#this is the best fantasy curse I have ever come across

[hauntedfarfalle]

“Dammit”:

unoriginal

mild

overused

“Hag’s tits”:

forceful

unexpected

startling

[galacticgraffiti]

✿⋅ Oh, to be Alone with You ⋅✿

NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: I try my best to write inclusively. Reader uses she/her pronouns and is mentioned in her physicality but not described in detail. If anything escaped me, please let me know! Sorry I couldn't make this more gender neutral, but since this fic is a gift to @naariel I thought I'd use her pronouns. Warnings: dirty daydreams, yearning, lusting after someone, male masturbation, dirty talk, fantasy of PiV sex within the daydream, bath sex, this is written from Halsin's POV

⋆⋅ Inspired by this insane artwork by @naariel ⋅⋆

Author's note: I've been pondering, rotating and marinating this artwork in my mind for WEEKS. It haunts me in the best possible way and I am so happy Naariel gave me permission to reference her art! If you are not already following her, you definitely should - her skill and talent are infinite.

Masterlist ⋆ If you prefer AO3

───── ⋆⋅✿⋅⋆ ─────

Oh, to be Alone with You

Halsin sighs when he finally sits down, long limbs sprawling on the too-small chair that can barely contain him.

Chairs. What superfluous oddities, where a big tree stump might have sufficed. If one has to make them at all, why not at least make them comfortable? Why not sit in the meadows, why not find a place to lay where the sun has warmed a rock that has been washed and polished by the rain? But no, the rules of the city demand he be contained within four walls instead of roaming free, they demand he bathe in a wooden tub instead of out in the wilds, they demand he wear clothes and be polite to people even as they trample the Oak Father’s creations beneath their boots without even stopping to look and enjoy nature’s gifts.

Halsin shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming headache. It has been a long day and he is so tired. A long week. A long few weeks, if he is being honest with himself. In all these centuries, times have been- well-  rough, to say the least. But whatever haunts the Sword Coast now… it’s different. Bigger than the invasions of Goblins across the land, bigger than the Shadow druids, bigger even than the Shadow Curse that has occupied Halsin’s every waking hour for nigh on one hundred years.

At least, Thaniel and Oliver have been reunited, some life returning to the lands as it always should have been. A victory, chased for so long, tasting sweet only for a moment before the stale urgency of the matter at hand had seeped back into Halsin’s mind: Mindflayers infecting innocents, magic-infused tadpoles, an Elder Brain… There are too many battles to be fought, and not one of them to be won.

Halsin presses his lips together and tries to banish the dark thoughts from his mind. There are some good things that have come out of this: They have not lost a fight yet, and his newfound companions are… stimulating, to say the least. Fighting alongside them has been a joy and a privilege - watching their blades sear, their magic erupt, their arrows pierce their targets as the bear Halsin rips through flesh and bone. The fighting is necessary, and his companions are more skilled than he could have ever wished for. This day may have been hard, but it was successful nonetheless, and now he is here, freshly bathed and ready to find some rest for the night. If only it could be under the stars, far outside the city walls, he would almost call himself happy. Instead, he must bed down alone, encased by  too many walls and a too-small bed frame.

Halsin misses the smell of grass that has not been trampled by hundreds of boot-clad feet, he misses the feeling of bark against his fur, he misses his wildshape and trodding through calm forests instead of bloodied battlefields. He misses air that is crisp and clean and doesn't smell of artificially molten metals. He misses the Grove, he misses Thaniel and he misses the woods. The city has been forsaken by Silvanus, and even if this place is a small oasis of nature, it is not the same as being out among the Oak Father’s creations.

He cracks his neck, his hair tickling his collarbones. Halsin curses quietly to himself, pushing a curl behind his ear. He needs to cut his hair - it’s getting too long. And he needs to braid it again, his plaits are all out of sorts. It might be a hassle to do it without a mirror- but maybe he could ask-

No.

Shaking his head as if to will the thought away, he slumps into the discomfort of the chair a little more.

No, he shouldn't ask her anything. Nothing that would involve her hands on him, at least. Certainly not her fingers buried in his hair, tugging softly, her voice gently commanding that he tilt his head a different way. He can’t ask for that. It would only lead to him asking for more:

More of her hands on him, more of her skin against his, more than innocent touches and whispered goodnights across the campfire. He would ask for everything: To bury himself inside her until the world fades away, to devour her until she is slick with sweat from the pleasure he brings her. To be the keeper of her heart, just as he yearns for her to be the keeper of his.

Halsin can feel the familiar tightness in his back as the golden shimmer of his wildshape travels up to his shoulder blades. One thought of her, and already the bear stirs.

He remembers everything that happened today, even as he tries so hard to think of something else:

He remembers the way she smells, of sweet berries, blood and leather. He remembers her looking up at him, as her fingers clutch her weapon tightly. He remembers the fire in her eyes after the slaughter, the glow in her cheeks when she turned around to look at him and found only the bear. He remembers how she smiled at him, even after all that violence, a smile like the sinking sun, bloodied and red, but more beautiful than he could ever have dreamed up.

And as the day progressed: Her arm bumping into his, her head tilting up when she asked him a question and wanted to read his expression. How her hands slipped around him to reach for some food at the campfire earlier when they rested. Her sweet breath on his face and a mumbled excuse when she walked into him, still drowsy with sleep. And all Halsin wanted to do was pull her into his lap and bury his nose in the crook of her neck and forget about the world, forget about everyone watching, and have her, right then, in that moment. Have her all to himself, make her his very own. To feel her around him, to show her the depth of his affection, the desperation of his desire, the magnitude of his commitment.

All he wanted in that moment - all he still wants - is to touch her, to feel her in ways that he cannot ask for because he is scared she will not want the same thing he does. Halsin wants to lick the sweat off her skin, he wants to be buried between her thighs whenever they can steal away, even for a few minutes, he wants her taste on his tongue when he fights, and to wrap himself around her when they sleep.

The force of his own thoughts makes Halsin shudder, glowing desire stirring deep in his belly.

Her tongue in his mouth, his hands on her skin: How soft she would be against him. How wonderful to hear her voice break when she cries out for him, how she would taste if he could lick her off his fingers, the honey of her thighs, the salt of her sweat. He would give anything to know the expression on her face when she is lost to mindless bliss- he would give everything to know that he is the cause of it.

A low moan escapes his throat then, and Halsin presses his lips together when his mind returns from memory and sweet imagination to this house in the midst of a bustling city. This is not nature, where he can do what pleases him when it pleases him. No, the city - ‘civilisation’ as they call it - comes with rules, expectations, limitations.

He is in someone else’s home, exhausted from the day, the blood barely washed off his skin. And yet, all he can think about is… her. All he can feel is the constriction of his clothing, the confinement of leather where he longs to be touched. He wants to shed like the bear sheds his fur after the winter, he wants to feel free again.

Halsin hums, breathing deeply, willing away the golden sparks of his wildshape that dance along his fingertips. He listens intently, fingers dancing across his thighs, drumming an impatient rhythm.

Nothing in the house stirs. Maybe they are all gone still, running their errands, finding bath houses, visiting old friends and merchants they used to know before they return here for a long night’s rest. Maybe Halsin can have a small pocket of time to himself. Time to dream himself away, to give in to the desire he has harboured for so long.

Maybe… he could use this opportunity to release some of that tension that has settled deep in his belly. Refocus his attention. Maybe it’ll be for the best- not to think of her constantly anymore, not of her smell, or the colour of her eyes, of the way her fingers linger on his for a moment too long whenever they touch, or how much he wished they could have bathed together when he sank into the tub earlier that night.

The city has many downsides, but baths are one of the few things to enjoy. Hot springs are wonderful, but few and far between. Nature provides: The bear does not mind the coldness of a stream in the woods, or the iciness of a mountain lake. But there is nothing like a steaming bath to help prevent the sore ache that settles in his bones after a fight.

If only it was acceptable to ask her if she would join him. If only it had been her hands washing dirt and grime and blood from his skin, brushing his hair, kneading tired muscles, her hands much smaller than his, but strong and determined. Loving.

Halsin lets his head fall back, spine cracking as he settles in the small, uncomfortable chair, spreading his legs to cup his hardening cock. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it…

She glistens in the dim light, thin streams of water trickling down her skin when she emerges from the bath, her lashes stuck together as she beams at him.

“Mhh, we should have done this ages ago!”

“I could not agree more, my heart.” Halsin loves seeing her like this. She looks happy, like she has not a care in the world.

She crawls up into his lap, settling on him, her thighs bracketing his. Her hands run across his chest, lathering him in soap that smells of lavender and thyme. Halsin’s heart is beating in his throat when she leans in to kiss his collarbone, her lips soft, her hair smelling of smoke and flowers as it always does.

Desire surges inside him, crackling like lightning in his veins, and he sends the bear away, far away. This is a moment he wants for himself: Skin against skin, tongues exploring, hands intertwined. This is no place for fangs and claws, not tonight. Halsin unlaces his trousers with steady fingers, though even those few seconds seem unbearable to him. When his hand finally wraps around his cock, he breathes a sigh of relief, only to feel dissatisfied moments after. He wants her hands, her eyes on him, her voice dripping with lust. For now, his imagination will have to do.

He dreams himself back to the bath, thinking of all he could have had, if he had only had the courage to ask.

Her skin is burning hot against his, her fingers leave a flaming trail wherever she touches him.

“Is this alright, my love?” Her voice is full of concern and affection, as it always is when she asks about his comfort and well-being.

“More than alright.” Halsin’s breaths grow shaky when she moves her hips, shallowly grinding down against him. “Gods, I want to-”

“Mhhm?” There is a curious twinkle in her eye. “What is it you want? Tell me. I’m sure I could make your dreams come true.”

Halsin shifts when the wooden backing of the chair digs into his back as he bucks his hips, fucking into his hand that is wrapped around his cock - a poor substitution for what - for who - he really wants.

A growl rings out in the empty room when he closes his eyes and imagines her again.

Her thighs look so lovely, spread wide so he can fit between them. She smells of the bath salts and of herself, and her voice talks to him through the thick fog of his desire.

“I know what you want, don’t I, bear? I’ll take such good care of you if you let me. I’ll make sure you don’t even have to ask for it. I’ll let you taste me, whenever you want- wherever you want. I’ll help you focus- you can focus on me, can’t you? There you go…”

Halsin is panting, his hand moving faster.

She feels good, so good when she sinks down on him, wet with arousal and so willing to take him.

“You, little flower, are the jewel of nature’s creation,” he mumbles. “You are all I could ever want and more. I want to taste you on my tongue, always- for there to never be a day where I won’t know the way you drip for me- for you to never go a day without being satisfied, without feeling loved and cared for. Your happiness is all I want- your ecstasy all I desire. Let me take care of you.”

She moans, her head falling back as she starts to roll her hips, taking him deeper and deeper with each stroke.

“I’ll take care of you as you do of me,” she whispers. “I’ll make sure to provide for you all you could ever need or want. You give and give, let me give you everything I am in return. Be selfish, bear. Take what you want, swallow me whole, devour me without worrying whether it’s too much. I want you to. Mark me- make me yours. Tell the whole world I belong to you, whichever way you desire.”

Her movements are desperate now, her words only sighs and moans, breathless as she buries her head against his shoulder. Halsin inhales the scent of her hair, sinks into her words as the fog of lust that has settled on his brain grows thicker and heavier, until there is not a thought left on his mind but her.

“Halsin-” Gods, his name sounds so sweet off her tongue. “Halsin, I want you to fill me. Please- please, I want to feel full with you, today and every day you’ll fucking let me. I want to fight knowing you are still dripping down my thighs, I want to kiss you under the stars and know I’ll never be without you again.”

The curses that are falling from his lips are ungodly, but Halsin does not care. He is desperate now, mouth open as he calls her name and thinks of the words he wishes he could hear her say.

“Come for me, bear. Come inside me, lay claim to me as only you ever could- f-fuck- make me yours- please- Halsin, I’m yours, I’m yours and yours and yours, as long as you’ll have me- forever if you want to-”

With a cry of her name on his lips, Halsin gives in to pleasure and lets himself be overtaken by a wave of bliss. His thighs tremble as he spills over his hand, sticky warmth dripping from his fingers. He does not open his eyes. Not yet. He wants to stay in the fantasy just a moment longer.

“Halsin, I-”

His eyes open, blood rushing to his cheeks as he returns to the real world and finds her standing in the doorway.

I'm going fucking feral. Running into the woods hoping to find him there, who's with me -

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[hairmetal666]

Eddie's supposed to be writing. The guys, they all agreed they'd each come to practice armed with two whole new songs they could pick from to add to their set list at the Hideout. And he's got his pen, and he's got his most recent trusty Composition Book, and all his lyrics are fucking bullshit about golden tanned skin and honeyed eyes and tracing constellations in freckles and moles, pathetic lines about being twisted in bed sheets, and the hopeless love he found himself in.

For the fifth time in an hour, he rips out the offending page, crunches it into a tight ball, and throws it across the room.

He can't write about Steve Harrington for the rest of his life; spend his nights aching for the boy who established himself as a fixture in Eddie's life and then just disappeared.

The worst of it--the very worst--is that Eddie knew better. Steve was never his, not in any real way, no matter how many times they fucked. He's Steve Harrington. Straightest guy in Hawkins. Popular. Rich. Whole fucking life laid out for him on a silver platter. And Eddie fell for him. It's the Munson curse, he supposes; always wanting what you can't have.

It started the way these things usually do, "got any weed?" and "come back to my place, Harrington" and "I got this stupid job at the mall, meet me there?" and lying "hey, guys, can't make band practice, gotta help Uncle Wayne" and "Munson, I really want--can I kiss you?"

In every other fantasy Eddie's ever had, it ends there. Steve gets his kiss and they never see each other again. But Steve Harrington--he's full of surprises. It catches Eddie off guard, makes him want, makes him trust. Because it's not just kisses. It's hands and mouths and "anything you want, Eddie. Let me make you feel good."

Maybe it wouldn't have hit so hard--maybe Eddie could've stopped from falling--if Steve hadn't been so good. Bitchy, sure, but genuine and kind. Had this whole gaggle of junior high kids he babysat, like what the fuck. Would hang out with Wayne and shoot the shit about whatever sports nonsense was on tv. Harrington never was as mean, as spoiled, as superficial as Eddie suspected.

Then Starcourt. That's when it all changes. Steve stops coming around then, in the aftermath. It hurts, but Eddie tells himself it's for the best. Now, he knows it would have been.

Two weeks with no contact, and Steve shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Eddie winces at the healing bruises and cuts on his face, can't imagine how much worse they were to start. He steps aside, lets Steve in, plans to say that he can't be whatever they are anymore.

Steve kisses him. It's a hot, needy thing, wild with teeth and tongue, nothing like before. Eddie is helpless to it, helpless to the way Steve grinds against him, already hard. He should slow it down, check-in that Steve is in the right headspace for this, but Steve is moaning low in his throat and Eddie can't think.

They're in Eddie's bed and Steve says, "fuck me, Eddie?" and Eddie says "are you sure" because he can't stop himself. Steve rolls his eyes (beautifuly bitchy), says, "I need to feel you inside me, baby."

How can Eddie say no?

Eddie's never done this before, but it doesn't matter. It's everything--Steve is everything--he could ask for.

The next morning, he expects Steve to be gone. Thinks they'll never see each other again. But he finds Steve in the kitchen, in his boxers and Eddie's Iron Maiden shirt, making eggs and talking to Wayne like it's the most normal thing in the world.

The next month and a half are the best of Eddie's life. He and Steve spend more time together than they do apart. Nights at Eddie's trailer, in Eddie's bed. Days lounging at the Harrington pool and driving around the nothing that surrounds Hawkins. Sometimes they'll stop in the middle of nowhere, climb on top of the van, and just--be. Steve takes his shirt off, and Eddie traces their names in the sun-soaked freckles, thinking maybe he really gets to have this, have Steve.

It ends as quickly as it started. One morning in September, Steve is cupping Eddie's neck, pulling him in for a goodbye kiss, saying, "sorry, baby, gotta get home for my parents. I'll see you later tonight, yeah?"

Except Eddie doesn't. Eddie doesn't see Steve that night, or the night after, or the night after that. He stops coming around and all Eddie is left with is a broken heart and these piss poor excuses for songs.

He rips out the latest page, waxing lyrical about the wonders of August, and time slipping away, and the boy he'll never forget. Crumples it into a ball and bats it into a pile of junk accumulated in the corner of his room.

Eddie needs a break.

He flies into the living room, snatches up his keys from the floor by the coffee table, and flees his house and all those memories of Steve. It's not like he has anywhere specific to go, so he drives around town, with his windows down and his music up.

His tires screech as he rounds the corner to the video store and arcade. He's not planning on stopping, but honestly, maybe a few rounds of Space Invaders is exactly what he needs.

The van hasn't even come to a stop in the parking spot when his eyes fall on Steve Harrington. He's standing in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a gang of kids (including some of Eddie's new little sheepies) and Robin Buckley. Steve wears a sunny yellow sweatshirt, tight jeans, and his hair is perfectly coifed, falling in an elegant wave. His hands are on his hips, mouth and brows pinched stern. He's gorgeous, perfect.

It's an assault, an attack, Eddie's entire body shakes as the months they spent together crash over him. He has the van in reverse before he consciously thinks to do so, flooring it out of the space hard enough to burn rubber.

The noise, the speed, it draws the entire group's attention to him.

His eyes meet Steve's.

Time stops and so does he, idling in the middle of the parking lot. For a second, one moment in time, Steve's face falls. His mouth loses that grumpy pinch, his eyebrows drop, his beauty transformed by grief, by fucking longing.

Steve takes a step forward, and Eddie hits the gas, van screaming out of the parking lot. He watches the group shrink in his rearview mirror, sure that he imagined the sorrow in Steve's face, anyway.

They're nothing to each other.

Never were.

By popular request: Part Two

[stevie-petey]

episode one: the vanishing of will byers

Steve nods, as if you almost getting hit by his car makes perfect sense to him. When you walk over to your bike and inspect it for any damage, he follows after you.  “So,” he whistles, trying to pretend that this is all a completely normal occurrence. “You, uh, need a ride?” Honestly you don’t know why you’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the clear signs of you crying, your swollen eyes and red nose. Not only is he a boy, but he’s also Steve Harrington. It’s a miracle he even stopped to make sure you weren’t dead.

summary: jonathan smuggles you free food in exchange for friendship, will goes missing the one time you listen to jonathan, hopper doesn't really like you, and steve harrington almost hits you with his car as you're sobbing like a damn baby (in a cool way).

rating: general, although there's plenty of cursing and slight innuendos, so fair warning.

warnings: cursing, fem!reader, and use of y/n.

words: 7k

before you swing in: hello ! this is the first chapter of my come home series, where i plan on rewriting the entirety of stranger things because i really love a good rewrite fic and this is me just indulging in my ideal fic fantasies tbh. before we start: this is a steve x reader fic, however there will be some slight feelings between the reader and jonathan, but it doesn't at all get in the way of steve and honestly just adds to the angst because i love a good tragedy. also, reader is dustin's older sister, but i tried to write her as neutral as possible in terms of physical features, so let's all just play along. that is all ! i'm very excited for this series and i hope y'all enjoy her as much as i do :)

-

November 6th, 1983

Your shift at Bookstrordinary ends at 8:30 tonight, so as soon as you’ve organized all the books within the store and cashed out the last customer, you say goodnight to your boss, Mrs. Waters, and clock out. Today had been a longer shift, and it didn’t help that you had to deal with a particularly eager bookclub mother who insisted that you had the latest copy of some obscure novel that she needed for her club. After several attempts to inform her that no, you really didn’t have some novel about a cowboy falling in love with a rodeo girl from Michigan, nor would you ever want to read that, the mother angrily walked away. 

You’re happy to finally be free from work though, excited to see Jonathan to tell him about the book club mom because you know he gets a kick out of those suburban middle class mothers that terrorize Hawkins. He works across from you, at The Hawk theater, and it’s one of your favorite things about the bookstore. Besides getting to be surrounded by books all day and reading Spider-Man, you get to be across the street from your best friend and share frequent breaks together. 

A bell signifies your arrival at the theater, alerting Jonathan to look up from the concession stand and smile at you. He looks tired, which you can understand. It’s been a particularly long school year so far with Jonathan having to work more shifts than usual to support his family. 

“Welcome to The Hawk, can I interest you in our specialty popcorn and candy corn mixture?”

You make a face, “No, thanks. Candy corn freaks me out.” 

Jonathan laughs, knowing you’d say that. It’s been a running joke between the two of you for as long as you can remember. You’re not picky with most foods, but candy corn? The bane of your existence. “Tough crowd, then.” 

You laugh as well, now standing in front of the counter, and you learn against it so that you’re in Jonathan’s space. After being friends for so long, personal space doesn’t exist between the two of you. You’re the only person that Jonathan lets get this close to him on a regular basis, which you’re secretly proud of. 

“So, you almost done so we can pick up our idiotic brothers?” Tonight, as usual, Will and Dustin are at Mike’s house playing DnD. They’d biked over as soon as school let out, while Jonathan drove you to work, so he was your ride back for the night. 

He shakes his head at you, wincing, “I picked up an extra shift tonight. Stacy called out sick, and it’s good money…”

You nod in understanding. He doesn’t have to explain himself to you, which he’s always relieved by. 

“It’s okay. Is my bike still in your trunk?” 

“Yeah, I can get it out for you since I’m kind of ditching you tonight.” 

You wave him off, already reaching across the counter to grab his keys from his coat pocket. “No need, I’ll get it out myself so you don’t get in trouble with your boss.” Jonathan’s boss is an older guy, extra scary. “I’m assuming that I’m taking Will home tonight?” 

“It’ll be late by the time you get the boys, and you’ll have Dustin. We only live a couple blocks apart, you can just bike with Will until you get to your street.”

“Are you sure? I know he’s scared of the dark.” 

“It’s fine, Y/N. You’re already doing enough being there for most of the ride; I’m sure Will can survive the last five minutes alone.” 

You give Jonathan an unsure look, but you don’t argue with him. He’s his brother, he knows Will’s capabilities, and it’s an unspoken fact that you baby Will a bit too much. He’s just so much tinier than the other boys, softer in a way that you want to protect. He’s special. 

Jonathan sneaks you a large peach lemonade and hot dog from the concession stand when you return with his keys. You’ve parked your bike up front, and you accept the food gratefully. You hadn’t had time to eat your usual dinner during your break due to the bookclub mother fiasco, so you inhale the food quickly and give his hair a ruffle. 

“You’re a lifesaver, bee.” 

Jonathan lightly hits your hand away from his hair. “Consider it your payment for dealing with Will and Dustin on your own tonight, bug.” 

Bee and bug were the names the two of you had given each other years ago. Jonathan had started it with bug, stemming from the fact that you love Spider-Man so much, and you had struggled to come up with your own nickname for him. Then it came to you: bee, or B, for Byers. It was perfect, and you’re still incredibly proud of yourself for the creativity, honestly. 

After your quick dinner, you say goodbye to your friend and head off. It’s late now, nearing 9, and you hope that Mrs. Wheeler and your own mom won’t be too upset with you for being late for pick up. You know they prefer to have the boys in bed by a decent hour, but in your defense, Jonathan did skip out on you.

You arrive at the Wheeler’s in a short amount of time and knock on the door. Your cheeks are flushed from the early November cold, and you’re regretting that you only put on a thin sweater and jeans this morning.

Mike answers the door, giving you a dirty look. “Did you have to come early?”

“I’m actually later than usual,” you sidestep him, making your way into his house; you’ve become used to Mike’s attitude. “I take it the campaign is still ongoing?”

“See, mom? Even Y/N understands how long a good campaign can go on for!” Mike waves his arms at you, as if to signify to his mother the importance of your understanding. 

Mrs. Wheeler ignores her son to greet you kindly, albeit a bit exasperated. “Hello, Y/N, please come in.” Then she turns to Mike, giving him a stern look. “Mike, why don’t you tell Y/N how you boys have been playing for ten hours? I’m sure she’ll be understanding then.” 

“You guys have been playing for ten hours?”

Mike looks down in embarrassment for a second before turning to his father for help. You laugh a bit at his enthusiasm and see a faint smile on his mom’s face as well. Quietly you excuse yourself to go downstairs to find the other boys, and Mrs. Wheeler wishes you luck. 

Everyone always acts like the boys are some giant pain; truthfully, you enjoy them. Sure, they can be a handful, but they’re just kids; it’s hard for you to ever stay mad at them. Plus they like you, so it makes dealing with them easier. 

