too. So enjoy the free morphine and eat your damn sandwich.”

Turns out, Hopper wasn’t yanking your chain. Sam Owens — apparently the new director of operations at Hawkins’ lab — had personally visited you. He’d explained that the lab had all of your hospital bills paid for, as they did Will’s, and that you, along with everyone else involved, would need to sign an iron-clad NDA, and despite the almost feral urge to throw the money back in their face and refuse the help, you knew you had no say this time and so, your silence was bought.

The official story was simple. You had made your way to the Byers house when a bear attacked you. To your own ears, it sounded wildly ridiculous. Even your doctor seemed uncertain, but his questions were quickly cut off by an agitated Chief of Police.

Once given the all-clear, you were finally allowed to leave. Your mother was yet to return home, and instead, Hopper had signed you out despite the receptionist's complaints.

“Are you sure you want to stay here? Joyce said she could make up the sofa for you-”

“I’m not intruding on Mrs. Byers.”

Rubbing his hand over his beard, Hopper released a sigh, “She said it wasn't a problem. Or you could stay-”

“I am not sharing a one-bedroom cabin with you, Hop. Thank you for the offer, but it’s not happening. I know how loudly you snore.”

Although it didn’t sound very glamorous to the man himself, he still found his eyebrows pulling together in slight offense, “I just don’t feel comfortable with you being here alone-”

“My mom will be home eventually,” you waved a hand dismissively as you made your way up the rickety porch, happy to finally be home.

Hopper was close on your heels, almost running right into the back of you as you crossed the threshold, not really expecting the sight you saw, “I’m sure she will, but we don’t know when that’ll be... What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just… Has someone been here?” Looking around the lounge, the broken glass had been swept, the coffee table fixed, and it even looked as though someone had vacuumed. It was too much of a stretch to believe that your mother could’ve been here.

“Oh, yeah. That Wheeler girl grabbed you some clothes for me to bring in. Why?”

You were too ashamed to tell him the real reason, so instead, you sent him a shrug and continued into the small house as Hopper threw your backpack that held the few essential items Nancy had grabbed.

“I need to leave soon, but if you need anything-”

“I think ringing an emergency line would be frowned upon. Especially if Flo’s there.”

Annoyance evident on his face, Hopper huffed out a long sigh, “Well, don’t go calling it for a pizza or anything. But if you need me, I’ll be there until 6. You have my number for the cabin, right?”

Despite knowing the number by heart, your mother still kept the crumpled napkin that Hopper had used to scribble down his number when they were first reacquainted in a drawer in the kitchen.

“You’re good to go, Hop. I’ll be fine.”

Hesitating in the doorway for a second, he watched as you slowly made your way to the couch, cautiously laying yourself down as you pulled out a cigarette from an abandoned pack Nancy must’ve found under the sofa and grabbed the lighter left next to it.

“Those things will kill you, Kid.”

Waving a hand around, you sent him a smirk, “Looks like it’ll have to get in line.”

Sending an unamused glare, Hopper finally shut the door, his own cigarette already dangling from his mouth before he’d even reached his vehicle.

Your mother had returned home a few days later, unbothered and unaware of the events that had transpired since you’d last left. Apparently, she had met someone in a bar just outside of town, and the two had a whirlwind romance and decided to take a road trip to Minneapolis until they eventually grew sick of each other — or rather, sobered up — and she all but raced back.

She didn’t ask what had happened, and you had no intentions of telling her, either. If the bills were paid for, then she needn’t worry, and if she found your blood-soaked jeans in the trashcan, she never bothered to mention it.

You had seen Nancy a few times — both of you still haunted by the loss of Barb — and she had confided in you about how she’d heard Mike down in the basement, trying to contact Eleven every day since, hoping that she was out there somewhere. Eventually, she tried to contact Jonathan, but the boy always seemed busy. He was hesitant to let his brother out of sight, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell Nancy that the boy blamed himself for his brother’s disappearance, even now. He worked extra shifts to help his mother, but the two alternated, making sure someone was home. He was dropped at the Wheeler’s house for their DND nights and picked up, no longer allowed to ride his bike alone, especially at night.

At first, Will had thought that it was great having a personal chauffeur, but Jonathan had confided in you that he knew the boy had grown sick of the constant observations. In less than 4 months he would officially be a teenager, and Jonathan knew they couldn’t coddle him much longer. But he still saw the uncertainty storm in his mother’s dark eyes — the same expression he was sure he wore himself — whenever his brother left their sights, counting down the hours until she would be picking him up.

Only a month had passed, and life had seemingly returned to normal. Despite your mother losing her job at The Hideout, she had managed to score a Christmas temp job at Bradley’s Big Buy, and although it wasn’t the best-paying job in town, it paid more than her bartending and at least took the pressure off of you a little. Despite being told to take it easy, you had returned to school after only missing a week or so and went back to work acting as if nothing had ever happened. Keith agreed to swap a few shifts with you, covering your few days off if you worked over the Christmas period. Not that he had any parties to attend, but hey... Neither did you.

Jonathan had picked you up from the closing shift and offered you a ride home. After everything you’d risked for his family, he felt it was the least he could offer. He told you he had to stop off at the Wheeler’s house and pick up Will, and you knew it would be the first time he’d possibly run into Nancy. It wasn’t that he was actively avoiding her, but you knew that once rumors had surfaced around the school halls that Nancy and Steve were back on, the boy presumed things would return to normal. Steve — and Nancy, by association — were popular kids, and he was just… Jonathan Byers, the loner. And he was okay with that.

Mrs. Wheeler answered the door — one hand holding a glass of white wine and a dirty look sent her husband’s way — with eyebrows raised in surprise as she eyed you from the other side of the doorway. Jonathan had all but dragged you from the car once he’d seen Steve’s familiar burgundy BWM parked on the drive. You didn’t have the guts to tell him that you already knew about the teenagers getting back together. In fact, you seemingly helped push them back together.

Jonathan headed down to collect Will as you remained in the kitchen speaking to Nancy’s mother,

“I can give her a shout if you’d like? She’s only in the living room-”

Waving her off, you pulled your woolen beanie from your head and placed it on the counter, “Oh, no, really, it’s fine. I’m sure the boys won’t be long.”

