#every now and then something reminds me of them and i go check ao3 again and yep still 9 fics

[experiment-000]

I'm not normal about Gella and Axel and the lack of fanfic or fandom for them drives me mad

#every now and then something reminds me of them and i go check ao3 again and yep still 9 fics #gella nattai #axel greylark #star wars the high republic #star wars cataclysm #star wars convergence #i need more content of them #i know i could write my own fic let me think of an idea maybe #the strangling moment lol maybe some filth

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 5

Word Count ~5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content, mild body horror and violence

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

The power is restored later that evening.

You are still sitting on the living room sofa before it happens, still tucked against the doppelgänger. Listening to the death of the storm outside. Watching the gray light oozing through the windows grow dimmer.

“How far did you walk to get here?”

“Not far. The delivery truck broke down about a mile from your house.”

“I’ll give you a ride back into town tomorrow, then. You’ll need to get it repaired as soon as possible.” It was strange, planning things with the imposter like this. As if you were truly allies and not sworn enemies. “What are you going to do once you move back?”

“I haven’t decided my next course of action yet.” His thumb is caressing the line he’d carved on your arm. Gentle, absent strokes.

A blossom of light suddenly illuminates the room. Electricity. You sigh with relief, straightening. You notice your panties still lying on the floor where he’s discarded them. The things that had seemed forgiveable in the darkness now feel indecent under the lighting. Like you’re being judged for your transgressions.

You look at what had once been Francis Mosses and your heart turns over again. And this is why you’ve done it; all of it. Because the sight of him instantly weakens you. You can’t help yourself.

His clothing, still in a state of half-on, half-off, is rumpled, still dirt stained from his trek to your house.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” you say. “While I make dinner.”

He rises, hastily fastening the button of his fly so the work pants don’t drop to the floor. The belt buckle he leaves as it is, the end with the metal piece jingling as he walks, following you up the stairs. The farmhouse squeaks in protest with each step. A heavy tred, though the milkman had never seemed anything but lean. Perhaps what was dwelling inside lent the extra weight.

You turn the lights on as you go, making sure every corner is devoid of shadows. There’s a tiny linen closet in the hall you retrieve a bath towel from. You’re considering what clothing you might have that he could wear while you wash his. Something a former boyfriend had left behind, maybe. You lean and turn the faucets of the claw foot tub on, testing the water temperature and adjusting accordingly.

“I have to find something for you to wear. Just leave everything on the sink and I’ll wash it for you.” You’re about to exit the room when he halts you, fingers lightly closing over your forearm. The previously injured one.

His lips touch yours. Just once. Just for the feel of it, to place a reminder there. You were his.

The deceiver releases you, working on the buttons of his work shirt’s cuffs. You duck out of the bathroom, making your way to your dresser. Nearly every piece of furniture in the home is hand made, built to last. Solid pine, the scent of it still strong after all these years as you begin rummaging inside. There, at the bottom. Shoved way back. Undershirt, briefs.

You snatch at them and return to the other room. Finding the imposter nude, standing beside the tub. You blush, not looking directly at him as you shut off the faucets. You test the temperature a final time and decide it’s safe.

“Soap, shampoo. Here’s a wash cloth.” You point out the items. Wondering if these creatures ever bathed. If cleansing their true form was ever a concern.

One foot sinks into the water. The other follows. He sits down slowly. A little sigh escaping at the feeling of soaking in the warmth.

“I’m going to go start supper.” You close the door softly behind you, descending the stairs. Considering your options for a meal. You’d never gotten a chance to check the garden earlier, so fresh vegetables were out. Canned ones, then. Green beans and instant mashed potatoes from the box. Leftover meatloaf from the previous evening. A quick, easy meal to prepare. Your eyes linger on the bottle of milk in the refrigerator. Not from Francis’ company, but a reminder nonetheless. You shut the fridge again after grabbing the necessary ingredients, then preheat the oven.

It doesn’t take long to get things ready. How strange to see two place settings on the oak kitchen table. You hadn’t had company over in a long time.

Still no appearance from your current guest. You walk to the foot of the stairs. “Francis! Dinner is ready.” You were still unsure how else to address him. It just seemed easier to call him that. If it bothered him, he didn’t reveal it.

The pretender returns just as you’re pouring two glasses of iced tea. You’ve never seen Francis with wet hair; it lies so dark and flat when it’s wet. The clothing you’ve lent doesn’t quite fit right, a little loose on the shirt and tighter on the material clinging to his hips.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything better to offer you. I wasn’t expecting…”

“It’s fine.” He holds out a hand, turning it over to stare curiously at new wrinkles along each digit.

“You pruned up. Spent too long in the water,” you explain. “How was the bath?”

“Enjoyable.”

“Good. Have a seat.” You drag the chair out slightly and he finishes the task, settling at the table about to be laden with food.

The dark eyes follow your movements around the kitchen. Potholders in hand as you remove the reheated dish from the oven. It seems too quiet in the house. You wish you had switched on the radio in the living room. Just for the comforting sound of background noise. Something to soothe your frayed nerves.

You sit across from your guest after you’ve filled both your plates. He still hasn’t touched anything. Hesitant. Waiting. And then you realize it. Francis would have said grace. You close your eyes and bow your head, reciting the words. “Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts that we're about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

A soft echo of the last word. You wonder if it would be considered blasphemy, what you’ve just done. The invader participating in it. You’ve never been overly religious yourself. You suppose you’ve committed far worse transgressions than this one over the course of the day.

The dark haired creature lifts a spoon and takes a tentative scoop of the white mixture, bringing it to his mouth. Considering the taste. “Good.”

You realize you’re starving and you dig in. Stabbing the loaf and cutting off a piece, blowing on it to make sure it’s cooled enough before taking a bite. Still moist. Your grandmother’s recipe. The figure on the opposite side of the table mimics your actions. “Careful. Don’t burn yourself. It’s still hot.” You hate burning your tongue. That awful soreness, the awkward numb feeling.

It doesn’t take long for the imposter to clear his plate. “Seconds?” He nods and you push back your chair, lifting his plate and returning to the counter. The glass he refills himself from the pitcher on the table. “Have you eaten before this?”

“Yes. But it wasn’t…” He pauses. “Different than this.” He seems reluctant to elaborate and you’re not sure you want him to, so you let the subject matter drop, setting another helping before him and retaking your seat.

You struggle for a safe topic of conversation. Everything you think of, each query you seek answers for, seem anything but. This domestic peace between you feels fragile. You’re not sure how long it will last.

After the meal concludes you bring your dishes to the counter and the false milkman copies your actions, piling them next to yours beside the sink. You let the water run hot and then plug the drain, filling the sink halfway. You squeeze a generous dollop of dish soap from the bottle tucked on the rim of the porcelain basin. A little too generous, maybe. There are a few little iridescent bubbles that drift through the air in front of you.

One arm tucks around your waist from behind. Lips beside your ear. You struggle to scrub the plate in your hands, your heart pounding. A throbbing further down. Still hungry for him.

He hums Francis’ song. You feel tears welling in your eyes again. The dish you set in the drying rack nearly falls, your wet fingers clumsy.

“Did he suffer?”

The humming stops. “What?”

“Francis. When you took him over. Was it quick, at least?”

“Yes.” He could be lying, of course. But why would the alien care about your own comfort?

You pull the drainer from the sink and the water level begins descending, the last of it suctioned inside with a loud squelching noise. He’s still holding you. His breath warm by your cheek.

You can see nothing through the window above the sink. You stare at that void, blinking away the tears.

***

You’d forgotten about the bloodstains on Francis’ work shirt.

You’ve just begun lathering the fabric with soap in the bathroom sink upstairs when you notice the incriminating flecks.

Hydrogen peroxide will remove them. Erase those traces of the milkman’s lifeforce that had spattered upon his surrender.

It makes you want to weep again.

Once your chores are completed you take your own bath.

You don’t linger. You’re thinking of the doppelgänger resting in the chair in the corner of your bedroom. Trying to figure out where he’ll spend the night. The living room couch, maybe.

The mirrored medicine cabinet is clouded when you emerge. You swipe at it ineffectually with your towel, still damp from your body. The one the creature had used lying in a pile on the floor by the tub. You toss it into the hamper before dragging a comb through your hair and brushing your teeth. Hastily sliding into a sleeveless nightgown. Tiny lilacs printed on the fabric. You have them growing in the side yard, the perfumed scent when they’re in bloom wafting over you when you walk by. You touch the purple satin bow at the scooped neckline. A delicate little detail.

Those dark eyes watching you as you begin to strip the bed. He moves to assist you in stretching a fresh fitted sheet over the mattress. You can hear the drip of the water from Francis’ clothes hung to dry over the tub in the next room.

He sits on the side of the bed while you rub moisturizing lotion into your elbows, over your hands and arms. Legs once you’re seated on the opposite side. He’s moved so that he’s propped upright against the carved headboard, lower limbs stretching out along the length of the bed. Inviting himself in. Maybe it was better this way. At least you could keep an eye on him. Not worrying and wondering what he was doing downstairs all evening.

You switch off the lamp on the nightstand and lie down. Hear him scoot lower until he’s resting next to you. There’s just a top sheet at the foot of the bed. It’s really too warm for more than that. Through the cracked bedroom window you can hear the crickets chirping near the foundation outside. You turn away from him, reclining on your side, facing the wall. Willing your eyes to shut, to get some rest.

Succeeding.

You awaken and it’s still dark in the room. There is a hand on your bare shoulder, stroking circles along your deltoid muscle, grazing the path where your neck meets your shoulder, dipping into the hollow above your collarbone.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, and you hold your breath. Wondering again over how fast your body reacts to his touch, to his voice, to everything. “What are you doing to me?” As if you are the one caressing him in the middle of the night and not the other way around. “What is this feeling…this ache…”

You turn onto your back. He reaches blindly for your face. Following the angle of your jaw. His thumb seats in the dip in the edge below your bottom lip and he tugs gently, your mouth opening. His mouth finds yours. Tongue slithering between. You whimper. Your fingers seed in his hair. Still slightly damp. Refusing to dry in this humidity. He reaches for the hem of your nightgown, sliding the cotton material upward. Immediately at your panties, eagerly working inside. A heavy sigh of satisfaction from him. You gasp, your legs falling open. So wet already. Your body not caring if this isn’t really the man you love. It wants this. It craves this forbidden touch.

He’s so, so good at the touching. Retaining everything you’d showed him previously. Expertly manipulating your clit. Thrusting inside of you. You moan into his mouth. The side of his throat. You lap at that skin. Rough now. The first pricks of new growth of facial hair coarse against you.

“My sweet girl. Mine. You’re mine.” You do not protest. Your hips are lifting, grinding you against his fingers. It doesn’t take long to find your release. Your nails rake his back. The praise spills from his lips. The claims that you belong to him continue. His possession. His. To do with as he wishes. “Touch me, love. I need you.”

You find his cock leaking against the tight fitting underwear. You shove at the elastic top, releasing it partially from its confines. Stroking. He shifts positions, resting on one forearm. Fucking into the tight ring of your fingers. “Francis.” He’s not him, he never will be, but it’s so easy to pretend when it’s like this. In the dark and the heat of the summer weather, from the exchange between your bodies.

“I want to be inside of you. I want…I want…”

His breath shudders and his hips stutter as his orgasm rocks through him. Spilling hot seed over your fingers. The mattress dipping and creaking as he drops his full weight down onto it. You slip out of bed, padding barefoot into the hallway to retrieve a wash cloth. Washing your hands at the sink in the bathroom before bringing the dampened material back to the imposter in your bed, dragging it over his skin until you’re satisfied he’s clean.

You leave the soiled cloth on the nightstand, lying back down with your back to him again. He pulls you against him. The curves of your bodies fit together like spoons resting stacked in a silverware drawer. Your hands rest on the forearms curled around your torso. Feeling the threads of his body hair. He breathes your name into your neck and you shiver. There are still so many hours before dawn.

***

The week of your suspension passes quickly.

Francis’ doppel has already moved back into the apartments. Calls made. To the milkman’s employer. To the DDD director. He says he seemed placated, but you know better. They’ve been alerted. They’re going to be watching him closely. Both of you.

You like having him visit your home far more than you should.

It’s beginning to feel comfortable. A routine developing. He helps you sand and repaint the front porch once the weather is no longer humid. Tending to the garden. Mending the fence bordering the side yard. Replacing the broken bracket for one of the pantry shelves. Tightening the gasket under the kitchen sink when you hear water dripping during dinner one evening. There are endless repairs when one owns a home. Especially one of this age. It’s strange to see the imposter working so diligently to maintain it.

Stranger still how much you enjoy him in your bed.

There are many kisses and touches. Moments of taking each apart with hands and mouths. You learn each other’s bodies. You know he wants even more of you. You want it, too. But you’re reluctant. For so many reasons. Fearing an accidental pregnancy not the least of them.

The guilt of betraying the real Francis that still haunts you.

***

Your replacement as doorman had not been very tidy.

The desk is cluttered with papers, confiscated entry requests and identification cards. Pens no longer in their cup beside the phone. The day’s listing taped sloppily to the wall beside the window so it hangs at an angle.

You spend some time rearranging things. Restoring order. Internally, you’re trying to get yourself back into the right frame of mind. You have a duty to protect the residents. The replicants are not welcome. Never to be trusted. Francis’ copy is the only exception.

You shouldn’t be making it.

He’s there at your window later that day. Looking tired. Thrusting his ID and paperwork through the narrow slot at the base of the glass. Merely for show, of course. There is a security camera inside the office now. That video feed being constantly monitored by a DDD member. You’ve already warned him about it.

There’s an extra piece of paper beneath the entry request form. A small scrap with a torn edge. You tuck it into your palm quickly before reviewing his documents, then handing them back with a smile before pressing the door to allow him to enter.

You make a show of shifting some papers, your back to the camera as you quickly unfold the secret message. An invitation to come to his apartment once your shift is over. It wasn’t wise to draw attention to him. But you find yourself unable to resist the offer. You see the pilot that lives near Francis leaning in the open doorway of his residence as you exit the elevator after your workday ends, smoking a cigarette.

“Mr. Rudboys,” you greet him, nodding. “I’m just dropping off some paperwork for Mr. Mosses.”

He grunts, a smirk twitching his thin lips. “Sure you are, doll.”

Your spine stiffens in embarrassment, your neck warm beneath your shirt collar as you knock on the apartment door.

Your lover opens it and you hastily bid farewell to his neighbor before you enter, closing the door behind you with a little sigh of relief. “I think he might suspect—” You don’t get a chance to finish as his mouth covers yours. “Francis,” you gasp.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, planting kisses along your throat, unbuttoning the top of your blouse and seating his lips in the hollow there. “This tedious work routine is unbearable.”

“I did warn you. You have to earn a living. Pay bills. I still don’t understand why you wanted this.”

“It’s not the mundane work ethic you devote yourselves to that we’re interested in, I assure you.” He nibbles your ear.

“So why do it, then?”

He sighs, his affectionate gestures ceasing. “Do you really want to talk about this right now? I had envisioned a rather different evening for us. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

“I found something I know you’ll like. Come here.” He leads you into the living room. There’s a tan object resting on the coffee table. The length is too short to be a suitcase, the height making you realize what it is a heartbeat before he lifts the lid. A portable record player. Beside it, a shallow stack of vinyl albums. “Saw it in a shop window on my route downtown. I’ve no idea if you like those artists, but…”

“Francis.” You cover your mouth with your hand. You can hardly believe it. Such a thoughtful gesture. From the intruder or some sentiment of the man he’d taken over. You don’t know which is which. You never have.

“Try it out,” he invites.

You already know which record you’re going to play. At the very top of the pile you see Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s collaboration. You slide it from the sleeve and place it on the turntable. Setting the needle down gently on the ebony disc, you grin when it starts to play.

“Turn the volume up. It’s only fair, considering.” He nods towards the direction of the apartment where Mia Stone and her fiancé reside, a mischievous smirk on his features.

You comply, still uncomfortable with making it too loud. “Dance with me?” You’re not certain if he knows how. But the memory is there for him, plucked from the depths at this hour of need. His hands rest on your waist. You twine your arms behind his neck.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you

Birds singin' in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me

He turns, lifting you easily. You smile again, allowing him to pull one of your hands free to clasp beside you as you rest the other one on his shoulder, swaying gently as your bodies move in a tight circle.

Say nighty-night and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

The doppel leans suddenly and you gasp, but his hand is strong against your lower spine, the other holding your hand tightly. The throaty male singer’s voice begins the next verse as you’re lifted upright again.

Stars fading but I linger on dear

Still craving your kiss

Now I'm longin' to linger till dawn dear

Just saying this

“I thought you didn’t like music,” you murmur against his ear, lifting slightly on your toes.

“It’s growing on me.” You draw back to find him smiling. Francis’ smile. Your heart lurching in your chest again as the artists’ voices join together.

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Leave the worries behind you

But in your dreams, whatever may be

You've gotta make me a promise, promise to me

You'll dream, dream a little dream of me

The song ends. His hands cup your face. “Sweetheart.” His mouth hungry on yours. “Come to bed with me, love.”

You nod, following him to the bedroom. Undressing each other. Practiced at this now, clothing quickly shed. Not stopping to move the comforter, pressing your naked body down on top of it.

“I want to be inside of you.” He says this often, and it frightens you as much as it thrills you.

“Francis…”

“Let me in, love, please. My special, sweet girl…” His hand wedges between your thighs. Never once has he forced you. Never once have you denied him. You open your legs and he straightens, kneeling between that v shaped space. Running his erection along your pink flesh, parting your nether lips, spreading the slick from your core through them. Massaging your hooded button. Pausing outside your entrance. Waiting for your permission.

“Please,” he says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him say the word.

“Okay.”

Pressure as the fattened dome violates your canal. You gasp and his hands instantly reach to soothe you, caressing your thigh as he thrusts inside gradually. He leans his weight forward in small increments, bringing your legs up as he goes. Pressing deeper inside of you. Still more than you’re used to. There’s a burn accompanying the stretch as his prick fills your pussy. A kind of raw ache when he is fully sheathed, bumping against the edge of your cervix. Lifting his hips, the shaft sliding back. Thrust in again. A slow rhythm that you know belies what he really wants. His arms tremor with the tension on either side of you. Your knees hug his ribs. He kisses you and you rock against him. The movements become easier. A wet sound every time he bottoms out, his cock fully buried, the base of his groin tapping your own.

“So perfect, love. So tight around me.” He’s already perspiring. He hadn’t opened the window. The air in the room is stale and warm. You taste the salt of his leaking sweat when he kisses you.

“Francis. You feel so good…” The discomfort has subsided. Now, every motion brings nothing but pleasure. Your nails dig into his shoulders. The warning your mind attempts to deliver is ignored. You want this. You want him. You’ll worry about the consequences later.

He moans loudly. “They’ll hear you next door,” you caution.

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re mine,” he growls, nipping at your throat. “I want to mark you again. Somewhere everyone will see.” Sucking kisses near your collarbone. Moving back to your neck.

“Oh, Francis, don’t.” You know how difficult it is to conceal a hickey. You can’t allow it. Imagining greeting the residents with a bloom of raspberry on your throat after the fragile vessels beneath had burst. It was too much.

“A different kind of mark, then. Like the one I made before. Somewhere they won’t see.” There is still an ache to the healing wound he’d previously left. The sutures have been removed, the edges knitting together nicely. “I like being able to feel you when you’re not with me.” He thrusts back inside you. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” His pelvis jerks faster, his passion building once more. A hand snakes between your bodies, thumb stroking your clit.