Lucas, Dustin, and Will are running around the basement when you get down there, frantically searching for something. You hear Lucas inform Will that if Mike doesn’t see something, then it doesn’t count. The urgence in his voice amuses you; you’ll never fully wrap your head around why they take DnD so seriously, but you love that they can enjoy it with each other. 

Dustin is the first to see you. “Y/N!”

The other boy’s heads turn to you and they greet you with enthusiasm as well. Will rushes towards you for a hug, which you gladly accept. When you break apart, Lucas gives you a high five and asks about a comic you’ve put on hold for him at the store. 

“Any luck?”

“Sorry, Sinclair. It’s still sold out, but the second it’s restocked I’ll smuggle one for you.” 

“Sick!” 

Dustin walks over, now in his coat and holding a pizza box. “Want a slice?” 

You decline, informing him that Jonathan snuck some food for you. At the mention of his brother’s name, Will asks where he is. You tell him that Jonathan had to cover a shift and that you’ll be taking him most of the way home tonight. 

As you all make your way upstairs, you notice that Dustin continues up to the second floor. Lucas notices too, and the two of you share a knowing look. 

“Still have a crush on Nancy?” You ask, already knowing the answer. 

“Yup.” Lucas responds, smiling in disappointment. 

You wait for your brother outside, helping Will with his coat and listen to Mike’s rambling about the campaign. Lucas is already on his bike, ready to go. 

“There’s something wrong with your sister.” Dustin declares when he finally returns.

Mike looks at you, then at your brother, confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“She’s got a stick up her butt.” 

“Dustin!” You berate. Nancy isn’t your favorite person, but she’s always been nice to you the few times you’ve interacted. You guys used to be closer when you were younger, but high school has a way of distancing people.

“Yeah,” Lucas now speaks up. “It’s because she’s been dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington.” How the hell does Lucas even know about that? You didn’t even know about that until just now. 

“Lucas! Language!” 

“Yeah, she’s been turning into a real jerk.”

“Dustin, I swear to God-” 

The boys ignore you, which you’re honestly not surprised by. While they may like you, that doesn't mean that they listen to you. On a good day they maybe listen to you 25% of the time, but tonight was clearly not a good night. 

Mike finally cuts in, “She’s always been a real jerk.”

“Hey, she’s your sister. Give her some credit-”

Dustin is now the one who cuts you off. “Nuh-uh, only you get the sister leniency, Y/N. Nancy used to be cool, now she isn’t.” 

“Remember that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder tree campaign?” Lucas asks, almost reminiscent. 

You shudder at the way he says it, and you shudder more when you see the dreamy look in your brother’s eyes. “Yeah, I remember…” 

“Gross,” you huff at your brother, now hopping on your own bike. 

Lucas and Dustin begin to pedal away, and you call after them to wait up. Will is still with Mike, and you promised Jonathan you’d get him home. You give the boys a bit of space, waiting a few paces ahead. Will has always been shy around Mike, something that you’ve tried not looking into too much, but to be safe you give them some privacy. 

Faintly, you hear Will say, “The Demogorgon, it got me.” 

Lights flicker a bit, but you’re too focused on the slight unease you feel by Will’s words. Before you can think too much about them, he joins you. “Race you up to Lucas and Dustin?”

“You’re on,” you tell him. 

Will beats you to the boys (which you let him do), and you’re out of breath. The four of you bike in silence for a bit until you reach Lucas’s turn into his neighborhood. 

“Good night, ladies.” He says, and you don’t need to be a psychic to know what your brother’s response is going to be.

“Kiss your mom ‘night for me.” Bless him.

You and Will giggle together, and Dustin smirks at the two of you, proud. He sits in the praise for a few moments before challenging you and Will to race home with the promise of a comic for whoever wins. 

“I call last year’s Black Cat issue of Spider-man!” You call out, already biking away from the boys. 

“We didn’t say go!”

Dustin and Will call after you as they try to catch up, and within a few seconds the three of you are speeding down the hill towards your home. You laugh gleefully, enjoying the way the wind whips through your hair and the way Dustin, though annoyed by your early start, laughs alongside you with Will. 

Somehow Will is the one who wins the race, which you’re impressed by. He may be small, but he’s surprisingly good at winning when it comes to a competition. Dustin shouts at Will that he’ll kill him, which makes you send a warning look at him. 

“I’ll take your X-Men 134!” Will retaliates, still flying through the street. 

You and Dustin are now stopped at your mailbox and you take a moment to catch your breath before shouting at Will, “Be careful, please! Stay safe!”

“I’ll be fine, I promise!” Will’s voice is distant, now a few yards away, and you stand outside for a few more seconds to watch his figure disappear into the night. Dustin has already gone inside but you wait to follow, only going inside when you can no longer see Will, hopefully home safe and sound. You feel fear creep upon you, but you chalk it up to your usual worry when it comes to the boy. 

He’ll be okay, Jonathan should be home within the hour. 

– 

The next morning you’re frantically biking to school, pissed off at Jonathan. He’s your ride every morning, or everywhere, really, and for the second time in 24 hours he’s bailed on you. Dustin left for school ages ago on his bike, so you’re thankful he doesn’t see you embarrassingly sweaty and gross as you race to school. 

It’s not that you’re pissed that Jonathan bailed again, you’re pissed because he didn’t even have the nerve to call you ahead of time to warn you. Now you have only ten minutes before the first bell rings, and your sweater clings to you uncomfortably as you sweat. 

You make it to school with a few minutes to spare, so you quickly make your way over to your locker to grab the necessary books for the day. You’re still sweaty, and you don’t want to even think about what your hair looks like right now. You look down the hall towards Jonathan’s locker, still not seeing him, and you begin to worry a bit. Maybe he overslept after last night’s shift? 

A body crashes into yours, sending your notebooks spiraling to the ground. Steve Harrington looks at you sheepishly, only saying a small “whoops!” before continuing his fast pace towards the girl’s bathroom. You scoff, now even more annoyed with your entire morning, picking up your stuff as you see Nancy enter the same bathroom a few moments later. 

“In a public school bathroom?” You mutter in disgust, collecting the last of your things and heading to class. 

You decide to give Jonathan until second period, sophomore English which the two of you share, before you freak out. You know you have a problem with over worrying about the people you love, so you try to calm yourself down. While Jonathan has never been the type to cancel without at least calling first, you reason with yourself that everyone has a bad morning. He simply slept in too late. When he wakes up, he’ll come to school and he’ll be sitting in the seat next to you in English. 

Except Jonathan isn’t in the seat next to yours when you enter the classroom an hour later. Now you officially let yourself begin to worry. Something about this doesn’t feel right. 

You’ve never skipped class before, school has always been important to you. You’re the top of your class with hopes of running away from Hawkins with Jonathan to a big city with an even bigger university. However, you don’t even hesitate to flee the classroom and find the nearest phone in the school to call the Byers’ residence. 

Jonathan answers after a few rings, and the words that leave his lips change your life forever. “Will is missing.”

You feel all the air in your lungs be knocked out of you. You can’t breathe and you sway a bit as your knees threaten to give out. This isn’t real, this can’t be happening. 

“What?”

“Will, he-he’s gone, Y/N. We can’t find him and-” 

You don’t hear whatever else Jonathan says. You struggle to get air back in your lungs. Will isn’t missing, you just saw him last night. Mere hours ago Will laughed next to you, face alive with joy, he hugged you and joked along with you. 

“He didn’t come home last night-”

“He didn’t come home?” Jonathan’s words catch your attention and you feel bile rise in your throat. Will didn’t make it home last night. You were the last one to see him, and the realization crushes you; it’s all your fault. 

“Mom and I just searched the woods, and there’s no sign of him and-” Jonathan is rambling now, his own fear and despair clear in his voice. 

“Jonathan,” you force his name out, now needing to be there for your best friend. You can worry for Will in your own time, right now Jonathan needs you. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” 

“Y/N, you don’t-”

You hang up before Jonathan can argue with you and stumble towards the exit. Your limbs feel heavier than normal, and your ears are ringing. Will is missing. He’s so small, he’s scared of the dark… You left him alone in the dark. 

The bike ride to the Byers home is a blur. You don’t remember much, your body going on autopilot the second you hopped on your bike. You’re running on pure fear and adrenaline right now, too worried for your boys to focus on anything else. 

You don’t bother to knock when you arrive, instead you let yourself in. Joyce is on the phone, arguing with some woman named Cynthia. Your eyes find Jonathan’s, who is sitting on the couch hunched over something. You walk over to him and sit down beside him and your stomach lurches when you see the words “have you seen me?” he’s so neatly printed out on a piece of paper.

“Bee…” you exhale, voice cracking a bit. 

Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but you know him as well as you know yourself. He doesn’t want comforting words right now. You take his hand into yours and lean your head against his shoulder. Worry has made his muscles tense, but you feel him relax into you a bit as he rests his own head against yours. The two of you sit like that for a moment, taking in the comfort you bring each other. 

“Bitch!” Joyce slams the phone down, causing you and Jonathan to jump apart. 

“Mom,”

“What?” Joyce is a mixture of both rage and anxiety, and you feel awful looking at her. Her son is missing, you can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now.

“You have to stay calm.” Jonathan tells her, his voice firm but kind. You know it’s taking everything in him to be as stable as he is right now; he’s putting on a front for his worried mother. You squeeze his hand, hoping it conveys the support and love that you need it to.

He squeezes back, and you see Joyce finally recognize that you’re there as well. She sends you a weak wave, which you return, before she goes back to dialing and trying to reach Lonnie. Jonathan gives your hand one last squeeze and lets go, now returning back to the posters. You immediately understand that he’s doing this to distract himself, so you do the same and wordlessly help him.

You begin writing your own “have you seen me?” when Joyce once again slams her phone down. The sound makes you flinch, inadvertently messing up your writing, which you sigh at. Before you can ask Jonathan for another piece of paper, you hear a car pull up. 

Jonathan stands up to investigate, alerting his mom that the cops are here. You follow after them outside, your heart dropping when you see Will’s bike in the Chief’s hand. He ushers everyone inside, informing Joyce that he found the bike lying in the road.

“How far was it from the house?” You ask, your voice frail. 

The Chief looks at you, his nametag informs you that his name is Hopper, and raises his eyebrows. “And can I know who is asking?” 

You clear your throat, nervous under his scrutinizing gaze. “I’m Y/N Henderson. I’m close with the Byers, I biked with Will home,” your voice catches in your throat, snagging onto the guilt that has been clawing at you ever since you found out Will was missing. You clear your throat again, determined to continue. “I was with him last night. My brother and I live right off Mirkwood, a few blocks from here. He only had a few more minutes before he would’ve been home.” 

Hopper stares at you. “Mirkwood?”

“It’s where-”

“Yeah, those moron kids explained it to me. I just didn’t think someone your age would call the street that, too.” Then, as an afterthought, Hopper adds, “The bike was found a block from here.”

His words sting, but you ignore it. If the bike was found only a block from the Byers’ home, then that means that something had to have happened to Will only minutes after you last saw him. You feel the familiar churning in your stomach, wracked with guilt. 

“Did it have any blood on it?” Joyce now asks, and you’re thankful she’s taken the attention off of you. 

Jonathan sees your distress and grabs your sweater so that you fall back a bit from the cops and Joyce. “Do you need a minute?”

You can only nod, afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll either cry or throw up. He gently guides you to his room, closing the door. Once you’re alone, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight. You’re shaking harder than ever now, Will’s happy and shining face from last night keeps flashing through your mind. 

You were the last one who ever saw him.

You’re the one who was last responsible for him. 

You.

“It’s not your fault,” Jonathan whispers, his voice muffled by your hair. You’ve always loved how you fit perfectly in his arms, your height difference being just enough that he always rests his chin against your head when he hugs you. 

“I’m the last person who saw him.”

“Y/N, I was the one who asked you to only bike him halfway-”

“No,” your voice comes out louder than you intend it to, and you push Jonathan away. He lets out a confused noise as you grapple at him, forcing him to look directly at you. “I should’ve been with him, Jonathan. It’s your job to support your family, and it’s my job to help you. I have to… I have to be the one who helps you.” 

You’ve always been fascinated by psychology, and you remember reading in one of the journals about codependency; the term was used in relation to addiction, specifically alcoholism, but it had caught your interest. To love someone to the extent that their actions make you feel responsible for them, to selflessly take on their burdens to a debilitating extent, well, it reminded you of your relationship with Jonathan. 

You’ve always taken on whatever Jonathan has had to deal with, ever since you were kids, and it’s always come so naturally to you. He’s never asked you to, and sometimes the extent to which you carry his weight angers him, but it’s how you love.

It’s who you are. You’re always the one who helps, it’s what you need to be able to do. If you can’t help the ones you love the most, then what good is your love for them?

Jonathan may not know about codependency, but he knows how hard you love those closest to you. “Bug, listen to me.” He grabs your face, almost aggressively, in order to cut off your rambling. “My mom, she-she’s already spiraling and I can’t… I need you. I need you to be here, with me, right now. If I lose you too, then I-I don’t know what I’ll do.”

His words cut through you like glass. He’s right, you know he’s right, and you feel another wave of guilt wash over you. This guilt is different from the guilt surrounding Will. This is mixed with shame for allowing yourself to spiral so far and forcing Jonathan to take care of you. Joyce is clearly unwell, you can’t fathom how much he’s had to deal with today. 

You gently remove Jonathan’s hands from your face and take a step back. If you’re going to help him, you need to collect yourself. From here on out, you have to be a wall for him to lean on, a shoulder to cry on, someone who will listen to him. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Jonathan shrugs at you, now allowing a hesitant smile to cross his face. “If it makes you feel any better, it took a lot less pleading to get through to you. I’m still working on my mom.” 

The joke is foul, one that should make you feel even worse than you already do, because what sixteen year old has to plead with their mother to remind her that he’s there, too? The joke is horrible, and it’s exactly what you need to find yourself laughing, and Jonathan joins. 

Codependency can be a bitch, but Jonathan understands you in ways that no one else can. 

“You think the cops are gone?” You ask, wiping away the remaining tears. 

Jonathan listens for any sign of them and shakes his head. “No, I think we’re all clear.”

He walks out the room first and you follow after him. Joyce is standing in the kitchen, staring at the counter with a far off look in her eyes. You and Jonathan look at each other and you motion for him to go talk to her. He nods, and then you motion to the living room to indicate that you’ll continue working on the missing posters. 

Carefully writing on the posters soothes you, in a way. It’s rhythmic, providing a sense of lull that you readily embrace. You faintly hear Jonathan talking with his mother, then you watch as he leads her to her bedroom and shuts the door. When he returns he sits next to you on the couch and begins to work on the posters as well. No words are needed. 

You work on the posters in silence for a few hours until it nears 3pm. Dustin will be getting out of school soon, and you have to be there for him when he’s home. While Will may be Jonathan’s brother, he’s also your brother’s best friend. You get up and head into the kitchen, long familiar now with its layout and usual contents within the fridge, and quickly prepare the ingredients for spaghetti. It’s a simple meal, but Jonathan and Joyce need to eat. Once it’s all laid out, you return to the living room and tap on your friend’s shoulder. 

“Hey, I have to head out now to check on Dustin, but I just put a pot of water on the stove along with some noodles on the counter. I also cut up some vegetables and put them in the fridge for the sauce. Start the meal whenever, I laid everything out for you.”

“Thank you, really,” Jonathan exhales, relief evident on his face. He hadn’t even thought about dinner, which you figured he wouldn’t. 

You bend down to kiss the top of his head. “Anytime, bee. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” 

“Just…” you linger at the door, not fully wanting to leave him all by himself. “Be careful, please.” 

“Go, Y/N. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Jonathan reassures you.

“I’ll be fine, I promise!” Will’s voice is distant, now a few yards away, and you stand outside for a few more seconds to watch his figure disappear into the night.

It’s brief, but the flashback punches you in the gut. You close your eyes, holding onto the image of Will’s face in the moonlight last night, and when it fades you take a deep breath and force yourself to leave. 

The second you’re on your bike, pedaling away from the house, you let the sobs that have wracked against your throat all day out. It’s messy, the tears coming down your face faster than you can wipe them away. All the fear you’ve felt is now able to freely come out. It’s not the safest way to bike home, but you know that if you hold the tears in any longer you’ll collapse. You do your best to still be alert, but apparently you fail because a BMW honks at you to avoid you hitting it. 

“Fuck!” You yank your bike to the right, having no idea that you had been on the left side of the road, and topple over. The fall isn’t anything bad, but it definitely is your final straw for the day. You lay in the ditch you’ve landed in, staring at the November sky, and let the pain from your skinned knee serve as something to ground you to reality. 

“Holy shit, did I hit you?” 

Steve Harrington stands over you, a horrified look in his eyes. 

“Unfortunately not, otherwise I’d be able to sue you and get money out of it.” 

“Uh… okay?” He offers you his hand, although still very confused. “You didn’t like, happen to hit your head or anything, right?” 

You accept his help, albeit mostly because you have to, and brush yourself off when you’re up. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t paying attention, sorry.” 

Steve nods, as if you almost getting hit by his car makes perfect sense to him. When you walk over to your bike and inspect it for any damage, he follows after you. 

“So,” he whistles, trying to pretend that this is all a completely normal occurrence. “You, uh, need a ride?”

Honestly you don’t know why you’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the clear signs of you crying, your swollen eyes and red nose. Not only is he a boy, but he’s also Steve Harrington. It’s a miracle he even stopped to make sure you weren’t dead. 

“No,” you say, now repositioning your backpack so that you can get back on your bike. “Thanks anyways, Harrington.” 

Steve continues to follow you, even after you’ve started to pedal away. “You’re welcome, random girl I almost hit!”

You’re a bit further now, and you still feel like utter shit, but his words somehow make you laugh a bit. For a brief moment, you forget about everything, so you call behind, “It’s Henderson!” 

“That’s an odd first name!” The boy shouts after you, still following from a distance. 

“Y/N Henderson!” You’re fully yelling now, a good yard away, but you can tell that Steve hears you based on the way he begins to wave eagerly, finally stopping next to his car. Faintly you understand the boyish charm that makes him so loved by all the girls in the school; you understand why Nancy Wheeler has fallen for him.

“Bye, Y/N!” It’s faint, but you swear you can hear a smile in his voice.  

The good mood that Steve Harrington inexplicably puts you in vanishes when you near your house. Nothing has changed, yet it feels as if something has shifted. Will had been here only hours ago. You spot Dustin’s bike laying on the grass, haphazardly thrown as usual. 

Dustin is just taking off his coat when you enter, immediately running over to him to pull him into a bone crushing hug. 

“Y/N!” he squeaks in surprise. 

“Are you okay?” You know you’re squeezing your brother harder than you need to, but God. He’s safe, in your arms, and you’ve now learned that not everyone can say the same about their own loved ones. 

Dustin wiggles a bit, trying to break away from the hug, but you only pull him in tighter. “Geesh, no one died.” 

Normally you’d berate him, but you embrace his snarky comments. They’re what make Dustin so unique, his humor one of your favorite parts of him

When you don’t respond, Dustin stops wiggling around and finally accepts the situation. “I love ya too, sis.” 

You giggle a bit, now pulling away. “At least mom isn’t home right now. The minute she hears about what’s happened, we’ll be on lockdown.”

Dustin’s eyes widen. “Shit, you’re right.” 

“Lan-”

“Language, I know.”

You ruffle his hair, now feeling a bit better. Dustin is still Dustin, so maybe everything will be okay. You and your brother go into the kitchen for your post school snack, and you call your boss to inform her that you can’t make it to your shift. The words “family emergency” catch in your throat a bit, and Mrs. Waters is kind enough not to push it.

Dustin catches you up on his day, informing you about Hopper questioning him and the other boys. 

You scrunch your nose at that. “Is that even legal?”

“Unsure, but it was awesome.”

“Will went missing, Dustin. It isn’t ‘awesome’.”

Dustin tilts his head at you. “Well, I bet Will is going to have a blast hearing everything when we find him.” 

His words are so matter of fact, as if he already knows that Will will be found after all. His naivety worries you a bit, but you also can’t help but indulge in his hope as well. Then you think about what he’s just said. “Wait, who’s ‘we’?”

Your brother pretends he can't hear you, miming at his ears. “Dustin-”

“What?”

“Dustin, you and the boys can’t just-”

“I can’t hear you!” He’s running to his room now with you quick behind his heels. 

“Dustin, I swear to God-”

“I gotta do homework, Y/N, bye!” He slams the door in your face. 

You sigh. There’s no getting through to him, years of being Dustin’s older sister has taught you that, so you go into your room instead. You might as well get started on the assignments you missed today, and you have a huge chem test tomorrow, so you’ll focus on that and keep an ear out for Dustin. Whatever he’s planning with the boys, you won’t let them do it alone. 

After a couple hours of silence from Dustin’s room, you decide to call Jonathan. The line rings for a while with no answer, and eventually you give up. It makes sense that he’s not answering, he’s had a long day. You hope he’s asleep, but you know him better than that. He’s probably holed up in his room, trying to distract himself like you are right now. 

A loud thud from Dustin’s room breaks you from your thoughts. Then you hear a quiet “shhh!” that sounds suspiciously like Lucas, and you immediately throw on your shoes and a jacket and march outside. 

Dustin is halfway out of his window when you arrive, and Mike and Lucas stare at you, caught red handed. 

“Guys, I think she can hear us.” Your brother says, breaking the silence. Mike scoffs at him and Lucas groans. 

You eye the three of them, unamused. “Your best friend just went missing, what the hell are you guys doing out here so late and alone?”

Dustin awkwardly finishes his descent down, finally landing on his feet with a thud. He secures his hat back on his head and goes to grab his bike. You block his path. 

“I’m serious, one of you needs to start talking, now.” 

Lucas and Dustin look at Mike, who is their unofficial leader of the gang, and he huffs. “Look, Y/N, I like you-”

“How thrilling.” You say, voice monotone. 

The boy ignores you and continues to talk. “But Will is missing, and we aren’t just going to sit around and wait. He’s our friend, we have to do something.” 

You open your mouth to speak, but Lucas interrupts you. “You’re definitely our favorite sister in the group, so you’d be even cooler if you let us go.” 

Again, you try to respond, but this time Dustin beats you to it. “Yeah, you’re like, totally cool already. If you pretend that you never saw us, that’d be great.” 

“Guys-”

“And don’t give us a whole lecture about safety. That’s all bull.” Mike says. 

“Boys!” You scream. They all fall silent, not used to you ever raising your voice at them. You’ve only ever yelled at them once or twice, preferring to be the “cool” sister whenever you can, but right now they’re seriously pissing you off. 

“Let me speak.” When no one says anything, you continue. “I’m not going to stop you guys from looking for Will. In fact, I support it-”

“You do?”

You shoot Mike a death glare, which promptly shuts him up. “Yes, I do. However, I’m not letting you guys go alone.” 

The boys all groan at this, acting as if it’s the worst thing in the world to have you tag along with them. You ignore their complaining and head over to where your bike sits against the porch. You zip up your coat, the chill from the night making you shiver a bit. 

“No arguing, or I’ll call all your moms. Ours included, Dustin.”

“Why me?”

“Look, guys. I’m proud of you for stepping up, but I’m coming with. The last time I let one of you boys go off into the woods alone…” 

The boys shift uncomfortably now, realizing how heavy the guilt weighs upon you. After a few beats of silence, Mike finally gives in. 

“Fine,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “But the second you start to freak out, you’re gone.” 

You salute Mike, hopping on your bike as you all begin to bike away. The ride doesn’t take long, since you live just off of where Will was last seen. Thunder rumbles when you all approach the crime scene, and you shudder a bit. 

“It’s going to rain, guys.” You inform them. 

Dustin looks up at the sky with uncertainty. “I think maybe we should go back.”

Mike is quick to shut down the idea, urging the others to keep going. You admire his loyalty to Will, and you figure it’s why the two of you butt heads so often. Out of the entire group, you’re the most similar to him. 

Lucas and Mike go under the caution tape first, and Dustin hangs back. You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We can go back, you know.” 

He clenches his jaw, jutting his chin out a bit. “No, Will needs us.”

Your brother puffs out his chest and follows after his friends, leaving you to take up the rear. More thunder rumbles and the rain begins to come down. You flip your hood up, thankful you remembered to grab a hoodie when leaving. 

Mike guides the way with his flashlight, then Lucas, then Dustin, then you in the back. You make sure to keep your eyes on the three boys, scared that the second you look away they’ll be gone. The woods have always creeped you out, but you push your fear down to keep them safe. 

“Will!” Mike calls out, the rain now pouring down on you guys. 

“Byers!” 

“Will, little bee!” You call out as well. He never liked when you called him that in front of the others, but tonight was an exception. 

“I’ve got your X-Men 134!” Your brother bribes, unintentionally making you laugh a bit. If Will is nearby, he’ll surely come out to claim his prize. 