Nodding, Mrs. Wheeler took a big gulp of her drink as she continued to sprinkle icing sugar over one of her many Christmas desserts. For a moment, you wondered if in another lifetime, another dimension, maybe your mother was a master baker, too. Maybe she’d whip up fresh apple pies in the summer, leaving them to cool on the window’s ledge, and in Fall, she’d make cinnamon rolls and pumpkin whoopie pies for all of your neighbors. You’d decorate the house in beautiful string lights — although that thought didn’t seem too comforting recently — and make DIY Christmas wreaths. You’d donate extra cans of food to those in need instead of being the ones to line up at the holiday canned food drive every Christmas and Thanksgiving.

But your mother wasn’t, so you didn’t, and despite your heart longing for a simple childhood, something a little softer, you had come to terms a long time ago that life had dealt you these cards. Yet you still couldn’t stem the bubbling jealousy under your skin that cooled into uncomfortable guilt as you looked around the Wheeler’s clean and spacious kitchen in their fancy house with their white picket fence family.

As if thinking of the girl drew her toward you, Nancy appeared in the kitchen doorway, almost as surprised to see you as you were her, despite it being her own house.

“Hey, when Jonathan comes back can you get him to hang on just a minute? I have something for him.”

Nodding, you watched as she jogged past you and disappeared up the stairs.

Rather than standing in the kitchen awkwardly with Mrs. Wheeler, you made your way toward the basement door, ready to call down to the boys. You could hear their faint giggling as your hand grabbed the door handle, and you decided to leave them be. Five more minutes with his friends — even if it were at your detriment — was the least Will deserved.

Your eyes skimmed past Nancy’s father, fast asleep in the armchair as you looked over their decorations, the stockings hanging above the fireplace, no doubt embroidered with each of their names, the cards from friends and family and neighbors delicately placed with precision.

Someone clearing their throat caused you to jump a little, forced out of your own head before you began to spiral too deep.

Your eyes darted toward the sound, meeting Steve’s. The boy had been quietly watching you trace the room with wistful eyes and decided to make his way over to you.

“Jesus, that’s a fashion choice.” You joked, wishing you could suck the words right back into your throat when his cheeks began to redden, his hand scratching at the back of his neck as he looked at your attire.

“Who are you dressed as? Scrooge?”

You looked down toward your — albeit, all black — outfit, brows pulled together before glaring at the boy, his own eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, which only made your frown deepen.

“Well, excuse me for not feeling all that festive this year.”

The silence that fell between you was uncomfortable, and the heat radiating from the warm kitchen made you want to tug at your collar.

“How is… you know… that?” Steve asked, his eyes darting toward your stomach for just a second.

Swallowing the same lump that formed every time you saw or felt the ghastly, puckered skin across your stomach, you shrugged, eyes looking anywhere but at the boy. You’d seen the people he hung out with, the girls he’d dated. Steve Harrington was shallow, as most high school boys were, and you weren’t about to let him in on how grotesque your new scar made you feel.

“It’s fine. Doctors said it's healing well, so nothing to write home about.”

For a moment, Steve pondered whether you’d even told your mother what had happened or if she knew about the ‘bear attack’ that had left you pouring blood in the back of his BMW. About the probable scar that you buried under layers of clothes. He hadn’t uttered a word to his own parents, merely heading upstairs and shutting himself away in his room for the evening when he heard his mother mention it on the phone to one of her friends.

But secrets didn’t stay secret for very long in a town as quaint as Hawkins, and despite being in totally different friendship groups growing up, even Steve was aware of your turbulent upbringing. Your father left unexpectedly after the death of your sibling, and your mother has an attachment to a certain Mr. Jack Daniels.

His mother wasn’t one to gossip — or so she’d tell her friends during her wine and book club — but your mother had a reputation around town. For however long she could remain sober, she’d spend twice as long stumbling around town drunk.

'It won’t be long until she’s chanting that it’s the end of the world like her crazy mother,’ he’d once overheard her say before downing her glass of white wine and inspecting the clock, waiting for her husband to come home with barely visible lipstick staining his shirt collar, and smelling faintly of a floral perfume that didn’t belong to her.

Steve knew firsthand that everyone had secrets.

“I uh… I wanted to thank you, by the way,” Steve hesitated, taking a moment to run his hand through his hair, “Nance told me what you said to her at the hospital. About how you knew it wasn’t me who spray painted the marquee.”

Brows pinching together, you watched the boy quietly for a moment as he struggled in your silence before eventually putting him out of his misery, “I hope she still gave you shit for hanging around whilst your friends did it.”

“She did. Trust me. And I went back that day and washed it off. I just… I wanted to know why. I mean, how did you even know I didn’t do it?”

Shrugging, your eyes met the TV as you feigned an interest in the silenced TV advert, “Wasn’t your handwriting.”

The boy’s face scrunched in confusion as your eyes widened slightly, realizing how it sounded, “Jesus, Harrington. I’m not like, a stalker or anything. I just… Last year, I did something kind of stupid, and Tommy spray-painted my locker. I recognized his handwriting.”

Steve tried to rack his brain, only slightly remembering the rumor that had spread quickly around the school.

It had started at a party — the first and last that you had attended so far in high school — and you’d gotten a little too drunk, leading you to get a little too friendly with a boy named Reed. He was on the school's wrestling team and in Steve’s grade, but the boy didn’t know him all that well. The rumor that you’d slept with him went around school for a few days until the next big story broke. But Steve couldn’t remember Tommy defacing your locker. Then again, there weren’t enough hours in the day to remember all the times Tommy and Carol had involved themselves in gossip that had nothing to do with them.

“-Bitch doesn’t quite have the same impact when it’s missing the T, so… Yeah. That’s how I knew.”

Steve nodded slowly, his eyes watching you with an expression you’d never seen come from the boy before. Your skin felt too hot and itchy when you realized it was probably a look of pity.

“Ready to go?”

Jonathan’s voice broke the tension, both you and Steve were suddenly much more interested in the carpeted floor in the Wheeler’s living room than each other. Before you could answer him, you heard Nancy return downstairs, a wrapped gift in her hands as she led the eldest Byers sibling away for a moment, Will remaining by your side as you turned your attention to him.

Steve remained in the doorway, silently watching as you spoke to the younger boy. A little under two months ago, and Steve wouldn’t have been able to pick Will out of a lineup. He didn’t care about his disappearance, barely giving his missing posters more than a glance. He didn’t stop for a second to think how the boy being missing had affected anyone. Not Mrs. Byers, nor Jonathan. Not you. Not even Nancy.

Your conversation with Will was cut short as Nancy returned, her cheeks speckled with a light pink dusting and a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she passed by.