“Oh…” Your hips roll up, making that finger collide more firmly. The familiar sensation of release building inside of you. The coil tightening. “Francis…”

“Cum for me, love. Want to feel you around me.”

Your lower spine is on fire. You can’t hold back any longer. You climax, the walls of your canal spasming around him as the pleasure wracks through your body. Trying to milk your partner’s release. It’s working. You recognize the tell tale shudder. The way his breathing becomes ragged. “Please let me,” he says again, his voice full of need.

“Yes.”

A sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh escapes him. His mouth at the place where your neck and shoulder meet. An instant of heat and needle sharp pain. Something piercing you. Not Francis’ teeth, but belonging to the thing inside of him. The hurt vanishes, replaced by another sensation. You’re warm again. Your body ready for another release. The wave of a second orgasm dragging the doppel through his own. You feel the wet heat of his ejaculate filling you deep inside.

The damp skin you’re clutching ripples. That hazy shimmer visible when he draws back slightly to regard your features, still buried in your womb. You haven’t seen this struggle for many days now. Nearly forgetting its existence. Allowing yourself to be deluded.

Now reminded as the imposter fights for control. The hand that had been draped loosely against your throat tightens slightly, a sharp prick of claws digging into that soft skin, nearly enough to invade that barrier. Your eyes widen in alarm. “Francis,” you manage to choke out.

He abruptly releases you. Looking at his hand as if it’s foreign to him. The movement beneath his flesh stops, the halo fading. He is whole again.

“I’m sorry. I was overwhelmed, I…” His voice trails off. You struggle to move and he withdraws. You feel his cum dripping out of you, staining the blanket beneath you. “Sweetheart.” Worry in his eyes. Touching your cheek. Your force yourself not to flinch. Not to think about the unnatural seed he’s just filled you with. What that union could possibly result in.

The bite he’s left tingles. You reach for it absently, the flesh warm beneath your fingers. It’s slightly raised and firm. Like getting an insect bite, your body reacting to the venom injected.

“It will go away. I didn’t…it’s not deep.” His fingers nudging yours, feeling the injury. “Sweetheart. You’re so quiet. Talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling. What you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know.” There are so many of each, all competing to be heard and felt. “I think…I think I’d better go home now.”

“Stay,” he pleads. This sudden begging of his, you’re not sure what to make of it. “Even if not for the night, just stay with me.”

You shake your head. “I should go. It’s well past curfew.”

“I don’t care about your stupid government’s rules,” he snaps impatiently.

“I do. I have to live by them.” You move to sit on the side of the mattress, his hand reaching for you, settling on your scarred forearm.

“I thought about you all day. All I wanted was this. To be with you.”

“Francis. I can’t stay. Truly. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You bend to retrieve the nearest article of clothing you can reach.

“You’re upset with me.”

“I’m scared, Francis.”

“Of me?”

“Yes. No. Not just you. Everything. You guide his hand to your abdomen. “What will you do if there’s a baby?”

“Is that what you’re so concerned about?“ He sighs heavily, looking relieved. “I’ll protect it. Just like I’ll protect you.”

“They would never let us keep it. Not your species. Not the organization. The DDD would dispose of it. Your race…you wanted it for an experiment. You told me that.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“You know what.”

You swallow thickly. “This is so dangerous. And you act like it’s not. They’ll kill us, Francis.”

He shakes his head firmly. “No. I won’t let that happen. Did you notice there were no doppels today?”

“I did. It’s unusual, but it does happen on occasion.”

“That’s because of me. Because they recognize this.” He caresses your marked arm. “No one would ever dare harm you.” His fingers now on the new puncture he’d created.

“Even if that’s true, it won’t stop the DDD.”

The imposter cups your cheek. “You’ve done something to me. Not something visually apparent. Something inside. I have to be with you.” He kisses you, the intially chaste gesture deepening and your hand relaxes, dropping the garment you’d retrieved back to the carpet. “Stay with me. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

You can’t refuse.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #thats not my neighbor #milkman x reader #milkman x you #francis mosses #milkman

[rhysiana]

Because I saw a post about how modern AU WWX would probably actually be as tall as LWJ, if not taller, since so many modern AUs don't feature him suffering as much childhood privation as canon, which reminded me of another thought I have had, about how an early life period of interrupted growth can in fact just delay a person's growth spurts rather than eliminating them. Thus: WWX who gets confusingly taller after graduating from college.

3 People Wei Ying Talked to About Suddenly Getting Taller and 1 Person Who Definitely Noticed On His Own

[Now also on AO3]

Wen Ning

Wei Ying looked down at his feet, perplexed. "Wen Ning?" he yelled down the hall. "Did something weird happen to the washing machine that you didn't tell me about?"

Wen Ning popped his head around the door to Wei Ying's room. "No? I don't think so."

"Then why are all my pants suddenly too short?" A new thought occurred to him and he looked up, now delighted. "Wen Ning! Are you actually pulling a prank on me? I know I don't have all that many clothes, but still, this must have taken so much work! I respect the dedication." He held out a fist.

Wen Ning just blinked at him. "I think... maybe you got taller, actually?"

Wei Ying scoffed. "I'm way too old for a growth spurt. Seriously, did Nie Huaisang put you up to this?"

Wen Ning gave up arguing and simply produced a tape measure instead.

~*~

Wen Qing

Wei Ying burst into Wen Qing's lab, which he might have felt worse about if she hadn't been babysitting an experiment while no one else was around. He still received an impressive glare, but he didn't have time to worry about that right now.

"Wen Qing, I need you to test me for every weird kind of chemical exposure you can think of!"

She blinked at him, looking remarkably like her brother for a moment. "Wei Ying, you're in computer science. Exactly when do you come in contact with chemicals?"

"Uh. A leak on the science campus somewhere?"

"What is actually wrong with you? Tell me in the next," she glanced at the clock, "three minutes or leave."

"I apparently grew another inch in the last month without noticing. That can't be natural. I'm 23."

She stared at him for a moment, frowned, and then her expression cleared. "You said once that you had a bad time when you were younger. Stopped growing for a while."

"Why do you even remember that?" Wei Ying asked with an uncomfortable laugh, looking away. He must have been drunk; he didn't usually bring that time of his life up in any detail. It just made people sad.

Wen Qing turned away briskly, ignoring his minor display of emotion, and checked some readouts he was pretty sure hadn't actually changed in any way yet. "Well, that's why. Your growth spurts just got delayed, not erased. It's normal. I'll send you some references tomorrow."

He swept her up in a relieved hug. "Thank you, Qing-jie. Even if this does mean I'm not developing some weird superpower mutation."

She poked him cruelly in the ribs to get him to let go. "Go away, you're distracting me."

~*~

Jiang Cheng

"You what?!" Jiang Cheng demanded at full volume. It'd been a while since they'd managed to get together in person--Wei Ying had nearly forgotten how red with frustration Jiang Cheng could get.

Wei Ying grinned and bounced a little on his toes to really rub it in. "Grew another inch."

"No! This isn't allowed! The universe can't do this to me!"

"What's the problem, little brother?" Wei Ying edged closer so he could prop his elbow on Jiang Cheng's shoulder and really lean on him. "I think I should get jiejie to measure me again and mark it on the door frame. Really make it official."

"Don't you dare!"

"Why don't I ask her now, so she'll be all ready when we see her next weekend?" Wei Ying fished out his phone and then held it up over his head, laughing, as Jiang Cheng lunged for it.

Jiang Cheng's eyes narrowed. "An inch isn't really that much," he growled, and hooked Wei Ying's leg in a takedown they'd both learned when they were 11.

Wei Ying tossed his phone out of wrestling range and turned his full attention to finding a hold that would make Jiang Cheng tap out.

~*~

Lan Zhan

"Wei Ying."

Most people claimed Lan Zhan's voice (and face) didn't have any expression, but Wei Ying could clearly hear the shock underlying his name.

"Lan Zhan!" he returned brightly. "You're back! Did you have a good trip? You've been gone for months and months!"

Wei Ying was used to the intensity of Lan Zhan's regard under normal circumstances--one of the many things he loved about being friends with him--but he didn't think he was imagining that it was particularly intense today.

"It was as I texted you," Lan Zhan said shortly, and then, surprisingly, continued before Wei Ying could get a teasing reply in. "Wei Ying... did you get taller?"

"Oh, that!" Wei Ying felt himself start to blush, for some reason. "Yeah, I did. It was so weird at first, but Qing-jie assures me it's normal, and I've almost gotten used to it now. It was just an inch but I had to go buy all new... pants..." He trailed off as Lan Zhan pushed into his personal space much closer than he ever had without Wei Ying initiating it first, as far as Wei Ying could recall. "Hi?"

They were nearly chest to chest now, and he could see it when Lan Zhan actually had to tilt his chin up just a bit to meet Wei Ying's eyes.

"Hello," Lan Zhan said, grave and low and very, very focused.

Wei Ying wasn't entirely sure what was happening right now, but he was pretty sure he was into it.

#I dashed this off super fast #I invite other people to steal this concept #based on real life #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #jiang cheng #lan wangji #a tiny hint of wangxian #modern AU #the untamed #rhys's stuff

[okaylorrainee]

words never said

characters. lo’ak & female omatikaya reader.

genre. romance. angst

synopsis. arranged as a mated pair, lo’ak never focused on becoming a good husband for you and often pushed away your feelings for him. only when you’re dying in his arms did he realize what he was losing, but it was all too late.

contains. aged up characters (adults). ooc most likely. character death. unhappy marriage. the sullys never went to awa’atlu. the clan still lives in hometree.

note. counting this as my 180+ followers special ! hehe. i hope you guys learn something from this :p let me know your thoughts! (but don’t be mean i am weak)

also on ao3!

a shawl made of leaves wrapped around your form as you stood silently in the middle of your kelku, watching your mate frantically search for his battle gear. jake sully had called the warriors again for another raid against the sky people who were planning to take over yet another area in your clan. the raids have been happening quite frequently now, and being the son of the olo’eyktan himself, lo’ak, your mate, was expected to participate in all of them. 

you grew worried every moment he wasn’t here. you prayed to the great mother he’d come back to you in one piece, safe and sound, but you knew it wouldn’t always be possible. every time the war party came back, someone would be gravely injured. most of the time, a couple of them wouldn’t even return - their corpses lying cold on the battlefield.

thankfully, your husband was a great warrior. although he was reckless and often didn’t follow jake’s orders, he was witty enough to survive all the hits and attacks of the humans, and also, your brother-in-law, neteyam, would always be there to keep him in check. not once did lo’ak return with a fatal injury, but still, you couldn’t help but worry.

in front of you, lo’ak grunted, securing his battle band around his waist. he grabbed his hunting knife from the ground and wiped away litters of dust the blade caught from lying on the floor. his brows formed wrinkles on his face as he frowned, and you didn’t really know why he was upset again right now.

“please be careful, ma’yawntutsyip.” you uttered softly, but he didn't reply nor look at you. even if it was usual for him to do this, it still hurt you. you tried not to mull over it too much.

still ignoring you, lo’ak turned his back on you as he moved to exit. he was leaving again to battle without saying anything, while you were here, dying with concern over his safety. it pained you so much how it seemed like he didn’t care about you every second of every day since you were mated. but you still loved him anyway. he was your mate, your husband, your second half.

before he could completely leave you, you took the chance to say, “i love you, lo’ak.” something you never failed to tell him every day, just to remind him that you were here, that he had you to come back home to. “please, will you say it back just this once?” it took every bit of your strength to plead to him, you just wanted to hear him say it.

your words made him stop in his tracks. he turned his head to the side to spare you a glance, and you tried to fight his cold eyes. you saw how he clenched his jaw as if he was going to say something, but he sighed and turned away before he could. saying nothing else, he marched out of your kelku.

you felt your whole body relax as soon as he left, you didn’t even notice how tense you were while he was here. still standing in the same spot, you looked around your kelku. some stuff were disordered from how much lo’ak moved them around while he was searching. when the air entered from the opening of your kelku and touched your skin, the heaviness of your heart became difficult to ignore, and you simply inhaled deeply to try to calm yourself down.

tears started welling in your eyes and your lips quivered. you were upset. so so upset at how cold and lonely you felt in your own home right now, so upset that you have to clean up all of these cluttered things as if you were once again fixing up the mess that was your union with lo’ak. 

you tried to keep your sobs quiet as you knelt to pick up the things your husband didn’t bother to put back properly. it was always like this with him. while he never yelled at you nor physically hurt you, lo’ak also was never affectionate to you. it was like he wasn’t even your mate. it was like he was just living with you in the same home, sleeping in the same mat and hammock. it was like he never acknowledged you as a lover with how cold he was towards your advances.

you envied the other couples who would profess their love, kiss and hug, and reassure each other every time the other went to battle. why couldn’t lo’ak just love you, try to, or even pretend to?

from what you knew, to him, you were just someone his parents tied to him for life in order to keep him ‘in place’, to show the people that he is a desirable son and son-in-law like his older brother, to make the people know lo’ak is capable of finding a mate and providing for her and for a future family. 

and you understood how he felt and why he was like this to you. you convinced yourself really hard to. every night when you lay beside him whilst he slept soundly next to you, you were crying to yourself, trying to understand that he was still just busy proving himself to his father, proving himself to the people that he could catch up to his older brother, proving to everyone that he wasn’t just some rash failure. you understood why he couldn’t focus on you, even if you were his wife.

as a husband, lo’ak never fulfilled his marriage duties. he only mated with you once and never again, and that was during the ceremony in front of eywa. many of your heat cycles have passed but he never touched you no matter what you did. you often wondered if it was because he had his eyes on someone else. but you’ve confirmed long ago that lo’ak never flirted with the other women in the clan. he was simply too busy with the war and with proving himself, but you loved him all the same because you supported your husband, you only hoped he’d love you back one day. 

hours have passed since he left. while he was gone, you decided to stock up on some fruit by yourself. you could’ve joined the other women who were also waiting for their mates, but you wanted to be alone so you could think and calm down. you were solemn the entire time, even as you returned back home with your basket full of his favorite fruit.

at the moment, you were sitting quietly in the middle of your kelku, weaving a new mat for lo’ak so he could rest in a clean one once he got home. but the silence didn’t last long when it was interrupted by the stomping feet and crying of a child running to your home. all at once, you dropped everything and hurried to the child’s side, gently taking her into your arms.

you cupped her face and looked at her with eyes full of worry, “what is the matter, ‘evi? why are you crying?”

the little girl continued to sob in your arms. “my brother, please. the tawtute.” her sentence was incomplete, and she was crying uncontrollably but the words ‘brother’ and ‘tawtute’ were all you needed to hear to understand what was going on - the sky people were near, and her brother was in danger.

your breath hitched but you tried not to panic. what were you going to do now? you were not a warrior. you were just a common clan member whose role is to weave clothing and collect fruit for the people. but you knew how to shoot an arrow as it was required to come-of-age, and you knew it was enough to at least help and stand up for this little child and her brother. she came to you because your kelku was the nearest, and there was no time to look for someone else. as an adult of your clan, it is your duty to protect them.

with a deep breath, you pulled away from her and quickly took the old bow and arrow sitting next to your shared mat with lo’ak. gripping its handle tightly, you said, “take me to him.” 

the little girl wasted no time in dragging you with her deeper into the forest. you weren’t sure where she was leading you. every step you took made you grow more anxious about what you were going to face. 

soon enough, you heard the sound of running water nearby, and you understood that a waterfall was just here somewhere. the little girl suddenly stopped running in front of you, and she tugged your arms, giving you a look to tell you that you were here. 

you heard the voices of male humans chattering in the vicinity, talking about ‘dna’ and ‘new avatar’ in their language. you couldn’t understand what they were saying and only those three words gave you the gist of what they were talking about. even if your husband was quite fluent in the language of those demons, you still didn’t understand. lo’ak never taught you after all. but all that matters right now is getting her brother back, you could worry about the rest later on.

you bent your knees slightly to meet the child’s eyes. placing your palm on her head, you whispered. “go hide. i will take care of everything.”

still with tears in her eyes, she nodded at you before running back to one of the trees behind you.

you took a deep breath before stealthily approaching the voices. your steps were gentle as you crouched, the crunch of the leaves you stepped on was non-existent as you made your way closer. as soon as the soldiers came into view, you took a while to observe the situation. the na’vi boy was tied up, back faced to you, and two humans were in front of him, armed with large guns scouting the area. 

you quietly moved and hid yourself behind the tree that was next to you. with your back pressed on its trunk, you took your arrow and started positioning your bow. you can do this, you can do this. you encouraged yourself in your head. there are only two of them. to you, the humans themselves weren’t scary, they were a lot smaller than you after all. just one harsh slap and you could make them fly away. it was their weapons that concerned you, you didn’t understand how they worked.

you held your breath as you stepped away from the tree, arms raised whilst you aimed at the human. you planned to shoot them consecutively before they could react with their weapons, you knew you could do it. and so, without further hesitation, you released the arrow and allowed it to fly through the air, stabbing the human right on his head.

the man hadn’t even dropped to the ground when you took another arrow and stretched your bow to aim at the other one. again, you shot the man on his head, and you watched as both of their bodies collapsed on the ground with a thud.

you sprinted to the boy’s side, who began crying from relief the moment he saw you. when you knelt in front of him, you immediately started to untie him from the ropes, reassuring him that he was safe now and to not worry. as soon as the boy was free, he tackled you into a grateful hug, sobbing into your arms.

“mawey, mawey.” you patted his back, carefully pulling him away from you. “we need to go. more of them will come. go!”

he was nodding as he stumbled standing up. you gestured for him to run, and he obeyed, darting to the direction of hometree.

you stood up to trail behind him. but before you could even walk another step, a loud mechanical thud was heard from behind you. you grew cold, already aware of what that was. you spun around reluctantly and were met with a soldier in an amp suit aiming his firearm right at you.

what happened next was a blur. you didn’t have the time to grab your bow nor react, because when his weapon erupted a loud bang, it was already over for you.

–

the ikrans shrieked as they landed on the branches of hometree. the war party was surrounded by a crowd of family members, all looking for their warriors in worry and anticipation of their return. lo’ak, who was in between his father and older brother, dismounted his ikran as his eyes searched for a particular na’vi among the people. 

he puffed out a disappointed breath when he couldn’t find who he was looking for. were you mad at him because he didn’t say ‘i love you’ back earlier? this wasn’t new to your relationship, so what was different now? you never missed his arrival. were you finally getting tired of him?

lo’ak’s lips pursed as he followed behind jake through the horde that was their clan members. neteyam who was walking beside lo’ak, felt his younger brother’s sour mood but he decided not to mention it anymore. the entire day and weeks before having been stressful enough. with the raids going on and lo’ak constantly going to him for advice about his marriage, neteyam knew if he dared to bring it up, it would only make his brother appear more upset in front of you once he got home. 

as the three of them made their way through hometree, they came across a young na’vi boy wailing in the corner, circled by a few other adults who were trying to calm him down. jake didn’t hesitate to go near them.

“what’s going on here?” jake asked, his two sons standing with him on both sides.

the boy wiped his tears away, trying to meet the eyes of his olo’eyktan. “s-soldiers ambushed me.” he wanted to explain more, but his voice was shaking, and it was all he could say.

“where?” neteyam leaned forward to join the conversation.

“near the waterfall.” the boy sobbed. “i was able to escape because my sister called for help.”