Your foot catches on a tree log, and you slip in the mud before just barely managing to catch yourself. It’s getting hard to see given how dark it is and the rain surrounding you. Dustin voices his concerns, only to be called a baby, and you bite your tongue. If you defend him, he’ll only look more like a baby to his friends. 

“I’m just being realistic!” He retaliates, which you commend him for. 

“Dustin’s right, guys. It’s getting really bad out here. We’re surrounded by a ton of trees, don’t they attract lightning?” You ask, now paranoid that you’ll be struck down any second. 

“You guys are being sissies.” Lucas taunts, annoyed as well. 

You try to argue, but Dustin voices a thought that’s been at the back of your mind. “Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad?”

You think back to how Hopper seemed worried when he investigated the Byers home. From what you can recall, he suspected that Will had been running away from something, explaining why he’d abandon his bike.

“And now we’re going to the exact same spot where he was last seen, and we have no weapons or anything?”

Maybe Dustin’s right. This definitely wasn’t your best idea, and you’re regretting letting them follow through with their plan. For someone who claims to want to keep their loved ones safe, you really suck at it. 

“Dustin, shut up.” Mike voices, though he now looks a bit concerned as well. 

“He’s right, Mike.” You speak up, stumbling a bit in more mud. Your shoes are definitely ruined, now. “I was at Jonathan’s when Hopper showed up, he thinks Will was running from something.” 

The boys go quiet now, and when you’re about to suggest going home, you hear rustling in the bushes. 

“Did you guys hear that?” Mike asks. 

Your heart stops as the rustling continues and you all start to twist and turn, looking for the source of the sound. The rustling gets louder, almost as if it’s getting closer, and you tighten your hand around your flashlight, ready to use it as a weapon just in case. 

Then, the light flashes upon a little girl, drenched in an oversized yellow shirt, shivering. Her head is shaved, but her small stature suggests to you that she is indeed a girl. You all stare at her, no one saying a thing. She stares back, a terrified look on her face that breaks your heart. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper. 

Her eyes land on you; something about her reminds you of Will, and  you know that nothing will be the same again.

-

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[xerotiny99]

Attention

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x (f) Reader

Warning: smut! Gamer!Yunho, Bored!Reader, Cockwarming, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Oral Sex (m!receiving), Unprotected Sex, Cuddles.

Note: mdni! do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with any aforementioned tags in the warning. this is the first ever smut i wrote, so don't judge.

Gist: Yunho had been gaming a lot, during the day and night. You were starting to get needy, for his attention, and his touch. So, one fateful night you decide to take the matters in your own hands and show him you're better than gaming. Though...would he agree?

Word count: 3,630 words.

Cold bed. You reach out next to you to find the space empty and cold. Where your boyfriend should be, next to you in the bed, is the space you yearn to be warmed by him. Instead, he was busy warming his gaming chair. You weren't the kind of girlfriend to get jealous over little things—let alone be jealous over something so trivial. You did crave his attention, however. Pouting and sulking, tossing and turning in the bed, your eyes move along the lines to find his silhouette hidden by the gaming chair. The tip of the cat ears affixed to his neon blue headphones peak from the headrest of the chair; your pout grows even bigger on your face. You throw the blanket away, letting it furl to the side you hop off the bed and stomp your feet to stand behind him.

In the dimly lit bedroom of yours, the blaring lights from his computer screen flash across and hurt your eyes; you still hold your composure and try your best to not react to him in any way. The lights on his computer screen flicker harshly before turning to a black screen reading 'game over'—and he groans out loud, almost biting back the urge to fling his controller across the room. Yet, he was unbothered by your warmth lingering behind him. He sighs and restarts the game, pushing his thumbs on the controller and grasping it in his hands. You stood behind him with your arms crossed over your chest, your focus never dithering from the man spewing incoherent curses into the microphone.

"Oh god," you mutter under your breath, annoyed.

The night outside was pleasantly drowning in the peace of rains; monsoon was surely a romantic season, unless you have a gamer boyfriend who only views it as an opportunity to game his time away. As the raindrops patter down on your windowpane, a cold and windy breeze wanders through, heckling you with a sudden urge to drown in your boyfriend's warmth. Standing frozen in your spot, staring at the drops of water running down the glass, you eventually do come up with an idea to get your boyfriend off his chair and into the bed. You didn't think twice before slipping past his chair to get down in front of him; he gives you a quizzical look at first, but then shrugs your intentions off and focuses back on the screen. The rattling of his controller and him cursing, are the two sounds dissolving your conscience for any rationality. Pushing his chair slightly off from the desk, you slip your body under the desk upon which his computer was perched on. No hesitation scatters in your head when you pull his chair close, he does yelp to your act, regardless, he doesn't let his concentration waver off for even a second.

It infuriated you.

Of course, it would.

It was time to execute your foolproof strategy.

Kneeling under the desk, and right in front of him, you place your hands on his knees and push his legs apart. He's compliant with your actions because he's long gone into the world of gaming—and your way of distracting him might cost him a win. Keeping one of your hands flat on his knee, you trail your other hand along his inner thigh, inching it closer and closer to his crotch. You were practically drooling at the sight; the faint outline of his cock, through the flimsy material of his sweats, was too much to handle. You needed him, and when that notion crosses your mind, you were filled with fantasies—the same kind which make you squeeze your thighs tightly together.

When you start palming his cock through his sweats, you get his attention.

He whisper-yells at you, eyes affixed to the screen, "babe, what are you doing...stop distracting me."

As if that would stop you. If you're starting something, you're going to go all the way to the end.

You don't utter a word, continuing to palm him—rather now, you were rubbing your fingers along his length. With few more rubs and occasional squeezes, you felt him getting hard under your touch. A victorious smirk stretches your lips, your face shrouded with pride as you glance up at him to find him squinting his eyes shut and breathing heavily. The rise and fall of his chest were a clear indication of how bothered he was; in a way, your tricks were working.

He throws his head back against the chair, his headphones stumbling off from his ears and grunts lowly, "I swear, if you don't stop, there will be consequences."

Of course, you have enough spite in yourself to ignore his said warning. Oh, this was risky, very risky. You do halt your actions for a hot second, admiring the mess he was gradually coming to. His chest heaving in mere attempts to control his staggered breathing, while his eyes half-lidded, were staring down at you. Baring his teeth on his lower lip, his eyes soften in a plea. You were surely not going to stop, even when his brown doe eyes were gleaming with desperation. You do give in, for the time being. Folding your arms over your chest, and leaning back, you offer him a lighthearted jerk of your shoulders to let him know you won't be going any further than this. He smiles at you and resumes to his game—tapping on his controller and speaking into his headset.

"Sorry guys, got caught up in something," he murmurs, "but I'm back."

It was adorable, him being unversed to your tactics. At the same time, you were raging inside—he clearly had a boner, you could see the tent in his pants, yet he wanted to play his game and not want you to take care of it. When he was much engrossed with the game, you bring both of your hands to the waistband of his sweatpants. Not giving it much thought, you pull them down along with his briefs. His cock springs up, standing at the attention you gave it before. Licking your bottom lip, you lurch forward by placing one of your hands on his thigh to support yourself; using your other hand, you wrap your fingers around his cock, and stroke him along the shaft. The moment your hand encompasses his cock, he whimpers his neediness out. His fraught groans and grunts were music to your ears, it meant your plan was working. Guiding the palm of your hand around his length, and rubbing it to and fro, you offer him a conceited smile. To the sensation of your soft hand stroking his now hard cock, he lets a moan slip past his lips. Soon coming to a dire realisation, he bites his lips and shuts himself up. This does not stop you from leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his reddened tip. A rumble erupts from within his chest—followed by a subtle thump of the controller falling down. You steal a glance at him, finding him with his head thrown back and his lips parted; his eyes clamped shut to the pleasure your hand gave.

"Ah fuck," he curses under his breath, keeping it under the bounds of his mouth; while he does address his companions playing on the other side, "guys...I'm out, ther-there's a-an emerg-emergency."

You've rendered him breathless, and speechless too. The stutter he cased his words around got you too excited—you let your hand slip from his thigh and snake it under the oversized shirt you wore. It was one of Yunho's shirts, which, to your body and size was an oversized shirt; you only wore your panties underneath, having ditched the bra. Your fingertips urged to get close to your dripping pussy, anticipating your touch. You rub along the folds, dipping your forefinger in the slit, while you rub it along—you too, whimper softly. Although, you were starting to get aroused by your own hand, this wasn't solely about you. If you had planned on torturing him with your touches, then you were going to focus on him. You bring your hand out, keeping his eye contact—raising it up, you dart your tongue out and lick up the length of your finger. It must be agonisingly painful to watch, for him. You start sucking on your finger, your stare never breaking with his.

Yunho is amused, very much so. He's bewildered at your wild behaviour—internally, he's taking his pleasure in watching you get bold and cheeky. If this is the result of not giving you enough attention, then he doesn't mind doing it so often.

As for now, you were treading on thin ice. You were aware of it. When you do bring your finger out of your mouth, while still holding his gaze, your heart does a little flip inside your chest. There swirls ambiguity in his haze of brown eyes, devious and dark—you were starting to discern what every speck of black meant in his eyes. Sin. Lust. Carnality. The usual happy go lucky guy had disappeared under the facade of cataclysm. It happens suddenly, his hand snaking around your neck, pulling you close to his cock, while his other hand takes the headphones off. He flings it somewhere; you could hear the somber thudding of it somewhere in the room. Although, that should be least of your concerns when your lips are prodded open by the tip of his cock. He pushes you further, prompting with a click of his tongue to take his cock in. Having no choice to oblige, you do, lowering your mouth and delicately wrapping your lips around him. You suckle softly at the tip, and he continues to push your head down until you feel the very tip hitting the back of your throat.

"You were playing a very risky game there, weren't you, babe?" he feigns his concern as he grunts. "What, sad because I wasn't giving you enough attention? So, now you're an attention-whore?"

You nod, your lips stinging from the stretch you endured for stuffing his cock in your mouth. There would be no delicate way to say he had a big cock, lengthwise and a thick girth too. Your tongue lays flat, till you raise it and lick at under his shaft. For a while, you twirl your tongue around, hollowing your cheeks.

"Ah, so we can use our tongue for better reasons than whining. How fascinating," he slurs his words, throwing his head back. "Do it more." He breathlessly utters, which fuels you to do it more.

It was just tongue action for a few minutes, you didn't bother sucking him off like you'd usually do, neither did he tried thrusting himself into you. All you could do, or perhaps, were forced to do nothing, while your nose was pressed up against his pelvic bone, skin tickling with his pubic hair. It was starting to suffocate you, making it hard to breathe with your face squashed against his crotch. Placing both your hands on either of his thighs, you squeeze at his flesh, and he gets the indication. He pushes your head back; a lewd 'pop' resonates in the air as you back away, saliva drips down your chin, a few drops forming strings with the tip of his cock.

No words were exchanged, what had to be said was said with a gentle nod of his head and you took the sign. Scrambling up on your feet, you cautiously slither out from below the desk and straddle his lap; he's quick to grab your waist to stable you before pulling your shirt over your head. Throwing it off somewhere behind, he leans in to nibble at your perky nipples. The warmth his tongue gives, while swirling around the surface of your tits, entices more of you. This time, you're the one throwing your head back while keeping your hands on his shoulders for support. Nipping, and sucking at your tit, giving the other attention by groping and rolling its sensitive bud in between his thumb and forefinger.

You mewl, shutting your eyes close, feeling your arousal drench your panties. "Yunho, please..."

Hands tangled in his hair now, you push his head into your chest. How the turntables had turned now—what was initially thought to be a torture project for him, was now biting you back. Letting his mouth slip from you, pleased after grazing his teeth and rubbing his tongue over your nipple, he smirks up at you. The absence of his warmth from your chest, makes you glance down at him, catching the most furtive smirk on his face.

"So so desperate for my attention," he tuts, shaking his head, "well, you ruined my game—" he tilts his head to look at the computer screen. Jostling the chair, he pulls himself to the desk and quits the game, disconnecting the computer. "—hmhm, I don't want anyone else listening to you moan and beg for my cock."

There you are, trapped against his body and the desk, its edge digging into your skin, knowing it was leaving marks over your back. The stinging compares to nothing when you hear a loud snap; glancing over, you find Yunho's fingers wrapped around the flimsy straps of your panties, and with his brute strength, he tears them off. Discarding your ruined panties aside, he skims two of his fingers along your wet slit, nudging and rubbing further down till the tip of his fingers circled around your pussy. You close your eyes shut, screwing them tight enough to dissipate the pleasure into breathless moans; Yunho luxuriated himself in the sounds which left your parted lips, the tears which were pooling by the corner of your closed eyes—and by how wet you had gotten for him. Gasping for air, you tighten your hold on his shoulders, and anticipate of what's to come. Before you could react to it any way, Yunho slips two of his fingers inside you, grunting lowly under his breath when he feels your walls clench around them. He doesn't really move them right away, but at a painstakingly slow pace, nudging and thrusting them deep inside.

"Yunho, I need—I need you," you try to make sense of your voiceless moans, opening your eyes in hopes he'd catch the plea in them.

He does.

He does it quite well.

Clicking his tongue, he lets out a playful titter and takes his fingers out of you. He leans in to capture your lips into a passionate and thriving kiss, which, no matter what, only grew fervent with each of your lips lapping and sucking over others'. Yunho's chest rumbles when your hands trace back from his neck to his hair, your fingers tangling with his soft strands.

"Hmm, have patience, darling," he murmurs into the kiss, pulling back to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

His lips curl indecently, the mischievous spark in his eyes conveying the unsaid already to you; grabbing your thighs, he lifts you up gently. Having caught on his intentions, you align his cock with your pussy and sink down—with him guiding you. His grasp on your thighs intensifies, when he feels your pussy engulf his cock in the warmth and tightness. Gradually, and gently, you take all of him in you, causing Yunho to exhale a breath of relief and satisfaction. His chest convulses, raising up high to meet yours, his lips bared with his teeth—both of you were trying to adjust yourself to each other, him to your clenching pussy, and you to his cock. You felt a subtle sting when your walls stretched out for him; neither of you move for a while, both needing time to tune into each other's bodies. Heaving out a strained sigh, you glance at Yunho, lips trembling with anxiety. Regardless of your jitteriness, you dare to roll your hips into his, making his cock thrust itself in you.

Yunho smirks, tutting, "impatient and desperate. Such a whore for my cock."

He doesn't let you respond, bucking his hips upwards, silencing your mouth with his own—his thrusts were rhythmic, adapting to yours, they were concise and short yet you felt his entire cock ram into you. Biting on his lower lip, you let your moans get absorbed into the heated kiss; Yunho, unable to contain your tight tug on his hair and your teeth on his lip, growls, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. He heaves out a dry chuckle, pulling back, but doesn't let his thrusts falter. Before you could squeak out his name, you're tumbling down on the carpeted floor. You're writhing and squirming under him, ignoring the ache on your back from the impact of falling. Yunho takes a moment to take his sweatshirt off, along with the shirt he wore underneath it. Throwing it aside, he grabs your thighs by their underside and props them up to your chest; it gives him a better angle to fuck you, to pound his cock into you—and he leaves no room for doubt, when he does thrust deep inside you. You couldn't keep up with his animalistic pace, your chest heaving uncontrollably as you reach out for his shoulders, eventually, you drag your fingernails along his back, hoping to hold onto it for your dear life. Your nails scratch on his skin, leaving trails of clotted blood under it—you screw your eyes shut, and arch your back, feeling ecstatic from the way his cock plunged into you. His hold on your thighs tightens, pushing them further down to your chest, this position helped him reach deeper in you. Continuing to pound mercilessly in you, you feel a knot tighten in the pit of your stomach, making you feel hot out of nowhere. Sweat covers both of your body like a thin sheet, glowing on your skin; a few sweat drops trickle down from his forehead and drip down on your face. He leans over to lick them off, tracing his tongue to your lips later on—he presses a gentle kiss, before murmuring foul words into your ear.

"A good little slut, taking me in so deep, and so obediently," he whispers, licking the shell of your ear, he bites down your earlobe and continues, "fuck, don't hold back...make some noise for me."

And you do, letting it all go, scouring your voice from your lungs as you moan, "Yunho, I'm close..."

"A little more," he grunts.

In those hot seconds, he goes complete berserk; thrusting deep and fast, making your body tremble as the knot tightens in your lower stomach. You knew you couldn't withstand the abuse of his cock any longer, you arch your back off the floor, letting our voiceless moans as if you were being strangled by pleasure. As his cock reaches deep into your cunt, you let a scream rip through your chest—you couldn't hold it in anymore. The tightness in your stomach on the verge of loosening, just coming undone when you hear him chuckle; he grunts loudly, scrunching his face and burying it in the crook of your neck. He couldn't handle your clenching pussy around him either and he was close too. Really close.

You take a sharp intake of breath, your chest heaving up into his—you let go. Relaxing your muscles, you give into the soreness and feel yourself coming undone; your climax hits you harder than anticipated, rupturing your senses to the absolute pleasure you felt. Your release dribbles down your thighs, trickling along your skin as you try to ease yourself down. Your ragged breathing soon turns placid and quiet; although, Yunho's struggling grunts and moans tell you how close he was to his own climax. His thrusts become more concise and more intense, keeping his head buried in your neck; he tried in his own way to relax himself—and soon, he was cumming inside you.

The warmth of his release makes you full. His thrusts become concise and short, he rides his high out, easing in and out of your pussy. Eventually, he pulls out and lays next to you on the floor; both of you unable to move because of lethargy. He snakes his arm around your waist and leans his head sideways on your shoulder, you're both breathless to speak of anything. But even so, Yunho's mumbling becomes prominent and clear to your ears.

"I don't mind giving you attention if you distract me like this..."

You were relighted by the thought but at the same time, infuriated and defeated.

"You would still choose your game over me?" you whisper.

"As long as you get my attention, I don't think that matters, does it?" he turns on his side to wrap his body around you, snuggling close to you and peppering your cheek with kisses.

"But I think I can compromise...you're better than gaming."

[pinkslaystation]

[Part 2] If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Here's part 1 hee hee hee hee Here's part 3 You believe Simon's changed his ways after your sister's engagement. After his actions, you still want him, but does he want you? Word Count: 3.6k

A half naked woman running out of Simon's flat? A surprise indeed it was.

You really thought he reciprocated the same feelings as you did at one point, for once in your life feeling as if someone truly did want you for you, but that fantasy had dried out, and it was clear Simon had no intentions with you.

Your replacement proved it.

Before you began to weep in front of the Brit again, you hurried to your flat door, rummaging through your sweatshirt pockets for your key, wanting to wallow back into a state of depression in the comfort in your own home.

Simon didn't follow you, instead he just leaned against his door frame, sexily might I add, intensely watching you clumsily rip out past receipts and snotty used tissues from your pockets. He wanted to say something, ask you how your day had been, even thought it just turned 9 A.M.

Then it hit you.

You think back to your previous steps. You woke up at 8:30, you read the texts from your sister, made yourself some coffee, which you definitely think had gone off, and left your home, feigning a state of happiness.

You didn't take your keys with you. They sat on your kitchen counter, almost like they were mocking you for being so careless.

Banging your head against the door, you curse, "Fuck's sake...."

You mentally note that this is probably one of the most humiliating scenes you've found yourself in, nearly as bad enough as your 18th birthday, when your parents congratulated your younger brother instead of you accidently.

Simon exhales a puff of smoke towards your direction, you were so fixed on trying to get inside, you didn't catch him lazily eyeing you whilst lighting a cigarette into his mouth.

"You...wanna come inside?" He asks nonchalantly, looking at the sky, avoiding your gaze as if to seem cooler than you.

"Why would I do that? I don't wanna know where that bitch has been..." You scoff, referring to the girl. You want to look away from him, but his blonde chest hair glistens in the sunlight, enticing you to follow his instructions. He's not even all military mode on you but you already find yourself acting submissive around his presence again.

He grunts, thinking about what to say next, "Well for starters, Francesca's no one...and, where else are ya gonna go?" The sarcasm is sharp in his voice.

So you were replaced by a Francesca.

"And listen love, face it, you need something from me, come in so we can talk. Can't guarantee we'll do a lot of talkin' though..." His words trails off, trying to convince you. Boy, is it working...

His eyebrows are raised, and he purposely flexes his still wet pecs.

Fuck it. You think, barging into his room, purposely bumping shoulders.

You finally enter Simon's room for the first time.

Simon wasn't completely heartless.

Yes, his childhood trauma resulted in his avoidant nature, ignoring his team in order to work alone on the field, disobeying his Captain to do what he'd deemed as best, and even ghosting you ever time you tried reaching out to you. What you didn't know though, was that Simon had given you his previous phone number, one he doesn't use anymore...

Late nights in his hospital bed led him trying to stalk you through Facebook, which no one your age uses by the way (don't tell him that), and every time his searches led him to nothing.

Had he not been so foolish, he would have manned up and straight up demanded you for your number. But he didn't, instead he told you he'd find you if he needed you, which was becoming more and more infrequent.

Yet here he lies, now clad in a loose black top and sweatpants, sitting across from you on his couch in his oddly empty room, hearing you out.

"'Kay so, your sister wants you at her engagement and you need a date, and you have no other friends but me, and you want me to be your fake date." He repeats back to you.

You hum, "For someone that didn't finish secondary school, you're quite smart."

Simon chuckles at the reciprocates banter, "And...what's in it for me?"

You scrunch your nose, "What?"

"What's in it for me." He enunciates his word, as if speaking to a baby, "What do I benefit from this?"

"Are you fuckin' for real, you've basically used me for your own pleasure, and you can't even fake a relationship in front of my family for like a couple of hours?"

You stand up, ready to leave, not willing to be disrespected again.

"Love, listen," Simon pulls on your arms, and you begin to notice the fresh scars decorating his forearms.

"Our relationship...platonic of course, it's like a business. You want something, you gotta work for it."

You're stunned, did he just insinuate that you were merely a business partner to you? Can this man be anymore of an ass, than he already is, reducing your relationship to a step below a 'situation-ship'.

"What possibly could I have that you need?"

"Yeah," he gruffs out, contemplating his decision, "not money 'cos I got more of that than you..."

He sits there in mock confusion, but you had a feeling he knew what he wanted from you the moment you spat out your request at his door earlier.

Before you try cursing him out again, your attention shifts to the ping from your phone, another unfamiliar number, but not from your sister.

10:32 A.M. ####:- Hey kiddo, how's life been treating you. ####:- Finally gotta a job? ####:- Can't wait to see you, your brother's been waiting to introduce you to his new girlfriend, good addition to the family this time I think. ####:- You're getting older now, unmarried and unemployed. Chop Chop.

Great, just a monthly reminder from your father that you've already been replaced by your brother's new fling for the week.

Now you really needed that date.

"I'll fuck you." You state.

Simon stares at your new found dominance, standing up to purposely look down at you and tower over you, disliking the sense of authority shifting between you two.

"Once again, dove."

"Just. Fuck. Me. Simon. Get this shit over with." You command.

Okay, now you actually felt used. Blackmailed into having sex with Simon, just for him to get what he wants really was the all time low for you. And you've hit rock bottom multiple times.

You wake up light-headed, in Simon's empty bed. The bedside table held a small note in messy handwriting and a singular key.

Headed out to the pub, got a spare key for your room. You better be out of there by the time I get back. Jesus, you got the hint.

You wonder why and where Simon got a spare key from, realising that this situation could have been rectified from the beginning, instead he basically coerced you into sex just to fulfill his needs.

Your mother would die if she knew what your life was like.

Walking back into your room, you shoot a text to Simon, your now fake date, informing him of the fool-proof plan you'd come up with.

As you rest on your couch, thinking about the future ahead of you, and your head unconsciously drifts to that dreaded question:

What if you hurt Simon like he's hurt you?

The next few days was filled with your evenings trying to explain the dynamics of your family to Simon and teaching him more about you.

"And what, they went to the theme park and just left you there? Ain't that borderline abuse?" He questions, a small guilty feeling arising in the pit of your stomach learning about how similar both of yours fucked childhood was like.

You shrug, used to being kicked to the curb. You stop yourself before making some remark that he has no right to act upset about your parents behaviour when he's acting no better.

You tell him your middle name, hell, you tell him the correct spelling of your first name, and you stare at him, embarrassed that this hunk has pounded at your core but doesn't even know the vowels in your name.

"And last week was my birthday if they ask, and you better tell them I celebrated it by going to the cinema with my friends." You inform him, hoping some of this information gets retained into his pea sized head.

Simon cringes, unaware of your birthday, recalling the numerous amount times you'd shot him a smile that day, urging at least one person to wish you a happy birthday. He cocks his head, "What friends?" before correctly himself, "I mean, names wise."