“You ready?” Jonathan asked, dark eyes meeting those of his brother, his own cheeks warmed under the soft lightening of the hallway.

“Yeah.”

You followed after them, wishing Mrs. Wheeler a Merry Christmas as you passed back through the kitchen, hot on Jonathan’s heels.

You’d only made it halfway down the drive when you heard Steve’s voice again, calling out your name. The boy stood in the doorway with his arm around Nancy, watching you ruffle Will’s hair gently.

“Is it really that bad?”

He didn’t divulge any further, despite the perplexed looks he received from everyone else, including his girlfriend, as his grin pulled up on one side, causing your grin to try and force its way across your lips.

Taking one last look at his atrocity of a Christmas sweater, you laughed silently and began to walk backward, heedless to the ice that lined the sidewalks and streets, “The absolute worst, Harrington. Merry Christmas.”

Jonathan had extended the offer of dinner at his house on his mother’s behalf, but you had begrudgingly declined, not wanting to intrude on the family’s meal. So instead, the boy dropped you home, but not until you and Will forced him to open his gift from Nancy.

The Pentax camera was brand new and much better than his old one. A part of you knew that despite Nancy never having to go without, Steve definitely would’ve had to put a decent chunk of money down for her to afford the gift.

The old Ford pulled onto the gravel outside your house, and the headlights lit up a sight you were shocked to see.

“Is that-”

“No,” you shook your head, peering through the windshield as if you'd see better, “No, it’s not. Look, I’ll uh… I’ll talk to you later, alright? Tell your Mom Merry Christmas for me.”

You didn’t wait around for the boy’s response, and despite being unsure whether or not to leave, Jonathan knew his mother would be stressing over the stove, so he did as you asked, driving back home for the evening.

Slowly, as if it could attack you on sight, you made your way toward the front of your house, staring at the bike that leaned against it, a red bow stuck to the front. It couldn’t have been your old bike, that was lost to the claws and teeth of the Demogorgon last month, damaged beyond repair. This bike was new, with no rust whatsoever, and a black helmet hung from a handlebar.

Ripping both the bow and helmet off, you dumped them onto your lawn, the falling snow seeping into them slowly as you jumped on, darting towards downtown.

Hopper threw some chicken tenders into his Tupperware container, cigarette hanging from his mouth, all but ready to leave. Tonight was the annual Christmas Eve party, and he’d shown his face for a while, but he had other, more important plans.

“You leaving already, Chief?” Powell questioned, his own plate filled high with finger foods.

“Oh, come on, you think I actually wanted to come to this thing? I was just hungry,” Jim told them in jest.

“Oh yeah, that’s the spirit.”

Jim made his way back out through the room, coming to a stop when Florence blocked his exit.

Taking the cigarette from his mouth with the glare of a mother, she let out a sigh and nodded her head to the side, “You have a visitor.”

Brows furrowed, Jim looked behind the older woman and spotted you standing by the door, jaw clenched and arms folded in front of you. Before he could leave, Flo patted his chest and wished him a Merry Christmas.

“What’s wrong, Kid?” Hopper asked as he approached you, much like he would a wounded animal.

“Take it back,” you told him harshly, swallowing down a ball of anger mixed with a tinge of regret, “I don’t need a pity gift, Hopper. And I know it was you. So just... Take it back.”

You turned and pushed through the door, more than willing to walk the long distance home, when the door swung behind you, the large man blocking the light as he made his way out, Tupperware container still in hand,

“Did you even wear the helmet when you rode down here? Jesus Christ, Kid. I’ll superglue it to your head next time I see you without it-”

“There won’t be a next time because I’m not taking it. So return it, donate it, do whatever. I don’t care.”

A large sigh fell from his mouth, and Jim had to try his best to dampen his temper, “It wasn’t a pity gift, or whatever you said. It’s a Christmas present. Simple as that.”

“Should I ring the ‘Hawkins Post’? Let them know you're gonna be flying around in a police cruiser handing out presents tonight? A real-life Santa, right here in Hawkins, Indiana? Who’d have thought!”

You turned around, strolling past the bike and across the parking lot. Your spiteful words left the bitter aftertaste of acid on your tongue, but you pressed on, stomping through the snow.

You heard Hopper open a car door, seemingly heaving the bike into the back before the door slammed, and he was on your tail. A hand wrapped around your elbow, stopping you in your tracks despite the lack of force behind it.

“If you wanna argue about this, then fine. But get in the car, and we can do it there.”

“I don’t want to argue, Hop. I wanna go home.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim took a moment to calm himself, wishing Flo hadn’t taken his cigarette, “Fine. Just get in.”

Hopper made his way to his vehicle, leaving you to weigh up your options for just a moment. You could walk back home, past the woods that still haunted your dreams most nights, or you could put up with him for 10 miserable minutes and be back home in your somewhat warm, somewhat safe house.

With your decision made, you kicked up snow as you made your way to his car, only half slamming the door when you were settled, ignoring Hopper’s side eye for doing so.

“You hungry?” He asked, eyes remaining on the road as he nodded toward the container.

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, Hopper’s fingers itched for another smoke, but he kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel instead, “I know you well enough to know you’re only this crabby when you haven’t eaten properly-”

“I’m not crabby, Hop. God.”

Remaining silent for a moment, Hopper swallowed down his annoyance, “The hell you angry for, then? I’m the one who bought the damn thing, and you’re acting like a spoiled brat who didn’t get the color they wanted.”

“I’m embarrassed, okay?!”

Hopper felt his face drop as he lifted his hand to run over his beard. He really didn’t think this through. “You haven’t got to feel embarrassed, alright? It’s just me. And it’s just a bike. If you feel that strongly, I’ll take it back. But I didn’t get it for you because I pity you. Your old one got chewed up and spat out — literally — and I just wanted… I thought maybe it could make up for all the shit that’s happened.”

Unclenching your aching jaw, you watched the man closely for a moment as guilt pooled in his eyes, “None of that was your fault, Hop. The world tore itself a new asshole, and a monster crawled through. You weren’t to blame for-”

“-I don’t mean that shit,” he sighed, eyes now avoiding you like the plague, “I mean everything before. Everything with your Mom and… leaving. Leaving you there with her.”

The silence between you two grew with guilt and awkwardness, choking you both from the inside out.

“It isn’t your place to worry about that.”

“I worry about you,” he sighed, knuckles whitening as he clenched his hands over the steering wheel, “I knew that shit wasn’t right, and I still packed up and left.”