“help? who helped you?” lo’ak asked.

everyone fell oddly silent from his question that it made jake and neteyam look around in confusion. lo’ak raised an eyebrow, waiting for the boy to answer. “well?” he urged him to reply.

the boy only hid himself in the arms of the na’vi who was comforting him, sobbing louder than earlier. what could he say to the husband of the person who saved him? when it was already clear to him what happened when a bang echoed through the forest?

the people looked at lo’ak with sympathy, and he stared at them one by one, trying to process and understand what their expressions meant. he grew cold every second when none of them uttered anything. what were they doing? why were they looking at him like this? like they were apologizing? 

lo’ak’s expression darkened. your absence, their apologetic looks. it couldn’t be, right?

he released a deep exhale as he straightened his back. lo’ak’s world stopped as realization struck him. suddenly, everything was silent. he couldn’t hear the child’s sobbing, the people talking around him, and neteyam calling his name from literally right beside him. all he could hear was a long high-pitched ring on his ear, and there was a string in front of him ready to snap any second.

his lips were parted as he breathed heavily, trying to calm himself whilst he turned and walked away from them without a word. jake was calling him but he ignored and continued to his ikran. you? you helped that boy? you weren’t a warrior. how could you fight? lo’ak’s jaw clenched as he thought about it.

neteyam hurried to lo’ak’s side, grabbing his arm to catch his brother’s attention. “bro, calm down.” 

lo’ak snapped his head at neteyam, eyes burning in anger. “calm down? how can i? my wife, my mate. she is in danger!” his voice raised, catching the attention of almost everyone around them. lo’ak harshly pulled his arm back from neteyam, and all the man could do was stand there dumbfounded.

jake nodded to neteyam with a knowing look as lo’ak mounted his ikran in front of everyone. the animal shrieked louder than ever, mirroring the burning anger of its rider. and as lo’ak commanded his companion to fly away, jake and neteyam ran to their ikrans and followed suit to fly to you.

lo’ak couldn’t think straight as he flew, and his ikran could feel it. his blood was cold, and he was shaking in worry. he was hoping, praying to the great mother silently in his head that he understood their looks wrong and it wasn’t you who he was going to find there. that you were just asleep in your home, tired from weaving, and that’s why you weren’t there earlier when he arrived. lo’ak was sweating, even as the cold air ran through his skin as he flew - he didn’t know what he would do if it was really you.

for the past few weeks, lo’ak had been visiting his older brother, asking him for advice on how to make things better for your relationship. neteyam was always the better one, and even lo’ak couldn’t disagree with that. lo’ak knew that he struggled with expressing his emotions and with controlling the relationship especially because it started out rough when he initially didn’t want to be with you. he was hoping his brother could help him sort his thoughts out, or at least, help him form better words to explain and plan out the slow change he wanted in your marriage.

lo’ak learned to love you as months with you went by. at first, he thought you were pretending to love him and that you were settling for him because he was used to the others mocking him for not being as great as his older brother. but lo’ak saw how genuine, kind, loving, and caring you were towards him - how could he not fall? 

lo’ak treated you harshly because he felt bad that you were tied to a failure like him. he wanted you to find someone better so you could be happier, because he was still in the process of finding himself. but lo’ak knew that deep down, he couldn’t really let you go. just thinking about you being with someone else irked him so much, he would rather be skinned alive than to live through a day seeing you with another man. and so, lo’ak built up his courage, and tried so hard to prove himself to everyone, so that one day, he could love you, and nobody else would be worthy enough for you than him. after all, you were his mate, his wife, his second half.

lo’ak, neteyam, and jake arrived by the waterfall just in time when a soldier in an amp suit was picking you up with its hands, motioning to walk away from the scene.

lo’ak’s eyes glowered at the sight, blood boiling as he became angrier. your limbs were swaying as the metal suit held you, and lo’ak knew you were unconscious. his ikran glided through the air at immense speed as he yelled from his throat, taking his bow out and aiming the arrow straight at the soldier inside the suit.

the amp suit collapses in an instant when the arrow stabbed through the human’s head. the sudden motion made the suit’s arm throw your body into the air, and you fell harshly on the ground with a cruel sound. 

lo’ak kept his eyes only on you when his ikran eventually landed, jake and neteyam right behind him. lo’ak practically jumped off of his ikran as he rushed to your side. from his rear, jake was in the background ordering neteyam to scout the area and look if other soldiers were around, but lo’ak ignored them and only focused on you.

lo’ak knelt beside you, grabbing your arm as he assessed your body. jake towered behind lo’ak, and he could only watch sadly for his son - he knew that from how you looked right now, you were already dead even before they arrived, but he couldn’t bring himself to point that out to his grieving son.

“no, no, no. please, please.” lo’ak shook his head, refusing to believe the state you were in right now - blood running from your mouth and everywhere else that was shot in your body. this was the first time you could’ve heard the concern in his voice for you, but you couldn’t.

lo’ak began tearing up at the sight of you, and he forced his tears away so he could assess your face better for any sign of life. “you’re not dead, you’re not dead.” he repeated to himself as if he was convincing himself. 

when you didn’t answer a word nor any movement, his grip tightened on your cold hand, and he yelled a cry. it was the first time jake saw his son cry that much. “please come back to me, baby, please!” he pleaded, hands moving to cup your cheeks. but your lifeless eyes only stared back at him. 

i love you, lo’ak. please, will you say it back just this once?

“i see you, i love you! i always have, please!” he wailed the words he never said, the words you have longed to hear. but it was too late, your arms were limp, and you weren’t responding; you couldn’t hear him anymore. your body was turning cold every minute that was passing; you were dead and no matter how much lo’ak pleaded and cried beside you, you weren’t going to come back. he knew this, but he was refusing to accept it.

jake could only watch as lo’ak started to yell out his cries. 

the regret of being too late, the regret of losing his other half forever, the regret of never giving you the love you deserved, the regret of never saying the words you deserved to hear - would eat lo’ak up for the rest of his life, because you died never knowing how much he loved you too.

©️ okaylorrainee 2023. please do not re-upload, translate my content anywhere without permission.

tell the people you love that you love them before it's too late!

#loreraine #wordsneversaid #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #lo'ak sully #lo'ak x you #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar twow #avatar 2 #atwow angst #atwow loak #angst #lo'ak x omatikaya! reader

[sailing-through-hawkins]

i got a much bigger response to my Harrington Charms Hellfire post than i expected so i wrote a little something that was along the lines of what i was thinking!

Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Part 4 ✧ AO3

Sometimes Eddie thinks the real Upside-Down is his life after they close up the gates and pulverize Vecna ("they" in this situation being superhero Jane Hopper and the rest of her merry band of warriors), because past-Eddie would probably have a breakdown over...well, everything.

For one thing, Eddie is currently in the passenger seat of none other than Steve Harrington's Beemer, at the man's very request himself.

"Wait, I'll drop you off."

"'Preciate the thought, Steve but -"

"Munson. It's been like two weeks since you even started walking by yourself, sorry if I'm kinda worried about letting you go across town without me."

"Uh...just you?"

"Any of us, but me specifically since I'm clearly everyone's chauffeur. Might as well play the role, right?"

It's been like a month and every time Eddie wants to go anywhere in the slowly rebuilding town, Steve's right there with him. It'd be infuriating if it wasn't so obvious he liked doing it. If Steve wasn't so intent on just making sure Eddie's alright and yeah the mother-henning should have gotten old by now but if Eddie even thinks about telling him to stop, all he sees is sad eyes and hunched shoulders hiding under a complacent smile and wave bye-bye. God those eyes are fucking weapons.

They're heading over to Gareth's garage for a light-hearted band session. It's funny because Dustin was the one who convinced Eddie to "get your head out of your ass and talk to your friends, dick" and actually reach out to the rest of Hellfire about the whole 'not a murderer OR dead' thing. After some apologizing (ugh) and grovelling (double ugh), the rest of his sheep were willing to forgive him for ignoring their calls and visits while he was in recovery. Provided, of course, that he continue to check in with them on a bi-weekly basis at minimum. It's unfortunate that Steve, for all his head trauma, makes sure that Eddie actually sticks to that basis.

The things he does for love.

Or no, not love, definitely not love, it is way too fucking soon to call this teensy little infatuation anything as huge as love. No. Not love at all.

They're about to reach Gareth's place, that's important. By the time Steve rolls to a stop outside the garage, Eddie's panic (not panic, just a strong argument, this is not love) has simmered down. He has to take his time getting out of the car today, thank whatever deity is out there for quick-feet Steve, who runs around the front to help Eddie out onto his two feet. It's been a rough week but he had way worse back in that first month at the hospital, not to mention needing a little Steve-assistance isn't the worst thing in the world.

"Hey!"

Eddie blinks as Steve helps him lean against the car, the spots in his vision fading away to reveal Gareth right up in his space with a murderous gaze directed right at Steve.

Eddie worries that he's gonna start a fight even though it's been months since he's introduced Steve as his live-in-nurse (nobody takes Eddie's hints at a sexy nurse uniform to heart thankfully, he doesn't know what he'd do if Steve caught on that he's only half-joking) and Steve's been doing the best he can to make amends with Hellfire.

At least the guys aren't walking on eggshells around him anymore, judging by how Gareth barely took a glance to assess Eddie's wellbeing before going back to glaring at Steve with eyes ready to kill. Well fuck you too Gareth.

He crosses his arms, eyes burning with resentment as he continues go stare down a pretty nonchalant Steve who is very much in Eddie's space as he also leans against the car, fuck he's so close. When Eddie glances at him to scope out what the fuck is happening, he sees that gaze again. The gaze that reminds Eddie of Steve's days as King, looking over his reigning population with a boredom teetering on malicious negligence. That gaze used to send Eddie's mind into hysterics, painting images of crowding into the King's space just to see those big brown eyes waver. But that's not how it is anymore, Steve's eyes are usually brimming with concern, irritation or a spark of contentment as he watches his little nuggets run around screaming about Eddie's latest one-shot campaign.

Right now, there's no screaming teenagers. It's just silence for a few moments, a tension building in Eddie's bones until he thinks this must be what it's like to watch a sports match, head running back-and-forth between the two teams and waiting with baited breath.

"So?" Gareth spits out, squinting at Steve, just tilts his head in response and lets a few strands of perfect fall into his eyes, damn that bastard. Gareth grits his teeth and takes a breath, "What did you think?"

Steve watches Gareth, as if assessing his line delivery, shifting so he fully faces him but is still totally in Eddie's space with a hand on the car roof behind Eddie and the other crooked up on Steve's hip. The motion lets Eddie smell his aftershave and fuck, Steve still runs so warm. Whatever he finds in Gareth has to be what he wants because he gives them both a half-lidded smirk and shrugs his shoulders. "Eh, wasn't that into it."

Gareth sputters, face turning crimson and Eddie is like super confused because what the fuck is going on right now? 

Steve is the one to fully break his brain with a laugh that throws his head back, his neck stretching out so the light hits his jawline perfectly, that bastard. He looks back at Gareth's flushed face with a sunny grin that sets fire to Eddie's veins. "You totally liked it, didn't you?"

Eddie snaps his head to Gareth, who squirms before dropping his shoulders. His little mutter of, "Yeah, I did," sounds so defeated that Eddie feels a second-hand guilt, but over what? He has no fucking clue.

That small pit of guilt quickly dissolves into even more confusion when Steve laughs again, kicking himself off his car to land a hand on Gareth's shoulder and fucking wink at Eddie. "The miracle of Grease, huh Munson?"

Record-scratch. Sorry, what?

"Sorry, what?" Eddie snaps his eyes from the grinning god that is Steve and the sulking fluster that is a member of his club, one of his friends, one of his very overprotective sheep who has hated Steve's guts for a long time and is now letting the guy give him a fucking noogie in broad daylight with empty complaints.

"Looks like I've been corrupting your crew, Eds, if Gary being a Greaser -"

"I am NOT a Greaser, I just -"

Gary? Steve calls Gareth the Great...Gary? And he doesn't even comment on it? Last time Jeff tried that, Gareth threatened to hide a spider in his guitar case. But Steve Harrington, someone Gareth has had no qualms about verbally tearing apart, does it and it's fine?

"Eds? Hey, Eddie." And now Steve's looking at him with that concern-rotten gaze, eyes flitting over every inch of Eddie's face as if to pinpoint what's wrong and fix it with a smile and a soft you're okay now, I've got you. "Back with me?"

Swallowing down an incessant I'm always with you, sweetheart, Eddie nods. In his peripheral, Gareth is watching him with his hands out as if to catch Eddie from falling. Which is stupid because Eddie hasn't fallen from light-headedness in like two days (Eddie shuts up the part of his brain that reminds him Gareth wouldn't know that with a part that says Dustin probably gives the whole club daily medical chart updates) and wait fuck is that Steve's hand on his neck right now?

"So!" Eddie claps his hands, eye twitching as Steve's hand slowly trails to his shoulder, lingering for a moment before he takes it off entirely. Stupid jock bastard with his touchy-ness and his smile and - "What's this I hear about Grease, Gary?"

Oh yeah, there's that livid face of watch out for the tarantula bitch, Eddie's missed that. Well, Gareth still does it everyday but not at Eddie for a while there, probably because of the whole intensive injury recovery shit. Oh well. "None of your -"

"Gareth and I made a bet," Steve clamps his hand back onto Gareth to shove them closer together, pointedly ignoring Gareth glare of betrayal. The space on the back of Eddie's neck still burns with the ghost of Steve's touch, something ugly in his chest snarling at how that touch is now on Gareth's arm. He wonders if the bats left him with more than bites sometimes. "About some movies we recommended each other. And since I won, that means -"

"No way, I'm not -"

"Uh yeah you are, I won so -"

"Fuck you, Harrington -"

"Not on the first date, hotshot," Steve laughs as Gareth tries wrangling out of his hold, holding onto him by his shoulders with one gloriously bulging forearm. Eddie's starting to think the light-headedness might be a symptom of something other than his brush with the bats. Oh don't think about the bats, bad move, bad move. "Didn't know you raised a cheater, Eddie."

Steve's eyes are glowing with mirth, his grin wide as Gareth threatens to bite him with a smile of his own. And that's. Huh?

"And I didn't know you two were so close," Eddie manages to cough out, snapping his gaze to Gareth with a raised eyebrow. He squirms again, ducking out of Steve's grasp (Eddie can't imagine why anyone would want to) and dusting off his shirt. "Holding out on me, Harrington?"

Steve shrugs, his eyes fixating right next to Eddie's eyes. He steps closer, a firm and warm presence right in Eddie's space, right in front of him, and raises a hand to caress Eddie's hair, that fucker. Eddie stifles his gasp because he knows Steve's just getting something out of his hair, like he does every goddamn time he sees a leaf or dust or fucking anything in Eddie's mass of curls. "Just being friendly. Now giddy up, you two've got a session to do."

"Not sticking around?" Gareth looks back at the garage, the forced nonchalance in his tone nothing compared to the shadow of King Steve's gaze. "Frank wanted to ask you about those threads from last week."

"Shit," Steve slapped his forehead, looking into the garage at Frankie who - fucking waves at them?! Mr. "Do what you want but I'm never falling for that Harrington charm bullshit" is waving at Steve. Who, incidentally, waves back with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Frankie, I can't make it today, got a shift with the supply run! Rain check on the wardrobe?"

And Frank the Unwavering, notorious for sticking to his guns with a grip tight enough to choke a man, gives Steve a thumbs up before going back to strumming with Jeff. What the fuck.

"Wardrobe?" Eddie chokes.

"Don't worry about it," Steve waves a hand in the air and gently pulls Eddie off the car, settling his arm around Gareth, who takes Eddie's weight with ease. "I'll tell you later. You'll be good to take him, or should I?"

Gareth scoffs but his eyebrows aren't scrunched with any irritation or anger. "I think I can handle it, Harrington. Go handle your hero shit."

And here's the thing. Steve has a thing about that word. Eddie's noticed because, well, he's always watching Steve and he has a rocky relationship with the word "hero." Sometimes his whole body glows with the praise, smile so wide and eyes so sparkly it makes Eddie want to scream. Other times, Steve shrinks just a little, barely noticeable, and his smile dims and his eyes are shadowed with something Eddie doesn't understand. Or can't understand. He's not sure.

This time, Steve seems to be on the glowing side of things but it's so subtle compared to usual that Eddie just has to blink and all that golden haze is gone already. He blinks again and Steve's waving bye to him, blinks and Steve's in his car, blinks and he's driving back on the road to wherever people need him to be.

Gareth snorts, tugging Eddie out of his daze and shuffling them both toward the sofa at the back of the garage, the brown beauty it is. "Wipe the drool, man, you're getting it all over my hair."

"Oh like you're one to talk," Eddie waits until Gareth settles him on the sofa and fully stands up before fluttering his eyelashes up at him. "Gary."

"Shut up!" Gareth flushes, stomping over to his (barely holding together, but Eddie likes to think they're made of the same stuff Steve is, to keep going after a fucking averted apocalypse) drums. Jeff laughs when he fumbles with his sticks and Eddie grins when Gareth's attempt at throwing them lands the fuckers right at Frank and that sets them all off.

Yeah, maybe some stuff has turned on its head, Steve and the town and Eddie's general worldview, but he's still got his inner circle and that's good enough for him.

#i may write more if people are interested? depends on this one's reception #sailor✧writes #steddie #eddie munson #writing #ficlet #corroded coffin #i don't wanna tag hellfire because the focus in this is the band but idk if it matters much for people #also AHA unnamed freak now has a name and i say he's into fashion because fuck yeah giving the band hobbies outside music and dnd #au content #sailing✧harrington charms hellfire #if this is all over the place with the whole town rebuilding process and timeline then whoopsie #but again it's in that nebulous au so i wanted some details vague for folks to assume their own ideas while still maintaining my own #idk if it worked but i tried so yay

[badkitty3000]

Addicted

Sometimes our bodies get a taste of something so good that it's nearly impossible to quit. No matter how bad it is for us. And right now that something is Five Hargreeves.

Five Hargreeves x Reader Smut

This is a short one shot I decided to write on a whim. I am new to posting on Tumblr, but you can check out my full works here on AO3. This one is also a bit different than my other works, as it's more abstract.

I am open to requests, so if you have any Five-centric one shots you'd like me to write, please feel free to ask under the Ask Me Anything button on my profile. I've also never asked for requests before, but I will do my best to fulfill them!

Addicted:

You can’t stop looking at the clock. An hour must have gone by, but when you check it again, it’s only been a few minutes. The night is going by at a crawling pace and as the seconds tick by, the more your anxiety is growing.

Don’t do it

You’re better than this

You’ve been doing so well

You don’t need him

Don’t do it

It doesn’t matter, though. You can tell yourself a thousand times to stop thinking about him, but it’s not going to stop. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve cursed yourself for caving in and calling him. It’s an endless loop of want and regret.

You know how it’s going to go, that’s the pathetic part. You know you’re going to feel like shit the next day, and the day after that, and for another week after that. That’s how it always goes. And yet, you keep giving in. You keep punishing yourself.

Because, god damn it, he makes you feel good.

He’s your addiction. Your drug. And you’re constantly chasing that high.

Just thinking about it, about him, makes your skin hot and you can’t sit still. You’re jittery and pacing, and it’s all-consuming. The more you try to push it from your mind, the harder it comes crashing back. Second by second, minute by minute; he’s creeping into your brain, moving in, and taking up residence.