"....you gotta make them up."

Note to self: Make new friends.

The big day comes and you and Simon had driven to the venue of your sister's engagement party. Extravagant was an understatement. Anyone that would look at this event would assume your parents were millionaires, but they're not considering only 2 out of 3 children received trust funds.

You wore a sleek black dress with a slit by your right leg, and Simon matched with a clean black suit which, by the way, you paid for.

Though you would usually drink in his appearance, his recent brooding behaviour gnawed in your mind, so no matter how many smiles he sent your direction, they couldn't dispel the unease settling in your gut.

The first hour consisted of the pair of you awkwardly standing around, drinking numerous glasses of the finest champagne, with his broad arm hovering over your shoulder.

"Where's the family?" He asks eyeing every guy that even so glances your direction.

You shrug, glancing at your unread messages to your sister.

1:00 P.M. You:- hey :) made it, wru??? You:- looks very grand btw!! 1:29 A.M. You:- hello? where's ma? 1:37 A.M. You:- champagne's tastyyy You:- hi wru 1:59 A.M. You:- bruh did you rly invite me just to ignore me???

Simon winces at your phone, reminding himself to finally get your number so at least someone would reply to your messages.

"You made it!"

You both turn around at the chirpy voice, instantly locking eyes with your sister.

"Hey, you didn't read my texts, been here for an hour now." You question, as you're being pulled into a hug.

"Oh that was you? Sorry, I haven't saved you on my phone," she laughs. You glance at Simon almost offended by that, even though you hadn't saved her number either.

"Introduce me to the big guy!" She nudges you, and Simon interrupts you before you open your mouth.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley, and uh- also boyfriend." He extends his arm, and you can't tell whether he's faking his grin or not.

She drags his forearms, yanking him away from you and ushering him along eagerly., "You need to meet my family, come come!", as they walk off together, and you find yourself standing there, left to socialise with someone else.

At 3 P.M., you navigate yourself to your family and your 'boyfriend', whom at this point, had really seemed to fit in with the community. Your father hadn't believed that you scored a buff military commander, and if he wasn't unhappily married to your mother, you'd bet 10 quid that he'd be all over Simon.

"Served in Afghanistan huh?" He chuckles boisterously.

"Yes sir." Simon actually looks like he's having fun, displaying the look of admiration for having an almost father-like figure in his life. He begins you question why you dislike your family so much, they're great!

"And you watch football lad?" He pats Simon on his back.

"Avid fan, sir."

Your father shakes Simon's hand, immediately surprised by his firm grip, "Good man. Don't let go of this one, love." He nods towards you, his smile twitching at Simon, who's basically gripping the bones through his wrist.

You force a smile hugging into your boyfriend's side, shouldn't he be saying that to your Simon, rather than you? I mean it's either your biological daughter you've sort of brought up her entire life versus a solider you've known for about an hour.

"Son, take some notes from your sister, no wonder you're single every other day." Your father reprimands your brother, who flinches from the sudden sound of disapproval and grips his girlfriend's forearm tighter. For sure the first time you're actually than him, at finding a better fake partner.

Your mother, on the other hand, was virtually glued to the other side of Simon, gripping his biceps and fawning over his muscles to your brother, who's actually looked like the only one who saw through your facade.

"Wow, you must really enjoy the gym, sweetie." She bags her eyes, disgustingly.

"Yes ma'am."

She addresses you, for what you think was the first time in over a year, and mouths sternly, "I was wrong, I approve."

The entire event was a drag to you, something you weren't used to at all, considering the majority of your childhood was mainly you being left home during such big events, but Simon managed to enjoy the evening whilst successfully lying to your entire family.

"Me and the missus have been together for 10 months now. She's very happy." He raises his glass to you, eliciting a genuine smile from you. It was times like this that you wished that you and Simon just tied the knot and just began dating. However, you couldn't ignore those underlying feelings of a simmering anger, a desire to confront him publicly for using you for so long.

"I am..." It sounds more like a question than a reply, kissing him, in mock affection.

"You need to stay over our place, Simon darling," Your mother gleams, with your father agreeing, "You can stay in the study!"

"You mean my old bedroom?"

It's midnight, and your family have finally fell asleep in the place you once called home.

You lay next to Simon on your old bed, inspecting your previous room. The walls were no longer painted your favourite colour, but now was coated in a dull grey, your desk now replaced by a vintage looking oak table, definitely all to accommodate your father's taste. Any speck of 'you' had been wiped out from the room, and Simon wonders what young you was like.

"That was very fun...I like 'em, your family." He whispers almost inaudibly, fatigue evident in his words. His arm is draped comfortably around your neck, your head resting in the nook of his armpit.

You hum. The unfamiliar attention Simon had brought up on the two of you exhausted you, though a small part of you liked it, that now your mother actually cared about what you got up with him on a daily basis.

"Simon..." You begin, "What- what are we? If anything..."

You're anticipating his rejection.

"Neighbours..." He mouths silently.

You nod at him, hoisting yourself up on your elbows, although his eyes are closed.

"Simon. It's just that. I know it's all a show...but today it didn't feel like pretend...And when you said you wanted to marry me to my mum, it's just, I don't know, didn't feel fake you know. Felt real..Simon...Simon?"

He snores in response.

Great. You're just confessing to the thin air.

If he doesn't take you out, socialising for almost 9 hours straight will. You pass out next to him, no longer under his arm. Simon lays next to you, watching the slow rise of fall of your chest, after faking a snore.

He stares at the ceiling thinking about the day.

Come morning, and you find yourself sitting at the dining table next to Simon, who'd found himself in a hearty conversation with your parents, sister and future brother in law.

Across from you is your brother, whom you're sure didn't fall for your ruse.

His expression reveals concern as he gazes at you, almost as if he's silently urging you to unravel the tangled web of lies you've woven.

With a swift motion, he picks up his phone, arching an eyebrow in your direction, just as your phone chimes with a notification.

9:12 A.M. ####:- ik you two aren't dating. ####:- better fess up before i do

He smirks at you, your expression mirrors one of close defeat.

9:13 A.M. You:- ik you mad that she cheats on you every friday. You:- better check her private 2nd insta account before i do

Your brother looks up, hesitant to curse you out in front of everyone.

You 1, your brother 0.

Breakfast was served at this time you actually got the same amount of food as your siblings did, although Simon beat all 3 of you for it. Even though your sister was celebrating her engagement, the entire conversation was stuck on you and Simon.

Credits to your parents, because you were actually learning things about Simon, and you wonder if he thinks you're self-obsessed given that you've forced every fact about you down his throat and you haven't even given a minute for him.

"...and my Captain John Price, great guy. She loves him actually." He nudges you, breaking you from your trance.

"Huh."

Everyone on the table turn to you as Simon rubs your knee softly.

"OH. Um, yeah. Mr Price, John, um, great guy, handsome and so hot. Love him. The best really."

As you stumbled over your words, trying to cover up the slip, Simon gave you a reassuring squeeze on your knee. His eyes conveyed a silent message, telling you that it was okay and that they didn't catch you in a lie.

Your brother, however, shot you a knowing look, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. It was clear that he had caught onto your the slip up.

"Alright, enough about work," your mother interjected, steering the conversation away from Simon's military life. "Let's talk about something more fun. Like the wedding!"

The topic shifted to your sister's upcoming wedding, and you found yourself for once engaged in a lively discussion with your family about venues, dresses, and guest lists. Simon chimes in, his comments light-hearted and filled with humor.

As the breakfast progressed, you couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt gnawing at you. Your brother's text had reminded you that you were deceiving your family, and although it had started as a harmless ruse, it was beginning to feel like a weight on your shoulders.

After the meal, you and Simon got ready to depart, and as Simon and the rest of your family went to his car, you stood back at the front door, watching how perfect Simon fit in with them.

"It's obvious you don't like him."

You turn to the voice: your brother.

Your groan, "You again? Can't you just leave me alone, God's sake..."

"Aren't you a 'lil worried about how easily he lies though?" he taunts, "how'd you get him here? Money? Or you hold him over a secret? Maybe...sex?"

"What's your problem? Can't you just be happy I'm with someone?" You step back from him.

"Of course I am, if he doesn't like who, who else will, no? I'm just looking out for you bro. It's not gonna last, take it from someone who's in and out of relationships like your guy's in and out of other women."

You squint your eyes at him, confused.

"Grace, Josie, Francesca..." he trails off walking slowly towards the rest of the group. Francesca? That name rings a bell...

"Word of advice, don't leave your phone out in the open, I mean the amount of nudes on there, you'd think his gallery was a porn site! And without a password? Didn't know you were into whores, sis." He cackles.

And here you thought the trip had altered the dynamic.

The ride home was 2 hours too long and too silent. You contemplated your next move. Do you beat around the bush or straight up ask him if he's still seeing other people behind your back? You know he doesn't owe you anything, he is your FAKE boyfriend, right? But, why did it feel so real?

"So..." he starts.

You rest your head on the window, "So..."

His hand moves to your thigh, squeezing gently before moving towards your core slowly.

"That was fun." He states.

You hum.

"Real cool family, huh."

You hum once again, unsure what to say.

"We should do that again..."

You look at him confused.

"Are you serious? I think they still think that they have 2 kids, they focused on you the entire time-"

"Well, it's not like you put in much effort to talk, love."

That shuts you up.

He sighs at your silence, "Listen, I've been thinking."

You glance at him, hoping he'd kick you out of his car and let you walk the rest of the way home, too ashamed to be in his vicinity.

"Your parents were hinting us to take the next move you know..."

"Neighbours to friends?" You question.

He laughs, "Your family's great, your sister's and her lad, real cute couple you know, I felt at home...so I was thinking...we should try it you know, going out I guess."

You scrunch your face at him, was he really convinced into asking you out because your parents asked him? And here you were, months of trying to hint to wanting more, and the moment your demanding parents butt in, he's just going to do what they say? And the fact that he couldn't even say the word relationship.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

You cross your arms in annoyance. You were tired of being pushed around like a doormat.

Your brother's words ring through your head, as Simon drives.

It's not gonna last, take it from someone who's in and out of relationships like your guy's in and out of other women.

All the signs point towards rejecting his proposal. He doesn't want you, he just wants the safest route. You being in a relationship with him isn't going to stop him fucking other women.

Why would you waste your time with a guy to whom you meant nothing to?

So you decide to give it to him directly.

"Yes. I'll be your girlfriend."

Thank you all so much for the interactions on part 1! Means a lot :D THERE WILL BE A PART 3 LMAOOO i did not intend for this fic to be long but here we are. lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @owkittie

[jeankluv]

The forgotten boy - Geto Suguru | Chapter 01

Words: 3k

Summary: He made a deal with the devil, over 1,000 years ago. Just for the sake of his loved ones but the deal came with a condition. Everyone he met from now on, would forget about his existence within minutes, and will be like that for the rest of the eternity

Like that Geto Suguru has lived for the last 1000 years being forgotten but everyone he met, not being remembered by anyone and being alone.

"You remember me?"

You nodded. “Of course I do.” You smiled. “You have been coming here for a few days now. Always at the same hour and always asking for the same coffee.”

ac: _3aem

Tags: fantasy au, modern settings and historical settings, angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, magical themes, use of y/n, no physical appearance except for some freckles reader has.

Notes: first chapter of this new Suguru fic. A few things I have to say about this fic is that it has more text, more inner dialogues and information. Flashbacks. It’s also dual pov or more like external pov, we will be able to see what both main characters think. Also sorry if there are any mistakes or typos, English is not my first language. I hope everyone enjoys this story.

materialist | next chapter

"In any lifetime, I swear I will find you. I swear."

˖✧˖°.✶₊ ⊹ ⋆˖✧˖°.✶₊ ⊹ ⋆

Suguru got out of the bus and walked across the street. He always took the same route. And for some time now he had always come across the same faces, whose names he did not know but he did remember his faces. Unlike him, those people could meet him a million times and never remember his name or his face.

But it was the price he had to pay for the sins he had committed 1,000 years ago and would continue to pay until the end of the world.

His feet stood in front of the coffee shop that had recently opened its doors. The coffee they served was the best he had tasted in the city, and today he had decided to go there again to drink that same coffee again and feel like he belonged to that reality.

He waited in line, like a mere mortal, and when a boy of only about twenty years old arrived at the counter, he was greeted with a smile. Suguru without saying another word asked him for a coffee and retired to wait for it to be served. He sat at one of the many tables that the cafeteria had until his name came over the speakers.

"Kento"

It wasn't his real name, but with the curse besides from not aging and being forgotten by everyone. It also happened that Suguru could not say his name, nor say it, nor even write it, if he tried it would disappear as if nothing had ever been written on the paper. That is why he changed his name constantly.

"Enjoyed it"

You with big eyes and freckles crossing your face smiled at him, Suguru smiled back and took the coffee from you.

He sat back down at the table he was before and looked out the window. It was April, a month that brought back distant, very distant memories of his childhood. Where the snow had already disappeared from the roads of the village where he lived and the flowers were beginning to bloom, ushering in spring and the beginning of his countless afternoons of fun with his best friend. But those were just memories now, nothing more than that. Memories that only he remembered and that those who appeared in them had long since left.

The world continued to rotate, change and evolve, while he continued to hope that one day he would once again be the boy who went to the banks of the river to hunt tadpoles.

He finished the coffee and left the tip on the table and then left that cafeteria. And he began to walk, aimlessly and without any rush, since what mattered least to him was time, because he had plenty of that.

He had returned to what had once been his home village and had now become an urban metropolis, just a few years ago. After being cursed, Suguru decided to leave his beloved home behind, nothing and no one needed him there anymore and the only thing he could bring was bad omens. And that's why he traveled the world, using different names always being forgotten on the same day. He had spent the last hundred years in the UK, but he had decided to return to Japan after so long and see how it was.

His blood ran cold when he got off that plane and began to walk the streets that once seemed familiar to him. Everything was different, everything except a hill where he used to go with...

Suguru shook his head and turned to look in the direction of the hill, which remained the same. As if nothing had changed. People who were going for a walk or run, walked by there, and with his hands in his pockets, he went up and up. He remembered the hill being much bigger, but that was probably because everything seemed so much bigger to him as a child. He sat on the bench there and simply watched the horizon as the hours began to pass.

Something that the curse brought is that he did not feel tired, hungry, or sleepy. The first time he noticed it, he stopped eating for too long, a time where no human being could continue living. It was then that he understood that at that very moment he made the deal, he had stopped being like the rest of humans.

The sun had set hours ago and those who were walking or running on the hill had long since left. He got up from the bench and began to walk with a specific direction, this time. He entered the luxurious building and clicked on the floor where he was going. When he reached it he walked down the hallway, dragging his feet until he reached the door. He entered the code he borrowed months ago (as he liked to say) from that “friend” of his and entered on that apartment.

He knew the apartment would be empty, he knew the owner's schedule well. He considered him a friend, if that was even possible. But Suguru didn't care, or at least that's what he told himself.

Shortly after arriving in Japan he had met a man named Nanami Kento, he was a businessman and they had met in a cafeteria, the conversations flowed normally and safely. The next day when Suguru found him there again he showed up again and had another different conversation. Perhaps under different circumstances Nanami would have also considered him his friend.

Suguru sat on the couch and closed his eyes. He knew that Nanami wouldn't be coming home for the next two weeks, so he might have a place to rest for at least two weeks. You might think that what he did was low, but he had lived for more than 1,000 years and during all that time he had had to find ways to live, like a normal person. Even if that meant lying and manipulating others, but it didn't matter because they would forget about him.

He looked up at the ceiling and felt the comfort of that apartment. It was warm there but he couldn't call it a home. When was the last time he had a place to call a home?

Probably around 450 years ago. He was living in Italy, in a remote house that was long abandoned, it was just him and the dog that welcomed him the first time. He always wondered if animals could remember him or just like anyone else they would forget about him. He didn't know but that dog would always show up in front of that abandoned house and move it's tail whenever he welcomed him.

But soon enough, the dog died and he was left alone once again. He lived in that house for another 100 years, a lot of time for many, short for him. It was then when he decided to move to America and lived there, in different places, different countries and then he moved back to Europe, to England to be exact where he witnessed the changes of the world and cruelty of the humanity.

Suguru had lived too long, he had learned different languages, known different cultures, and heard thousands and thousands of stories. But he was tired, living so much and not having anyone to share his experiences, or moments, was exhausting. And frankly, it crossed Suguru's mind more than once to end everything, he even tried it, but when that demon appeared before him the first time he tried, he warned him.

"If you end the contract we sealed, you will become a curse and for the rest of the centuries, I will make you torment the reincarnations of those you once loved."

He never tried it again.

˖✧˖°.✶₊ ⊹ ⋆˖✧˖°.✶₊ ⊹ ⋆

"I will give you anything, but please grant me that wish, let me save them."

"Anything eh?"

˖✧˖°.✶₊ ⊹ ⋆˖✧˖°.✶₊ ⊹ ⋆

Suguru opened his eyes to the sunlight that slipped through the window, announcing a new day in the world. He stretched his stiff muscles and headed to the kitchen of the apartment. He took one of the fruits that Nanami had and ate it and then went to the bathroom and took a leisurely shower. They were those small moments that made him feel completely human again.

He left the bathroom and went to the closet. He was lucky to be wearing a size similar to Nanami's. He grabbed a white shirt and a black knit vest for the top and black pants for the bottom. Walking to the couch she grabbed the long jacket and some coins from the counter. Was he an asshole for doing that? Probably, but after so much time it was easy for him.

Just like the day before and the day before, he took the same bus, greeted the driver with a smile and sat in the same seat as always. Where he contemplated the city that dawned. He got off at the same stop and took the same route to the cafeteria.He waited in line for his turn to arrive. And he began to think about his current life, monotonous, gray and rotating.

He ordered the usual thing again and sat down at the same table again, until he heard that new name that he had chosen, because his could never leave his lips.

"Kento!"

The same girl, the same smile, the same freckles. All the same.

"Here you have." You said, hanging him the coffee.

"Thank you." Suguru took his coffee and smiled back at you.

He sat back down at the same table and watched out the window for who knows how long. But what difference did it make, right? If when they became aware of his presence again they would think that he had just arrived. The cafeteria went from being crowded in the early hours of the morning to being calmer.

"Do you want more coffee?" Suguru could feel his heart beating out of his chest when he felt the voice next to him. "I have noticed your cup is empty." You with your freckles crossing your face and a smile on you shiny face, pointed at his cup. "You want more?"

Suguru looked at his, now empty cup and then back at you. "No, it's okay."

You hesitated for a moment. "But are you sure? It's in the house, so please accept it." You smiled.

Suguru handed you the cup. "Alright." He knew that once you disappeared from his sight, you would forget him and a new cup of coffee would never return.

You smiled at him and ran to the bar counter. Suguru looked outside again and mentally told himself that he would wait 5 minutes and then he would leave.

Five minutes passed and Suguru turned to look at you, who were talking to your coworker. Suguru sighed and stood up from his seat. He didn't understand why after so much time he still had a modicum of hope.

He walked to the exit and left the small cafeteria. And again the same routine as every day, walking aimlessly until his feet got tired, even a little, sitting down to observe the landscape and returning to his "friend's" "borrowed" apartment.

And like that another day went by and another one began. Same routine. Wake up, shower, eat something, take the same bus, walk, wait in the queue for his morning coffee, wait at the table.

"Here." A voice he already heard before spoke. Suguru looked up meeting the smiley face of the same girl he met yesterday, you. "I'm sorry for yesterday. I got busy with my coworker Yuji and when I was going to give you your order, you were already gone." Something inside Suguru reeled. "That's why, this one is on me."

Suguru still didn't say a word. Was his mind playing with him? It was not possible that you remembered him? It was not.

"Is everything okay?" You tilted your head looking at him with curiosity.

"You..." He swallowed, trying to moisten his dry throat. "You remember me?"

You nodded. "Of course I do." And smiled. "You have been coming here for a few days now. Always at the same hour and always asking for the same coffee."

It wasn't possible, it wasn't, you couldn't remember. No one in 1,000 years had been able to do it. How come you were capable now? No no no. Suguru's head didn't stop spinning. Too many questions had accumulated.

"You are okay?" You moved closer to him with clear concern on your face.

"I..." Suguru tried to catch his breath, he felt like he was out of breath and in any moment he was going to pass out.

"Hey!" You touched his shoulder and kneeled in front of him. "Tried to follow my breathing okay?" Suguru nodded. He followed your instructions until he could feel the air entering his lungs normally again.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"It's nothing, but you scared me." You stood back up. "Kento..."

Suguru looked at you in confusion and then remembered that was his new fake name. "Yeah, that's me... You haven't told me your name."

"Y/n." You said with a smile to him and Suguru smiled.

Your name was called by the boy that Suguru had seen behind the counter, the days he had been coming, he had pink hair and was always smiling, just like you.

"I'm coming Yuji!" You shouted and turned around to look at him once again. "My coworker is calling me. But stay here as much as you want."

"I will." He said your name once again to say goodbye.

"Bye Kento!"

Suguru waved at you and stayed in silence, was he dreaming? For the first time in 1,000 years he was feeling alive. But he was also terrified. What if this was just a coincidence and everything would vanish as soon as he left that coffee shop? No, you said you knew him from the previous days, which means the curse didn't happen when he left the other days.

His knee moved up and down, nervously, he didn't want to leave, but knowing that you remembered him it would seem strange if he stayed there for many hours. You'd think he was crazy or something.

An hour passed by and then he stood but before leaving he went searching for you. He wanted to see you, wanted to know you, he wanted to feel alive like he felt when talking to you.

He swallowed and turned to the pink-haired boy behind the bar. "Excuse me."

The boy turned and gave him a smile. "Good morning, would you like something to drink?"

Suguru for a moment felt like a bucket of cold water was being dumped on him.

"Oh Kento!" There you were, once again smiling at him and remembering him.

"Hi." He whispered only you being able to hear him.

"Y/n, you know him?" The boy wondered.

"Yeah! He comes here every single day, at the same hour and orders the same thing." You kept on looking at him. "You literally attended to him all these days!"

"Did I?" He titled his head. "I'm sorry I can't remember."

"Don't worry." Suguru smiled. "A lot of people come here, it's normal that you don't remember me."

"With that face it is hard to forget about you..." Suguru heard you whispered for yourself.

When you noticed the gaze of him looking at you, your cheeks started to grew red.

"Oh." You covered your mouth. "Did I say that out loud?" Suguru nodded, trying to hid the smile that was forming on his lips. "Sorry! That was very inappropriate! But I think it's true...You are really handsome and a face like yours is not easy to forget."

"Thank you. I think you are the first person that has ever told me that." Suguru noticed you nervously looking around, like trying to hide somewhere after what you said. "I wanted to talk with you." You looked back at him. "If you have time."

You looked around and nodded. "Yeah, there isn't a lot of people around, so it's fine." They walked to the side, so they wouldn't disturb the people. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I was wondering when do you finish your shift."

You opened her mouth, forming an O in surprise. "In..." You thought for a moment. "An hour and a half."

"Great." Suguru nodded. "Then I would like to invite you to a coffee, if that's okay with you of course."

Suguru felt nervous for the first time in ages, but he liked it. He liked it because that made him feel more human, more real.

"I..." You hesitated.

Suguru wanted to slap himself, of course you would say no and think he was a freak. "Sorry, I probably made you uncomfortable."

"No, no it's not that." You shook your head. "We can go and grab a coffee without a problem." That made Suguru smile. "But I will have to leave early, I have other things to take care of." Suguru nodded, it was okay for him.

"It's fine by me."

"Then... I will see you once my shift is over."

"Alright."

Suguru said goodbye to you and left the cafeteria, it would be too strange to stay there so he decided to walk to that hill and wait. For the first time in a long time he felt truly alive. And happy.

Notes: end of first chapter, I hope everyone enjoyed it. Sorry if there are any mistakes, also if you see a “she” or “her” please let me know, bc the fic at the beginning was written in the third person so there might be a mistake there.

Also I will try to be as historic accurate as possible when talking about Geto’s life during those 1,000 years. My notes on my phone are completely mess with names and dates, not to mess anything 😅

- comment if you want to be tagged.

🏷️: @drownedpoetess @aducksmokingquack @walkingtravesty97 @pdacex @zhenyuuu @n1vi @blendingcaramal @mimiixen @bbyxxm @paprikaquinn @my1fx

[hugsandharrystyles]

Like a Virgin

yayayayayaya first post!

i meant for this to only be smutty and short, but it's a bit angsty cause that's how i am :) happy happy ending, though

word count: 6,757 (sorry)

warnings: heavy sexual content, unprotected sex, cursing, all around filthy stuff

summary: Harry Styles is your best friend and wants to lose his virginity to you, but he doesn't think you feel the same.