“You’re not my dad, Hop. If he doesn’t feel guilty about leaving, neither should you-”

“Yeah, well, your dad’s an asshole.

Unable to stifle the small laugh that fell from your lips, you nodded in agreement, “Yeah, he is.”

Despite a weight being lifted from his shoulders, Jim couldn’t help the tinge of guilt he still felt — and probably always would feel — when he looked at you, his cornflower blue eyes watching your hands as they fiddled with the threads of your jacket sleeves.

“I wasn’t ready, you know? I’d been back a year, and it had only been two since…” Clearing his throat, Jim forced himself to continue, “Since I lost Sara. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I shouldn’t have been involved with anyone. Especially someone with a child.”

Hopper didn’t want to admit it, but he hadn’t intended on staying with your mother for as long as he did. Sure, she was fun to drink with back then, but he hadn’t planned on it lasting longer than the night. Then that morning, as he shuffled into your cramped kitchen, mind foggy with lack of sleep and most likely still a little drunk, he came across a 12-year-old you, perched at the breakfast table eating no more than a handful of stale cornflakes, sans the milk.

You’d looked him over, one brow lifted slightly in contempt — an expression he still witnessed to this day — as you moved past him, grabbing your threadbare backpack from the floor. You didn’t utter a single word, nor did you spare him a second glance as you left for school.

It would’ve been so easy to leave and never look back. But the next thing he knew, he was in 'Bradley’s Big Buy' throwing a box of ‘Frosted Flakes’ into his basket, along with a carton of milk. When he’d bumped into you the next morning, once again sat at the table, spoon hanging from your mouth as you looked up from your bowl, you remained silent. It wasn’t until you placed your bowl in the sink — knowing full well it would still be there when you returned home from school — that you uttered your first words to him as you took your leave,

“Coffee’s in the pot.”

He should’ve left when it was easy. But Hopper’s heart was broken and bruised, and he was nothing if not sadistic. He’d grown attached, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to remain in your life and that you wouldn’t ever fix the hole in his entire being that losing Sara had caused, just as his being there hadn’t healed the ever-lasting pain that having a parent walk out had caused. But for a while, the bandages held in place, allowing you both to bond and soften the chipped parts of your souls.

“When I lost Sara… I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance, you know? Hell, I didn’t want one, anyway. I lost my baby girl, and nothing in this world could’ve replaced that, you know? But shit, Kid… You come pretty damn close.”

His eyes met yours as he pulled to the side of the road, eventually turning the engine off, “I’m sorry for a lot, you know? I’m sorry I forced my way into your life when I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay, and I’m sorry for not believing you when all this shit started to happen. I’m sorry for the shitty cards you’ve been dealt in life. But I don’t pity you alright? Shit, you risked your life for a kid you barely know. I think you’re brave, and fuckin’ stupid sometimes, but… I think the world of you, Kid. Always have, and always will. No matter what dumbass thing you do next.”

Sniffling, you could feel his eyes boring into the side of your face as you turned away, wiping your nose.

“You alright over there?” He asked, eyes a little teary himself, not that he'd ever admit that to you.

Shrugging, you cleared your throat, “Flu season, right?”

You heard a soft laugh fall from his mouth as the man undid his seatbelt, reaching over to grab the container from the dashboard before he opened his door, “C’mon, we haven’t got all night.”

Ripping your seatbelt off, you followed the man, confusion written all over your face, “Where the hell are we going? You got a new hobby feeding the wildlife or something?”

Hopper passed you the container of food as he turned on his flashlight, making his way into the woods as you followed, practically on his heel. You both remained silent during the short walk, your footprints in the soft snow being the only indicator that you were even there until Hopper opened a lockbox. Taking the container from you, he placed it in before pulling something from his pocket — you were pretty sure it was two Eggo waffles, wrapped in Saran wrap — and placed it on top. Closing the box, Hopper took a moment to look around the woods before standing up. He didn’t utter a single word until you were back in the car, driving towards your home.

“You think she’s gonna come back?”

Shrugging, Hopper took off his hat, “I don’t even know if she can.”

You sent him a small, genuine smile, “If she can, she will.”

“You sound awfully optimistic.” Hopper couldn’t deny that he, too, hoped Eleven could… hoped she would come back.

Shrugging, you pulled your jacket closer around you as you turned up the radio, the bass of The Waitresses ‘Christmas Wrapping’ filling the short ride home.

Pulling up outside your house, Jim noticed the lack of Christmas decorations — something that wasn’t abnormal in your home — but decided not to comment on it. Your mother’s car was haphazardly parked on the driveway, and despite knowing you wouldn’t be alone in the house, it didn’t help him feel any more at ease.

“You gonna be alright on your own tonight?”

Your question caught him off-guard, halting his actions as he was half out of the car, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Got some beer at home, and CBS is showing re-runs of ‘Dukes of Hazard’ all night.”

Rolling your eyes, you closed his door — this time much more gently — and watched as he pulled the bike out of the backseat. Pushing it toward you, he watched as you apprehensively took it. Hopper's eyes softened as he pulled you into a hug, the heat from his body and jacket swamping you for a moment in all the best ways.

You heard the front door open and your mother's footsteps as she stepped onto the porch. Calling your name, she watched as Hopper placed a gentle, barely there kiss on the top of your head. You could hear the porch creak under her as she shuffled slightly, calling your name once more, only this time a little more firmly,

“Time to come in now.”

Pulling away from the man, you began to push your bike toward the porch where you’d leave it out of the snow. A call of your name — this time in the other direction — stopped you in your tracks, and you watched as Hopper tipped his hat slightly to your mother. She rolled her eyes, but backed up into the doorway a little — her half-assed attempt at giving you privacy.

“Wear your damn helmet next time, alright?”

Rolling your eyes, you quickly found the helmet covered in snow, grabbing it and wrapping it over the handlebars.

Hopper returned to his car, waiting until you were safely inside before pulling away.

This year, Christmas Eve hadn’t been the worst. Your mother — as usual — had drank a little more than she should’ve, her questions surrounding Hopper turning into a borderline inquisition, but eventually, she wandered off into the living room, glass of brandy in her hand as you prepared some boxed Mac’n’Cheese.

By the time you were finished, she’d fallen asleep, sprawled out on the sofa as the TV blared. Grabbing the duvet from her room, you placed it over her and took her now empty glass to wash up.