You’re sitting at home with nothing for company except some bourbon. Bourbon that reminds you of him. And you know you’re going to do it. It’s after one in the morning but you know he’s awake. Just one phone call and he’ll be there. No matter what you said to him the last time, he’ll pretend nothing is wrong and he’ll come anyway.

You know how it’s going to go, too. It’s the same every time. You’ll talk a little, have a drink or two, and wait until the tension eases. Then you’ll start to notice all of the little things that drive you crazy. The casual way he leans back, crossing one leg over the other. The way he looks at you, with that stupid self-satisfied smirk, and that fucking dimple in his cheek. And his hands. His hands doing anything, really. God, you love his hands.

Then you’ll look at him in some way; you’re not sure how, but he’ll know. He’ll lean in towards you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body and smell the faded scent of after shave that was put on much earlier in the day. He’ll lean in with that intense gaze of his, scanning your body and then your face; green eyes flashing and dark brows furrowing. He’ll reach out and touch you in some way. Maybe your hand, or your cheek; it doesn’t matter. One touch and you’re fucking toast.

The next few hours will go by in a blur. Skin slicked with sweat, lungs gasping for air, bodies tangled together. It will be everything you need and want, and fuck, it will feel so good. Until it doesn’t.

But right now, as you check the clock for what has to be the twentieth time in the last five minutes, you’ve convinced yourself that you don’t care. And you pick up your phone.

You could text, but he hates texting and it’s just easier to call. You want to hear his voice, anyway. Like some weird little mental appetizer before the main course. You take a sip from your glass, the condensation dripping onto your phone screen.

“You know it’s the middle of the night,” he says as a way of a greeting, and you can hear the smug smile forming on his face.

“Is it? Oh, sorry, I hadn’t noticed,” you reply, trying to match his usual snark.

There’s a slight pause. “I thought you said you were done with me.”

You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or if he’s genuinely confused. “Yeah, I did say that.”

“You said I was an insensitive asshole,” he reminds you.

“And I stand by that statement.”

There’s another pause and you can hear the phone shifting a bit. “So, were you just calling to remind me of that, or was there something else I can do for you?”

Of course, he’s teasing you now. He knows damn well why you’re calling. But he’s going to make you say it.

You clear your throat a bit. “Yeah well…I can’t sleep and I don’t know anyone else that stays up this late so…”

“So, you thought maybe I could help you sleep?”

Fuck, you really hate him right now! But, sure, why not? This little charade of yours isn’t going to last much longer anyway.

“Yes, actually, that’s exactly what I thought.”

There’s a second of silence and you know he’s thinking about whether or not to continue to draw this out and really make you sweat, or to put you out of your misery.

“I did just get back from a job. I haven’t showered yet.”

Dammit, you’re already feeling the dampness between your legs at that little visual. Which is exactly why he said it.  

“I don’t mind. You can shower here.”

There’s a low, quiet laugh on the other end and you roll your eyes at your desperateness.

“Alright. Be there soon.”

After you hang up, the only thing you can do is wait. And torture yourself even more by running through some very graphic scenarios in your mind. You pour another drink for yourself, and one for him, too. Then you wait some more.

You know it won’t take him long to get there. You also know he won’t bother to knock or use the door. He’ll just appear, like some magical fuck genie, ready to grant you three earth shattering orgasms in the position of your choice.

You’re sitting there on your couch, with the only light coming from a small lamp on one of the side tables, when he warps in; a nanosecond of blue before it’s gone and it’s just him standing there. You sit up straighter when you see him, glass in hand. He gives you that knowing smirk and you give him one right back.

In the dim light, you can make out the lines of his body; the sharp angles of his face. You can see he really did just get back from a job, because he hasn’t bothered to change out of his suit. The jacket is unbuttoned and his tie is loosened. But otherwise, he’s the perfect picture of a suave executive or maybe a cologne model. Or an assassin.

When you stand up, you bring him the glass of bourbon you had poured, and he takes it from you, his fingers brushing against yours in the transfer. After he takes a sip, he looks at you with that same infuriating expression that makes you want to punch him right in his gorgeous face.

“Did you miss me?” he asks with a grin.

You smile and shake your head. “Not in the slightest. Did you miss me?”

“Nope. Not one bit.”

You’ve already decided you’re not going to draw this out. Why prolong the misery? The more time you take in trying to pretend this is something else, the more time it’s going to take for you to move on the next day. So, you’re going to cut straight to the chase this time. You take another step forward until you’re close enough to see the dark green of his eyes and the soft shadow of stubble on his face. Leaning in, you brush your body against his, tipping your face up, while at the same time hooking a finger into one of his belt loops, giving it a sharp tug. He makes a quiet grunting noise, his eyes meeting yours.

One corner of your mouth turns up. “Is that a gun in your pants or are you just extremely happy to see me again?”

He raises one eyebrow, not moving. “Why don’t you find out.”

Without taking your eyes off of his, you move a hand to the front of his black fitted slacks and run a finger into the inside of the waistband. When you feel it, your smile grows bigger. As you pull out the pistol, you hold it in the palm of your hand, liking the weight of it and the sleek, simple design.

“I guess I was hoping for something else, but this is pretty fucking sexy, too.”

He only smiles and takes the gun from you, setting it on the coffee table, along with his drink.

“What? Don’t trust me?” you ask slyly.

When he grabs you around the waist and pulls you closer, the movement is swift and forceful.

“Absolutely not,” he answers before leaning down slowly, a few strands of hair falling forward and over his eye in the process.

His kisses start out soft, testing the waters, then gradually intensify. First a gentle brush against your mouth, then a playful bite on your lower lip. Soon he is slipping his tongue inside, breathing hard through his nose, and moving a hand to the back of your head.

If there had been even a tiny speck of resolve left in you before, it’s gone now. As soon as his lips are against yours, you give in. You will let him do anything to you without protest, you’re certain of that. And not just physically. You’re going to let him burrow into your brain again, pump your body full of dopamine and oxytocin, and start your addiction anew. You’re going to relapse hard and the withdrawal is going to suck.

But right before that…it’s going to feel so fucking good.

As he strips you of your clothes and your will power, you stand back and let him look at you. You know he likes this. He likes looking at your naked body, fully exposed for him and vulnerable. So, you’ll give it to him.

“Fuck…maybe I did miss you,” he says quietly as he takes you all in.

He starts to take off his jacket and pull his tie off, all while still looking you over. You can see what you couldn’t before; a splatter of blood on his white shirt. It’s not a lot, but it’s noticeable, and you know that it doesn’t belong to him. A normal person would be turned off by this. Sickened at the thought. But not you.

He sees you noticing, and he glances down at his shirt, and then back up at you. This isn’t the first time he’s shown up like this, wearing the evidence. And so, he knows. He knows your twisted little fantasies.

With his mouth twitching with arrogance, he steps closer to you again. His hands trail down your sides, and they are warm and familiar. He looks down at you while you bring your hands up to the spot on his shirt. It’s dried and has probably been there for a couple of hours now, having already turned a dark maroon color. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you start to unbutton his shirt.

“Blew his fucking head right off,” he says darkly, in the most fucked-up pre-game dirty talk in the history of the universe.

You let out a small whine, still working at his shirt. Your hands push greedily inside of it, pressing your palms onto the hard curves of his pecs, then running them over his tight shoulders.

“With that same gun?” you ask without looking up.

“Yes.”

“Mmm…” you muse, resuming your undoing of buttons. “Did he beg for his life first?”

“Crying on his knees,” he tells you, and you’re not even sure if he’s telling the truth. He just knows what you want to hear.

His shirt is fully open now and you look up at him while your hands find his flat abdomen and his waistband again. You feel him grip harder into your sides and his breath is coming faster. You know what you’re feeling now isn’t the gun, and you press your palm over the front of his pants, watching his eyes close shut for a moment in response.

It didn’t take much for you to go from want to need to desperation, and you’re already dripping wet for him. You unbuckle his belt and open his pants much faster than you did his shirt. He’s fully hard and when your hand grazes over his cock he groans, digging his fingers even harder into your waist.

“How many shots?”

You’re already pulling him by his shirt collar with both hands, walking backwards and taking him with you as you ask. When you fall onto the couch, he answers while he positions himself over you.

“Two. Right to the fucking head.”

You free his cock from his pants in one quick movement, and then he’s pushing himself inside you as you cry out, clutching at his arms and throwing your head back.

You’ll never get tired of this euphoria. Of the sudden rush of endorphins when his dick slides in and he’s pumping into you. No one else does this to you. No one else makes you feel like you’re going insane. Like you’re shifting into another reality. He gives your outer thigh a swift smack and you raise your legs up higher, spreading them wide, just like he wants.

He’s holding himself up with his hands on the armrest behind your head, the muscles in his arms flexed and hard as he pounds into you. He’s not saying anything, not yet anyway, but the loud panting of his breath and rhythmic clinking of his belt buckle fills your ears. Your own moans grow louder by the second and you can see that smug look cross his face, because he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

But, fuck, if that look doesn’t make him even hotter. Bastard.

You spy that dark red stain on his shirt again, and you picture the scene he described to you. When you turn your head, you can see the black pistol lying on the table, just a few feet from you. The same one that was used to splatter a man’s head all over the walls and the floor, and onto its owner.

You’re gasping his name and frantically grabbing at his body when he gives one more punishing thrust, making you come hard and loudly underneath him. The waves spread over your body and they don’t seem to stop; one after another as you buck into him. He’s soon to follow, stiffening against you with a low groan, emptying himself and filling you up until his body starts to relax. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck for just a moment and you feel his lips graze your skin before he moves off of you.

As you both lie sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, trying to slow your breathing, he eventually looks over. He smiles in that way that is somehow already resetting and rewetting your aching groin. You return it with your own hazy smile; too high and fucked-out to pretend not to care.

He pushes his hair off his face with his hand, shoving his dick back in his pants, and leans toward you, kissing you with a gentle hand on your cheek. You hate when he’s soft like this. It fucks with your mind even more than he already does. But your lips respond without hesitation and you melt into his hand.

“I really did miss you,” he tells you, pressing his forehead against yours.

You want to cry and push him away. It’s not fair! He’s enabling you and playing into your weakness. And even if you’re the one that had broken down and called, it’s still not fair. He knows it’s a sickness.

“I missed you, too,” you whisper, because you can’t self-sabotage yourself enough.

After another kiss, he pulls back and takes his unfinished drink off the table, settling into the couch while you get up to throw your panties back on. You tip back your own glass and empty the contents in one swallow, taking in the absurdly sexy image in front of you. He’s leaning casually back into the cushions, his pants still unbuttoned and unzipped; white dress shirt fully open and untucked; messy dark hair falling across his forehead.

It would be so satisfying to kick him out right now. But Jesus fucking Christ, just look at him!

Instead, you give in like you always do and join him, resting your head on his chest with one hand on his bare stomach, your legs curled up next to you. He strokes your hair and kisses the top of your head while you sigh, letting your body relax into his.

He won’t be leaving yet, that’s not his game. He likes the companionship and your adoration. He’ll stay through most of the night, while you both talk and have a few more drinks. He’ll fuck you again in the shower, while you cling to his body and he pounds you into the cold, slippery tiles. He’ll fuck you in your bed, slowly and lazily, covering your body in soft kisses that will make you weak and forgetful.

He’ll make you come a few more times, leaving you gasping for air with his cum dripping out of you and your thighs burning. Your sheets will smell like him for days because you won’t be able to bring yourself to change them.

In the dark, he'll tell you more things you want to hear. I missed you. You’re so beautiful. I want you. I need you. He’s not cruel and he’s not a liar. He means the things he says. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stay. He never will, and you know it. The full reason for it, you’re not sure. Insecurities, trauma, secrets…so many secrets. No matter how many times you’ve poured your heart out, bathed him in reassurances, and cursed him until you were red in the face and crying. He will never stay.

You know what tomorrow and the next week or more will bring. The withdrawal symptoms will kick in and it will be hell. This won’t be cold sweats, shakes, and waves of nausea. It will be tears, self-hatred, and all-encompassing shame.

But he’s here now. And you drink in the scent of him. Sweat, sex, bourbon. All mixed together and highlighted with a slight twinge of copper. It’s better than any upper or downer or anything else that can be cooked up in a lab. It’s fucking maddening and you can’t get enough.

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as you rub your cheek over his chest.

“Thanks for calling.”

“This is the last time, though, I mean it. I can’t keep doing this,” you lie.

“I know. This is the last time,” he lies in return.

He places another soft kiss to your temple, reaffirming what you already know. That he will be your ultimate down fall. Your rock bottom.

But damn, it’s going to feel so fucking good on the way down.

Link to my Master List

#five hargreeves x you #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves smut #umbrella academy fanfiction #five hargreeves #number five #number five fanfic #umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy #five x reader #reader insert #number five x reader #female reader #five hargreeves fanfiction #smut

[gerrystamour]

here i have found some peace of mind [chapter seven]

Rated E | Steddie | Complete

[ FIRST ] [ PREVIOUS ]

[ MASTERPOST ]

The long-awaited date….the final chapter, yet a new beginning… Okay i'mma be SO FR right now, the amount of support i've received for this fic is UNBELIEVABLE and so overwhelming. I absolutely adore every single one of you who have made it this far. Thank you thank you thank you!!! CW: There is more smut in this chapter.

[ READ ON AO3 ]

here to stay until the day i die

By the time Steve got home, it was well past midnight. He hoped that Robin had gone to bed, but deep down he knew that hope was probably a waste of time. Looking up at their apartment from the street, he couldn’t see any lights on but Steve knew that didn’t mean anything.

Stepping into the pitch-black apartment and closing the door, Steve sighed heavily and said, “Robs, I know you’re not actually in bed and you’re just trying to startle me, so can we just skip that part?”

The lamp next to their old, frumpy armchair clicked on and Steve squinted at Robin’s stern face, though he could see the smile she was doing her best to smother. Crossing her arms, she asked, “Do you have any idea what time it is, young man? How worried I’ve been?”

“How long have you been sitting there?” he asked flatly, toeing off his shoes carefully. The wetness in Steve’s boxers stopped being sexy about halfway through the drive home and most movements reminded him just how sloppy Steve had left himself.

“Like two minutes. I was in bed and heard your car, hurried out here. Took out my shin on the coffee table ‘cos I didn’t wanna turn the lights on,” Robin admitted instantly, then looked him up and down. “That’s not your shirt.”

Steve looked down at Eddie’s shirt—it was a band t-shirt, he could tell that much, but there was no way he was going to be able to read the mess of lines that were allegedly letters that spelled something—and snorted. “Good observation skills, Robs,” he teased before shuffling awkwardly toward the hall.

“No, no, no, we’re actually talking about this Steve,” Robin hissed, jumping up to hurry after him. He snorted when he heard her hit the coffee table with a shin again. “Ow, oh my god, shit, shit, ow.”

Steve nearly made it to the bathroom before Robin recovered and managed to cut him off. “Robs—” Steve started, but Robin reached up as if to cover his mouth, which he quickly dodged with a blush.

“Nuh-uh, shush, you are not sneaking out of this conversation, you hear me?” Robin insisted, putting her hands on her hips. “We are talking about this, because best friends don’t let their platonic soulmates fuck rockstars without checking in with them at least.”

Raising an eyebrow at Robin, Steve said, “Fine, we’ll talk about it after I shower. I’m not having this conversation with the situation currently happening in my boxers right now.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up on her forehead before she wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t even clean up?” she asked in a scandalized whisper.

“It was a heat of the moment thing,” Steve admitted with a hot blush. “It was really hot when I decided to do it.”

“Doesn’t feel too hot now, though,” Robin said with a snort and Steve rolled his eyes.

“No, it doesn’t, Robs. Can I go shower now?” He groaned, and she let him past but then moved as if to follow him into the bathroom.

It wasn’t uncommon for Robin to hang out while he showered, but again, Steve kind of wanted this time to himself. He wasn’t super keen on washing cum out of his pubes and probably even his chest hair while Robin was on the other side of the nearly transparent shower curtain.

“Can I just shower alone? Please?” Steve asked and Robin froze, searching his face for something.

“You okay?” she asked, brow furrowing when she didn’t seem to find what she expected to see.

“I’m fine, great even, I’m just—” Steve started, cutting himself off to scrub at his face briefly. “I would just like to wash up alone.”

Robin held up her hands in surrender, walking backward down the hall. “Alright, Dingus, you can shower alone,” she said magnanimously before detouring into Steve’s bedroom, pointing at him almost accusingly. “I’ll be waiting in here, though!”

“Alright, Robs, I’ll be there in like ten minutes,” Steve laughed and locked himself in the bathroom. Pulling out his phone, he saw he already had a few messages from Eddie and grinned.

Eds [sent at 00:35]: 💕💕💕lmk when u get home angel 💕💕💕 Eds [sent at 00:58]: u home yet??? 😘 miss u already 😔 Eds [sent at 01:10]: idk how i'm supposed to sleep wo u here 😔���

Steve’s heart clenched at the last message, feeling breathless and dizzy. Letting out a slow breath, Steve typed out his response.

Steve [sent at 01:17]: home now. about to get grilled by robin. pray for me.

Putting down his phone, Steve stripped and quickly hopped into the shower, scrubbing his whole body down, flinching a bit as he found bruises and hickeys in odd places. There was already an ache settling into Steve’s inner thighs, one that he knew he would be feeling for a couple days.

When Steve got out of the shower, he checked his phone again for messages.

Eds [sent at 01:18]: 🙏🏻💖💖💖💖 Eds [sent at 01:23]: howre u feeling???? 👉🏻👈🏻 like abt tonite? u okay? 🥺 Eds [sent at 01:27]: is it too much to be saying i miss u bc i can dial it back

Steve frowned at the second and third message, bewildered by the turn in Eddie’s affectionate texts.

Steve [sent at 01:37]: i feel great babe, had the best time i promise and i definitely miss u too already. are u okay? Eds [sent at 01:38]: okay good 😅 Eds [sent at 01:38]: was just overthinking 🤡 Eds [sent at 01:38]: dont worry about it 🤗🥰 cant wait to see u tomorrow im gonna treat u so good rly put my rockstar money to good use 😤

Finally, Eddie’s texts returned to normal and Steve was smiling again.

Steve [sent at 01:39]: can’t wait eds. now i rly gotta go get grilled by robin

Wrapping his towel around his waist and scooping his clothes off the ground, Steve shuffled into his room to find Robin sprawled on his bed and reading one of his magazines.

“Took you long enough,” she complained, looking up when Steve threw his clothes into his hamper and grabbed boxers out of his dresser, putting them on before hanging his towel on a hook on his bedroom door.

“I was like twenty minutes,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes.

“Which is ten more than you said you would be,” Robin said with a sniff, sitting up and crossing her legs. “So. He said the b-word.”

Steve couldn’t believe how hot his face got just at the mention of Eddie calling him his boyfriend, or how quickly it did. Turning to his dresser quickly, Steve busied himself with digging the pajamas he wanted to wear out.

“Yeah,” Steve finally said with a one-shouldered shrug.

“So…?” Robin said, dragging the single syllable out questioningly. “You’re boyfriends?”

Steve put on a soft t-shirt and gray pair of sweatpants and turned around, shrugging again. “I don’t know. We’re going to talk about it tomorrow, on our date, I mean,” he replied, flopping face-first onto his bed next to Robin.

“Steve…” she started, and Steve groaned.

“Please don’t—”

He felt one of her fingers poke his head. “It’s my duty as your best friend to worry about you,” she said firmly. “So, he called you his boyfriend, then you didn’t talk about it, but then you fucked him?”