Harry Styles wants to have sex with you.

The thought has been silenced by years of a platonic relationship, but lately, as he's seen you become more in tune with who you are, especially your body, the thought has been pushed to the front of his mind.

You've always been, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl in the world to Harry, but growing up with someone who's claimed you're best friends and nothing else, makes you see them in a different way. And that's what you've always said. Harry is your best friend, and nothing would ever change that.

The thing is, Harry wants nothing more than for you to be the one to take his virginity. Harry wishes for nothing but for you to be the only person he has sex with for the rest of his life. The both of you have always been quite touchy-feely, even to the extent where it definitely borders on the line of platonic and romantic. And Harry could take the fall for a lot of the touchy gestures, but you have your fair share of seemingly meaningless touches too. The way you sit in his lap anywhere even if there's an empty chair. The way you comb your fingers through his hair and kiss his head when Harry's laying on your chest for a cuddle. The way you hug him from behind anywhere and anytime and run your palms across his belly. The way you smother his cheeks with kisses until he's drowning in his own blush any chance you get. Anything and everything you do seems to make his stomach churn with admiration and make his head dizzy- knees weak. He just wishes the feelings were reciprocated.

"Harry, are you sure I look okay in this?" Your sweet voice awakes him from his fantasy. He props himself up on his elbows on your bed and just about gets on his knees to worship you when his eyes meet you. You're both about to go out clubbing with a few friends and decided to get ready together as per usual. Your unconditional beauty always seems to surprise Harry no matter what. Your outfit makes his jaw drop a bit and his dick stiffens in his pants. He tries really hard to think about turn-offs, but with you standing in front of him looking as good as you do, nothing can come to mind. "Harry." You snap your fingers in front of his face.

"Sorry, what did you ask?" He questions, a blush creeping up his cheeks and to the tip of his ears. You stifle a laugh.

"I asked if you think I look okay."

"Yes, yes. You look... okay," He agrees. You narrow your eyes down at him.

"Just okay? I really want to look nice tonight. I seriously need to get laid. It's been ages," You cry dramatically. Harry's face deepens into a frown. "Hey, what's with the frown, you whiny pup?" You cup his jaw between your fingers so his cheeks smush and lean over him, giving the sadistic man a perfect view of your tits.

"Nothing, I'm fine," He lies through his teeth, his eyes looking anywhere but yours. You squint in dismay and slowly crawl your way to sit yourself on his lap. The sigh he lets out could almost be mistaken as a whimper. He thanks God that your sitting on his thighs and not a bit higher.

"I can always tell when you're lying, H," You whisper, your hands running through his hair to manipulate an answer out of him. He practically purrs from your touch. "Now, fess up."

"It's nothing, really. I just- I was just thinking about how I need to put myself out there. Don't want to be a 40-year-old virgin," He laughs bashfully.

Your stomach churns.

"Right," You sigh and move off him. Harry looks at you confused as you walk back to the bathroom.

"Hey, Y/N, did I do something?" He calls after you, following you into the bathroom. You finish the last touches with yourself and turn to look at the worried boy. Your face softens.

"Harry," You whisper, closing the distance between you two as you walk over to him. You wrap your arms around his waist and gaze up into his eyes. "You know I love you more than anyone, right?" You ask, sliding your hands up his chest. He nods in agreement, and you can feel his heart rate going a million miles an hour as you place your hand over his chest. "Say it," You demand.

"Yes, I know you do," He whispers, practically putty in your hands. Your hands slide up to cup his face.

"And you know that I would do anything in the world for you?" You purr, ghosting your lips over his cheek.

"Y-Yes," He stutters. Out of an impulse moment of desire, you stand on your tippy-toes and place a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. Harry practically moans, his hands flying to grip onto the sink behind you, caging you in.

"Good," You say, placing a kiss to his throat before abruptly pushing him away and grabbing your things.

"W-What?" Harry basically whimpers.

"C'mon, silly boy. We don't want to be late," You declare and grab his hand, dragging him downstairs and to his car to make him drive.

He's in for one hell of a night.

Harry could not have been happier. You literally had not left his side the entire night. You had dragged him into the bar, found your friends in a booth, and plopped yourself on his lap for the entire night. He didn't know what had gotten into you, but he wasn't going to complain. Barely anyone batted an eye at the behavior of both of you. Harry was getting antsy, though. He was itching to touch you. As sooon as he was about to raise his hands from your lower thighs to higher, he heard his name being called.

"Harry, c'mon, let's go get some drinks," His friend Armand suggested. Armand had already slid out of the booth they were all sat in and was waving Harry on. Harry almost whined when he felt you tug on his hair.

"You go on by yourself, mate," Harry answered, leaning himself into your neck since you were sitting sideways across his lap.

"C'mon you whipped man," Armand chuckled, grabbing Harry's shoulder and giving it a harsh shove. Harry's cheeks were flaming. He heard your angelic giggle and felt you slide off his lap. Immediately he felt empty.

"Go on now, pet," You whisper in his ear before pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Fucks sakes," He mumbles under his breath before getting out of the booth and moping to the bar alongside Armand. Once they reach the bar, the ordered their drinks, and Harry waited impatiently.

"Dude," Armand laughs, noticing how Harry was literally itching to get back to you.

"What?" Harry snaps.

"Hey, hey. Take it easy, would ya'?"

"Sorry, man," Harry lightly laughs.

"What are you going to do, H?" Armand sighs.

"What are you talking about?" Harry feigns confusion. Armand gives him a knowing look. "Okay, shit. I don't know. Every time I think I might have a chance, she says some friend shit, and I feel like we're back to-" Harry stops talking when his eyes wander back over to your table where he sees you hugging some man he's never seen before. An attractive man, at that.

"What are you lookin- Oh, shit." Armand stops. You're laughing loudly at whatever the man just said and playfully shove his shoulder. Harry's heart feels like it just got ripped out of his chest and stomped on repeatedly. "Dude-" Armand begins, but Harry cuts him off.

"It's alright. Always knew I wouldn't be enough, huh?" Harry laughs in self deprecation. On his left, he catches a glimpse of a girl who's been eyeing him since he got to the bar. He smiles and walks towards her.

It's now or never.

"Hello, my name's Harry."

Your eyes are searching for Harry everywhere in the bar, but it's no use. It's been twenty minutes since Harry and Armand went to the bar, and Armand came back about five minutes ago- with a suspiciously guilty look on his face- and said Harry had disappeared.

"I'm getting worried. I really wanted to introduce him to my cousin, Ben, but-" Your sentence gets cut off.

"Wait- who?" Armand interjects.

"Um, my cousin? He was over here while you two were at the bar. I told Harry we might see him tonight, and I wanted them to get along," You explain.

"Ah, shit," Armand exhales.

"What?" You pry, your eyes glaring at your friend sitting in front of you.

"Well, here's the thing," Armand begins with a guilty laugh. "We didn't know that was your cousin, and he got... upset."

"Are you serious? I literally showed him pictures of my cousin before we left. Where is he, Armand?"

"I think he's trying to... put himself out there right now," Armand explains.

Your heart drops.

You rise from the booth, hearing your friends shout for you, but you aren't paying attention to any of them. You're a woman on a mission, and nothing could stop you.

You search the dance floor, but to no avail. You're about to give up, but your eyes catch something you wish you could have never seen. Down the dark hallway that leads to the bathroom, you see Harry and a woman you don't recognize properly making out. It's like knives being plunged into your chest. And to think, you were going to tell him how you felt tonight.

"Hey, bitch, take a picture, it'll last longer." You're snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the most annoying voice in your life aiming in your direction. "Yeah, you. Are you deaf?" God, someone gag her.

"Y/N," You hear his voice in return. Your gaze settles on his hands that he still hasn't taken off of her waist. He seems to understand where your eyes have gone because he quickly loses his grip on her and backs away like she's slapped him.

"You know her?" The girl asks.

"No, no, he doesn't," You spit and turn on your heal, practically running away towards your table to collect your things. When you reach the table, all eyes are on your, and it's as if everyone is expecting you to explode.

"Y/N-" Armand whispers, still heard over the loud music of the club.

"It's okay," You murmur back. You're about to make your escape when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn and meet Harry's guilty eyes, flinching away from his touch as if you've been burned.

"Y/N," Harry's voice is flooded with emotion, but you don't want to hear any of it. I mean you really have no reason to be mad- it was never official.

"It's fine, Harry. You got what you wanted. I'm h-happy for you," The words seethe from your teeth.

"Are you seriously upset right now?" You hear from behind you.

"Harry don't-" Armand tries, but he's cut off.

"No- seriously. You have no right to be upset. You've been leading me on ever since I've known you, and when I actually thought I had a chance- I see you parading yourself around for some random guy I don't even know!" Harry is practically fuming. Tears are streaming down your cheeks when you finally turn around to face the dickhead. Harry almost feels bad.

Almost.

"Are you done, or do you want to call me a whore and a tease some more?" You ask.

"If the shoe fits," He whispers in anger.

"Harry, what the hell, dude," All your friends are grumbling in anger against him.

"What?! What?! How am I still the bad guy?" He asks.

"Harry, do you remember this morning when you were at my house?" You break the moment of silence.

"Well, no shit, yeah."

You hate this side of him.

"We were on the couch, scrolling through my phone. Do you remember what I showed you?" You ask, your head cocking to the side. You're barely holding it together.

"No. Enlighten me," He answers, his voice reeking with sarcasm.

"You remember me showing you pictures of my cousin, telling you how he was in the area and we might see him?"

You visibly see the change in him- the shift back to his soft being.

"Oh, God-" He holds his stomach, as if he was about to get sick. And he does. He's scurrying off to the bathroom before anyone could say anything, and without hesitation, you're following hot on his tail. He's busting through the bathroom, you right behind, getting several questionable looks from the men at the urinals. He sprints into a stall and falls to his knees, you also to collect his hair and rub his back as he gets sick.

"Oh, Harry," You whisper, brushing his stray curls out of his face. Once he's done emptying the alcohol from his body, he's turning to look at you, and he crumbles.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," He cries, his hands shielding his face as he brings his knees to his chest.

"Har, sweetheart, let's go home," You encourage him, but he doesn't move from his spot on the nasty bathroom floor. You have no choice but to move next to him and hug him into your chest, your throat tightening as you breathe in the girl's fruity perfume radiating off his body.

He prefers floral smells anyways.

"Harry, baby, c'mon," You mumble to him.

"No, no," He whimpers.

"I'll run us a bath, c'mon," You bribe him.

"Us?" He questions, head finally lifting from his hands, and you try your best to ignore his swollen, cheap lip-stick stained lips and cheeks.

"Yeah, let's go, babe," You motivate him, standing and reaching your hand out to him. He carefully slips it into your, giving you a squeeze before finally getting himself off the floor. He's practically clinging to you as you both exit the bar. Once outside, you slip your hand into the pocket of his pants to retrieve his keys. "I'll drive, 'kay?" He nods solemnly and heads to the passenger side of the car. You climb into the driver's side and start the car, revving the loud engine to life. You turn on some light music to fill the silence and start the drive to your house. You feel his eyes on you the entire drive but choose to not comment on it. About halfway through the ride, you feel his hand shakily lay on your thigh, gripping it as if to remind him you're there. You gently place yours on top of his.

Once you've finally placed the car in park, you get out of the car without saying a word. Your anger and annoyance of the situation is settling in, but it doesn't overcloud the commiseration you feel for him. He slowly gets out of the car and mopes to the front door, following you in your steps. You anxiously unlock your door and let the both of you inside. You throw your keys on your entryway table after locking the door. You kick your shoes off at the door, Harry doing the same, and you mope up the stairs. You don't hear his heavy footsteps following, so you turn around to see what he's doing. Your eyes meet his pitiful, puppy-dog ones, and you angle your head up the stairs, suggesting for him to follow you, and he does so slowly.

Once you finally reach your bedroom, you make your way to your bathroom and turn your tub faucet on- the tub that just barely will hold two people. You set the temperature and turn to see Harry cautiously standing in the doorway.

"You sure about this?" He asks, his voice not above a whisper.

You think about it for a moment, more to just be petty.

"Yeah," You whisper back, meeting his eyes. You both stand there awkwardly, suddenly not knowing what to do next, but then your eyes catch sight of the lipstick stains on his lips, cheeks, neck, and upper chest, and you instantly feel the need to get rid of them. You slowly walk towards him and grab his hips- hearing his breath catch- and place him against the bathroom counter. "Stay and brush your teeth while you’re here," You lightly command and go to retrieve a cloth.

You're glad to see Harry’s finishing brushing his teeth when you came back with the cloth and you wet it with the flowing bathtub water, making a mental note to keep an eye on the fullness of the tub. You reach past Harry and put the cloth in the sink before reaching to unbutton his shirt.

"This okay?" You ask.

"Anything you want," He answers. Your quickly flick to his before focusing back on what you were doing. You shed the shirt off his body and toss it carelessly into your room somewhere. The sight of his bare chest makes you want to worship him because, God, he's so beautiful, but then you catch one more glimpse of the tacky lipstick, and those thoughts are pushed to the back of your mind.

You reach past him and grab the damp cloth again and start washing him off. You start with his angelic face. You gently wipe the stains off his cheeks and then his lips, all while seeing tears drowning his eyes. His hands reach out to hold onto your hips, but you push them away.

"Don't touch me until she's washed off of you," You whisper, and his tears fall. He nods lightly. You squeeze his arm gently to let him know you're not trying to hurt him.

Harry feels the worst he's ever in his life. He can see the brokenness in your eyes, and it kills him to know he's the one that made you like this. He's always so soft and gentle with you- talks so sweet with you, and he knows he's scarred you. He acted like a jealous fratboy, and he's disgusted with himself- literally sick to his stomach.

Once you finish cleaning the last of marks off him, you use the towel to wipe his hands off before tossing it to the sink and leaning your forehead against his chest. He sighs contently and runs his fingers through your hair.

"Can still fucking smell her on you," You whimper agitatedly and remove yourself from him.

"'m so sorry," He whispers.

"I know. Just fuckin' hurts," You explain, and he nods in understanding. "I understand, Harry, I do, but I had literally shown you pictures of my cousin this morning! And, I know it seems like I've been leading you on, but I was just so scared of messing everything up between us. Like- if I told you how I feel, you wouldn't feel the same, and everything would just be weird," You explain your side. You genuinely do understand why he did what he did, but it's still inexcusable.

"I was just so angry. I was too busy gawking at you this morning to pay attention, and it's no fuckin' excuse, but I'm completely enamored by you, and it drives me crazy- makes me act crazy. I fuckin' blacked out," He explicates. You sigh and take his hand in yours, rubbing small shapes into his skin.

"I just can't get the image of you and her out of my mind."

Harry exhales loudly in shamefulness. He's about to say something when the sound of water splashing on the floor is heard through the room.

"Ah, shit!" You yell and run to turn the faucet off. Harry scurries to grab towels, both of you having to laugh at the audacity of the situation. You drain some of the water out and turn to face him again with a small smile on your face. "Guess we should get in," You laugh.

Both of you are staring intently at one another as you both start to shed clothes. You've both seen each other in underwear but never bare.

"Still okay with this?" He asks.

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes."

The final confirmation makes you both strip down to nothing. Neither of you even feel the need to cover yourselves because you're so comfortable with one another. Your eyes drift to places they shouldn't, and they're immediately widening at the sight in front of you.

Harry is thoroughly gifted.

"You're a fucking temptress," He whispers in awe.

"And you, Harry?" You refute. Both of you take a moment to gawk. "Am I the first to see you naked, Harry?"

"Yes," He whispers bashfully.

"What a reward that is," You establish.

"Stop," He softly laughs, and you allow yourself to laugh with him.

"Uh- let's get in before the water gets cold," You suggest, and he nods his head in subconscious agreement. He anxiously holds out his hand to you, and you slowly put yours in his. It's familiar and warm and eases some of your worries. You wish you had more will power to stay angry with him, but the way he looks at you makes you crumble. You're sweet, soft boy is eating himself up inside, and you can see it on his face.

He steps in first, making sure the water wouldn't burn your beautiful skin and leads you in too. He sits down against the back of the tub and gently puts his hands on your waist to bring you to sit down, leaning against his chest.

"Is- Is this okay?" He asks, arms floating awkwardly in the air because he doesn't know what to do with himself anymore.

He doesn't ever want to hurt you again.

"Yes, Harry, it's okay," You sigh and lean against him. The hot water makes him feel even warmer than he usually is, and you relish in it. You try to make yourself comfortable, but you can't with how tense Harry is. You take a deep breath and take his hands in yours and wrap them around your stomach. "Breathe, H," You whisper and turn to the side, nudging your nose against his jaw. You feel him take a few deep breaths, and you're both sinking farther into the water as he relaxes. "There you go, sweet boy," You mumble and rub your hands against his.

"Can't call me that," He finally speaks.

"And why not?" You ask, turning your neck a bit to see his face.

"'Cause I'm not." He says so quietly you could barely hear.

"Harry-"

"No, Y/N. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. I-" He pauses to take a deep breath. "I fucking made you cry," He chokes.

You pause for a moment, not quite sure how to respond because yes, he did say incredibly awful things and act out of line, but his feelings were valid.

"Yeah, never raised your voice at me like that before," You mutter.

"And I won't ever again," He answers, his voice growing stronger as does his arms around your waist. "Best thing that's ever happened to me, and I go and fuck it up."

You turn around so your straddling his waist. You notice he visibly blushes, and his hands are, once again, lost in the air. You stifle a laugh and drag them to your sides, giving them a squeeze.

"Yeah, you were an ass tonight," You comply, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"The biggest," He whimpers in self pity.

"The meanest." You kiss his other cheek.

"Stupidest," He mutters, sighing when you place against the middle of his throat.

"But you want me?" You clarify.

"Need," He corrects. "Never needed or wanted anyone other than you. Didn't think I could have you, so I tried to settle for lesser."

"Much less," You softly giggle.

"Much, much. Didn't even smell good. It was like kissing a pineapple." You both laugh at that.

"Very funny, but I don't want to think or hear about her ever again," You sigh, resting the side of your forehead in the crook of his neck, and he brings his hands to gently slide up and down your back.

"Only person in the world for me. Only person ever," He mutters and kisses the side of your head.

And you both stay like that for awhile, just breathing each other in after so long of wanting until you feel something hardening between your legs.

"Um, Harry," You quietly giggle.

"What?" He asks, confused as to why you're breaking the sweet moment to laugh at him. You lift your brows to say 'really?' and quickly adjust your hips over him, so he knows what you're talking about. "Oh, fuck," He whimpers and stares wide-eyed at you. "Shit- I'm so sorry-" He hides his red face in his hands.

"What are you apologizing for? I'm flattered, babe," You say, still laughing.

"Then why are you laughing," He whines against his palms.

"Jeez, sensitive little thing," You exasperate and take his hands off his face, keeping them in your hands instead. He glares at your jibes and mutters something inaudible under his breath. "What was that?" You ask, taunting. Something shifts in his eyes, like he's done putting up with your jokes. And very suddenly, his hand leaves yours and is now wrapped around your throat. Your eyes are bulging out of your head, and your mouth is dropped open out of surprise.

"I said you won't be laughing very much if I just slipped it inside, huh?" His voice is condensing and so much like nothing you've ever heard him sound like before. "What? Nothing to say?" You almost want to laugh at how dominant he's trying to be. A smile slips, and you immediately feel his grip on your throat tighten deliciously. "I know you're wet. Even through the water, I know you're turned on. You know how I know that?" He questions.

"How, Harry?" You whisper, eyes drifting to his lips every few seconds.

"Because I'm your best fucking friend. Isn't that right, Y/N?" He laughs sadistically, and the heat between your legs grows.

"You're more," You say and grip his arm that's holding your neck. You run your fingers gently up and down his arm, trying to break his dominance, and it works.

"My precious girl," He whispers, eyes drowsier and heart beating faster. His hand moves to hold the side of your face instead, and now it's your opportunity to take dominance over him. Your hand now wraps around his throat, tighter than he was holding yours. A gasp slips through his submissive lips.

"Don't think that with a little bit of choking I'll be falling submissive to you. You're still very, very bad," You clarify. He whimpers and nods his head, lips puckered. "What's with the pout?"

"I want- I wanna-"

"What? Spit it out."

"A kiss," He whispers, face inching closer to yours.

"A kiss?" You laugh. "I don't want your shared lips anywhere close to my untouched ones."

"Y/N," He cries, face ducking into your shoulder. He lightly nips at the crook of your neck.

"Hey! Knock it off, wolf boy," You both laugh.

"Then let me fucking kiss you. I've waited so, so, so long," He whines, head hitting the wall of the tub in dramatics.

"Should've waited a little longer, and it would've been my lips on yours, not someone else, huh?" You taunt.

"Thought you wanted to forget about it," He complains.

"I do, but you shouldn't get off without any teasing," You explain. He huffs and nods his head. "C'mon, let's get out. The water's getting cold."

Once you're both out and dried off, you lead him into your bedroom and onto your bed. Neither of you bother to put on clothes as the sexual tension is high. You sit on the side as you watch him approach you.

"Y/N," He mumbles, standing above you with hunger and pleading in his eyes. "I want to touch you," He begs.

"Do you deserve to?" You question. He huffs a whine and falls to his knees in front of you. His head falls to your knees. "Harry-"

"Please," He begs, his hands circling your calves to keep a hold on you. You're at a loss of what to do. No man has ever actually gotten on his knees and begged for you. Your hands find his hair and thread lightly through it. He basically purrs and moves his head farther up to your thighs. Your breath shakes as you feel him breathe into your thighs. "Please," He begs again, drawing out the word longer this time. When he thinks he's caught you off guard, his head moves farther up, and his hands separate your thighs. You gasp and right as his tongue is about to make contact with your pussy, your grabbing his hair by the roots and yanking him away as far as he'd let. He's still incredibly close, and you can feel him panting against you.

"Nice try, slut," You breathe and tug on his roots again.

"Just let me please you," He pleads, voice gruff.

"Don't act like you're doing this just to please me. Know you're just a starved man trying to get what he wants," You correct him.

"Fuck it, so I'm selfish. I don't care," He says, his voice getting stronger. When you don't let up, he goes for what he wants again. He snatches your wrists in his hand and holds them against your stomach, and before you can shut your thighs, he's pushing his face in between them, finally getting what he's wanted for years.

"Harry!" You moan loudly, trying to get your hands from his hold, but it's no use. He won't let you win this time, and you submit to the pleasure he's giving you willingly. He feels you release your tension and smiles against you.

"Good girl. Just enjoy it," He mumbles and dives back in. He lets go of your wrists and spreads your thighs apart even farther, making you scooch back on the bed to give him more access. His tongue is everywhere all at once, and the noises he's making makes it seem as if he's enjoying it more than you.

"That's so fucking good," You moan as he sucks your clit into his mouth and nips on it gently. Having never done this before, he's going off of his animalistic desires, and it feels heavenly. He's just doing what his instincts tell him to. His tongue moves farther down to your soaking hole, and he pushes it in as far as it can go and circles it inside of you, his nose pressed into your clit as he shakes his head vigorously side-to-side. "Holy shit, you're insane," You cry and fall back against your bed.

"Take it," He grunts and somehow opens your legs farther.

"You're crazy," You laugh in pleasure and place your hands in his hair again. He's grunting and moaning, and the vibrations add to the bliss you feel. He laps around your entrance for a minute before going back to your clit and flicking it fast with his tongue. You almost lose it completely when you feel one of his fingers tease your entrance. Your eyes meet his, and you nod in silent agreement. He doesn't waste a second before pushing it slowly into you, his eyes widening at the feeling.

"Fuck, it's tight," He moans.

"Think about it being your big dick instead," You moan, and he whines. "Make me cum, and I'll think about letting you put it in," You stutter and relish in whatever he gives you.

"Fuckin' watch me," He grunts and doubles down. He suddenly adds another finger and doesn't give you time to adjust before rapidly pushing it in and out of you with his tongue still flicking against your clit.

"Fuck, baby." Your moans are uncontrollable, and you feel your stomach tightening in euphoria. It feels stronger than anything you've ever felt, and you try to push the crazed man away.

"Don't you fucking dare," He practically growls when you try to push him away by the forehead.

"It's too m-much," You moan and continue to try to slow him down with a weak attempt.

"C'mon, angel. You're about to cum. Just take it," He encourages you and gets back to work.

"H-Harry, I think I'm gonna-" You're cut off by a loud moan escaping your lips and the dam breaks. You're squirming away from him, but he doesn't let you go as you orgasm. You feel as though you see through space and time as you cum because has ever felt so good but so strong. He takes all that you give him and doesn't let up. Luckily, his hands now hold on strongly to your hips because the extra penetration was almost too much to enjoy.