The clock had struck 12am before you knew it and despite the need to sleep nipping at your heels, you remained steadfast in your search. You’d pulled out the few clothes you had that no longer fit you, checking through the size tags before making a small pile of ones that were decent enough.

If Hopper believed that Eleven could come back, you would make sure she had something to come back to. Telekinetic powers or not, she’d freeze to death in the bitter, unforgiving winters of the Midwest.

A quiet knock at your front door halted your actions, an old jacket held halfway to a pile. Waiting for a few seconds, you heard no other noise and continued to fold the clothes, until you heard another — slightly louder — knock.

Cautiously making your way toward the front door, you took a deep breath before tugging the door open, cringing as it creaked loudly.

Steve stood, hand raised in the air as if to knock again, honey-colored eyes wide as if he didn’t expect the door to be answered at this time of night, despite knocking twice.

“Harrington? What the hell are you doing here?” You whispered, eyes darting around behind him as if you expected his gang of idiots to pop up behind his car and pelt you with snowballs.

The boy looked unsure, following your suspicious glances behind him, “I, uh-”

Eyes widening, you shushed him before turning, watching your mother stir slightly from his voice in the all too quiet house. Stepping out into the cold night air, you closed the door behind you, hoping the mechanism wouldn’t jam and lock you out.

Steve stepped back a moment too late — your body bumping into his to make room — and caused a loud creak on the unsteady porch, causing you both to wince. Looking up toward you with a feeble smile painted on his face, he apologized quietly.

“I just came by to bring you this. You left it at Nancy’s.”

Pulling your hat out of his coat pocket, you carefully took it from him, holding it in a tight grip in hopes it would warm your already chilled fingers, “You really didn’t have to drive all the way out here just to give it back to me, but... Thanks.”

The boy nodded, both his hands shoved into his pockets, ignoring the snowflakes that had yet to melt from his hair, “It’s cool.”

You both stood for a moment, equally unsure as to what to say or do next. Being cordial with someone like Steve didn’t come naturally to you, but the boy was clearly making an effort, and for now, you would too.

“You know, if you’re not asleep when Father Christmas comes, he won’t leave you any presents.”

A cloud of air fell from the boys mouth along with his soft laugh, “Yeah well, I’m not sure I deserve much more than coal this year.”

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and biting down on it for a moment, you tried to keep your opinion to yourself, “I mean, you were an asshole for a solid 70% of the year.”

“Giving me a whole 30%? Someones in a good mood.”

Shrugging, you tried to keep the smile from your face, “I mean, it’s the holidays. It’s all about charity and giving, right?”

Scoffing slightly, Steve rocked on the balls of his feet, stopping quickly when the porch groaned under his weight, “So I’ve heard.”

A cold wind blew through, rattling the front door and causing a burst of goosebumps to cover your skin. Pajamas really weren’t outdoor clothes. Steve watched as you shivered slightly and decided to take his leave, but before he could excuse himself, you caught him off guard,

“Won’t your parents be wondering where you are?”

This time, his scoff seemed much less friendly, “Yeah, I doubt they even knew I left. They, uh... They have their annual Harrington Christmas Eve party. Not really my kind of thing, I guess.”

“Free alcohol and rich folks having pissing contests. Thought that would’ve been right up there on your list of things you enjoy.”

Despite his hands still being firmly pressed in his pockets, his fingers twitched with the desire to tug at his hair, “Oh yeah, it’s a ball.”

This time you were unable to hide the broad smile that split across your face, shoulders shaking slightly from a silent laugh. It felt weird to know that Steve Harrington of all people didn’t feel at home in his own house. Your skin felt itchy and hot, and you yearned to rip it from the bone as if you knew a secret about the boy that you probably shouldn’t.

It wasn’t unknown that the Harrington’s were away often, that’s how Steve had managed to throw so many parties over the years. But not knowing if he preferred it that way or not — something even he was unsure of — made you feel uncomfortably connected to the boy.

“Is your mom…”

“Asleep on the couch, half a bottle of brandy in. Just like every other day ending in a Y.”

Steve nodded, “Right. I uh, I should go.”

You watched as Steve made his way down the driveway toward his car, his hand finally reaching up to his mop of hair to ruffle the snow from it. Before he could get in the car, you called his name, one last time,

“Merry Christmas, Harrington.”

“Merry Christmas.”

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 5: They Destroyed the Man I Was

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: He's only living the life he dreamed of.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: T, FEELINGS but that's about it, Jack in his element comes with a warning, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: It's time to see Jack going about his life in this little town, and that includes another cameo by a Golden Circle character. I'm just forcibly taking that cast and giving them better lives because the directors sure as hell couldn't be bothered. Enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

You thought sleep would never come, swirling thoughts clamoring to the surface as soon as you crawled into bed, but the exhaustion pulled harder. Tumbling into mesmerizing dreams of landscapes that were only painted on large canvases, wiring and scientists watching through glass, you finally woke when one of the panes shattered under your touch. 

The symbolism of your dreams was only getting more ridiculous.

Michelle let you be yesterday, seeing your tear-stained face and pretending to be occupied in the kitchen. She did offer you a glass of whiskey later in the evening, when a walk didn’t prove fruitful for your restlessness. This morning, she’s treating you to “a stick-to-your-ribs” breakfast, complete with eggs, bacon, toast, and a strange puffed pancake she calls a dutch baby. It’s delicious, and indeed presses against your ribs as you fill up. 

“So what brings you here to our quiet corner of the world? I don’t get many strangers outside of the agricultural fair in the fall.” Michelle tops off your coffee, waiting expectantly as you try to stall by mixing your beverage the way you like it. When you catch her gaze again she’s looking at you kindly but expectantly.

“Visiting an old friend,” you say, hoping that will sate her curiosity. You should have known a community this small would take notice of your intrusion.

“The Strongs? Or the Moores? You one of their city friends?”

You smother a laugh. Between deciding to leave and getting on the plane, you hadn’t exactly packed for the occasion. Your outfit isn’t quite “city girl lost in a strange new world,” but it’s not as worn-in as her boots and faded denim.

“Jack, actually. Jack Daniels. He’s just…” you start to gesture, but Michelle’s eyes widen, putting the coffee pot down on a towel and squaring her hands on her hips.

“Well I’ll be damned. I didn’t think we’d see the day but here you are!” Your face must radiate confusion, because Michelle drops into the seat across from you, hands tented under her chin. “Jack’s a private man, but he’s told us enough of his story to know a few things, and the topic of his heart was always ripe gossip.”