“Actually, Robin, he fucked me,” Steve said, propping himself on his elbows to give Robin one of his signature bitchy looks. She did not seem moved.

“Dingus, you know that’s worse for you,” Robin said, and Steve made a face.

“You make me sound like a virgin or something,” Steve complained, and Robin rolled her eyes.

“No, you’re romantic and a sap and have a sappy thing about having your business penetrated—”

“Don’t say that word,” Steve complained, grimacing.

“Don’t deflect!” Robin said, sighing explosively. “I really want this to work out for you, and for what it’s worth I think it will, just I’m also really anxious about it because I know you and I know you won’t take it well if he’s not serious.”

Steve’s expression softened and he reached over to take Robin’s hand gently in his. “I know, Robs, you’re right. I just—I’m pretty sure he’s serious, like, look at these,” Steve said as he sat up, pulling out his phone to show her the texts. Robin’s anxious expression relaxed as she read them and then she turned her annoyed glare on Steve.

“You really hit the guy with three full-stop sentences after he said he missed you, Dingus?” Robin asked flatly. “And you didn’t even react to him saying he missed you? Or that he can’t sleep without you?”

“What? I didn’t—” Steve went to defend himself, but looking at his phone and rereading the messages, he saw exactly what she was saying.

“Miss you already, I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep without you.” “Home now. About to be grilled by Robin. Pray for me.”

“Oh, fuck, I did, didn’t I?” Steve groaned, covering his face with both hands and leaning his elbows on his knees.

“Somehow you brought it back around, though, so there’s that,” Robin said, the smirk obvious in her voice. Then she raised her eyebrows high, inclining her head toward Steve. “So, how was it?”

Steve sighed so dreamily that even Robin blushed. “Zero exaggeration, but it was literally the best sex I’ve ever had,” he said, flopping back onto his pillows.

“Mm, doubtful,” Robin said, sucking her teeth. “You’ve had sex with Nancy, and I know for a fact she’s—”

“Fine! Fine, the best sex I’ve had with another guy ever,” Steve conceded, and Robin nodded, pleased.

“So, tell me about everything,” Robin pushed, drumming her hands on Steve’s stomach. “Spare zero details.”

“You sure? I mean some of it involves gagging—” Steve started knowingly, laughing when Robin pulled a face.

“Yuck, okay, spare those details. The rest? Wanna know all of it,” she said.

Steve happily obliged even if Robin was dramatic about a few of the parts— “Your ass, Stephen?” “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it—” “Uh, no thanks, I have a perfectly good pussy—” “So do I?” “That’s why I’m freaking out, what was the point—?”—and by the time he reached the end of his story, it was coming up on four in the morning.

“Okay, time for you to get out. I’m fucking exhausted,” Steve said after a bit and to his surprise, Robin got up practically immediately.

“I’m happy for you, Dingus,” she said, stooping to kiss the top of Steve’s head. “Good night.”

Steve snagged Robin’s wrist before she could stand back up and tugged her close enough for him to kiss her cheek. “Night, Robbie,” he said affectionately, meeting Robin’s eyes and seeing her fond expression.

When she finally left his room, Steve laid down and turned off his lamp, then looked at his phone again. Mulling over his texts with Eddie, thinking about how he wanted to express even a fraction of his feelings for Eddie to make up for his dumb response earlier.

Steve [sent at 03:38]: i miss you so much already, wish we could’ve spent the night together. p sure that would just make it worse, for me at least Steve [sent at 03:41]: tonight was amazing. literally one of the best nights of my life. can't wait to see you again. want to hold your hand again. Steve [sent at 03:42]: i'm going to bed now. good night eds

With that, Steve smiled and locked his phone, slipping under his blankets and cuddling up in all of his pillows, pretending he was holding Eddie as he drifted off to sleep.

❖

Steve wakes up to his cell phone vibrating under his arm and he groggily squints at the screen. He couldn’t make the blurry letters come into focus so he just answered.

“Hello…?” Steve said hoarsely, and he winced a bit at the soreness in his throat.

“Hey, sweetie, are we still on for brunch? Just checking because I remember you saying you were going to a concert last night,” came the cheerful voice of Melissa Harrington. With a little chuckle, she asked, “Did I wake you up?”

“Shit, yeah, but what time is it?” Steve asked, scrubbing his face and sitting up. The entire lower half of his body felt achy and sore, especially in his inner thighs and his crotch. For a brief moment while his brain still came back online, he was confused, but then the memories hit him like a freight train. His neck also hurt, but he was pretty sure that was just from sleeping weird.

“It’s just after ten,” she replied, and Steve jumped out of bed and stripped out of his pajamas. He was so glad he showered the night before.

“I’m so sorry, Mom, yeah we’re still on,” he said quickly, putting his phone on speaker so he could get dressed as quickly as possible.

Melissa huffed out a laugh. “We can reschedule—”

“No, Mom. We’ve had this scheduled, we’re meeting for brunch,” Steve said firmly, hurrying into the bathroom to brush his teeth, ignoring Robin’s indignant squawk from the shower when he turned the sink on.

“What the fuck, Dingus?” she shouted, poking her head around the shower curtain.

“Hi, Robin,” Melissa greeted, the phone still on speaker.

Robin blushed. “Hi, Mrs. Harrington,” she greeted back sheepishly while Steve brushed his teeth and fixed his hair blindly since the mirror was too foggy to see his reflection.

“Call me Melissa, sweetheart, please,” his mom insisted, and Robin cringed.

“Sorry, Mrs. Harrington, but Melissa is what I call my mom,” she retorted, just as she always did.

Richard and Melissa Buckley were interesting people who insisted that they treat their children as equals, so they raised their gaggle of kids to refer to them by their names, not as “mom” or “dad.” It was kind of weird, but it also conjured some funny images of toddlers trying to say Melissa or Richard, which Steve would sometimes do to cheer himself up. Unfortunately, this meant that somehow Robin got it in her head that she couldn’t refer to Steve’s mom by her first name at all.

“I don’t expect you to understand the intricacies of my mind,” Robin had said haughtily when Steve questioned her.

“Good, because I have absolutely stopped trying,” Steve had responded and had a pillow thrown at him for his sass.

“I’ll see you later, Bobbie,” Steve said, purposely waiting for Robin to return to her shower before rinsing his toothbrush, giggling maniacally at her squawk as he fled the bathroom.

“Is she ever going to loosen up around me?” Melissa sighed as Steve took his phone off of speaker.

“She has, Mom. She just calls you Mrs. Harrington,” he reassured her. “Okay, I’m gonna hang up now. I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“I’ll get us a table,” Melissa said pleasantly and hung up before Steve could say goodbye.

The drive to their favourite brunch restaurant was a short distance from his apartment, and normally Steve walked to it when he wasn’t so sore from getting fucked the night before and running late. Today, though, he sent an apology to Mother Nature as he did the five-minute drive and parked down one of the side streets.

Walking to the restaurant was a chore with the ache at the junction of his thighs, but Steve was pretty sure he made his gait look normal enough, especially as he approached the table his mother was sitting at.

Melissa was beautiful, Steve always thought she was. Especially in the last few years as she let herself age rather than hiding the advancing clock under hair dye, layers of make-up, and expensive Botox appointments. She had recently cut her hair short, saying she was just looking for a change after having long hair her whole life, so now the silver shot through it was obviously in the majority.

Steve loved to see her so relaxed, so easygoing and happy, even after they lost his dad.

At the table, she was looking over the menu, even though she ordered the same thing every time they had brunch, her expression amusingly thoughtful.

As Steve slipped into the chair in front of Melissa, she looked up with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. There was a moment where her eyebrows shot up slightly while she looked Steve up and down. “Hi, Steve,” she said, her smile turning into a bit of a smirk as she returned to looking at her menu. “I already ordered yours, by the way. I told her I was still deciding.”

Steve snorted. “What’re you thinking?” he asked, just like he did every time, gesturing at the menu.

“I’m torn between the eggs benny and the turkey club,” Melissa lamented, pursing her lips with a huff. “Maybe I’ll get the turkey club this time.”

Steve knew she wouldn’t, she never actually changed her order, even if she debated for a whole thirty minutes.

Sure enough, when the server returned to take her order, Melissa requested the classic eggs benny and handed the menu back. Once the server walked away, Melissa turned her attention to Steve with a teasing look.

“You have a good night?” she asked, and Steve could feel his ears heat up. He hadn’t mentioned a word about Eddie to her, not wanting her to either discourage him or get too excited about it. Even now, he wanted to keep it close to his chest until he talked to Eddie later.

“Yeah! The concert was great, the crowd was really intense. I went with Will—you know him, the nice kid from front desk?” Steve said, nodding when Melissa smiled with recognition.

“He’s your boss’ son, right?” she asked after a moment, and there was a strange expression on her face, almost like concern.

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed, puzzled by her reaction but laughing through it. “The band that gifted me the tickets is actually one of his favourites, so I couldn’t not bring him with me.”

Melissa’s frown deepened. “Do you think workplace relationships are wise, Steve? Especially with your boss’ son—”

Steve’s jaw dropped and he leaned over the table, shaking his head frantically. “Whoa, Mom, I’m not—I’m not dating Will,” Steve practically hissed, eyes wide as he blushed and Melissa covered her face with both hands, laughing out loud for so long that other patrons were starting to look over.

“Thank God. Okay, I’m sorry, sweetie. I just saw the hickeys and you said you went with Will,” she explained, wiping the tears that had formed at the corner of her eyes carefully, dabbing as if she was wearing makeup like she used to. A thirty-plus year habit. “Your face when you realized what I was saying…”

Melissa was starting to giggle again, but Steve was still reeling over what she had said. “Hickeys?” he asked, baffled.

“Sweetheart,” Melissa said, almost pitying as she tried to contain her laughter. “Half of your neck looks like a toothless vampire tried really hard to get the goods.”

“Mom,” Steve gasped, slapping a hand over the sore side of his neck. With a groan, he covered his face with his free hand and propped his elbow on the table. “Oh my god.”

“I’m sorry for laughing, Steve,” Melissa said, trying to sound sincere but he could hear her still trying to contain her laughter. “I would love to hear about… them. Whoever it was.”

Steve sighed and sat up. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag anyway,” he said, resigned and his mom frowned.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Steve,” she reassured him, but there was hurt in her expression that she was doing her best to hide.

“I haven’t been hiding it from you—well, I mean, I have but not because of anything you did, Mom,” Steve quickly reassured her. “It’s just…I didn’t want you to get too excited or discourage me, and we have a proper date tonight. I was going to tell you about him after that, I promise.”

Melissa’s eyebrow had been slowly climbing her forehead as Steve talked until he finished, then she reached across the table to hold his hand. “Sweetheart, if you were clearly excited about this man, I would never discourage you,” she said warmly, looking at him imploringly and Steve knew she meant it.

However, Melissa Harrington, despite how much she had loosened up since Steve graduated high school, was still a pragmatic businesswoman, a “realist” as she called herself. She couldn’t help but do a risk analysis on almost everything anyone did if she was close enough to voice an opinion on it. Steve knew that she liked to present facts for people to consider with any big decisions that had big risks associated, and she genuinely thought she was being helpful.

It always came off as discouraging, though.

The server chose that moment to come back to their table with their food, and they were distracted with making small talk for a couple minutes.

When the server walked away, Steve took a deep breath. “His name is Eddie,” he said, chewing the inside of his cheek as he poured syrup over his French toast. He put the syrup down and looked at Melissa as she nodded encouragingly, lifting her orange juice to her lips to take a sip. With a grin, Steve added, “He’s the frontman of the band I saw last night.”

The noise Melissa made as she choked into her glass had multiple people turning to stare at them again. Steve had to work very hard to not laugh as Melissa put her glass down and mopped up her chin and cheeks, grumbling to herself.

“You did that on purpose,” she accused him lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she took a deep breath. “Alright, the frontman of a famous… metal band? Yes?”

“Yeah, Corroded Coffin,” Steve confirmed, and when Melissa pulled out her phone, he panicked for a second. “Don’t google him.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow at Steve. “I will do as I please, Stephen,” she said sternly, and went back to looking at her phone. Steve knew the moment she found the same images he did by the way her eyebrows jumped. After a few moments, Melissa looked up at Steve with just her eyes and said, “He’s certainly handsome.”

“Yeah, he is,” Steve agreed in a dreamy tone.

Putting her phone away again, Melissa returned to eating. “You like him a lot?” she asked.

“Yes,” Steve said instantly, but dread was bubbling up in his gut. She was doing her analysis; he could tell by the way she was keeping her expression carefully neutral.

She hummed. “And he likes you?”

“Yes.” Steve put his fork down and chewed on his lip, refusing to look at Melissa.

“Do you want this to be serious?” she asked, and Steve was nodding as he stared at his French toast.

“Yes,” he answered verbally after a few moments.

“And does he?” Melissa’s tone was different with that question, enough so that Steve finally looked at her again. Her expression was soft, fond in her concern.

Thinking back to Eddie’s texts, Steve smiled at her and nodded. “Yeah, I think so. We’re talking about it tonight,” he replied.

“Okay,” Melissa said with a broad smile. “Tell me about him.”

Steve blinked at her for several moments before he said, “That’s it?”

Melissa frowned. “Yes? Now I want to hear about him,” she replied.

“You—when I started dating Nancy, you literally lectured me—” Steve started, and Melissa held up a hand.

“Whoa, there, Stephen. I did not lecture you, I just presented you with the red flags I saw and I ended up being right,” Melissa said, pointing at Steve, her eyebrows high. “I liked Nancy, I did, she just wasn’t right for you.”

“I was in love with her,” Steve insisted, and Melissa snorted.

“And when you talked about her, you didn’t light up even half as bright as you just did two minutes ago,” she said with a shrug, returning to her meal. Steve just gaped at her, completely at a loss of what to say to that. “Now, you can revisit your grudge against me for not being one hundred percent on board with Nancy Wheeler, or you could tell me about Eddie. Your choice, Steve.”

After a couple moments of digesting her words, Steve grinned and picked up his fork again, digging into his French toast and, quite frankly, talking his mom’s ear off about Eddie Munson.

As Steve’s brunch with his mom was coming to an end, his phone began to ring. It was weird enough to get a phone call out of the blue that Melissa didn’t mind when Steve checked his phone.

“Oh, it’s Eddie,” Steve said with a smile, glancing at his mom a bit nervously.

“Go ahead and answer, sweetie,” she said, taking out her own phone while Steve was busy.

“Hey, Eds,” he said happily as he answered.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie replied, but his tone was off, like he was about to deliver bad news and Steve’s stomach dropped.

“What’s up?” Steve asked, and out of the corner of his eye he could see his mother put her phone down and start paying attention.

Eddie sighed heavily on the other end. “I want you to know how much I don’t want to cancel, Stevie, like I really, really, really don’t and I’ve been trying to do everything in my power not to cancel—”

“Whoa, Eds, slow down. What’s going on?” Steve asked again, even as his eyes stung at the thought of not getting to see Eddie before he left.

“I overexerted my leg,” Eddie said in a voice that was almost mocking, and Steve leaned back in his chair with a quiet groan. After a bit, Eddie added, “Like, this past week has been the busiest, most demanding week of the tour so far between concerts and filming and shit, so it was bound to happen—”

“Last night didn’t help, though, did it?” Steve said, guilt twisting in his gut.

“Steve, don’t. I chose to do what we did last night just as much as you, so you better not be blaming yourself over there,” Eddie said firmly, and Steve chuckled sadly.

“Okay, fine, I’ll try not to. So, you’re not allowed to go out anymore?” Steve pressed and Eddie heaved a sigh.

“No, it’s not like I’m like… grounded, just…” Eddie trailed off a bit, like he was trying to find the words. “Right now, I’m not like, in pain. Well, not more pain than usual, I guess, but my leg is tired. I’ve had to use my crutches all fucking day, and basically if I want to be able to perform on Monday, I need to rest my stupid leg—”

“Don’t call it stupid,” Steve interrupted, startling a laugh out of Eddie.

“Fine, it’s not stupid, but I still have to rest my leg, and the plans I had for our date are not restful at all,” Eddie said, quickly adding, “That wasn’t an innuendo, by the way, I mean the plans I had involved a lot of walking, though I definitely also meant—”

“Eds,” Steve interjected before Eddie could go on a full ramble. “What if you just come over to my place? We can order in some take-out, watch a movie, keep it simple and quiet.”

There was a long pause. “What?” Eddie asked, as if he hadn’t even considered just hanging out at Steve’s apartment.

“Eds… did you actually think to cancel our date before asking to come over to my place?” Steve asked, and he could only muster a tone of fondness rather than annoyance.

“Well, kinda. I wanted to treat you, and you seemed excited, so I didn’t want to disappoint you, and yeah, I didn’t want to suggest something as lame as Netflix and chill,” Eddie said in a rush, pulling an actual laugh from Steve.

“Eds, I don’t care about the plans, that’s not even close to why I was excited. I just want to see you, that’s it,” Steve said earnestly, and when that statement was met with a long pause, he softly said, “Eds?”

“You’re not just saying that because you feel bad for me, right?” Eddie asked a bit stiffly, and Steve released a sad sigh, hating whoever taught him to assume that possibility before believing that Steve was being genuine.

“I’m saying it because I mean it, Eds. It was never about where you were taking me or what we were doing,” Steve insisted, his shoulders relaxing when Eddie laughed.

“How are you real, Steve?” Eddie murmured into the phone before sighing, happily that time. “What time should I come over, handsome?”

Steve grinned, rubbing his bottom lip as he considered the question. “How about six?”

“Sounds perfect, love,” Eddie hummed, winding Steve with the term of endearment all over again. “See you then,” he added.

“Yeah, see you then, Eds,” Steve agreed, a bit dazed as his mind spiraled around the pet name.

After hanging up, Steve looked back at Melissa to find her smiling at him, the expression almost cautious, but sincere.

“What?” he asked, getting self-conscious the longer she searched his face.

“Nothing, sweetie, just happy for you,” Melissa said, reaching across the table to hold Steve’s hand gently. “Your father would be, too.”

Steve blinked quickly, pulling his hand away to wipe his nose before clearing his throat. “I need to head home and clean up, figure out what I’m making for us to eat,” Steve said quickly, taking a deep breath.

“Thought you were ordering take-out?” Melissa said with a little smirk as she waved the server down for the check.

“Obviously I’m going to show off, Mom,” Steve said with a snort while he texted Eddie his address.

“That’s my boy,” she said proudly. Once their brunch was paid for, Melissa stood up and smiled down at Steve. “Well, let’s go. We’ve got an apartment to tidy and a dinner to plan.”

Steve raised an eyebrow as he stood and followed her out. “We?”

“I’m not busy today, so I’ll help you,” Melissa said, and at Steve’s narrowed eyes she held up her hands. “I’ll leave before he gets there! I promise! I’m not trying to ambush him.”

With a laugh, Steve nodded. “Okay, fine, you can come over and help. I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, grinning as he headed to his car.

❖

There were many things that Eddie generally was not, and one of those things was punctual. Getting him anywhere on time with anything less than an entire team of stage techs plus Chrissy Cunningham and a screaming crowd was nothing short of a miracle. So, when he made plans with Steve for six, he immediately showered and got changed, which left him with nothing to do for two hours.

He couldn’t even pace his hotel room to keep himself distracted, and if he turned on the TV, he would absolutely get too distracted and leave late. Eddie made it about an hour laying on his bed staring at the ceiling before he decided he would just leave early, give himself more than enough time to get there.