He always knows exactly what you need.

His tongue slows as you come down, but it never leaves.

"Harry, please, let me breathe," You weakly laugh and once again try to push him away, but he grunts in return.

"Let me finish," You hear him mumble. His tongue moves to your leaking hole and licks up whatever he can find, letting nothing go to waste. "Tastes fucking incredible," He moans. "Can't believe you've been keeping this from me. Greedy woman," He slurs.

"Enough," You whine and move away from him, closing your legs. He groans and moves to kiss his way up your body instead. "You've done that before," You accuse him.

"No, just dreamt of it for so long," He corrects and kisses your cheek. You slightly spread your legs to let him lay on top of you. The feeling of his weight on top of you feels incredible. He allows you to calm down and continues to pepper kisses against you.

"It's your turn," You smile against his forehead and press a quick kiss to it before flipping you both over. You lay on the bed on your side, facing him and gawk at the sight in front of you. His dick is practically weeping, and your mouth waters in excitement. It's perfect. It's long and thick and incredibly hard. The biggest you've seen by far.

"Don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with or don't want to do," He whispers shyly, and you want to laugh at how quick he becomes submissive.

"Trust me, I want to," You assure him. "Look how pretty you are," You mumble and press a kiss to his jaw as you run your fingers lightly up and down his stomach. He blushes furiously and juts his lips out, aching for a kiss. You smile instead and gently run your fingers around his cock. He gasps in surprise and moans sweetly. You kiss all around his stomach as you begin to jerk him off slowly- really making him feel everything.

"It's so good, oh my God," He moans.

"Yeah?" You ask, and he nods his head, eyes clouded with submission.

"Let me put it in," He whimpers, and you laugh.

"So needy," You whisper and give him a harsh squeeze that makes him moan loudly. You're glad he's not shy about the noises he makes. It's so hot.

"What if it's just the tip?" He pleads. "I'll just put the tip in. Just wanna feel you- be close," He's babbling almost incoherently, and you shush him quietly.

"I guess that's okay. Just the tip, though," You remind him and lay on your back, signaling for him to lay over you. He does so quickly and takes his cock in his hand. He runs it all over your pussy to get himself wet and teases your entrance with the head. You squeeze his jaw in your fingers to grab his attention. "Just the tip."

"Yes, yes, okay," He rushes out. He meets your eyes, and you nod your head encouragingly. He breathes heavily before pushing just barely in.

Even the tip is a stretch.

"Oh my God," He cries into your neck, and you rub his back soothingly as you try to contain yourself. "Please, just a little more," He begs.

"Don't be greedy," You stutter, and this feels more like a punishment for the both of you. He groans and bites onto your shoulder to hold himself still. The primal need to sink into your tight, warm, wet pussy is high, and he doesn't know how much longer he can do it. He moves his hips slightly so the tip slides out. He rubs it over you again, slapping your clit lightly with it before pressing the head of it into you again. He pleases the two of you like this for a minute.

The thing is, his cock is so big it's hard to tell how much he's giving you. Even the tip is so thick that it feels like he's pushing a few inches in, so when you're suddenly gasping out because his pelvis is flush against you, it takes you by surprise. And it takes you more by surprise when you hear his loud moan after finally being all the way inside of you and then feel his heavy load spurting far into you.

"Holy fuck," He's moaning uncontrollably, and you're just laying there in awe. You watch as he orgasms and sit watching him until he comes down. You don't even have the heart to continue punishing him anymore as you see the tears running down his cheeks. You hug him into your neck and softly moan as he allows his weight to press against you. "'M'sorry," He whispers. "Want to make you feel good too."

"You've already done so, so good, Harry."

"No, just give me a minute. I'll be ready to go again," He assures you.

"Okay," You giggle and already gasp at feeling him hardening inside you again.

"Just run your fingers through my hair, angel," He whispers, and you follow his orders. He was right. You feel his cock hard as rock inside of you again in no time.

"You too sensitive, or can you keep going?" You ask, making sure he's okay to continue.

"Please, I can go all night," He says cockily, giving you a sly smile. He lifts himself up a bit so he can start moving in and out of you slowly and sensually.

"Oh, God, it's so good," You cry, feeling so full of him. "You're so big- fucking everywhere."

"I know, baby, just take it for me," He whispers lovingly and presses a kiss to your cheek. He's not sure if you still don't want him to kiss you, so he makes due.

"Harry, God, please kiss me," You whine.

"A-are you sure?" He pants. He's trying so hard not to cum again.

"Yes, yes, yes," You plead and cup his cheeks. He leans down, softly placing his lips against yours, and it feels like both of your worlds stop. He's still moving slowly in and out of you, and it adds to the sensuality of the moment. Nothing's ever felt so good, and both of you are both stunned by the intensity of the moment. He finally has to part for air, but you're whining and trying to pull him back. He notices tears running down your cheeks, and he stops his movements.

"Hey, hey. Y/N, are you okay?" He asks, voice filled with concern.

"So good," You assure him. "Just- it's so intense," You cry and wrap your arms around him.

"I know, sweet girl. I feel it too," He whispers, a tear leaking from his eye onto your cheek, and you both smile. He starts moving again when he has your consent, and it feels like the intensity is making you both start to approach your orgasms. He leans down to kiss you again and starts moving a bit faster.

"Harry," You continue to moan.

"Fuck, I love you. Can I say it now? My cock is deep inside you, so I guess it's okay, huh?"

"Oh, God. I love you too," You cry and feel his cock throb inside you. "I'm gonna cum."

"Me too," He whispers and connects your lips once again as you both orgasm simultaneously. It's like nothing either of you have ever felt before, and it makes it that much stronger.

He lies down on top of you once you've both finished. You're both panting heavily.

"I belong to you," He whispers and circles his arms around your waist.

"I'm yours," You whisper back.

[jqmalikhsgib]

beauty and the freak

three

you were pissed! the moment you heard the news about your mom moving into the house right across the street from you. you knew she only did that to piss your father off.

it angered you to your core! who the hell does she think she is?! your dad tried to keep you from blowing a fuse, but it was too late.

by the time eddie arrived to pick you up, you went off, cursing, yelling, and screaming. Eddie’s just hummed along. he was use to you constantly going on about how much distain you have for your mother.

“eddie?! are you even listening to me?”

“im sorry sweetheart, but is it such a bad thing she lives right across the street? its not like you have to see her everyday. im sure she’ll be in her own little bubble just like before.”

you scoffed. “that’s not the point edward!”

eddie sighs. “what is the point baby?”

you didn’t know what to say. mostly because you didn’t know why you were so angry by this. but eddie was suppose to just understand.

“as my boyfriend you’d think you would give a fuck about how i feel.” you roll your eyes.

eddie sighs once more. he really didn’t have the energy to argue with you.

“edward!”

“hey! i understand you have this huge issue with your mom, i do! but you do not talk to me like that. do you understand?!”

you huffed and folded your arms while looking out the window right when eddie parks.

he grabs your face a little roughly. you looked into his eyes before he speaks. “do you understand?!”

“yes, sir.”

“now, may we please have somewhat of a decent day? i canceled dnd tonight to watch my girl cheer today.”

you had been begging him to come see you from the moment the two of you started dating. unfortunately he had a dnd game every friday as well. he refused to cancel it simply because, just like cheer is important to you, dungeons and dragons is important to him.

this week was a very convenient one for him to cancel. gareth was grounded, mike and dustins family was going to visit their friend will, and lucas joined said basketball team, so he figured he might as well cancel tonight’s events.

“really?!”

eddie smirks. “yeah!”

you squealed before hugging him tightly. “you’re gonna enjoy it, i promise.”

“doubt it. couldn’t care less about basketball. but i do like that short little skirt you have to wear.” eddie smirks.

you playfully roll your eyes as eddie gets out of his van and goes to open the door for you. the two of you walk hand and hand, all eyes on you. people still didn’t get the appeal of eddie munson, but you couldn’t give three fucks.

your relationship with eddie was amazing. he treated you like the queen you are. no one else’s opinions mattered.

a few of your friends actually loved eddie once they got to know him. he was funny and charming so they understood. others, not so much.

“yn?!”

your turned and saw your best friend, ariana. “what’s up?”

“did you hear about what happened last night? apparently jason cheated on chrissy again, but she caught him in the act.”

“it was about time. we kept telling her he’s no good.”

“yeah, but that’s not the worst part. she forgave him instantly! he kept apologizing to her all night and she made him promise he’d never do it again.”

“she can’t be that dumb?!”

eddie was already over this conversation. not giving a single fuck about jason fucking carver.

“im gonna go find the guys. see you later, baby.” eddie kisses you passionately before walking away.

“god! you’re so lucky. eddie is literally the perfect man.”

you honestly couldn’t argue with that. eddie was the perfect man! and if this closed minded, dumb fucked town actually got to know the metal head, they’d realize he was the sweetest man on the planet. you were so sick of them judging eddie simply because he liked listening to heavy metal and playing a fantasy game.

eddie made you the happiest. no boyfriend before him has ever treated you the way he did. eddie was the kind of boyfriend to buy you flowers every date, run to the store to buy you pads or tampons when needed, cuddle you whenever you just needed someone to hold, listen to anything and everything you had to say, gives you random forehead kisses, and so much more. he was perfect in your eyes.

not to mention, the only man who could put you in your place. eddie was a very dominant man when it came to the bedroom. it’s something you lacked in the past. most guys just want to get off! they couldn’t care less about your needs. eddie, eddie made sure you came at least once before he fucked you into oblivion.

“i know! god, ari! he’s so romantic! just last night he took me out to this fancy ass restaurant outside of hawkins. he bought me my favorite flowers and spoiled me with anything i wanted! i don’t understand how i got so lucky with him. it still baffles me.” you slowly shake your head as you looked over and spot eddie talking to his group of friends.

“please find me an eddie, girl!”

“his best friend gareth is single!”

“the one with the short hair? he’s cute!”

“mhm! he’s still very skeptical of me. but i can ask eddie to talk to him for you. im sure he’d finally give me the green light as well. so far ive only been able to win dustin over.” you sigh.

it was hard on your relationship with eddie. you wanted—no, needed his friends to like you! you weren’t going anywhere, you let eddie know that the moment you took interest in him. he knew that of course! but his friends would still put things into his head. calling you suspicious, saying girls like you don’t date guys like them, saying you’re using him, calling it a bet like you’re in so basic ass rom-com! it hurt. you love eddie with your whole heart. sure, the two of you were young, but you knew eddie was your person. you wanted to marry him someday and have as many little munsons ruling the world in the future! but winning the friends over was a must! and you’d do anything and everything to try and prove to them you’re not going anywhere.

“set it up! we can double date.”

“texting eddie now,” the first bell rung. you say goodbye to ari as eddie walks over to you and walks you to your first class of the day.

taglist: @lov3withurgency @sunshineandwitchery @melaninjhs @baileebear @am0iur @lovesanimals0000 @pipsqueakkitten @paygurlxoxo @peachy4u2

if anyone else wants to be added to the taglist please kindly let me know <3

[wyfy-meltdown]

I did it again!!! Meet my second PMMM OC: Shinoha Murofushi!

More info below the cut *⁠.⁠✧

Basic Info:

Name: Shinoha Murofushi

Age: 16

Height: 5'6

Wish: "'My ultimate dream could come true'... If that's really the case then, I want to get revenge on those bastards!"

Weapon: Dual Swords

Power: The ability to release attacks used against her back at an enemy*

Soul Gem: Bellflower (*also somewhat looks like a skull) located below the chest, with scales on the bottom of the soul gem

Witch: Nemesis

*She can only absorb attacks that have hit her, and will take damage from anything that hits her. She can store damage for as long as she wants, but when she releases it, every attack she's stores gets released at once. However the attack affected her is how it will affect the target she releases on: Ex. Someone punches her causing a bloody nose, Shinoha releases her damage, and the puncher gains a bloody nose and the pain that caused the bloody nose. Ex2. Someone breaks her arm with a baseball bat, Shinoha releases her damage, and the batter gains a broken arm and the pain of a baseball bat to the arm.

Personality:

She's incredibly standoffish and tries her best to be alone at all times. She rarely leaves her room, and hates going to school. She's quick to judge and mistrust others, and it's incredibly hard for her to lower her guard. She's learned to cut her own hair (due to avoiding leaving the house) and while she has exceptional talent doing so, she has no interest in being a hairdresser. She rarely sleeps, and is always tired. She maintains a perfect poker face, but struggles with violent thoughts and self-loathing: becoming a magical girl has given her an outlet for her struggles, although she gets very brutal in fights. Her favorite food is seafood, and she can't stand the taste of sweet things. Despite her dark thoughts, she's very meek, and seldom voices her opinions and feelings. If she's got a problem with someone, they likely don't know until it's too late. Her downbeat nature means she doesn't have many hobbies; she spends most of her time on her phone, and is a closet idol fanatic.

Design Breakdown:

This design was a challenge and a pain. I struggled A LOT to incorporate her "revenge" wish and find a good theming for it, but all I could really work with was "greek goddess Nemesis" (justice/law/punishment theme). I managed to fit in some wing-like shapes (skirt, swords) but I don't know if it's obvious enough(?) Her hair-circle is meant to look like a halo (angel of punishment theme) but I'm not sure if it just looks like a random circle or an actual halo. I included bellflower motifs because... I have no real reason; nice concept, but I can't draw bellflowers well. Her colour palette was the most difficult part (theming second) because no colours fit her??? I don't know how to describe it, but no colours worked right with her personality (not even black or white). I settled on green with grey hair, but it'll probably change if I ever draw her again. I fear her design is a little to "fantasy" not enough "magical girl" (but that might just be my "ruffles/pink" brainrot). I tried really hard to give her a should cloak, then a caplet, and finally I gave up and just went with the sleeves.

Overall: she was a struggle, and I don't think I got across my theming and motifs well. I might try to redesign her in the future, but for now I'm content with this: I think it's good for my current skill level and her current concept.

Trivia:

She didn't believe in magical girls at all, but after much pestering convincing from Komoe, she unseriously made a wish before becoming a magical girl

Her damage absorbing ability causes her to intentionally endanger herself in fights against witches (possible concept)

Originally her plan was to kill her bullies, but she instead opted to use her power to curse them

She would've liked to be the brooding loner type of magical girl, but Komoe had other plans

She has a mini fridge in her room and it's her favorite thing in the world

It's always dark in her room, so she can see well in the dark (potential plot point later[?])

She's a big fan of spy, action, and mystery movies; and has some form of online review blog

She has a mannequin in her room she vents her frustrations and feelings to (she strongly dislikes showing emotions in public and/or around others)

As much as she's tried to fight it, Komoe often comes to her house with groceries, grief seeds, gifts, and other things to give to Shinoha

Although she was initially very unhappy about becoming a magical girl (she kinda became a magical girl on accident), she's slowly learning to embrace her magical girl persona (and becoming more deranged in the process!)

She named her magical girl swords after her two favorite idols, and has begun a personal sword collection (a goal Komoe helped her set was to eventually forge a sword herself)

She once drank a small bottle of vanilla extract without batting an eye (it was dark, she was tired and didn't feel like reading)

She punts around Inkyuu like a ball

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #13 – Victory City by Salman Rushdie

One of my goals for the year is to read more proper literature (here defined as fiction I can mention reading to my mother without getting judged for it). I’ve never read anything of Rushdie’s before, but I did remember his name in the news recently due to the whole attempted-murder thing and, happily, my library actually had a copy of his newest work. So, picked this up and read it sight unseen!

The book follows one Pampa Kampana – a nine-year-old girl who, in the 14th century, witnesses her city destroyed, and her mother burning herself alive. She is then inhabited and blessed by a goddess, blessed/cursed with a lifespan measured in centuries and the destiny of raising an empire up and seeing it fall before she dies.

The narrative is framed as a modern adaptation/summary of the epic poem recounting her life Pampa completes before finally dying, finally discovered and translated after being forgotten in the ruins of te imperial capital for centuries. The story is largely a story of this miraculous, semi-utopian empire, as told Pampa’s eyes (and with a lengthy digression during the years she spends in exile).

This is a story that exists somewhere in the muddy middle ground between historical low fantasy and magical realism – it’s in some sense an alternate history of the Vijayanagara Empire, and replete with historical trivia and references, but is quite clear from the outset that accuracy is not really something the book cares about. Instead, the book’s Vijayanagara – always written as Bisnaga, as it was translated by a historical Portuguese chronicler whose also a minor character in the story, to prevent confusion – is basically allegory and morality tale with a light coating of history for flavour.

Not that I can really begrudge Rushdie for his strident politics (as far as I can tell I basically agree with him on all of it), but this really does feel like one of those old fantastical utopias, or a political treatise that gets past the censors by pretending to be the history of a foreign country, more than it does a novel. Which could definitely work! But in this case really didn’t, at least for me. There’s enough time spent on characterization and character drama to eat up pages, but not enough for it to ever feel like they’re people and not just marionettes acting out a show. I suppose the best way to get across the reading experience is that I was reading a proper 500 page history book at the same time as I read this, and this felt like the bigger slog by far.

Though part of that might just be disappointed expectations that I really had no right to have in the first place? As I said, I had Rushdie slotted in my head as a literary author, but really I don’t know nearly enough about him or his work to justify that. So I came to this expecting to be at least a bit wowed and bedazzled by the artistry and beautiful prose on display – and like, eh? Not bad, to be sure, the narrative voice and the framing device are both fun and fairly well done. But having read it there’s really not a single passage or sequence I can say has stuck with me.

The comparison that comes to mind is Kalpa Imperial by Angélica Gorodischer, which is also a book-length epic history of a fantastical empire that never was which laughs at all conventional wisdom about pacing, characterization and plot (and which also has been shelved as magical realism for what are basically reasons genre snobbery imo). It’s been a few years since I read it, but from what I recall that agreed with me far more. Maybe just because it abandoned the conceit of a single protagonist and family melodrama entirely, or maybe because it had a bit more subtle in its social commentary (or maybe it was just better written on a sentence-to-sentence level).

Though I should say, there’s every possibility I’m being a bit harsher on this than it entirely deserves – it’s an entirely competent book! The politics are blatant but like a) they’re politics I agree with and b) they’re nowhere near the most blatant or forced-feeling inclusion of progressive politics in fiction I’ve seen recently. However, this is also a piece of writing that’s among other things very clearly and directly about how important and sublime and world-changing the art of writing is. Which is like a movie about making it in showbuisness, or a musical about how great singing is. Automatic deduction of a full letter grade.

[hyunsuks-beanie]

This Kinda Shit

Pairing: Boyfriend's best friend Yeonjun x afab! reader x boyfriend Soobin

Genre: Smut

Content Warnings: Smut; cuckolding; voyeurism; use of the petnames "Doll" and "Princess;" spanking; piv; unprotected sex; pussy eating; fingering; probably some cursing

Word Count: 1k words

Mellow speaks: Yeah so another week went by with me being busy af, but I came up with something quick to keep you guys up till I manage to write an actual fic lol. 

Tagging: @sweethyuka @yedammi @enhacolor @axartia @hyunsuksmygod  @duolingofanaccount @zurimochi 

"Never knew you were into this kinda shit, Binnie," Yeonjun's voice cuts through the air, like ice caressing your supple skin while his hand presses your wrist against the mattress, his breath tickling your clavicle. "Watching me devour what's yours? How filthy. But don't worry, I'll do as you want, I'll ruin your little doll just right."

Your boyfriend's grunt is soon heard across the room, the sound of his zipper being undone almost pressing in on your ears if you weren't already too focused on the way a certain pair of lips feel against your breasts, soft kisses being pressed to your mounds as teeth graze your buds ever so slightly. 

It had all been Soobin's idea, but you had been the one to add fuel to it. It had been during the drunken escapade of a particular night, when he had confessed to his fantasy of seeing another man having his way with you. And this sudden confession had in turn prompted you to come clean about your own fantasy, and had told him just how hot you found his best friend. 

Yeonjun truly was like a dream, from those stupidly long legs to those plush, pink lips, and you had found yourself wondering what it'd feel like to have those very lips kiss your lower ones, or to have those gorgeous legs trap yours as he thrusted into you. Of course, you never would've thought you'd see the day where you could express what you felt towards the university senior to Choi Soobin, your boyfriend of two years now. 

Yet, here you are now, sprawled out on the soft mattress of your queen-sized bed as it dips just a little under the weight of Yeonjun's knees, delicious shivers running down your spine from feeling his tongue glide along the valley of your breasts. "Enjoying the show, Soob?," he drawls almost lazily, wrapping his lips around your nipples as he begins sucking on them, focusing on one at a time. 

You can only whimper in response, your body responding before your mouth can form words as you buck your naked hips, pushing your boots closer to his face while seeking some type of friction by grinding against him. "Easy there, doll," Yeonjun grunts, the smirk evident in his voice as his big hand presses down at your abdomen, in a bid to calm you down. 

You want to protest, you want to talk back, you want more. But your words are cut off by the sound of a deep groan coming from somewhere near the couch, followed soon after by that of skin aggressively rubbing against skin. "Give me a good show already," Soobin calls from his seat as a spectator, another groan escaping him as he begins to pump himself, wanting a release. 

"Eager much?," comes Yeonjun's reply, a slight edge to his words as his fingers run down your body, inching closer and closer to where you want him most. "Tell me what you want me to do, princess," he mumbles against your throat, pressing a soft kiss to the dip as his hand ghosts over your heat, arousal pooling between your legs as you moan and pant. And he hasn't even done anything yet.

"T-touch me, p-please," you whimper somehow, but lucky for you, he doesn't have to be told twice before his fingers push through your puffy lips, entering your wet warmth in a way that leaves you begging for more, though of course, your words fail you yet again. He's meticulous with his movements, and yet, those same movements are also hurried and desperate, like he's trying to prove a point. Having slender digits sure is a plus for him right now, helping him hit your sweet spot with every thrust and every curl. 

You've released before you know it, but it doesn't seem like he's planning on stopping anytime soon. Soobin's moans get mingled with your own, Yeonjun's grunts cutting through them like a knife as he goes down on you again, his tongue lapping around your bundle of nerves as your boyfriend angrily jerks off to the sight of you, to the sight of your body squirming and writhing under Yeonjun as he bathes you in another orgasm. 

He's just about to push himself into you, ready to go all in, when a voice stops him in his movements. "On all fours baby, you like that, don't you?" It's Soobin of course, his words leaving you a flustered mess at having your bedroom secrets exposed. Yeonjun can't help but chuckle at your state, a smirk on his face as he says, "Aww darling, got caught?," faking concern.

And you know he's faking it because the very next second, he's slapping your buttcheeks, his thick cock pushing through your dripping folds till you're full of him, your arms barely keeping you up while tears stream down your cheeks. He's relentless with his moves, his hips slapping against your own as he shows you just how good he can fuck you. 

You can't tell how many times he makes you cum, but with every time he brings you to your climax, you come one step closer to being his doll, the doll he's imagined burying himself inside so many times. By the time you're tired and spent, barely with any energy left inside of you, the only thing your brain can seem to register is the way he flips you over, his slightly rougher hands making way for Soobin's gentler ones, a soft kiss being placed to your forehead just as a duvet covers your naked body. 

"Seems like you enjoyed it as much as I did, huh princess?," your boyfriend asks, receiving only a soft hum in response. But that hum is enough to make him smirk as he walks over to the elder, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Guess we'll have to make Yeonjun a regular inside our bedroom, huh?"

And from the smirk that graces Yeonjun's lips, you would have been able to tell he was more than willing. If you weren't already out cold, that is.

[thedarkestnight-if]

The Blood of our Fallen will stain the future of your Pack.

It will scorch the one you need to save you. Tearing away the very essence of what connects you to Selene.

For we will be avenged…

This… I swear.

It had been a threat, a promise, that had darkened the life of your Pack for years, but when nothing came of it the worry faded away. It became nothing more than a myth, a legend, to scare unruly pups at night.

After all, who could imagine a werewolf without their lupine spirit? It was inconceivable.

Until the promise became all too real for you, on the eve of your 25th birthday, when you couldn’t shift during your Ceremony; an event that would destine you to become the next Alpha of your Pack.

Sending you on a journey that you never imagined yourself being part of. Will you be able to find the answers to your Curse?

Or will everything end in bloodshed like it had all those years before?

This story is rated 18+ (Mature) so please interact with this story at your own discretion. As it depicts various things such as blood, violence, mentions of past torture, sexual themes, profanity, blood feuds, alcohol consumption, darker themes, and more will be added as the story continues.

This story is mainly a romance one with adventure/action/fantasy strewn in.