Skin beginning to tighten, you drop your hands in your lap and try to think of an excuse to leave. There’s a danger you’re tiptoeing up to and you desperately want to run from it. The best you can manage is a strained, “Oh?”

Right on cue, Michelle’s hospitality kicks in and she squeezes your arm across the table.

“Oh damn my mouth, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious. We don’t get new people often, especially those who stay, and a handsome country boy rolls in? We all had questions, and some finally pestered a few answers out of him.” Michelle leans forward folding her hands on the floral tablecloth. “I’m guessing you’re the one he’s been waiting for.”

“I don’t know what…” you begin, but Michelle doesn’t really need your input to continue this conversation. Which is perfect because you have no idea what to say.

“Few of the young girls, and some of the lonely and divorced, sniffed around Jack when he bought his ranch. Attractive man, no family in tow, kind and helpful. If I weren’t happily married I’d have tried my luck too.” Her conspiratorial smile does relax your shoulders, though the image of Jack surrounded by eligible, beautiful women flips your stomach. “But he always turned them down. Nicely, but firmly. Wasn’t until Mary at the Fairweather got a few drinks in him that the story came out.”

His past comes to mind unbidden. A wife lost, child never known, a life driven to revenge and anger. At least that’s the history Delos gave him.

“He said there was a woman he fell for, thought she felt the same. Classic wrong place, wrong time. Always said he was waiting for her to let him try again. It was romantic, even if it frustrated most of the female population.” Michelle cups her chin and sighs, fixing you with a soft gaze. “He’s been happier lately, taking trips away and coming back excited. I thought maybe it was work, but I hoped it was love.” 

Your story. He gave them your story with Jack. And one of many questions still needing answers - how long has he known how to find you? - clatters in your silent throat.

“The last few weeks he’s been anxious, always checking his phone. Waiting for something. And I guess we know why!” She slaps the table with merriment scrunching her face. You put up your hands placatingly.

“I don’t know if it’s really all that,” you say, but Michelle shushes you. 

“Of course it is. Don’t worry, I won’t spread it around. The two of you must have a lot of catching up to do.” Her eyes flit to the front hall, a bell tinkling at the edge of your hearing. Heavy boots approach, and even before you turn you know who it must be.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear!” Michelle calls, standing to greet Jack. 

“I’ve hardly been tempting you to sin, ma’am,” Jack drawls as you turn to see him enter. He’s in a heather gray button-up today, the heavy denim jacket complementing his broad shoulders. Hat in hand, the other holds a stack of two dozen eggs that Michelle takes gratefully.

“I just finished the blanket, it’s on the chaise in the living room.” She goes to reach into her pocket when Jack shakes his head.

“The blanket is payment enough, Shelly, you’ve been slaving over it for too long. Those’re a down payment, I’ll bring the rest next week.”

The exchange tingles your body with a sentimentality that you can barely explain. A town that still gives gifts and barters in a time when everything is transactional? You fix your eyes on the little bit of breakfast still lingering on your plate.

“Thank you for taking such good care of my friend too,” he says, finally acknowledging your presence. When you turn your face up to look at him the shyness in his smile heats your cheeks. 

“Michelle has been an excellent host,” you agree, getting another dismissive wave.

“We’re friends now, sweetie, I’m Shelly to you. I’ll leave you to it.” Waving as she takes her eggs into the kitchen, you and Jack are left alone in the ample dining room. He shifts, hat between his hands as you try to find something to say.

“Sorry for bursting in like this, I figured you were here. Not many other places to stay in town.”

You nod with a bright smile, easier today than yesterday.

“Shelly was just telling me all the gossip. Seems like you’re quite the heartbreaker.”

Jack groans as you get to your feet, the space between you still tenuous. “I hope nothing too embarrassing. She’s a heck of a town collector, specializing in secrets.” He leads you towards the door, softer, slower steps as you follow.

“Apparently you have quite a fan club,” you tease, pulling a chuckle from Jack’s lips. It makes your heart clench, hearing it again. 

“Apparently, keeping to myself is dark and mysterious to the imaginative.”

Jack holds the door open for you as you step onto Shelly’s front porch, warm sunshine peeking through delicate clouds. Patterns dapple the asphalt as you walk side by side into the main part of town. After visiting his home you thought the town might be Sweetwater 2.0, but it’s charmingly modern. A main road stuffed with shops, doors open to let the soft breezes in. A public garden, blooms fat and heavy on the branches ready to burst. The towering steeple of a church, the squat columns of a library, Christmas lights still wound around streetlights. Like taking off a snow-caked winter coat, your spirits lighten with each step until your hand itches to find its way into Jack’s palm, consequence be damned. 

“First stop is the Unwin’s shop, my truck’s parked outside,” Jack says, interrupting his soothing descriptions of each storefront and landmark. You’d lost the thread of his conversation two blocks back but nodded as he led you into a general store. He reaches up in the doorway and taps an archaic brass bell hanging over your heads. 

“Right on time, Daniels,” a male voice with a Cockney accent calls, the owner climbing down a beat-up ladder. The men slap shoulders as the ringing fades. “Got comp’ny?” the man asks, turning to hold out his hand to you. He’s got a million-watt smile and a sharply angled face, light brown hair swept back from his forehead. Brown eyes that seem to have perpetual mirth in their depths sparkle behind thick-rimmed glasses. He’s lankier than Jack but all muscle under a white henley and canvas apron. “Gary Unwin, proprietor of this fine establishment.” You shake his hand and tell him your name, faltering when he holds it for a moment longer.

“Jack never graces me with beautiful lady friends. Got quite the poor record with them, ain’tcha Jack, never could close the deal.” Gary straightens and gives you a once over, and where you might feel offended instead the swaggerish nature of this interaction is outlandish enough that you glean it as good-natured ribbing.

“Knock it off, hotshot,” Jack warns, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at his firm command. Gary’s eyebrows shoot up, turning to retort, but suddenly snaps back to you with a knowing smile.

“Oh, you’re his girl then?” he says, hands on his hips and backing up a step. You mustn’t have schooled your face well enough, because Gary’s smile drops as he turns back. Jack is the picture of embarrassment, busying himself with something in the dried goods aisle. When Gary whips around his smile is full of wonder.

“Oh you’re his girl. The girl,” he says, leaning back against the shop counter. Your eyes dart to Jack for help but he’s standing between two shelves, looking intently at something of interest.