Sitting up, Eddie reached for his cane and paused, frowning. He hated using his crutches, but if Chrissy caught him not using them after he almost collapsed earlier when his knee buckled, she would actually ground him.

Grumbling to himself, Eddie picked his crutches up and made his way down to the hotel driveway, fumbling a bit with getting his phone out to call for a car with his crutches.

“Would you like assistance, sir?”

Eddie looked down at the redhead standing at the valet desk. Max, as he had come to learn her name to be. Her question was polite, but her tone was vaguely annoyed. He had seen her talk to other guests, so he knew she had it in her to give him the whole customer service schtick, she just chose not to. Eddie really liked that about her.

“Yeah, can you call me a town car?” he asked, and she sneered.

“I dunno, can I?” Max asked, rolling her eyes slightly as she started shifting through the papers on the desk. “You too good for a taxi or an Uber?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie said, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting up while Max found the sheet she needed and picking up the receiver of the phone on her desk.

“I’m gonna need the address of where you’re going, genius,” Max said flatly, and Eddie laughed.

“Here,” he said, handing her the piece of paper he rewrote Steve’s address on.

Max eyed the paper before turning a very real glare on Eddie. “Why’re you going to Steve’s?” she asked, her tone suspicious.

Unsure of how much Steve would want Eddie divulging about their courtship, he just quirked an eyebrow with a sly smirk. “To play Scrabble, obviously. Why else would a hot-blooded faggot such as myself go to a man’s private residence?” he asked suggestively.

Max’s expression shuttered completely, and she hung up the receiver. “Oops, looks like I don’t have the phone number for the town cars. Tough luck,” Max said with a tight, fake smile.

“He invited me over,” Eddie said, dumbfounded at her sneer.

“Yeah, and Steve sucks at taking care of himself,” Max said, shrugging, smiling as another guest stepped out of the door and slid into a taxi waiting there.

“He’s a big boy and can make his own choices,” Eddie pushed and while the whole back-and-forth was a bit frustrating, it also brought a smile to his face. Steve thought he didn’t have any friends other than his roommate, yet here Max was, the meanest valet driver in the world, protecting his honour or something.

“Yeah, he is and he can. Doesn’t mean I have to be complicit,” Max replied flatly, crossing her arms and leaning on the desk to narrow her eyes at him. “If he wants your dick so bad, he can come pick you up, yeah?”

Finally, Eddie laughed and shook his head, shuffling closer to the valet desk and leaning over it. “Between you and me, little red, Steve and I have been talking for months. I’m happy you’re looking out for him, though,” he said, and Max’s expression was skeptical.

“You expect me to believe that?” Max asked with a scoff.

“I expect nothing of you, little red. Do you mind if I lean against your desk while I call myself a ride?” Eddie asked before she could come back with another snappy retort.

Gesturing grandly, Max said, “Knock yourself out, Munson.” She eyed him warily while he leaned on the desk to free up his hands, pulling out his phone and dialing for the car service.

When the town car pulled up, Max actually surprised Eddie when she came around the desk and opened the door for him.

“Thanks, little red—” he started, but she put her hand in front of him.

“You better be telling the truth, Munson, and you better be good to him, got it?” Max said, and Eddie actually felt a small thrill of fear go through him. “I will find you and take one of your kidneys if you’re lying.”

With that, Max gestured for Eddie to get into the car and shut the door behind him with a condescending wave.

Grabbing his side nervously, Eddie looked down at his phone and texted Steve.

Eddie [sent at 16:58]: 😨 little red is so fucking scary 😱😱😱😱 💞💓💞 [sent at 16:59]: what she do now? Eddie [sent at 17:01]: threatened 🔪 my kidney if i hurt u 😨😨😨 💞💓💞 [sent at 17:01]: jesus sorry shes rly intense sometimes i'll talk to her Eddie [sent at 17:02]: it was cute just rly scary 😨 fr fully believe she will actually take my kidney

Eddie put his phone away and focused on looking out the window, trying not to let his nerves get to him. It was starting to sink in that he was going to be spending the evening with Steve and not doing any of the flashy things he had planned to hopefully keep Steve’s interest in him past the sex. They were going to spend several hours together with nothing to distract Steve, nothing for Eddie to hide behind. He was going to ask Steve to be his boyfriend, and he couldn’t help the wave of anxiety that Steve would say no.

Arriving at Steve’s apartment by fifteen after five was not at all part of Eddie’s plans. This was way too early, but it wasn’t like he could just ask the driver to sit and idle for at least half an hour. Dealing with payment and thanking the driver, Eddie slid out and leaned against the building and lit another cigarette that he had no intention of actually smoking that much of.

Beside him, the door to the building opened and a woman stepped out, speaking on the phone with someone.

“I’ll be home shortly, I was just helping—yes, I know I said I would help with the launch, but I was needed here,” she was saying, and she glanced over at him with a polite smile before taking a couple more steps. Then she glanced at him again, looking a little longer as if recognizing him, and Eddie grimaced.

That was just what he needed, to be recognized by a fan outside the apartment of the guy he was pretty solidly in love with. Eddie was sure that would go over well.

“Reggie, shut up, I have to go,” she said, and with that she hung up the call and dialed another number. Opening the passenger door of a fancy car parked at the curb, she threw her purse onto the seat and said, “Yes, I know I just left— sweetie, shut up. Incoming.”

She rounded the car and met Eddie’s puzzled gaze and winked at him. “He’s here already,” the woman said into the phone, opening the door and getting in. “No, I didn’t say anything to—”

The rest of her sentence was cut off as she shut her door, and inside the car she was laughing as she hung up. Looking back over at Eddie, she waved one last time before pulling away and driving off down the road.

Within seconds, the door of the building opened again, and Steve stumbled out onto the sidewalk, looking over at Eddie with bewildered, wild eyes.

Eddie was blown away by just how handsome Steve was all over again, his hair artfully messy, his hazel eyes wide and crinkling at the corners with his crooked smile, the moles that painted a constellation across his skin. Letting his eyes travel down Steve’s neck, Eddie noted each hickey with a growing hunger that he had to shake himself out of.

“What are you doing here already?” Steve asked, and Eddie met his eyes again. Steve grimaced and added, “Sorry, I just—I wasn’t expecting you for like, forty-five more minutes.”

“Yeah, I got antsy sitting around the hotel room, and I guess I left too early. Was gonna just hang here for a while before coming up, but…” Eddie trailed off, gesturing to where the woman’s car had been parked.

“Yeah, sorry, that was my mom. I’m sorry for anything she said to you,” Steve said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck roughly as he laughed nervously.

Eddie grimaced that Steve’s mom’s first impression of him was loitering and smoking. “She didn’t say anything to me, baby,” he reassured Steve, twisting his fingers in the front of Steve’s sweater and pulling him close. With a soft smile, he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Steve’s lips.

Steve sighed and opened under Eddie’s mouth, wrapping his arms loosely around Eddie’s neck. Just like that, Eddie felt his nerves settle as he groaned and deepened the kiss a bit more.

“Dinner,” Steve suddenly said, pulling back. “I have to put dinner back in the oven. C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

“Oven? I thought we were ordering in,” Eddie said a bit dazed, snuffing out his cigarette and tossing it in a garbage bin. Rearranging his crutches, he followed Steve to the elevators, smiling fondly at the sheepish expression on Steve’s face.

“Yeah, well, I decided to make us dinner instead,” Steve said, sounding almost shy and Eddie couldn’t help but corner him in the elevator to kiss his blushing cheeks.

When the doors reopened, Eddie moved aside so Steve could lead the way into his place, and immediately the divine smell of tomato sauce, garlic, and onions washed over them when the door opened.

“Holy shit, babe,” Eddie groaned, sitting himself down on the couch so he could take his shoes off. “Smells amazing in here.”

“Thanks,” Steve said with a blush, then hurried into the kitchen. “You can stay there; I’ll be right back.”

Eddie took the few moments alone to look around, smiling at the cozy living room that had knick-knacks and picture frames on almost every shelf. The furniture in the room was all old, well-loved, worn but not worn-out. It reminded him of Uncle Wayne’s trailer, the way it felt like a home.

“I hope you don’t mind lasagna,” Steve said as he returned to the couch, sitting down next to Eddie with a charming smile. “It was the only thing I had all the ingredients for.”

“Lasagna’s perfect, Stevie,” Eddie said with a grin, leaning close to try and kiss Steve, but then he’s pulling away.

“You want something to drink?” Steve asked, and then moved as if to stand up and Eddie twisted a hand in the front of Steve’s sweater.

“How long does the lasagna have?” Eddie asked in a husky whisper.

“About thirty minutes, but—”

Eddie interrupted Steve with a kiss, licking into his sweet mouth and swallowing the soft sound he made. With a low groan, Eddie hauled the man into his lap, smiling against Steve’s lips when he immediately straddled his thighs. In no time at all, Steve’s fingers were in Eddie’s hair, twisting and holding him in place as Steve hungrily devoured his mouth.

It drove Eddie insane, the way Steve would be sweet and soft under his hands, just to turn hungry and pushy, using his teeth and growling softly. It was almost as if the sounds were subconscious, like he didn’t even really mean to be making them at all, and Eddie happily accepted those noises against his tongue.

“No! Nuh-uh!”

The shrieking voice barely registered in Eddie’s hazy mind before a mist of cold water hit him directly on the side of the face.

“Robin! What the fuck?” Steve shouted as he leaped off Eddie’s lap to wrestle a spray bottle out of the hands of a woman Eddie had only really seen in pictures. He immediately recognized her as Steve’s best friend, and he grinned as Steve struggled to get her to give up the spray bottle.

Finally, Steve managed to get the bottle and shot a spray of water directly into her mouth when she opened it to yell at him. Choking a bit, Robin punched Steve in the arm.

When Robin recovered, she pointed at Steve, smacking the spray bottle away when he went to shoot her in the mouth again.

“No sex on the communal furniture, Stephen,” she scolded, then looked at Eddie with fire in her eyes. “I know exactly how you defiled that kitchenette and you’re not doing the same to my late Great Aunt Mildred’s loveseat, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie said quickly, eyes wide as Robin narrowed hers at him.

Then she nodded and smiled. “Alright, I’m going to be at Nancy’s and I’m absolutely not returning until tomorrow around dinner time, okay?” Robin said, not even waiting for them to respond before she put her shoes on and left out the front door, shouting a hurried goodbye.

Steve was still standing, breathing heavily from his wrestling match with Robin before laughing breathlessly down at Eddie. “Well, you heard her. Time to behave,” Steve said before walking into the kitchen to grab a couple beers and bring them back to the couch.

The evening went by slowly but comfortably, unhurried and sweet. The lasagna was perfect, and even if it wasn’t Eddie was sure he would still think it was because Steve made it. Eddie couldn’t remember a partner ever making him a meal before, and it took him a few moments to settle the emotions that bubbled up from that.

After they ate, they returned to the living room to watch a movie, some action flick that Eddie barely paid attention to the title of. When Steve reeled Eddie into his side, the chance of Eddie retaining any of the movie flew right out the window, especially when Steve lifted a hand to start scratching Eddie’s scalp lightly, absentmindedly.

Eddie was a weak man, and it wasn’t long before Eddie turned his head and tilted his lips up with a needy sound, coaxing Steve into another kiss. This kiss was kept slow, almost chaste as they felt each other, testing the boundaries of the moment. The moment Eddie tried to deepen the kiss, Steve pulled back with a chuckle.

“Remember our warning, Eds,” Steve teased, kissing Eddie’s lips with a quick peck.

“I’m sure there’s some non-communal furniture somewhere in this apartment we could move to,” Eddie hummed suggestively, and Steve laughed softly.

“I think there’s a conversation we need to have first,” Steve replied, and his voice was a bit shaky. Pulling back, Eddie searched Steve’s face.

“Alright,” Eddie said slowly, leaning away from Steve to give him some space.

Reaching over, Steve tangled their fingers together, stroking his thumb across the back of Eddie’s hand and the tenderness of the motion was nearly overwhelming.

“Last night, you called me your boyfriend,” Steve started, meeting Eddie’s gaze firmly, pinning him there. “Did you mean it?”

“Do you want me to mean it?” Eddie deflected, which made no sense. That is what he wanted, for them to be boyfriends, partners, together. Steve was asking him if he wanted that, and there he was putting it back on him.

“I want to know if you meant it,” Steve pushed earnestly. “How do you feel about me?”

Eddie took a deep breath, eyes flitting around Steve’s face. “I’m afraid to answer that question, Steve,” he confessed quietly, his heart pounding frantically in his chest.

“Why?” Steve asked, his own voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie laughed, almost a bit hysterically. “I’m afraid it’s going to scare you off,” he admitted, breaking their eye-contact to look down at their hands.

“I don’t think it will, Eds,” Steve said, sounding so hopeful and Eddie wished that made him braver, but it just made him more anxious. Like now the possibility of disappointing Steve was real now.

“Steve, I’ve never felt the way I do right now for anyone else,” Eddie said shakily, and it was almost like that was all he needed for the dam to break. “I don’t—I want to call you my boyfriend and mean it, I want to talk about you if interviewers bring you up, I want you to call me your boyfriend. I want to be with you.”

There was a long pause before Steve pressed close for a gentle but deep kiss, a hand sliding into Eddie’s hair to hold him in place.

Pulling away, Steve quietly said, “That’s what I want, too.”

Eddie laughed, incredulous and giddy. “Seriously? Me? Why?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Because you’re funny, and talented, and you care about your friends so much, and you’re so fucking hot,” Steve rattled off quickly before taking a deep breath and finishing, “and I love you.”

Eddie gaped at Steve, feeling the air whoosh out of his lungs. “You love me?” he asked weakly, a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Yeah, Eds, I think I’ve been in love with you since I binged your YouTube channel,” Steve said, grinning broadly. “So what do you think about that?”

“I love you, too, Stevie. Been in love with you so long, and I think we need to move to non-communal furniture as soon as fucking possible,” Eddie babbled, reeling Steve into a desperate, hungry kiss.

Steve laughed against Eddie’s mouth, and the feel of it on his lips was divine. It wasn’t long before Steve’s hands found their way into Eddie’s hair, tangling the curls around his fingers and tugging, turning his head this way and that, licking his way into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie couldn’t help the way he shook as he let the man have his way with him, whimpering as he pressed their tongues together.

When Steve pulled away, Eddie tried to chase after his lips but was stopped by the fingers in his hair. “Steve,” he whined, pouting as he opened his eyes, and he glared at the soft grin on Steve’s lips.

“We should move this to my room, yeah?” Steve suggested with a raised eyebrow, and Eddie shivered and nodded.

“Y-yeah, definitely, your room,” Eddie gasped, swallowing thickly as he tried to calm down.

“You—do you want to walk there yourself, or I could carry you?” Steve asked, almost shyly. Like he was unsure if what he was asking was polite or not.

Normally, Eddie found it annoying when people asked him questions like that, but there was a part of him that knew that Steve was genuine and didn’t mean anything by it. He wasn’t assuming that Eddie needed help, and a part of Eddie knew he wouldn’t be upset if he turned down any help being offered.

“I’m kinda heavy,” Eddie said with a cheeky smile. “Denser than I look.”

“I can handle it,” Steve challenged, getting off the couch to stand over Eddie with a wicked smirk. It was one of the hottest things Eddie had ever seen, to be completely honest.

“Mm, now I want to see you try, gorgeous,” Eddie teased, lounging back on the couch and spreading his legs around Steve’s knees.

Grinning, Steve bent at the waist and grabbed Eddie’s legs just under his thighs. “Wrap your arms around my neck?” he requested, and Eddie acquiesced immediately, snagging Steve’s smirking lips in another hungry, demanding kiss.

With a low sound, Steve stood up as if Eddie weighed nothing, barely even grunting as his weight shifted forward against his chest. Eddie, however, shuddered as his hardening cock was rocked against Steve’s abdomen, his whole body on fire at the demonstration of strength and he had to pull away from the kiss.

“Oh, holy shit, Steve,” he gasped, burying his face into Steve’s throat to lay several biting kisses on the skin there, giving him all new marks around the ones he was given the night before.

Steve just chuckled, groaning softly as he walked down the hallway and into a bedroom. “Told you I could handle you,” Steve hummed before depositing Eddie onto the bed carefully and reaching for the buckle on his belt.

“That you did, Stevie,” Eddie laughed, and he reached down to take over removing his clothes, but Steve slapped his hands away. “Hey!”

“I’ll do it,” Steve said firmly as he began working on the fly, glaring up through his lashes at Eddie. “You just relax.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed at that, and with a grumble he moved to take his shirt off instead. Once again, Steve just smacked his hands away from the hem of his shirt. “Stevie, c’mon,” he complained, shaking as he watched Steve peel his pants off of his legs.

“Eds, we’re doing this my way this time, which means I’m taking my time with you,” Steve practically purred, propping himself on his hands over Eddie and smirking down at him.

There was something overwhelming about looking up at Steve in that moment, the way his hair was lit up by the light above him, like a halo or something cheesy like that, his eyes so soft and fond while his smirk was so pointed. Eddie felt breathless at the sight.

When Eddie didn’t answer immediately, Steve bent his arms and brought his mouth close to Eddies, but not nearly close enough for a kiss. When Eddie strained up for a kiss, Steve backed off. “Can you be a good boy? Be patient for me?”

Eddie shook at the question, and part of him wanted to cry that he couldn’t be patient, he just wasn’t built like that and never had been. But the thought of being a good boy for Steve had him desperately wanting to try. So he nodded frantically, reaching up to hold Steve’s face gently.

“Yes, Stevie, I can be good for you, I can be patient,” he practically whimpered, chewing the inside of his cheek to try and calm down just a little bit. He could make this work, he could do what Steve asked of him and he would do it so well.

“That’s what I thought, baby,” Steve hummed, lowering himself enough to kiss Eddie sweetly, almost chastely. Pulling back, he coaxed Eddie to sit up so he could remove his shirt and toss it somewhere in his room.

Shivering as Steve pulled back to stare at him hungrily, Eddie leaned back on his hands, giving him a pleading look as Steve checked him out.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve sighed dreamily before pressing his fingertips into the center of Eddie’s chest, urging him to lay back down so he could pull his boxers down his hips.

Eddie was beside himself as he was bared, completely naked under Steve’s heated gaze while Steve was still fully dressed. There was a part of Eddie that wondered if Steve was planning to fuck him like that, wearing his jeans and sweater, and the thought had Eddie’s cock throbbing where it rested against his hip.

“God, this cock is so fucking perfect,” Steve moaned, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed to lick a hard, demanding stripe up the length of Eddie’s cock and taking the head of it into his mouth.

Eddie jolted at the sudden heat around the head of his cock and his hands were tangled in Steve’s hair before he could stop himself. The moment he pushed, Steve pulled off and began to gently lap at the head. Sobbing, Eddie let go and screwed his eyes shut tightly, willing his body to relax and just take it. Sighing happily, Steve took Eddie back into his mouth, bobbing his head and sucking noisily, pulling all manner of wanton noises from Eddie.

Sprawled as he was across the bed, Eddie fisted his hands in the comforter, trying to refrain from thrusting up into Steve’s mouth just to feel him gag around him. It felt like torture, just lying there waiting for Steve to do something, to give him the okay to grab and pull and bite.

Sliding his mouth off Eddie’s cock with a wet pop of his lips, Steve smiled pleasantly. “How’re you feeling, baby?” he asked knowingly, and Eddie whimpered.