DEMO (TBA)

Play as a Werewolf!MC that doesn’t have the ability to shift, but has been able to keep some things that make them lupine in nature. Like agility, speed, and strength. Even if those abilities are waning by the day.

Customizable MC: name, gender, sexuality, appearance, and a smattering of other things.

Meet interesting characters as you hunt down the answers to your Curse. Will you be able to succeed?

Have visions of a Goddess.

Hopefully stop another war from erupting.

Romance 1 of 4 options. From your protective best friend to the abrasive mage.

Remember to have fun!

Apollo — M, 25 Years Old, Scorpio.

A lone wolf that you come across— along with his sister— within the forest that you know that you’d get lost in. A place, commonly referred to as The Outlands, that not many have returned from. With a warm smile, gentle heart, and calm demeanor, Apollo is the polar opposite to his sister. Though he does listen to whatever she commands of him. Will you be able to find something more with the lone wolf?

Appearance: Apollo stands at around 6’5” with crystalline green eyes— with streaks of gold strewn throughout. Dark brown hair, with highlights of gold, falls across his forehead in loose curls that his sister always ruffles. His tanned skin causes the brightness of his smile, and the sparkle within his eyes, to stand out that much more. He has a muscular body of a seasoned warrior.

Lupine Appearance: His appearance is similar to that of a gigantic wolf. Dark brown fur, with golden highlights, cause the crystalline green of his eyes to shine that much more. With a muscular physique his lupine form definitely doesn’t look like one you’d want to contend with.

Personality: He’s a warm hearted individual that only wants the best for everyone. He isn’t as jaded as his older sister— probably because he doesn’t remember as much as her— but he’d do absolutely anything for her. He’s more than happy to help you on your journey.

Artemis — F, 28 Years Old, Capricorn.

The other lone wolf that you meet that isn’t as friendly as her darling brother. With an icy glare, aloof disposition, and inability to trust you at first, she’s definitely not going to be an easy person to get close too, but you know that she and her brother know the forests you have to traverse better than anyone. Will you ever be able to heal the scars that have left cracks in her heart?

Appearance: Artemis stands at around 6’3” with crystalline blue eyes— with streaks of silver strewn throughout. Her golden white hair falls to the small of her back in a cascade of soft curls and waves. Her fair skin, only slightly tanned by the sun, was completely unblemished despite the hard life she has seemingly led. Her muscular body still held a lithe air that makes her more agile than her brother.

Lupine Appearance: Her appearance is similar to that of a gigantic wolf. Shimmering golden white fur is offset by the brilliance of her crystalline blue eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a wolf as quick/agile as her.

Personality: She’s aloof towards you. While not being necessarily unkind, she’s definitely not what you’d consider welcoming. Her ire only seems to soften for her brother, which brings out the gentle heart that’s been hurt too much.

Grayson/Grace — M/F, 26 Years Old, Leo.

Your best friend in the entire world. You’ve known them since you were both Pups, when you had gotten pushed into a mud puddle and they went off on the much older boy that had done it. You’ve never met anyone as noble and gallant as G. They take their training as a Guard to the Royal Family seriously, which makes them even more protective of you. It wasn’t a surprise when they were the first person to volunteer after your quest was made known.

Appearance: They stand at around 6’1” with expressive hazel eyes: the most brilliant shades of greens melding with shimmering gold. Light brown skin cause the loose onyx black curls to stand out that much more. They have an athletic body from years of training.

Lupine Appearance: They’re lupine form is a massive bipedal beast— that’s common among the Guard. Onyx black fur, that’s thick and coarse to not allow easy penetration, is only offset by the gentleness of their sparkling hazel eyes.

Personality: They’re a very kind and generous person to those that they trust. No one being above you in that regard (and their little siblings). They just want what’s best for everyone in the pack and will make sure that happens. No matter the cost. They do not get along with Noah/Nora.

Noah/Nora — M/F, 27 Years Old, Cancer.

A member of the very Clan that your Pack had gone to war with so long ago. The very Creators of the Curse that now plagues you. With bad blood going back centuries, you aren’t sure if they’ll help you, but it seems like their Elders have something else in mind. Causing you to have a very put out, and sarcastic, mage along for the ride as you journey on to find out what was wrong with you. Will you ever be able to get passed the prickly exterior of theirs? Or will bad blood always stay that way?

Appearance: They stand at around 5’11” with midnight black hair. Silvery gold eyes— like the sun and moon meeting— causes the warm bronze tone of their skin to stand out that much more. You’ve never seen them smile, at least when it’s directed at you, but you’re certain it’d make their eyes brighten that much more. They have a slenderly lithe body.

Feline Appearance: You’ve only heard tales about their Clans abilities, but to see the giant cat that stood before you? Reminiscent of large panther, midnight black fur allows them to blend into any shadow. Only their golden-silver eyes shimmering within the expanse of darkness gives them away.

Personality: Noah/Nora is fairly brash/abrasive when it comes to you. They won’t hold back, no matter if it hurts your feelings, and they’ll definitely make it known that they wish they didn’t have to be part of this adventure. If you end up getting closer to them? Maybe you’ll start to see the gentle side of them come out more and more.

ART BREEDER PORTRAITS

[ladyloveandjustice]

Anime Overview: The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady

Whew, not typing that again! We’re calling it Magirevo. If you couldn’t tell from the trademark long title, it’s a light novel adaptation, but most importantly, it’s a yuri light novel adaptation.

(And yes, technically an isekai, but the isekai element isn’t focused on a lot. It only comes into play at the last minute, in a surprisingly emotional way!)

The story centers around two extraordinary girls- Anisphia, nicknamed Anis, and Euphyllia, nicknamed Euphie. Anis is a rambunctious princess who’s given up her claim to the throne. Royals are expected to be able to wield magic, and Anis was born without the ability. So she’s developing her own field of study, “magicology”, and inventing tools that will allow anyone access to the wonders of magic. Since magic was restricted to nobles before this, Anis making it easily accessible to the common people naturally threatens the gentry, and Anis is branded a heretic. On top of all that, Anis has openly declared if she ever did get married, it would have to be to a woman, and she’s not interested in continuing the royal “bloodline”.

Euphie, in contrast, is entirely focused on fulfilling her role as a proper noblewoman. She’s arranged to be married to the future King, Anis’ brother, Algard, and is determined to live up to expectations. But then Algard betrays her and publicly destroys her social standing.

That’s when Anis steps in to save the day. She takes Euphie’s hand, quite literally carries her brother’s girlfriend away, and promises Euphie they’ll discover the root of the conspiracy brewing against her. So their partnership- and blooming romance- begins.

Sometimes just I want to watch girls fight dragons and save kingdoms and use cool magic. And sometimes I want to watch girls be gloriously joyously gay. I want to watch them fall in love, kiss, dance grandly, and team up to defeat enemies with swords and sparkles! I want to see layered, powerful queer protagonists in fun fantasy adventures! Magirevo delivers wonderfully on all those fronts, and (easy mark that I am) that alone would probably have been enough for me, but that’s far from all the series has to offer.

Anis and Euphie are great protagonists. Anis is chaotic and passionate with her love of magic. She’s bold, openly queer, and charming right off the bat. Meanwhile, Euphie is a girl struggling with the fact she spent her whole life trying to fit into the mold of perfect lady, perfect prodigy and perfect future queen. Every choice was made for her, but now that life has been ripped away. She’s free to make her own choices now, but all that possibility is frightening and overwhelming, and seeing how other people live makes her feel empty aside. The care that the show puts into representing Euphie’s depression is one of the best parts of the early arcs. The sharp direction really lets the viewer feel Euphie’s sense of loss and melancholy, as well as the hope she comes across when she realizes there’s a power in making her own choices, and when she finds inspiration in Anis.

Both girls are dynamic, easy to root for, and have a strong rapport with each other. They also both go through some nice development. The story starts off with Euphie as the vulnerable one who’s burdened with expectation and Anis as her confident savior, only to completely reverse the roles near the end of the story. We get to enjoy the journey of watching Euphie grow bolder and more self possessed, meanwhile as the story goes on it becomes clear that Anis’s sunny nature hides some aching insecurities and royal traumas. She’s not unscathed by how others denigrate her for not having magic, or from the pressure of her role. The character arcs are simple to follow, but the development is satisfying.

Yuri adaptations are often cursed with scant resources and middling-to-poor looking animation (sobs in Otherside Picnic) but Magirevo is thankfully a glowing exception to that. The animation is slick, and the show delivers some punchy action scenes and great emotional moments. When Anis and Euphie wield dangerous magic to fight an attacking dragon, it’s just as fun and hype as your average action shonen, and it’s great to see lesbians get to go feral and do ridiculous OP fantasy shit.

Magirevo also has some really fun side characters, like the cynical goth gremlin Tilty and Anis’ charmingly snarky maid Illia. There’s a few fun surprises in store- like a compelling hints of another wlw side romance, involving a vampire! It would be nice to see these characters get a little more attention, but the anime can only cover so much.

The second episode has a few hiccups that might stick out to some viewers- Anis’ father reacts badly to her antics and her declarations that she loves women, and his reaction is played in a goofy anime slapstick violence way that’s very tonally weird (it's even weirder in prose, believe me). There’s also jokes made about Euphie feeling initially uncomfortable about Anis’ flirtation and this includes Anis “helping her get her clothes off because they’re too complicated to do on her own” and Euphie being obviously unhappy with this. In the light novel, since we see Anis’ POV and there's not much of a negative reaction from Euphie, so we know she genuinely did just want to help Euphie with her clothes and wasn’t being a perv, but it doesn’t quite come off that way in the anime. Though at least the whole thing is much briefer and less skeevy than it's manga counterpart. (And Anis never repeats this behavior again).

There’s also some brief scenes of Anis at the bath later on, and an even briefer scene where Anis touches a girls boob as part of an examination and said girl is super embarrassed (this one goes by quickly enough and Anis’ expression is detached and clinical enough it doesn’t make much of an impression- it was so much worse in the manga). In the area of things that are unsettling on purpose, there’s a pretty well-done scene where Anis has to listen to a bunch of old nobles talk about her like she’s breeding stock, and a lot of emphasis is put on her disgust, fear, and discomfort. It delivers the message well, but might be upsetting.

The other caveat of the show is that while making magic accessible to commoners and upsetting the outdated hierarchy is a clear theme of the show, it’s far more focused on Anis’ and Euphie’s relationship. I think that’s for the best, though it might make one feel like the show glosses over some things. You shouldn’t expect super complex political intrigue or a rigorous, detailed examination of oppression- the show’s more into romance and cool fights. (The ending of the anime also makes it clear the fight to reform the kingdom is ongoing, so we might get more in the novels, for what its worth).

The anime also manages to condense three light novels into 12 episodes. This leaves the last arc feeling a little cramped with all the big emotions and ideas its covering, but after reading the light novel I discovered that the anime didn’t cut out much of value. The anime is by far the best way to experience the story, as the light novels are incredibly repetitive and full of exposition dumps. The anime wisely cuts all that out and focuses on what matters, the emotions and the characters. I do wish there was one more episode at least, since judging by the care the anime team shows I think they would have capable of adding good original content, but overall I’m very impressed with all the adaptation decisions. The anime turns an uneven, dragging novel series into a tighter, jam-packed story with a satisfying finale.

And what a finale it is!

When I say joyously gay, I really mean it- the Magirevo finale is one of giddiest celebrations of queer romance I’ve seen in anime. You will happily drown in rainbows.

It’s so rare to see a yuri adaptation get far enough with the source material that we get romantic catharsis, and Magirevo goes for every inch of it! Even the early moments of Euphie’s shyness and Anis’ pushy flirting become more meaningful as the roles are reversed in a truly fun way.

We even see the isekai concept used for meaningful emotional drama I always wish more stories would go into! It’s stellar all around.

Magirevo is a fairly simple story at its core, treading on some well-worn fantasy archetypes and tropes. But the loveable characters and jubilant execution of the romance make it a treat to watch. Who cares if it’s not super deep? Queer viewers deserve something shiny and fun once in a while, and Magirevo truly has a magic of its' own.

[theyoungeragrippina]

💫 5 gentlebeard fic recs

to see if we have similar taste or find more to read, you can access 15 more recs here, or my current master recommendations list as an ao3 collection.

all the works on this particular post:

are longer-form (40k+)

have no steddyhands (simply not my thing)

are generally, all around brilliant (well-written, had me kicking my feet and giggling, laughing, or crying)

are complete!

enjoy <3 !!!

The Angriest Chicken In The Apothecary by @ignisentis

49k, explicit

"Stede's a lonely apothecary owner looking for love. Ed's a jaded potions master looking for his place in the world. This is how they find what they're looking for in each other."

so funny & creative & witty. i would actually die for stede's chicken familiar clemmy. clemmy stan club for life. i love her. this is SOOO good.

The Curse of Blackbeard's Sword by @dimplyowl

69k, explicit

"Stede is beside himself when he's hired to acquire and restore the infamous sword of Blackbeard, the scourge of the Caribbean and Stede's childhood obsession. He didn't expect that the sword would come with the ghost of Blackbeard attached, for Blackbeard to be so interested in him, nor for his simple offer to help Blackbeard's soul move on open the gates to a relationship right out of his deepest fantasies."

a super fun magical realism quest/romp/rom-com. also i LOVE witch frenchie and stede's cat and poor third-wheeling lucius.

Hold Fast by @cuddlytogas

304k, explicit (all the sex scenes except the last one are pretty easy to skip, but definitely still worth reading without it. pls feel free to message me if you want pointers on where to read around in the last bit and i can summarise/signpost for u!!)

"Stede Bonnet is free at last, and on his way back to his love. As "Captain Thomas Edwards", he'll learn a lot about sailing and emotional availability, and perhaps even make a name for himself as the man either brave or foolish enough to hunt the legendary Blackbeard. But rumour has it that Blackbeard may be the opposite of welcoming, if and when he ever catches up..."

this is so long and so well characterised that it felt like an alternate canon continuation to the show. every time i came back to it it was like sinking into a warm and comfortable and familiar bed <3 so easy and emotional and incredible and SO well written.

Liquid Gold by @perkynurples

79k, mature

"Stede Bonnet, recently divorced, returns to the town he once knew with a plan. He's got the house, he's got the bees, and he's going to be(e) happy if it's the last thing he does. (Stede is, as it turns out, a bit miserable no matter how hard he tries.) Ed Teach has been keeping all of his various demos at bay more or less successfully for years now. He's known as THE beekeeper in town, always meticulous, always gentle, never too bothered with rules, expectations, or protective gear for that matter. (Ed is also, no matter how hard he tries, a bit bored at this point.)"

ed and stede are so well characterised, heaps of cat and bee and flower rep, fantastic sassy and nosy lucius. just a fun and funky and good time! (also contains my personal no. one favourite piece of fanart ever).

To Stede, This Morning by keriiiocabinet

71k, mature (nothing sexually explicit!)

"In July of 2003, music journalist Lucius Spriggs travels to Valle Crucis, North Carolina to secure the interview of a lifetime: a candid, one-on-one conversation with with the elusive country music legend Edward Teach. He expects the basics - talking to the infamous Man in Black about what the industry was like at his prime, the potential to unlock an exclusive confession or two, if he was lucky. But the story Lucius gets from Ed starts in the spring of 1963, when Ed Teach met Stede Bonnet. A story of chances taken, D-I-V-O-R-C-E, nudie suits, and an unconditional love spanning across forty years."

this is one of THE best pieces of fiction i've ever read, but also i am genuinely weeping. it is 9:30 on a thursday morning and tears are streaming down my face. unbelievably bittersweet.

let me know if there's any works you've loved or written that i've missed!

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖The Captain and the Rake

Rated: Mature

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 7338

Tags: historical romance, regency time period, slavery, racism (not from Steve of Bucky tho), period-typical attitudes, prejudice, mermaids, curses, internalized homophobia, historical fantasy drama, prostitution, period typical race relations and terminology ("colored," "mixed," and "black" are used)

Summary: After receiving a large inheritance, Steve must travel to the West Indies to figure out the origins of a mysterious letter.

(Regency manips made by @amarriageoftrueminds)

A.N. This fic was originally for the Stucky historical fiction event in 2023. I never was able to finish due to injury, but thought I'd brush it off for Mermay this year. This fic contains subject matter to do with the trans-Atlantic slave trade, so please heed the tags as they are updated each chapter. Racial descriptors used in this fic include: colored, black, and a couple instances of negro. I did my best to balance historical realism without getting too offensive to the reader.\ The name "Alva" was chosen before I knew about Alba, I swear to God 😂

Chapter 1. A Great and Grievous Rumbling

Steve emerged from his stateroom when a knock came at the door and a gruff voice called out, “We’ll be makin’ port within the hour now, Capt’n!”

Thank goodness. 

He’d been queasy the entire trip, ever since they’d first sailed from Charleston and the rocking of the boat set into his bones. Storms had delayed their progress halfway through, and the closer they got to the equator, the more unbearable the underdecks of the ship had become. As a paying passenger, Steve was afforded small but tidy accommodations, and Captain Odinson had merrily invited him to explore the ship at his leisure, but Steve had been reticent to engage with the crew. They seemed … not distrustful of him, per se, but perhaps disdainful. In the way that men with hardened hands often disdained men with soft ones. One look at Steve, and they’d made up their minds about him being a spoilt “fancy man.”

Steve could concede that he was a comely fellow, with short, fair hair and uncommonly bright blue eyes. He sported a strong jaw and handsome nose, but his mouth had always struck him as a bit too feminine, and his eyelashes didn’t help the matter. He kept no beard, and was better groomed than the men on Odinson’s crew. Tack on the fact that he dressed in the fashion of his peers, and he supposed he might seem a bit foppish to a bunch of hard worn, seagoing men. But his body was tall and strong, towering over most other men back in New York by several inches at least. 

That didn’t seem to make a difference to the crew, who’d readily laughed at a man whose constitution was weakened by seasickness. Steve had kept to his cabin, reading what little he could in between bouts of nausea. To be called up to set his eyes on land was a mercy. He was relieved that the journey was almost over.

Steve emerged above deck and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, the fresh air a tonic to his mood. It was late into the day now, the storms having swept away all traces of cloud cover. The tradewinds came in sharp and brisk, filling the ship’s sails and propelling them closer to the coast. Seeing the dark shapes of mountains swelling in the distance, Steve felt immense gratitude for land, and even greater excitement for the unknown. Nervousness, sure, it wasn’t all pleasant business that brought him halfway across the world. But he’d been going crazy back in New York. The pleasantries and mundanalities of society life having been twice as stifling after coming back from the war—and thrice as much since his inheritance. It’d been time for a change. 

“Got yer sea legs now, Capt’n Rosewater?” one of the younger cabin boys snickered as he passed by.

Steve waved him off with a gamely scowl and continued towards the port bow. He held firm to the banister and looked out at the churning waters below, then up to the land ahead. It was still too far away to make out all the details, but as the next few moments brought them closer, he could see more and more of the island: masses of trees and distant green hills, mountains beyond that, the white tops of breaking surf at the edges of the inlet, and then increasingly jewel blue tones of water that bled from pure azul, to aqua, to sparkling green in the shallows. It shocked Steve, how beautifully colorful it all was in comparison to the dull, muddy waters they’d left behind in Charleston. 

They sailed past a bar of land on the starboard. It jutted out far into the ocean, curling in like an arm, as if to cradle the ships come into harbor. Steve caught sight of stone ruins poking out of the water and strained to try and see more. Captain Odinson and his quartermaster—an imposing and impressive man named Heimdall—had spent their second evening at sea consoling Steve over his embarrassing queasiness, offering him drink and telling him fairy stories of the sunken pirate city of Port Royal. Standing in the just-setting sun, Steve had to squint to see. There appeared to be something left of the old town out on the sandbar, but not very much. Most of it must be underwater, Steve thought with disappointment. Earthquakes tended to do that. It sure didn’t live up to any of Odinson’s stories.

The sun was close to setting as they drew in, other ships in the harbor floating nearby with increasing frequency. There was one particularly massive frigate on the portside as they sailed, perhaps fifty yards away, and Steve noticed some of the crew shooting it dirty looks. He turned to watch as they passed. The other vessel was moored in place. It had thick, old rails with weathered paint up top and a pitch-blackened hull below, barnacles creeping far up the sides. No sails were rigged and no crew was visible, yet as he stood there, Steve began to hear something faint.

At first he thought he’d only imagined it, or that perhaps some of Odinson’s men were below deck, hauling heavy things about in their preparations for docking. But the sound came again, and Steve felt a chill on his skin as the sound grew unnaturally, filling his ears and consuming his senses to the exclusion of all else. Louder and louder it became, until he could feel it reverberating in his head, like the inside of a conch, like a pulse. Leaning harder against the rail, his fingers gripped the wood as he listened to the sound.

It was coming from the other ship, not theirs.

Steve glanced about, but none of the crew were paying attention. It was as though they couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, as the sound swelled to a grievous rumble that made his heart beat faster in fear. It sounded like a … like a machine, like some great and groaning monster was inside the belly of the other ship, producing a deep and steady pounding. Steve hadn’t a clue what on earth could make such a noise. They’d already passed the ship by, so the sound should be fading, not growing louder. It didn’t make any sense. Steve stood there, aghast and locked in place.

Until a hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, and he all but jumped out of his skin. The roaring was sucked clean out of his ears, immediately replaced by the usual cadence of wind and boat deck chatter as Steve whipped around and blustered over the embarrassing yelp he’d given. “Oh! Quartermaster!” He straightened himself. “Um, forgive me. I didn’t hear you approach.”

The quartermaster’s eye twinkled as he stepped up to join him. His name was Heimdall. He’d seen where Steve was watching the other ship. Together they stood at the rail and observed the island that lay ahead of them. “That, back there,” he said, referencing the frigate.

“Yes,” Steve said, not quite wanting to look over his shoulder at it anymore. “What was that?” He meant the monstrous sound of it, but had an odd and chilling suspicion that he’d been the only one who’d heard the noise. “The ship,” he said. “Didn’t you … didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Heimdall peered at him strangely. “The Hannibal. A Guineaman, godforsaken craft.” When he could see that Steve didn’t understand the scorn in his voice, he told him, “That’d be one of the old slave ships, Captain.”

Steve felt his stomach drop out. “O-Oh?” Heimdall nodded. All of a sudden it seemed that he was doubly as black—and Steve doubly as aware of it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he wondered if Heimdall knew his business on the island. Steve had mentioned his inheritance to Captain Odinson, but no one else on the ship. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, and he hadn’t wanted word to get ‘round that he was a slaveholder. Assumptions might be made. No one here knew his character or his intentions, after all. Nobody knew about Sam, or Hamilton House back home in Brooklyn, or that Steve’s aunt in Utica often mailed him back issues from her subscription to the Emancipator. Steve frowned at the distant shoreline, resisting the urge to twist his fingers into his ears. They still held the echo of that phantom sound. “Ships like that still sail?” he asked. “How?”

“Sugar, molasses, rum.” Heimdall shrugged. “For less profit.”

Steve wasn’t an idiot. He knew how all three of those things were produced: sugarcane. He now owned a large plantation of the stuff. “I see,” he said stiffly. “Do you know what’s brought me out here, then?”

Heimdall looked over at him, and for a tense moment, Steve thought he’d say yes, but then the quartermaster’s mouth twitched up in a smirk of gentle disdain. “You’re from New York,” he drawled. “Only two things’ll bring a gentleman American out to this edge of the world: money, or a powerful need to run away from something.”

“Run away,” Steve murmured, thoughts instantly veering to the genteel form of Miss Alva Barclay. He fought not to wince. He wasn’t running, and certainly not from her. “Yes,” he said, wetting his lips as he realized that he could relax once again, because Heimdall had no ill opinion of him. The man obviously didn’t know. So, Steve joined him in staring ahead peaceably, watching as the edge of the world drew into clearer relief. 

“Jamaica at last!” Captain Odinson arrived happily at Steve’s side and threw his hand out at the town and the docks below. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just as I said!” 

No matter the topic, Odinson always seemed to say everything with a boom, his enthusiasm infectious. Steve nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” Even in the day’s waning light, everything seemed brighter here. Steve had never once seen an entire building painted egg yolk yellow. “I knew it would be warmer here, but not like this. I’m afraid my trunk won’t be suitable for such a climate.” When they’d departed Charleston, it had only just turned November. Now all he could see were palm trees and folks dressed in light cotton clothes or even with no shirts on at all. “Incredible.”

“Indeed. You may find your New York winters more difficult to bear, once you return.”

Steve grimaced, remembering the past two winters and how exceptionally harsh they had been. When he’d departed for Charleston, there’d already been snow on the ground in New York. One of the crew members called out to the Captain, and he excused himself from Steve’s company. Steve decided to remain where he was until the work of unloading the ship died down a bit, as he didn’t want to be in the way. He spent the time watching the docks below, fascinated by the scenery.