“Didn’t expect such a warm welcome, but I’m thankful for it,” you say, resisting the itching feeling of invisible eyes all over you. 

“You haven’t had a warm welcome until you’ve met my wife. Tilde!” Gary shouts over his shoulder, closing up the ladder and setting it to the side. A scuffle of footsteps and a rosy-cheeked blonde woman peeks out from the back of the shop.

“Hello!” she calls, coming to stand beside Gary. “I’m…” she starts when Gary interrupts her.

“She’s the girl,” he says, giddily nodding in Jack’s direction. His gaze doesn’t lift from its spot, and something pings in your mind at it.

“She’s the…?” Tilde asks, then seeing Jack her face springs into surprise. “You’re the girl!”

“She’s the girl.”

“I’m the girl,” you interject, making a small wave and suppressing a grimace. 

“Oh you must think we’re the nosiest bunch outside a herd of anteaters.” Tilde swats Gary, who shoots her a hurt look. You plead silently with Jack to come to your side, but he’s honed on the shelf, sharp, focused. 

“I swear Jack hasn’t been running around airing all his laundry, we basically dragged it out of him,” Tilde continues, but your eyes are locked on Jack. His face is flushing, one hand gripping the shelf so tight his knuckles are white. Panic flares like a lit match in your chest.

“Jack?” you ask to no response. Gary and Tilde look over their shoulders and snap into action, Gary hurrying to Jack’s side and leading him away from his spot. Tilde yanks a chair from a cafe table and places it beside Jack, Gary urging him to sit. You’re frozen on the spot, heart hammering and your ears ringing until all you can hear is the thin wail of fear.

“Jack, c’mon bruv, sit down,” Gary soothes, Tilde hovering as Jack blinks slow, hard. Numbly you rush to him, gripping his biceps as he struggles. Finally his hands close around your shoulders as a whoosh of air fills his lungs. 

“There we go, we got you,” Gary reassures as Jack slumps into the chair, sucking in slow breaths. You drop to your knees with him, studying his pained face. He manages to get his breathing under control as Tilde hurries to the back. Water runs as you slide your hands down to hold one of his. 

“M’good,” Jack mutters, leaning forward to cup the back of your head. It’s just you and him now, Gary and Tilde a distant afterthought even as Tilde places a cool towel on the back of Jack’s neck. His thumb caresses your cheek, the brim of his hat shading your face. When he opens his eyes there’s exhaustion, but also relief. 

“Sorry for the scare, Sugar,” he rasps. You worry your own thumb in the palm of his hand, reassuring pressure. 

“S’okay, I’m here,” you say. Jack’s face is still a little pink, but you swear the bitten-back smile is all your doing.

You sit on the porch with Tilde as Gary helps Jack load a couple boxes into his truck. Jack rolls his eyes when Gary calls him an old man and refuses to let Jack carry anything, but you catch the mild concern in Gary’s brows, the gentle redirection of hands. Jack huffs but allows the other man to take the lead. Tilde offers you a glass of iced tea, sweetened to perfection.

“Has that happened before?” you murmur as Jack’s shirt pulls across his shoulders. The heat has started to beat down, sweat gathering along your hairline and glistening on Jack’s chest. He unbuttons his shirt one further, treating you to a tantalizing view of his chest.

“He has spells sometimes. Told us he was taking care of it, that he saw a doctor about it.”

What kind of doctor would that be, Jack?

“Some kind of seizure, he said. It’s not often, but we’ve caught him a couple times before. He tells us he’s fine, and we mind our business about it.”

Jack pats Gary on the back as they talk, leaning against his truck tailgate. You trace the curve of his relaxed smile, the expressive lilt of his brows, how perfectly he fits into this landscape so much like his home but leagues freer.

“You’re good friends to him,” you say, smiling at the sunny woman. She returns it, her whole face crinkling genuinely. 

“He’s easy to love. It’s like the world gave him all the gifts but all he does is share them with others. You know that,” she says, tilting her head with a knowing wink. 

“We didn’t get much time together when we first met. I still feel like there’s so much to learn about Jack,” you muse, watching the boys finish their conversation. Jack checks on you over his shoulder, eyes lighting up every time.

“You could take seven lifetimes and never learn everything about a person,” Tilde says, pushing her rocker to sway. “That’s where trust, and patience, and love comes in. Fills in the gaps.”

Gary clomps up the steps, accepting Tilde’s outstretched tea with a large gulp. She trails her fingers over his arm and they share a look that speaks whole sentences. Jack follows cautiously, nodding to you. 

“Ready to go, Sugar?” 

You don’t correct him this time.

The slam of the truck doors precedes a silence you expect. Jack’s hands dance along the wheel, keys in the ignition dangling unattended.

“I’m sorry about…”

“What was that back there?”

You speak at the same time, your resolve canceling out his apology. 

“It wasn’t a seizure, not in the way they think it is. So what are these little spells? Is something…going wrong?” You think malfunctioning but the longer Jack stays by your side, the harder it is for you to imagine him as a machine. He sighs, rubbing his mouth and smoothing back errant mustache whiskers.

“There are other people like me out in your world. Maeve, probably a few still under Delos’ control. But there are some that are awake, and they’re angry, and they’re trying to find anyone they can to help them do God knows what for revenge.” Jack’s eyes plead, grip tightening on the wheel. “That’s not me, Sugar. All I wanted was to get free and stay that way. But we’re all connected, and sometimes one of the others reaches out, tries to figure out who I am, where I am. To what end I don’t know, and I don’t want to. I’ve done a good job keeping them away, but sometimes they try harder, and I have to fight them off.”

You swallow hard, suddenly small in a world that’s full of unseen struggles. 

“So Delos is looking for you, and…I guess rogue hosts are looking for you.” Your next question sticks in your throat, Jack’s eyebrows raised expectantly. “Why come looking for me?”

His mouth opens, and you see the answer written on his tongue, but he swallows it back. Instead he starts the truck, tossing an arm over the back of your seat to reverse. Inhaling the sun-baked warmth of his jacket, shot through with dust and sweet hay, you let your question drift away on the wind.

“I’m sorry about all the attention. Made one slip-up and the whole town knows, apparently.” He parks closer to the center of town, keys jingling as he puts it in park. “If you’d like to stay in the truck and avoid repeating that conversation four more times, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Sure, I gotta call Lacey anyways,” you agree, watching Jack swing out of the truck and shut the door behind. In the faux privacy of the truck you let yourself admire his swaying shoulders, the swagger of his walk, that tight ass peeking out from under his jacket.