“Want you, want more, don’t wanna take my time,” Eddie complained, his bottom lip wobbling a bit.

“Mm, I’ll take your thoughts into consideration,” Steve hummed with a smirk, and Eddie knew that Steve was unmoved, not even bothered that Eddie was losing his mind already. “Right now, I’m going to suck your perfect, fat cock.”

Eddie nearly cheered when Steve lowered his mouth onto his dick again, but Steve’s attention was gentle, teasing, not even remotely enough to actually get him off. His cock just throbbed and pumped a thick glob of precum onto Steve’s tongue. With a thick groan, Steve took Eddie deep in his mouth and throat, sucking hard on the draw back and pulling what might have been a scream from Eddie’s throat.

With a shudder, Steve pulled all the way off Eddie’s cock and stood up, undoing his fly and pushing his jeans down his hips. When Eddie reached up to try and help him, Steve shook his head.

“Just lay there and relax,” Steve reminded him, and Eddie wanted to scream and cry and pitch a fit, but he wanted to be good like Steve asked. When Eddie forcibly relaxed against the comforter, Steve beamed at him. “Just like that, baby.”

Eddie let out a shaky sigh, stretching under Steve’s gaze, preening under the praise. This was doable, being good and letting Steve take his sweet time. It felt a bit like he was going to die if he wasn’t touched and sucked and fucked right this second, but he could live with that feeling forever if that meant Steve thought he was being good.

Once Steve was standing over him, completely naked and perfect, he got a thoughtful look on his face. “I don’t think I can take your cock again,” he confessed, cringing a bit. “I’m really sore down there today.”

“Fuck me,” Eddie said quickly, practically begged even, blushing darkly at Steve’s raised eyebrow. “Please, baby, I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? You want my cock, pretty boy?” Steve hummed, climbing onto the bed and straddling Eddie’s waist. The sensation of Steve’s wet cunt smearing slick across the soft skin of Eddie’s lower abdomen had Eddie shaking with his want.

“Yes,” Eddie sobbed, grabbing Steve’s hips just to ground himself, screwing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. “Want your cock so bad, Stevie.”

“What’s the best position for you, sweetheart?” Steve asked, lowering a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose.

“What d’you mean?” Eddie asked breathlessly.

“I don’t want to hurt your leg,” Steve replied softly, and Eddie wanted to kiss him until he was breathless and shaking.

“Baby, love how thoughtful you are, but my leg hurts pretty much all the time,” Eddie said with a shrug, which was mostly true.

“Then how can I make it easier for you?” Steve pressed, kissing Eddie’s cheek. “How can I make love to you without adding to your pain?”

Eddie flushed. “Don’t get sappy on me,” he tried to tease, but it came out embarrassingly earnest and thick, like he was about to fucking cry.

“Sappy is my first language, my love,” Steve hummed, grinning at Eddie’s deep blush that reached his navel. “So gorgeous when you blush, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” Eddie whined, covering his face.

“Never, but I’ll give you a bit of a break, I guess,” Steve sighed, kissing the backs of Eddie’s hands, right where Eddie’s lips would be if he wasn’t hiding his face. “You haven’t answered my question, Eds.”

“Just help me, like hold my leg up when I wrap it around your waist,” Eddie managed to murmur shakily.

“I can definitely do that for you, baby,” Steve sighed, sliding off Eddie and manhandling him further onto the bed in a show of strength that had Eddie’s cock throbbing. Seriously, how was he just realizing that Steve was strong like that?

Steve immediately dove in for a searching, hungry kiss. When Steve mouthed his way down Eddie’s chin and throat, pausing to suck a mark on the skin there, Eddie desperately grabbed for Steve. The other man dodged his hands and actually stopped the sinful attention with his lips and teeth, pulling a devastated sob from Eddie’s chest.

“Take what I give you and I keep going, Eds,” Steve hummed sweetly against the patch of skin just below Eddie’s ear before lifting his head to kiss his cheek softly. “Unless that’s too much for you right now. We can always work on your patience another time.”

Again, Eddie was tempted to say he couldn’t do it, that he needed Steve’s hands, and mouth, and cock so badly that making him wait was just fucking cruel. But he couldn’t stop thinking about being good, being Steve’s good boy. Eddie was never the one to be the good boy, even in past relationships where he was almost exclusively the more submissive one. It was something he never even considered wanting to be the good boy, mostly because he’d never had a partner suggest it. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, which he quickly blinked away, refusing to let them fall lest Steve stop everything completely.

“I wanna try,” Eddie said, and he hoped his voice wasn’t watery enough for Steve to get suspicious.

“Sweet boy,” Steve cooed, holding one of Eddie’s hands while he stretched across the bed to dig a bottle of lube out of the bedside table’s drawer.

The tenderness of that, not wanting to let go of Eddie for even the short seconds it would take to grab the lube, nearly broke Eddie’s resolve not to cry like a fucking baby. What the fuck was Steve playing at being like this when he was a horny demon the night before? How was it possible for one man to be so perfect, so sexy, so sweet, and somehow also Eddie’s?

Steve was situating himself between Eddie’s thighs when he managed to calm himself down, letting go of Eddie’s hand so he could slick his fingers. With a shaky whine, Eddie spread his legs wider for Steve, needy for his touch but trying to rein in his desperation so Steve didn’t slow down even more. Dropping down onto an elbow above Eddie, Steve captured his lips in a deep kiss, licking into his mouth at the same time a finger pushed inside him, the press steady and relentless. Eddie shook, even with the nearly clinical touch, his eyes rolling back as Steve began carefully fucking that digit in and out of him.

The touch stayed like that for what felt like forever while Steve kissed the breath from his lungs, the steady push in, pause, steady drag out, repeat. Eddie was shivering, ready to pull away from the kiss and beg, wanting to rock his hips to try and get that perfect fingertip against his prostate, to get something. But he was showing Steve that he could be good, that he could be patient, that he trusted Steve to give him what he wanted. With a shuddering moan, Eddie willed himself to relax on the bed beneath Steve, sighing as Steve hummed happily.

“Good boy,” Steve hummed and pressed a second finger into Eddie’s body.

Eddie let out a delighted, breathless laugh, reaching up to hold Steve’s face but when those perfect fingers paused before the next push inward, he hesitated. “Just wanna hold you, Stevie, promise,” he whimpered, and Steve shushed him gently.

“Of course, baby, you can hold me,” he said with a soft chuckle, and Eddie didn’t waste time before cupping Steve’s cheeks and tilting his mouth up into a sweet kiss.

“Thank you,” Eddie breathed, relaxing under Steve again. With a pleased groan, Steve rewarded Eddie with a third finger, the stretch testing Eddie’s hole in a way he hadn’t done in a while.

At Eddie’s slight hiss, Steve frowned and withdrew, hushing Eddie’s whining pleas for Steve to not stop, that he could take it, just wasn’t used to it, please. When Steve’s fingers returned, they were wetter, coated with more lube, and he pressed them back inside one at a time in three thrusts. It was much easier to adjust with the additional lube, and Eddie was so grateful to Steve. On one hand, the slight pain would have been very appreciated, but this… It was perfect, even if it too overwhelmed Eddie with something so similar to terror, he briefly considered calling a stop to all of it while he settled himself back the fuck down.

“How’re you doing, pretty boy?” Steve cooed, as if reading Eddie’s thoughts, and Eddie felt his heart rate settle just a bit.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie gradually relaxed into the bed and wrapped his arms loosely around Steve’s neck. “I’m good, I’m so good, Stevie,” he replied shakily, tipping his head back. “Just a lot.”

“Too much?” Steve followed up, not quite pausing his movements but they still changed just enough that Eddie knew he was ready to.

“No, perfect,” Eddie confessed in a whisper, smiling up at Steve when he pulled back to meet his eyes.

Smiling crookedly in a way that had Eddie’s breath hitching in his chest, Steve stooped to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Let me know if that changes, okay, baby?” he said and Eddie nodded, humming as Steve’s fingers began moving more determinedly.

There was something more deliberate to Steve’s movements, his fingers curling on every pull. Eddie realized what was happening exactly one second before Steve found his prostate, knocking a raspy, shattered sound from Eddie’s lips as he arched off the bed.

“Jesus, you’re fucking gorgeous, Eds,” Steve groaned, his voice rumbling in his chest and Eddie sobbed, eyelids fluttering as those perfect fingers focused on Eddie’s prostate.

Eddie writhed, trying to keep from thrusting down onto Steve’s fingers, not wanting him to pull away, but he was too caught up in the pleasure. His nerve-endings were on fire, eyes rolling back as he shuddered, and he couldn’t hold back the scream when Steve pressed his thumb against the piercings on his taint, squeezing his prostate from two sides. There was a moment that Eddie was certain that he would either come, black-out, or die if Steve kept up what he was doing, his breaths coming out in wet whimpers.

Just when he thought he was about to fly apart at the seams, Steve relented, and Eddie shook with the force of his sob that was equal parts relieved and devastated.

Steve shifted so he was up on his hand instead of his elbow, his dark eyes roving over Eddie’s body hungrily. Pausing as his gaze caught on Eddie’s cock, Steve groaned. “Look at how wet you are for me, babe,” he cooed, and Eddie looked down at himself as he panted with little sobs.

There was an absolute puddle of precum on his lower abdomen, connected to the tip of his cock by a chain that still oozed from the tip.

“Should clean this up,” Steve murmured thoughtfully, and Eddie’s eyes widened as he shook his head frantically. At Steve’s concerned expression, Eddie shook his head again, trying to get his words to work so he didn’t stop.

“Gonna come if you get that mouth anywhere fucking near my dick,” Eddie managed to gasp, and Steve raised an eyebrow.

“And if I want you to come now?” Steve asked, crooking his fingers in a way that threatened to touch his prostate, but didn’t quite do it.

Eddie frantically shook his head again. “Only wanna come with your cock inside me, please. You can try and make me come as many times as you want on your cock, but don’t wanna come like this,” Eddie babbled, screwing his eyes shut. “Please, wanna be good, but don’t wanna come like this.”

“You’re being perfect for me, baby,” Steve sighed happily, and his voice was closer which was Eddie’s only warning before Steve’s lips were against his cheek. “Telling me what you want so pretty and sweet is perfect.”

“Stevie, please, can you fuck me now?” Eddie whimpered, forcing his eyes open to meet Steve’s.

“Not going to fuck you, Eds,” Steve said cheekily as he spread his fingers a bit.

Eddie wanted to scream and cry, so ready to crawl off the bed and jerk off in the bathroom if he had to. “Steve, please,” Eddie begged instead, shuddering hard when Steve brushed past his sweet spot.

“I told you already, Eds, I’m making love to you tonight,” Steve hummed, and Eddie felt his entire face and chest heat up with his blush.

“Shut up,” Eddie said before he could stop himself and Steve chuckled.

“I’m not gonna get my cock until you ask for it properly, baby,” Steve pushed, and Eddie rolled his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

“That’s not even a thing,” he grumbled, and Steve just laughed.

“Just humour me then,” Steve replied, collapsing onto his elbow again to mouth at Eddie’s throat. “Should be easy to say for me if it’s not a thing, yeah?”

Eddie bit his lips as the fingers inside him began moving again, slow and clinical, deliberately avoiding Eddie’s prostate. “Stevie,” Eddie whimpered, gasping when Steve’s fingers crooked into his prostate for a brief second.

“Yeah, Eds?” Steve prompted and Eddie whimpered again.

“Make love to me,” Eddie finally whispered, his face, ears, and neck hot as he waited for Steve to do something at his quiet request, as if he expected Steve to laugh at him or something mean.

But Steve just groaned and kissed the breath from Eddie’s lungs before he pulled away. “Stay put, just have to get the harness on,” Steve reassured Eddie as he slid off the bed and went to his dresser.

Eddie was grateful for the short break, tipping his head back against the bed and covering his eyes while he took a few deep breaths.

The bed rocked as Steve returned, and Eddie shivered as the man trailed his fingertips up his leg, starting at his ankle.

“Doing okay, Eds?” Steve asked softly, genuine in his concern and Eddie nodded, not yet ready to lower his hands and look at Steve. He was still preparing himself for Steve wearing a leather harness.

“I’m fine, perfect even, just trying not to go insane when I look at you in a minute,” Eddie breathed, grinning at Steve’s laugh.

“It’s not that hot,” Steve grumbled, and Eddie shook his head.

“I’ll be the judge of that when I’m brave enough to fuckin’ look,” he said, his cheeks hurting with his grin when he felt Steve lower himself to his elbows over him, their chests pressed flush together. When Steve began mouthing at his jaw and throat, Eddie groaned thickly and tipped his head back to allow him more room to work.

Immediately, Steve accepted the invitation, humming softly as he licked and nipped at the sensitive skin, working what would probably be half a dozen hickeys by the end of the night. Chrissy was going to have a fit when it was time to go on some press thing, or to film the stupid documentary thing. Eddie didn’t really care though, he wanted to be claimed, wanted to feel owned by Steve.

With a quiet whine, Eddie lowered his hands to just cradle Steve’s head, one hand in his hair while the other cupped the back of his neck. He was just holding Steve, not pushing or pulling him, not demanding anything, just grounding himself in that moment. It was driving him mad, the way Steve wasn’t doing anything really, just kissing and marking him up, not even touching his cock.

Then he felt the thick, slicked arch of a strap-on slide down the side of his sac, and he let out an embarrassingly loud whimper.

“Please, Stevie, please,” Eddie practically sobbed at the ceiling and when Steve pulled away to sit back up on his knees, Eddie made the mistake of looking at him.

Just as he had expected, Steve was practically some sort of God with his perfect, sun-kissed skin, spattering of moles and freckles across every inch of him, perfectly straight nose, and spectacular head of hair. Even after Eddie’s hands had been in it and sweat began dripping from the hairline, it looked fucking amazing, and Eddie was a bit jealous. He knew his own had to be frizzy by now with how hot and humid it was starting to feel in Steve’s bedroom.

Eddie’s eyes trailed down Steve’s body, taking the time he was finally given to actually look at him, to take in the whole sight of him. The thin, but visible scars on his chest that Eddie wanted to lick and kiss and bite, the hair that covered his chest and stomach, the soft pouch of his lower abdomen. And right at the crux of Steve’s thighs was a thick, long cock held on by a substantial leather harness.

Eddie was right to fear for his sanity because he felt as though he was going to either cry or fucking die if that cock didn’t split him in half in the next five minutes.

Steve was laughing again, a soft blush dusting his cheeks and Eddie realized he said all of that out loud.

“You’re being ridiculous, it isn’t even as thick as yours,” he grumbled, and as if to compare and prove his point, he slotted his cock next to Eddie’s. Steve added a little swivel of his hips at the last moment, which had Eddie arching off the bed and panting.

Looking down at their cocks pressed so close, Eddie wasn’t seeing as much of a difference as Steve apparently did, but he had to admit that Steve was apparently correct.

“So, what? Is this revenge or something for fucking your cunt so good that you can still feel me the next day? Gonna make me walk funny for different reasons?” Eddie asked as he tried to rein in his arousal, waggling his eyebrows at Steve’s deadpan glare.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him after a moment. “I can get a smaller one if you—”

“No! No, this is perfect, please, I want it,” Eddie said quickly, hooking his better leg around Steve’s waist even though he didn’t actually make a move to get off the bed.

At that, Steve just smiled, and it almost looked mean, but his eyes were too soft to sell it. “That’s what I thought,” he hummed as he grabbed the lube and reapplied another layer of slick to the length.

Eddie watched Steve closely, watched the way his hand worked the length of the dildo, the way he bit his lip as if he could feel it himself, as if it actually gave him pleasure. Maybe it did on some level, and maybe Eddie would be brave enough someday to ask Steve something so personal.

When Steve’s hazel eyes met his again, Eddie was about to beg him to just hurry up and fuck him, and he smirked knowingly, as if he could hear his thoughts. Or maybe Eddie was talking out loud again? He didn’t know or really care, because that was when Steve hooked an elbow under the knee of Eddie’s bad leg and leaned close.

Back bowing and ass lifting off the bed, Eddie let out a whimper as Steve scooted forward so his knees supported his lower back, the head of his cock nudging at the underside of Eddie’s sac. With a soft, desperate sound Eddie wrapped his other leg more firmly around Steve’s waist.

“I got you, baby,” Steve cooed sweetly, shifting his arm under Eddie’s leg so he could angle his cock down enough to push at the loose ring of Eddie’s hole.

The slight pressure, the way the tip was already spreading his hole even if Steve wasn’t yet pushing, had Eddie keening. He hadn’t been fucked in a while, a long while truly. He’d stopped fooling around with people after he realized how serious his feelings were becoming for Steve, but those few recent-ish times he had been the top.

But Steve, of course, was gentle as he slid inside, keeping the motion slow yet relentless. Eddie’s eyes rolled back as Steve finally bottomed out inside him, the thick weight of his cock settling in his core and lighting him on fire.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Eds,” Steve sighed, and Eddie felt his blush flare all over.

Forcing his eyes open, Eddie shook his head as he met Steve’ gaze. “Got me confused with you, sweetheart,” he managed to gasp out, his voice too shaky to sell the flirtation, but it got the bashful grin he was hoping for, nonetheless.

“This isn’t about me, right now,” Steve said, and then he pulled out a bit, just enough to pull a gasp from Eddie, and then pushed back in, just as gentle as the first thrust. It was amazing, setting off fireworks behind Eddie’s eyes and making him arch off the bed. But as the next handful of thrusts followed the same slow rhythm, it was quickly becoming not enough.

Well, if he was being honest and not dramatic, it was absolutely enough. More than enough because the angle Steve was thrusting in on was nudging his cock just perfectly past his prostate. But Eddie wanted it harder, faster, with more sweat and teeth and nails being dragged across skin. Something he was more accustomed to, a little better equipped to take.

Grunting, Eddie rocked his hips against Steve, hoping the man was done trying to make him take it slow.

With a soft tsk, Steve bottomed out roughly, his hips slapping against Eddie in a way that was so close to what he was trying to get that he couldn’t help the strangled cry that burst from his throat. But then Steve didn’t move, and his free hand wrapped around his hip to hold him still.

“Eds,” Steve scolded softly, sweetly even and Eddie wanted to throw a fit.

“Steve, I just want it harder, wanna feel you for days, make me feel it, please,” Eddie begged, shaking as his ass clenched around the cock buried deep inside him.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Steve promised softly, stroking the skin of Eddie’s hip with his thumb gently. “Do you trust me to take care of you?”

Eddie was nodding before he consciously registered the question in his mind.

“Will you be good and let me take care of you?” Steve asked in a low voice, his gaze intense when Eddie managed to meet it.

With another sob, Eddie nodded frantically, and Steve began to move again, a little bit faster and harder, but not the brutal, punishing pace Eddie was aiming for. Eddie fisted his hands into the comforter at his sides, just holding on as Steve fucked him, trying to be good for Steve and take what he was given.

Sucking his teeth, Steve readjusted his hold on Eddie’s bad leg, his hand now wrapped around and under the outside of his thigh. Then, his other hand pulled Eddie’s away from the comforter, laced their fingers together, then pressed Eddie’s hand into the mattress next to his head.

Eddie gasped at the gesture, turning his head to stare at their hands with wide eyes, and he barely noticed when Steve dropped onto his elbow above him. Then Steve craned his neck to coax Eddie into a kiss, his tongue greedy as it licked into Eddie’s mouth and for a moment Eddie’s mind went completely blank, nothing but bliss hovering over his mind. Especially since Steve was starting to fuck him harder.