Despite the unsavory nature of his inheritance, Steve was still very excited to be in Jamaica. Already it seemed amazing, and he’d only stood there on the ship looking at the ruddy docks, not even yet ventured into the town! He took in all the action of the street: carts and chickens and sailors cursing at one another. There was so much green. The forest beyond seemed lush and dense, the wilderness of it curling in at the edges of the town and creeping to fill up empty spaces. And oh, with the sunset just beginning to cast its colors, Steve’s fingers itched to find a paintbrush. The people bustling about were of such variety and comport that he instantly knew a day in Kingston could never be dull. 

There were far more people of color than Steve had ever seen in one place. The ship captains and many of the crewmen were white, but not all, and out on the street there were many colored merchants and dockworkers. Groups of black and mixed-race children loitered about, looking hopeful for either mischief or play. Steve inhaled deeply, figuring that he’d continue to feel odd and out of place no matter what he did, but certain that he’d feel better once he’d visited his solicitor.

Mr. Coulson was due to arrive on the island within the week. Steve had corresponded with him before he’d departed from New York. Coulson had been to the West Indies many times, and had suggested they arrange for their travel schedules to align. He was the one who knew the most about Steve’s property in Jamaica, as he’d worked for and been closely acquainted with Steve’s late uncle, back in England. Steve hoped that Coulson would be there soon, as this was far from a leisure trip for him.

Coulson had warned Steve that there would be numerous steps to take, both legal and practical, before his end goal for the estate could be achieved. Nothing would be done in a day, little in a fortnight. It would take time, and both men had agreed to make themselves available on the island for not less than two months—and more, if need be. Steve himself had half a mind to winter over here and not return to New York until the spring. 

It took a while before the ship was fully unloaded. Steve disembarked and stood by his trunks as he waited for his ride. He was to be picked up by a man from the estate, so he kept an eye out for anyone who might be looking for him, and in the meantime bought a sweet bread from a street vendor and sat eating it next to his luggage. Wiping his hands clean, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the letter which he’d received in the post several months ago—the letter that had started this whole journey. He unfolded the paper and read the words that he all but knew by heart, at this point:

꘏ Mister Steven Rogers,  I hope this letter finds you well, and I send my condolences for the loss of your uncle. We are not acquainted, and indeed I’m sure you’ve never so much as heard my name spoken in conversation, as I have not spent time in New York in many years. I am writing in regards to what is going on at your property here. As I am sure you are aware, since the passing of your relation, Mr. Charles Cleland, the house of Shield Hall and all of its materials, peoples, and lands have come into your possession. As a fellow landowner on the island, I feel it is my duty to inform you that the operation which your uncle upkept in his lifetime has quickly deteriorated into a state of chaos and disrepair. The property is currently being mismanaged by several hired men, none of whom are keeping care of their charges, the land, or the profits that the land is meant to yield. Since this property is part of your estate, and your estate pays these very men’s wages, I felt I should write you.  There is a great manor house which sits functionally abandoned, with hardly a single man watching over it day and night. Vagrants have had to be chased away more than once. Your working men and women number close to two hundred, and they all have been treated harshly and unfairly by the overseers, often deprived of suitable conditions. The harvests of this past year were summarily affected by these happenings. Word of the disorganization and abuse has reached many in the community already, and rumors abound of the great discontent brewing amongst your slaves. I have received only general description of you from my aunt in New York, but am sure that you are a fine man and will agree with me that it is our Christian duty to treat all of God’s children with dignity and fairness, including the negro man in bondage. I urge you to come at once and see for yourself, for only then can things be put right. Your respectful neighbor,  J. Buchanan ꘏

Steve blinked down at the page, looking once more at that elegantly scrawled name: J. Buchanan. Only an educated and moneyed man would have such excellent penmanship, lending credence to the writer’s claims of who he was. But the letter was signed only with “J. Buchanan,” with no other identifying information given. It had arrived several months ago, posted from Kingston, Jamaica, but with no return address. Its author claimed to be a fellow landowner and wrote “neighbor” as his salutation, but when Steve had looked at records of land holdings on the island, he’d found no history of a Buchanan family.

Still, the stranger had thought the situation serious enough to contact Steve, and so whether the letter’s claims were true or not, Steve felt he should investigate. That was the only respectable thing to do, since it was his property now. The very land that made him rich.

That in itself was still novel. Steve had never owned much of anything, other than his house in Brooklyn which he’d inherited from his mother. He’d grown up privileged but not overly so, within the bounds of New York Society but never pursued the way that more moneyed gentlemen were. That had all changed once his uncle had passed and word got out that Steve now owned a large sugar plantation and all of the wealth that came with it. He’d spent the past twenty months fending off eager mothers and their daughters. Two seasons’ worth of balls, courtships, and fripperies had been useful in warding off the loneliness, but they were exhausting at the end of the day. 

And then there was Miss Barclay, who was one of the many ladies being continually foisted upon him. Though she was the most agreeable, Steve still felt that his lungs could take in twice the amount of oxygen now that he knew he was a thousand miles away from her—an ungenerous sentiment, perhaps, but nonetheless true.

Steve hadn’t yet spent much of his newfound fortune, the habits of a widowed spendthrift mother having been ingrained in him since boyhood; but the one thing he had indulged in, was the singular luxury of a private box at the opera house. A veritable bidding war had commenced when the next box over came up for sale not long after. That was how Steve had gotten to know Alva over the arias of Fidelio and Silvana, her mother always looming nearby like a hawk searching out prey.

Though Steve enjoyed Miss Barclay’s company as well as any other lady’s, it’d been months of these not so subtle overtures, and he feared he would soon wind up engaged if things continued on the way they were. Traveling to Jamaica now, he’d narrowly avoided the crux of this year’s winter season. It was his hope that this sojourn would send the message of his disinterest without him having to actually turn the poor girl down. Steve was only twenty-eight, after all. He wasn’t ready for all of that.

Both his solicitor in New York and Mr. Coulson in London had told him not to worry about the details of his inheritance and the running of the estate in Jamaica, insisting that others were handling it and his bank account would remain well-padded without any direct interference. “Nasty business, sugar,” Coulson advised, pointing out that Steve’s late uncle hadn’t visited the island himself in decades. It was a common arrangement that absentee landlords would hire competent men to manage the operations of their plantations. The hired men at Shield Hall would continue to do so, Coulson had assured, whilst Steve continued to reap the benefits. Steve had believed it for a time, and had been sufficiently distracted by the demands and complications of his sudden shift in New York Society. But as soon as the letter from J. Buchanan had arrived, everything had changed. 

Steve couldn’t ignore “the slave problem” anymore, and he had the exact excuse he needed to make a quick escape from the burgeoning weight of high society and all its expectations of him. He was grateful to J. Buchanan, whoever he was.

Carefully, he refolded the letter and tucked it back into his breast pocket. J claimed that conditions at Shield Hall were abusive. Steve couldn’t fathom a reason for a stranger to fabricate such a story. So here he was to see for himself. He was absolutely dreading it.

“There you are. Ha, I’d thought we’d lost you!” Steve looked up and saw Odinson approaching from across the cobblestone in long strides. “We’re nearly finished,” he said, eyeing up Steve’s luggage approvingly. “You pack light for a gentleman. You must have a sense of adventure!”

Steve gave a good-natured grimace. “I’d have said not, nineteen days ago, and yet here I stand.” He illustrated his meaning by looking about the wharf. Not even away from the docks yet, and already he’d seen a parrot with more colors in its feathers than any single living thing in Brooklyn. He scratched behind his ear. Life had been in color before, hadn’t it? Surely, New York wasn’t as dull and gray as his memory was now painting it. He said as much to Odinson, who agreed and noted the closest building’s bright coral stucco. That was when Steve caught sight of a crewmember lugging out his crate of painting supplies. “Oh! Over here! You can put that one just here. Thank you.” When Odinson raised an eyebrow, Steve explained, “Well, my easel and things. I paint. A bit.”

“An artist! Good for you.”

Steve blushed, but he could tell that Odinson meant no harm. Other men in Steve’s life had contrived plenty more obvious ways of telling him that it seemed foppish and silly for a man of his status to spend so much time on such a frivolous hobby. “Yes,” he agreed. “Subjects will be in no short supply, in this place.”

Captain Odinson bid him farewell once Steve’s helper arrived and made himself known. A large and competent man named M'baku had come from the estate with a carriage. Steve shook his hand and M'baku looked at him sternly and then announced that he would be Steve’s man whilst in town. (Steve feared that he might also be his property, but hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask.) “Erm … shall we be off?” he asked.

M'baku took the lead and indicated the carriage. He gruffly refused Steve’s help with the luggage, and sat up front on the bench while Steve rode as lone passenger. Since Shield Hall was located a ways outside of the city, and evening was nearly upon them, they sought out local accommodations. M'baku asked Steve what sort of place he wanted to go to. “Do you want a big room? Company?” he asked, a distinctive island accent clinging to his vowels. “There are a couple of places to choose from. Different.”

“Eh, anywhere will do,” Steve hemmed, adding offhandedly that he wouldn’t mind the company of others.

So M'baku drove them to the Royal Naval Hotel. It seemed a handsome establishment, lively even, with quite a few people loitering about the downstairs. Steve checked himself in and had his luggage sent up, then he walked to the lounge with M’baku by his side. There were many fine couches and tables for the hotel’s patrons to use. Steve and M'baku spoke together for a moment, discussing their plans for the next day, when they would meet again and depart for Shield Hall.

With that settled, M'baku seemed eager to leave, and Steve could see a fancily dressed woman standing in the doorway leading into the next parlor, hiding behind a partially tied back velvet drape. She was peeking out at M'baku and Steve with narrowed eyes, looking none too pleased. 

Steve turned back to M'baku and thanked him again for his help, eager to not have the prim hotel ladies complaining to management about him so soon. ��I’ll see you in the morning,” he said in parting, and M'baku left as sternly as he’d arrived. Steve chanced a glance towards the draped doorway again, but the lady had turned away to converse with a gentleman. The backside of her gown faced Steve; a fine India silk and muslin, as was the fashion, but it was the amount of skin permitted to show which stood out. She wore no gloves, and Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from honing in at the low dip of the neckline which was nearly below the lady’s shoulder blades in the back. 

That tantalizing stretch of skin continued up her back and slim neck, to the mass of dark curls piled atop her head. Steve hadn’t realized it when she was peering out from the shadows before, but she wasn’t white. His own gaze narrowed at her in distaste, finding it odd that she of all people would take issue with a colored manservant being briefly inside the room.

Not that it was any different in New York. Indeed, Steve had tried—and failed—on an occasion or two to get Sam in with him to a certain place or another. Sometimes, if enough money was being spent and the proprietors were the right sort and employed discretion, there wouldn’t be much of a fuss made over who Steve wanted to have with him. But in many places, other patrons would eventually complain. However it was normally white people doing the complaining and looking down their noses.

The lady in the fine gown reacted to something her companion said, drawing Steve’s attention to the sound of her laughter that was like a little, tinkling bell. His eyes flicked up, and over her shoulder he caught the gaze of the gentleman with whom she was speaking. The man was easing off from the grin of a joke he’d told, and his still-laughing eyes locked intently on Steve. For a split second, it was electric, something in the man’s glittering eyes stealing the breath from Steve’s lungs.

Steve hurriedly looked away, feeling caught out. He thought he’d seen the man’s mouth twitch up there at the end, but he hadn’t the courage to turn back and check. The man was very good looking, in a rakish sort of way, with an unshaven jaw and murky blue eyes set in a handsome face. He kept his hair longer than was the fashion, but pulled back in a way that suited his features. He looked older than Steve’s own twenty-eight years, perhaps a man of twenty and fifteen or more, and he moved with the loose sort of confidence that a man did when he knew himself to be attractive. He was the exact type of fellow whom Steve avoided looking at or being around any more than was strictly necessary, lest he look or linger too long.

He turned away and ambled over into the next parlor, where he leant against the bar top and found his reprieve. He told the barkeep he’d have some good sort of rum, and took his drink off to another of the downstairs parlors, planting himself on a velvet settee where he could be out of the way and still observe the room at large. The place grew more crowded as evening drew in, and Steve saw enough to become convinced that the Royal Naval Hotel was not just a hotel: It was a bawdyhouse.

In the span of an hour, he witnessed no less than five different girls, interacting indecently amorous with seven different men, before taking said men’s hands and leading the grinning dopes away. Steve couldn’t see where they went once out of the room, but he could make an educated guess. None of these ladies wore gloves, either.

Incredible, he thought, as he watched one of them returning to approach her second gentleman within the span of forty minutes. The game began all over again, and Steve felt shocked and yet fascinated by her practiced movements and speech. It was like watching a ballet: scandalous and still elegant, the girl comporting herself with grace and impropriety all at once. Steve felt his cheeks heat as she left the room with her newest suiter, and he went back to the bar to get himself another pour.

A piano took up in one of the rooms, heard throughout the place, and more men came in. The number of women multiplied as well, but at a ratio which substantially favored the men. There were a number of British naval officers present, and Steve felt even more uncomfortable about that than he had been being led around by M'baku. He’d never hurt a negro man before, after all. He had killed English soldiers, and quite recently at that. 

The last time Steve had fought had been in Canada, less than two full years ago. Niagara, dead Indians just as plentiful as all the uniformed red-and-whites, bodies bleeding into the snow. Steve suddenly remembered that he’d resolved to not make his nationality overly apparent whilst visiting Jamaica—a very British colony. And he certainly wasn’t planning on letting anyone know about his recent military service. He hadn’t a clue what the English soldiers’ attitudes towards Americans were, but back in New York, no known Brit was yet tolerated in polite company, even these twenty long months after the war had ended. Steve was certain that he’d be treated poorly at best, pickpocketed or accosted in the street at worst. 

Unsurprisingly, about half of the men who filled The Royal Naval Hotel’s downstairs parlors wore the royal naval uniform. Some of them sat in groups and drank together and laughed, others played cards, their behavior for the most part unremarkable. But the ones who were there for other services made their interest plainly known as the evening wore on, and the ladies of the room would respond and float over like swans bobbing to breadcrumbs on a pond. It was not possible to miss that all of the crumbs were white, and all of the swans were black. 

They were black, and less black, light skinned, and very dark indeed; as exotic and varied as any man could want. Much like the very first lady whom Steve had observed, they all wore luxurious clothes in the current fashions, with their hair piled high and woven through with decoration, sweet silk shawls draped about their arms, necks left bare of any jewelry, bosoms powdered and presented. It really was a bit like watching the ballet, and as the evening wore on and Steve sat there drinking a second and then a third round of what the barkeep called “grog,” he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from their dance.

They spoke and whispered into the men’s ears with cultured English and sometimes French, and they moved and walked like true ladies of society (at least when they weren’t sneakily sliding their hands into places they oughtn't be). Many of the men seemed respectful at best and besotted at worst, but Steve did catch a few dark glances that they would share amongst themselves when they thought the women weren’t looking. The way they looked made Steve uncomfortable—less so for the impropriety of it all, and more so for how it made him recognize his own lack of such interest.

For a moment, he thought again of Alva, back in New York. She was a pretty and tolerable girl, well-mannered and quick-witted even, with an interest in the theater and the arts that, while not matching Steve’s own, was robust enough to hold a conversation. He had no real objections to her other than that he didn’t love her, which in itself wasn’t uncommon between couples courting engagements. The thing was though: Steve had never loved any girl at all. He’d never felt the real and pressing temptation that other men seemed to harbor deep within themselves. He lacked that natural inclination which made men’s eyes linger and their gazes go dark behind ladies’ backs. 

Steve squirmed in his seat, agitated when he tried and failed to view the various prostitutes as the other men saw them: alluring, desirable, lustful. He thought they were very pretty and graceful, of course, but in the way that birds were pretty and that cats were graceful. He felt nothing more towards them. Certainly not the things that the British naval officers clearly felt. … Certainly not the things which Steve had been known to feel about certain men.

He felt his cheeks go hot as his mind strayed to the unbidden memory of a crowded house: Bleecker street, dark rooms filled with smoke and drink and chatter, people in less and less clothing the further in one went. A broad back, two men pulling off shirts, their squared jaws kissing against a couch. Steve had nearly dropped his brandy glass when he’d walked in on it. He’d always fraternized with the bohemian types through his interests in the arts, and parties in the Village were undoubtedly of a different ilk, but he’d never imagined that any man could just … would just … 

And right there in the middle of an unlocked room, no less! With others not even ten paces away who might look, might see—who had seen, and had simply looked the other way. 

The drapes in that Molly house had all been heavy and drawn.

Steve squinched his eyes shut to try and knock the memory from his mind. Perhaps he should choose a woman, he thought. Try and pretend for a night, maybe even awaken the desire inside himself that he was supposed to have. Steve had never been with a woman, so perhaps his perversion was only due to inexperience. Perhaps he could change, if only he put in some effort and sought out a beautiful, soft body.

He drank the last of his rum and kept hold of the glass, keen on going to the bar for another pour. Three miserable weeks at sea and not a drop had passed his lips. He was overdue to indulge in one way or another. And since he wasn’t likely to work up the nerve to actually pay a woman for her company, he thought he might as well drink. The rum was sweet, after all. 

Just as he was about to stand, a dress’ hem appeared in his field of vision, the tiny white points of a lady’s satin slippers peeking out from the bottom. Slowly, Steve let his eyes trail up. Oh. It was the same girl as before, the one who’d observed Steve and M'baku with meanly narrowed eyes. She didn’t look quite so peevish now. Her dark hair was curled and styled to frame her face, her cream-in-coffee skin on prominent display in the shelf of her bosom against the dress. Her features were graceful and classically feminine, but she had a prominent forehead and a dimple in her chin that elevated her from simply pretty, to handsomely striking. Really, she seemed a girl of hardly twenty, but her perceptive eyes hinted that she might be older.

“Hello,” she said, stepping even closer, until Steve could smell her perfume. “I saw you alone over here and thought I’d come to say hello. Maybe even cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Steve breathed, then sat there like a dummy, speechless for long seconds. He hadn’t entertained the possibility that any of the working women would focus their attentions on him. Not when there were so many other eager breadcrumbs fellows in the middle of the room. “Well, I’m uh, I don’t need … cheer,” is what he eventually said, the words coming out weaker than intended. He watched as the girl’s features pinched in a polite sort of titter at his expense. Steve could hardly blame her. He sounded like a regular moron.

She perched herself daintily on the cushion beside him. “Don’t be silly. Everyone needs company.” Her voice, Steve noted, was fluid and viscous, like warmed honey. She lacked the island twang and in its place there was a hint of French. “I’m Rebecca,” she introduced, holding out her hand.

Steve took it, grazing lips to the backs of her scandalously bare fingers. He let it go, and she placed it on his shoulder rather than back in her own lap. Steve gulped. Now he felt less like a breadcrumb and more like a worm on a hook. “I … I’m only just arrived,” he rasped, feeling the need to excuse his antisocial behavior. “Not staying long. I was about to go to my, um, room—to sleep, that is! Go to my room to sleep.” He coughed. “I, erm, have some business in the morning.” 

Rebecca tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Don’t we all. But you must tell me your name, Sir. I’d remember if I’d seen someone who looks like you at the Royal Naval before.” She touched her finger to her chin, as if putting great effort into guessing. “Mm. You’re American?”

Steve hemmed, overly conscious of where she was still touching his shoulder. Never in his life had he experienced such forward attentions from a woman, not even from Miss Barclay and her mother. “Um, yes,” he bumbled. “American. I’m … am.” She giggled at him and Steve shook his head. “I’m not planning on making any public announcements about that, you know. I don’t want trouble. I'm only here because I’ve inherited land.” An American veteran in British territory, not even two full years since the war? Yes, discretion would be prudent. “I’m Steven Rogers,” he hastily added, realizing that he hadn’t returned the introduction. “Of New York.”

“Steven,” she cooed. “Oh, how lovely. Steven from New York. May I call you Steve?”

“Um,”

Her lashes lowered demurely. “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Beauchêne Proctor-Polgreen.” 

“That's a mouthful.”

She laughed and winked. “Oh, I don’t mind a mouthful.”

Steve felt his cheeks flame at the double entendre. He cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and he hadn’t a clue as to how he should politely inform her that he had no intention of paying for her services. Suddenly, he thought of how M'baku had phrased his question earlier: if Steve would like to stay in a place where he could find “company.”

Oh. Steve realized that he was an utter dolt. “Um, well. I appreciate your welcome, Miss, um …” 

“Just Rebecca,” she teased.

“Right. Miss Rebecca. You’ve been most kind, but my travels have left me tired and I wasn’t particularly seeking the … the company of a lady this evening.” He waited, and sure enough, her hand was soon removed from his shoulder. He nearly sagged in relief.

“Oh,” Rebecca said. “Oh yes, well you wouldn’t know, being new to town and all. I ought to have said. I serve in a managerial capacity here, Steve.” She grinned. “I take care of the girls, you understand? I’m afraid it is the rare gentleman whom I invite up to my private quarters, these days.” As Steve’s face continued to reach new levels of heat, she stood again and went to take his empty glass from the table. “A welcome is all I had on offer for you, handsome as you are. That, and any of my flock whom you might fancy.” Her eyes skimmed brazenly up and down Steve’s form. “I daresay they’ll fight each other for a chance at you.”

“Pardon,” Steve spluttered. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” He could see it now: how much more expensive her dress was than the other girls’, how fine the combs in her hair, the gold dangling from her ears. “Madam,” he said, “You have my apologies, please.” She waved him off, obviously unoffended and perhaps even amused. Steve realized that he was wasting his good manners, blundering and blushing the way he was.

Rebecca gestured at him with his empty cup in hand. “Don’t stress, Steve from New York. You’re on Caribbean time now. ‘Eaze and breeze’.” Her voice picked up the lilt of the island accent there at the end, and she sauntered back across the parlor to hand Steve’s glass over to the barkeep to be refilled. 

Steve felt glued in place until she returned with yet another helping of rum, which he was sure he didn’t need. “Thank you,” he managed, sipping it only to be polite. Between his previous three rounds and the thinly-veiled obscenity of the atmosphere, he felt drunk already. Luckily, Miss Rebecca seemed to understand his discomfort and soon left him alone, though not without giving him one last wink and a pointed nod in the direction of her company of girls. 

Steve wilted, watching as she went about that parlor and the next, stopping to chat with different groups of gentlemen—some with girls in their laps, and some without—never staying in one place for long. Steve felt foolish for not having realized her as the madame that she clearly was. It was so obvious now, as he watched her in the dance of the room and its ladies. She was the prima ballerina in a sea of coryphées.

After some time had passed, Steve felt himself quite literally falling asleep in his chair. Dear lord, he needed to go to bed. He abandoned his cup and stood, heading back out towards the main lobby. Tomorrow would be a productive day, he resolved as he went up to his room. He could start on what he’d come out here to do in the first place, not sit around bawdyhouse parlors making a fool of himself. 

He’d just turned at the top of the stair when he caught sight of Rebecca again. It was dark and she didn’t see him, facing the other way. But the gentleman with her did. It was that same man with whom she’d been speaking before, downstairs when Steve first arrived with M'baku. 

Steve gulped and stood very still, not wanting to be noticed and drawn into conversation. The man seemed to know this, as he smirked secretively in Steve’s direction but continued on in his murmured conversation with Rebecca. The two of them stood just outside one of the doors of the long upstairs hallway, and Steve pressed himself back against the wall in an attempt to be unobtrusive.

If the fellow was going to pay to spend the night with her, why didn’t he just get on with it already? They remained there speaking for long enough that Steve had ample time to appreciate the man’s features all over again. He was as tall as Steve, which was in itself uncommon, with a straight nose and shapely lips, not to mention a strong, unshaven jaw that all but had Steve’s mouth watering in a way that he was loath to admit. He held his breath as he was shot another leer from over Rebecca’s shoulder. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’dve said the man seemed almost amused at him.

The man bent to kiss Rebecca on her cheek. He took her hand and opened the door to the room, leading her through before himself. And when he turned to close it from the other side, he paused and stared long enough to make Steve’s blood stir, before shutting himself away behind the wood. 

Steve was left feeling unsettled, and not sure that he’d entirely imagined the heated look in the other man’s eye. This fellow, he surmised, must be one of the ‘rare gentlemen’ who merited invitation into Miss Rebecca’s private quarters.

Steve put himself to bed hastily that night, aroused and frustrated as to the cause of it. And despite his long-held resolve to never touch himself to the thought of another man, he was soon reminded that even he couldn’t control what things crept into his dreams.

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