It’s the first time something carnal has stirred in your chest (and elsewhere) since you’d accepted Jack’s return. Dashing it away, you dial Lacey.

“Not dead?” is her first question, making you laugh louder than necessary.

“Definitely, calling from beyond the grave,” you shoot back.

“Fuck, I knew ghosts were real.”

You share a giggle before Lacey bursts into questioning. Is he handsome? Polite? Not a creep? Did you stay over last night? What have you been doing? You answer rapid-fire - yes, yes, no, no, mostly talking - before she gets to the meat of the matter.

“So is this the real deal?”

You watch Jack as he moves from store to store, picking up paper-wrapped bundles and crisp bags. Every person’s face lights up when he’s in the room, and more time is spent chatting than running errands. It would take twice as long with you by his side. The girl. 

“I’m still figuring it out. There’s definitely potential. It’s just…” You falter, sinking lower in the seat as your stomach clenches. Lacey tuts into the phone.

“It’s just that his cock is too big, right? He only makes you cum three times, not five?” she fake sighs on the other end. You both dissolve into giggles, lolling your head back on the seat. 

“Leap of faith, babe. You made it this far. Don’t leave without knowing if this will work,” she says, another sage piece of advice doled out on a hot Saturday morning. 

“Love you Lace,” you say. A smacking lip sound follows.

“Love you too. Make good choices.”

Rolling your eyes, you hang up just as Jack climbs back in the truck.

“That Lacey?” he asks, turning the key and bringing the truck back to life. Weak air conditioner pummels your face, but you’ll take it. 

“Yeah, just checking in.”

“How’s she doing? Married?” he asks, startling a smile onto your face.

“Yeah, all good. You remember her?” 

Jack tosses you a wink.

“Whole reason I met you, after all. Hard to forget.” 

You settle back in the seat, another warmth seeping into your bones.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

[theinquisitxor]

2024 Anticipated Book Releases

I thought I had a lot of anticipated book releases for 2023, but 2024 is also proving to be a year of many books I'm excited about too. These are all the books I'm looking forward to in the first half of the year!

January:

-A Fragile Enchantment by Alison Saft: (Jan 2nd) rom-com fantasy about a dressmaker hired to make the royal wedding dress, but she starts to fall for the prince instead.

-Mislaid in Parts Half-Known Wayward Children 9) by Seanan (Jan 9th) The second to last book in this novella series, this one featuring dinosaurs!

-The Atlas Complex (The Atlas Series #3) by Olive Blake (Jan 9th) the final books to this magical dark academia trilogy, and I've been excited for this one since the ending of book 2.

-Emily Wilde's Map of the Otherlands (Emily Wilde 2) by Heather Fawcett (Jan 16th) The second book in this new historical fantasy series, in which Emily and Wendall go on a new adventure in the Austrian Alps. This is one of my most anticipated books of the year.

-City of Stardust by Georgia Summers (Jan 30th) this is a new fantasy debut that sounds similar to The Starless Sea and features a woman descending down into a subterranean world to try and break a generational curse.

-House of Flame and Shadow (Crescent City 3) by SJM (Jan 30th) I've been enjoying SJM's crescent city books the most of all her series, and I'm looking forward to this one after how book 2 ended.

February

-The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden (Feb 13th) This is possibly my most anticipated book of the year, and Katherine Arden's newest adult release. A historical fiction (and a little magical realism?) set in Europe during WW1 following a combat nurse trying to find her (presumably) dead brother.

-The Book of Doors by Gareth Brown (Feb 13th) A debut magical realism fantasy set in NYC with books, bookstores, and a mystery book. I've heard many good early reviews of this one.

-What Feasts at Night by T. Kingfisher (Feb 13th) This is a follow up novella to What Moves the Dead following Alex Easton in a new horror adventure. This one has such a cool cover.

-The Briar Book of the Dead by AG Slatter (Feb 13th) A coven of witches keeps a town and the border between realms safe.

March

-A Dark and Drowning Tide by Allison Saft (March 5th) I'm very excited to get two new Allison Saft books in 1 year. This is a dark academia fantasy about two rival scholars trying to figure out who killed their mentor. Sapphic romance too I believe.

-The Prisoner's Throne by Holly Black (March 5th) This is the conclusion to The Stolen Heir, and I'm looking forward to the seeing more of the characters from the original series make an appearance in this one.

-The Woods All Black by Lee Mandelo (March 19th) This is a spooky queer horror novella set in 1920s Appalachia. Small town religiosity and something sinister creeping in the woods? This just sounds like a novella I'd enjoy.

-Song of the Huntress by Lucy Holland (March 21st) A new book from Lucy Holland, also set in magical ancient Briton. A warrior queen falls into trouble and teams up with the Wild Hunt to save her kingdom. Sapphic/queer romance.

-The Hedewitch of Fox Hall by Anna Bright (March 24th) a fantasy romance book set in medieval Wales as a hedge witch and prince team up to help prevent magic from fading away. The cover of this book is so beautiful!

April

-The Familiar by Leigh Barduo (April 9th) I don't really know much about this one, other than it is a new adult novel by Leigh Bardugo set in 1400s Spain. Also one of my most anticipated releases of the year.

-Song of Six Realms by Judy Lin (April 23rd) A young adult fantasy about a musician who goes to the Duke of Dreams's realm and must help stop a disaster.

June

-Running Close to the Wind by Alexandra Rowland (June 13th) A new high seas fantasy that was directly inspired by OFMD and Terry Pratchett. This is very queer and seems like it's going to be a lot of fun.

-Foul Days by Genovena Dimova (June 25th) A slavic fantasy story about a witch who has to team up with a detective as she is being hunted by her ex, the Tsar of Monsters. I've heard some very good early reviews of this book too.

-Children of Anguish and Anarchy (Children of Blood and Bone 3) by Tomi Adeyemi (June 25th) I honestly don't know if I'm going to read this anytime soon, but I've been waiting for this final book for almost 4 years now, so I just want to see how the series ends.

I think that's it for now! Release dates tend to change, and I'm sure I will be adding or editing this list as the new year starts. I'd love to hear of any new releases you are excited for!

Second half of 2024/To be determined:

A Sorceress Comes to Call by T Kingfisher (August)

The Mercy of Gods by James SA Corey (August)

The Whisper Between Worlds by Amanda Foody (TBD)

Lady Macbeth by Ava Reid (TBD)