Then Steve’s thumb stroked the side of Eddie’s hand at the same time he sighed a shaky “I love you” against Eddie’s tongue.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie sobbed as tears sprung to his eyes and immediately began to fall, his words muffled around Steve’s tongue.

It was so much, being treated so gently, so sweetly, so lovingly. It was something Eddie had never experienced, even with partners he thought might have been The One in the past. Not a single person ever treated him like he was fragile, precious, loved, especially when it came to sex and now that he was getting just that, he could barely cope with the swell of emotions.

Steve pulled back to smile at him, but his expression dropped immediately at his tears, his hips stuttering to a stop. “Oh, shit, Eds—”

“Good tears!” Eddie gasped out, lifting his hand to wipe the tears off his cheeks, shaking his head when they were immediately replaced. “They’re good, very good, please don’t stop. I promise they’re good.”

“Eds—”

“Steve! I’m okay, I’m perfect, I promise. I wouldn’t lie about this, okay?” Eddie insisted desperately, tightening his leg around Steve’s waist. “Sometimes when I’m feeling a lot, I cry, and I’m only feeling good things.”

Steve smiled so gently down at Eddie at that, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “And what are you feeling, baby?” he asked, his hips starting to move again.

Eddie let out a weak little sob, lips trembling against Steve’s. “Like I love you so much I’m scared of it,” he whispered, tipping his head back with a wet whine as Steve sped up.

“Go on, baby,” Steve groaned, pressing his lips to Eddie’s throat. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Like I’m precious,” Eddie continued, shaking as Steve’s cock just barely missed his prostate on each thrust. “Like I’m loved.”

Steve groaned thickly. “You are, Eds, you’re so precious and loved,” he murmured, speeding up. “Gonna make love to you until you actually believe it.”

Eddie sobbed, shuddering as the coil in his gut pulled taut, only Steve’s cock and the gentle rub of his stomach against his cock about to get him off. Of course, Steve heard the unspoken part of how he felt, that in spite of everything, Eddie didn’t think he deserved this, or that Eddie fully believed that Steve felt this way.

He was about to come while crying, because Steve was fucking him so gently while whispering about how precious and loved he is.

“Steve—” Eddie started to warn, his voice thick with his tears, but Steve interrupted him with a rough kiss.

Breaking away, Steve murmured, “I know, baby, come for me. You’re so perfect.” Then he changed the angle of his thrusts just so and Eddie was spilling between them with a shattered cry, sobbing breathlessly with each pulse of his cock.

When Eddie came back to himself, Steve was gently pulling out, and Eddie desperately had to touch him. He wanted to get him off and kiss him, to give him back even a fraction of the feeling Eddie was drowning in.

Eddie didn’t wait, just bucked his hips, and rolled Steve onto his side, reaching under the strap-on to tug on Steve’s dick. It was hurried, the angle was less than ideal, and Eddie was still shaking like a leaf and crying, but Steve moaned loudly all the same, whispered a soft “close, baby” against Eddie’s forehead. Then he tensed, letting out a guttural sound that Eddie felt more than he heard, and he slid a finger back into Steve’s cunt just to feel it pulse around it with his release.

As they caught their breath, Steve gave Eddie little kisses on his tear-streaked face, murmuring soft declarations and pushing him deeper into that happy, weeping state. Then Steve finally backed off a bit, just to get up and get a washcloth to clean their stomachs off and wipe the lube from between Eddie’s cheeks carefully.

Once they were a bit cleaned up, Steve flopped back onto the bed next to Eddie with a small smile.

Eddie yawned and said, “We’ve gotta stop having the best sex ever every time we fuck, Steve.”

Barking out a laugh, Steve shook his head. “That’s just quitter’s talk,” he teased, winking at Eddie. Then he turned a bit pensive before asking, “Spend the night?”

“I think that’s all I have in me tonight, Steve,” Eddie teased tiredly, and Steve shook his head.

“I just mean to sleep, Eds,” he said, rolling to wrap an arm around Eddie’s waist. “Spend your last night in Chicago in my bed? Please?”

Eddie shook as more tears sprung to his eyes, but he screwed them shut and nodded frantically, pressing close for a kiss. “Yeah, Stevie, I’ll stay,” Eddie hummed against Steve’s lips, wishing he could stay forever.

❖

When Steve woke up with a jolt, he was half-buried under the octopus sprawl of Eddie’s limbs with a mouthful of long, curly hair. It was sweaty and a bit uncomfortable, but Steve just smiled and reeled Eddie in tighter. Brushing that wild mane of hair back, Steve watched Eddie’s sleeping face closely, amazed he got to have this. A lazy Sunday morning with the love of his life sleeping soundly in his arms, in his bed.

With a happy sigh, Steve lowered his lips to Eddie’s forehead, adjusting them so Eddie was laying more on top of him so he could easily grab two handfuls of Eddie’s ass cheeks. He grinned at the happy little murmur against his collarbone and the way Eddie snuggled in tighter. Reaching over to grab his phone off the bedside table, Steve checked the time. They had a few hours before Eddie was due back at the hotel, so he wasn’t in a huge rush to get Eddie up.

Well, at least not up out of bed, Steve thought as he felt the shift of Eddie’s cock against his stomach, half-hard in his sleep. Just as he was about to wake Eddie up, he heard the tell-tale sound of a phone vibrating somewhere in his room. It was probably Eddie’s, still in the back pocket of his jeans that Steve left on the floor. Realizing that was likely the reason he woke up so suddenly, Steve sighed and waited for the phone to stop ringing. It did for a few seconds before starting up again, and a small jolt of dread shot through Steve.

Was their time together getting cut short? Did something come up? When he ignored it again, Steve sighed when Eddie’s phone stayed silent. Then Steve’s phone began vibrating on the table.

Sighing sadly, Steve picked up his phone again and eyed the unfamiliar number before answering.

“Hello, this is Steve?” he said, voice still rough with sleep before he cleared his throat.

“Jesus, finally, I’ve been trying to get hold of Eddie for like an hour,” Gareth’s voice came through the line, and Steve tensed.

“Is something wrong?” Steve asked, not sure he wanted the answer to that. On top of him, Eddie was stirring, his head lifting from Steve’s chest to frown at him. “And how do you have my number?”

“I have your number because Eddie gave it to me, in case I needed to get hold of him and something happened to his phone. And I don’t know if something’s wrong yet, that’s why I need to talk to Eddie,” Gareth replied vaguely.

“Wha’s goin’on?” Eddie mumbled, lifting a hand to rub the crusties from the corners of his eyes while Steve held out his phone.

“It’s Gareth,” Steve explained, and Eddie’s sleepy expression became a bit more alert as he accepted the phone.

“Hey, Garebear—what?” Eddie was awake now, eyes wide as he rolled off Steve and sat up. “What do you mean—all over where? I can’t—we said no pictures—what do you mean they were taken before the VIP thing?”

Steve watched Eddie as he tried to piece together what was going on. When the man glanced at Steve with a grimace and a blush, he felt his stomach drop a bit. It had to do with him somehow, and it had something to do with pictures.

“Okay, listen Gareth, I’m just—I’m gonna put you on speaker, okay?” Eddie said, pulling Steve’s phone away from his ear to switch the call. “Repeat what you just said, Garebear.”

“Steve, you’ve gone kinda viral in the online communities for our fans,” Gareth said slowly, sighing heavily. “Like, with your face attached to it and everything. Fans took pictures of you and are posting about it and it’s actually trending in North America on Twitter…”

“What?” Steve asked shakily, his heart pounding quickly.

“Yeah, it’s—you guys should see it for yourself. Just wanted to give you both a head’s up,” Gareth said, his voice a bit tight. Then he added teasingly, “Since the cat’s out of the bag now, do I still need to conceal your identity in the Tour Diary video I’m editing?”

“Gareth, seriously?” Eddie asked flatly, and Gareth scoffed.

“What? I can’t ask?”

“Maybe not right now?” Eddie responded huffily and Steve shook his head.

“Gareth, we’ll call you back,” Steve said before immediately hanging up and going to Twitter.

Just as Gareth had said, there were three trending topics about him and Eddie; Eddie and Steve, #SteveMunson, and Steddie. From what Steve could tell, it had started with fans from the Chicago concert gushing about being the best show of the tour. Then about twenty hours ago, someone posted about wanting to be a fly on the wall of the “steddie fuckfest that had to be happening as they tweeted” and how they wished they knew what Steve looked like so they could draw it.

Someone had replied to the tweet saying they had been next to someone at the barrier that they were sure was Steve and had pictures. There was some back-and-forth until several pictures and a video were added to the thread and… yup, that was definitely Steve staring up at the stage, completely starstruck.

The video was the most telling, because it caught the moment he covered his mouth as the arena wailed his name, Will standing next to him with that fond, yet envious expression. Further down the thread, there was a video focused on his face as Eddie dedicated Dark Altar to him, and Steve was almost embarrassed at how blatantly hungry he looked.

There was arguing in the thread after that, someone freaking out about the person taking pictures of a stranger and posting them, but mostly it was people arguing over if that was enough proof.

Then the pictures of Steve sitting under Eddie’s arm during the VIP meet-and-greet appeared in the thread.

“I started snapping pics as soon as I came in bc I knew that had to be steve,” one of the posters said. They posted another picture, zoomed in and cropped to only include his face as he grinned with so much love in his eyes, and said, “this was right after eddie called him his bf!!!!!”

There was a lot more bickering and flailing, then someone added pictures of Jeff sitting in his lap while Steve held him, and the thread went crazy about it.

“Love to see steve knows whats up and cuddles jeff too!!!!” One of the posts said, then that thread devolved into appreciation for Jeff.

Then the fanart began showing up, which started tame enough with Eddie and Steve just holding hands, or hugging, or maybe giving each other a kiss. Then it got explicit, and Steve snorted.

“Kinda presumptuous of them,” Steve said, angling his phone without looking away to show Eddie a particularly detailed piece of art of himself with a huge cock while Eddie fucked him. At least, Steve assumed it was Eddie fucking him since all that was visible of the man behind him in the art were the hands holding his biceps in a bruising grip and a cock in his hole. It was definitely a position Steve would be happy to recreate with Eddie for real.

After that, there was nothing but pornographic art, and part of Steve felt kinda… pleased that they all assumed he was cis. But also a little annoyed because he wasn’t and a petty part of him wanted to say something about it. Stopping himself before he did something stupid, Steve finally closed the app and looked at Eddie.

Except Eddie wasn’t looking at him, he was sitting with his head tipped back and blinking rapidly up at the ceiling.

“Whoa, babe, what’s wrong?” Steve asked, dropping his phone and shifting so he was straddling Eddie’s lap, cupping his face in his hands and brushing tears away as Eddie blinked them loose.

“It’s—I just got you,” Eddie said thickly, shrugging. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Eds, I’m not going anywhere?” Steve said, absolutely bewildered at how the moment changed. Eddie finally met his eyes, his expression cautiously hopeful.

“You’re not?” he asked.

“Why would I?” Steve asked, frowning darkly. “You thought I would dump you over this? Has someone actually done that?”

“Kinda,” Eddie replied, taking a deep breath in and holding it. “You just said you weren’t ready for strangers to have pictures of you at the meet-and-greet and now here thousands of people are tweeting about you—”

“Eds, yes, I’ll admit I thought I’d get to be your anonymous boyfriend for a bit longer, but I’m—this doesn’t change how I feel about you,” Steve said earnestly, stroking his thumbs soothingly over Eddie’s cheekbones. “I love you. I couldn’t care less what they’re doing online.”

“Fuck, I love you, too,” Eddie sighed wrapping his arms around Steve and straining up into a slow, languid kiss the quickly turned heated.

Groaning, Steve shifted his hips closer to Eddie’s cock. “Kinda wanna recreate a few of those positions they drew me in,” he confessed, smirking at Eddie’s gasp before licking into his mouth hungrily.

A short while later, they laid next to each other, still catching their breath with their legs tangled together.

“What about Gareth’s question about hiding your identity in our videos?” Eddie asked after a minute, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his hand. Steve looked at him questioningly, thinking back and humming.

“I mean, like he said, the cat’s kinda out of the bag,” Steve said, shrugging before Eddie’s eyes widened and he snapped his fingers.

“I have an idea! We record a video to add to the Tour Diary thing!” he suggested excitedly, and Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to post that kind of video on YouTube, Eds,” Steve deadpanned, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Not a video like that, you horny asshole, like a normal video. Maybe like, the interview bit we do?” Eddie suggested, and Steve grinned.

“That sounds perfect,” Steve hummed, and Eddie quickly crawled to the end of the bed to grab his phone off the floor.

❖

The next Tour Diary opened with the band goofing off on the bus and getting a shot of the Chicago skyline. There were little scenes interspersed of them filming the documentary, but mostly it was just them being best friends.

There were surprisingly few Cringefail Eddie videos, but the Steeeeve Spotting montage started with a video from the concert, with the whole arena wailing Steve’s name. Then it cut to the VIP meet-and-greet, with Steve and Eddie sitting on the couch together. Steve’s face was obscured by some kind of filter.

“So before anyone asks, I spent a whole hour yassifying Steve to hide his identity before I found out he’d already gone fucking viral on Twitter and TikTok, but then I apparently overwrote the original video file, so he’s staying yassified,” Gareth explained tiredly in a voice over.

The video goes through several other moments, including Grant and Chrissy each struggling to knit what looked like scarves, Gareth climbing the side of a building while Chrissy yelled at him, and Jeff raiding the candy in the lounge at Steve’s hotel.

Near the end, the video cut to a super close-up view of a deep blue comforter before the camera shifted away to focus on Steve.

He was lying in the bed, obviously at the very least shirtless, the comforter covering him from the waist down. Steve’s hair was wild and a touch damp with sweat, and hickeys littered the skin of his throat and chest. One of his fingers idly rubbed one of the long scars under his pecs, as if absently pointing at them (the motion had been deliberate and bitchy, and Eddie couldn’t help but kiss him about it after).

“Okay, first question, the masses are dying to know,” Eddie started, and Steve rolled his eyes playfully. “In a zombie apocalypse, what would be your weapon of choice?”

Steve frowned, laughing softly. “I dunno, a baseball bat?” he replied, and Eddie groaned.

“That’s so boring, Stevie, c’mon,” he pushed, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Okay, fine, a baseball bat with nails in it,” he amended, and Eddie groaned in a completely different tone.

“Now, that’s way hotter. Excellent answer. Next question,” Eddie said, humming thoughtfully while Steve grinned at him beyond the camera. “Would you rather… fight one moose-sized raccoon, or a hundred raccoon-sized moose? Mooses? Meese?”

“Babe, I think you’re underestimating how big moose are—”

“I’m pretty sure the plural is meese, Steve.”

“It’s really not—”

“Answer the question, Steve!” Eddie interrupted and Steve laughed out loud.

“Fine… moose-sized raccoon?” he answered, trying to suppress his grin a bit.

Eddie hummed thoughtfully. “Inch-resting, okay, next question…” Eddie trailed off. “Okay, if I somehow switched bodies with your best friend, and the only way to get us switched back was to fuck one of us, who would you choose?”

“Babe, what the hell kind of question—I have to text Robbie and ask if that’s an okay question to answer first,” Steve said with a snort, and in the video, he picked up his phone and started texting someone.

The camera turned to face Eddie at an uncomfortably close and unflattering angle as he said, “Gareth, edit this out if she says no.”

When the camera turned back to Steve, he motioned for Eddie to continue. “Ask more questions while we wait for her to answer,” he insisted, and Eddie laughed.

“Okay… would you still love me if I was a worm?” he asked, and Steve’s expression turned so fond and adoring, if a bit baffled.

“Of course. I would give you your own personal compost bucket with all the best food waste,” Steve promised so sincerely, Eddie let out a bark of startled laughter.

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie grumbled, and the camera got pressed into the comforter as he obviously bent over to kiss Steve noisily.

“Next question, would you rather pee a little every time you sneeze, or get a light nosebleed every time you flip a light switch?” Eddie asked as he straightened up and Steve groaned.

“What are these questions, Eds—?”

“This is literally the bit. This is literally what this bit is, Steve.”

“I’ve watched the bit! I know you know how to ask normal questions—”

“Answer the question, Steve!”

“Fine, I’d rather pee a little every time I sneeze!”

There’s a long bout of silence where Steve stared at Eddie behind the camera, his mouth fighting to smile as he tried to keep a severe frown, until they both burst into laughter. When they settled back down after a few seconds, Steve’s phone vibrated, and he glanced at it.

“Got the okay to answer that question; I’d fuck you,” Steve answered easily, and Eddie snorted.

“Wait, me as in my body, or me as in me in your best friend’s body?” Eddie asked, and Steve smirked.

“Next question,” Steve said, gesturing for Eddie when he didn’t right away.

“Fine… would you rather accidentally eat a worm or a toenail clipping?” Eddie asked, the pout obvious in his voice.

“Jesus, Eds, uhm… a worm,” Steve replied, and Eddie gasped dramatically.

“I thought you loved me! Even as a worm!” he cried dramatically, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, ‘course I do, Eds. I already wanna eat you right up, so…” Steve trailed off, somehow both sincere and suggestive, and Eddie let out a weird sort of choking sound.

“Babe, you can’t just admit to being into vore on the—”

“God, shut up, Eds,” Steve moaned, covering his eyes as he laughed.

“Three more questions,” Eddie declared, and Steve took a deep breath and lowered his hands.

“What was your favourite part of the last three days?” Eddie asked, and Steve’s expression turned soft.

“I think it’s a tie between you saying you loved me and falling asleep with you in my arms,” Steve admitted, and Eddie let out a soft, surprised sound.

“Oh my god, okay, uhm,” Eddie stumbled, and Steve’s soft grin widened. “Okay, do you prefer cuddling or kissing?”

Steve frowned. “Can I say both?”

“Nope! Gotta choose one!” Eddie said cheerfully and Steve sighed.

“Cuddling,” he answered after a bit, and the camera jostled a lot before it was set up so that it was propped up on something and facing them as they snuggled in close to each other.

The camera didn’t stay facing them for long as it slid slowly until it was staring up at the ceiling.

“Last question,” Eddie said in a low voice that was immediately followed by a small gasp from Steve. “What is one of your biggest wishes?”

There was a long pause before Steve asked, “Real answer or funny answer?”

“Real,” Eddie insisted quickly, and Steve chuckled quietly.

“For you to move to Chicago after your tour,” Steve said softly, just barely loud enough for the mic to catch. There was a noticeable cut in the video, because when it came back, still staring at the ceiling, the natural lighting in the room had changed a lot.

“Okay, give me the funny answer now, loverboy,” Eddie said, sounding a bit breathless.

Steve could be heard laughing loudly, but it was muffled, as if his face was pressed into a pillow or something. “I just got that wish, too,” Steve said, and the video ended as he laughed under an onslaught of noisy, wet, smacking kisses.

[ COMPLETE ]

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Thank you so much for reading! Please consider reblogging! Taglist! @xenon-demon @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @afewproblems @stobinesque @patchworkgargoyle @hellion-child @ent-is-indecisive @indigohightide @steddieas-shegoes @steddierthings @scarcrossdlvrs @theheadlessphilosopher @mylilplanet @scoops-stevie @spookednsaucy @orangeandthefairroadkill @inairbinad @2btheanswertothequestion @starryeyedjanai @vecnuthy @pluckedstrings @mightbeasleep @kazalohiku @spicysix @sidekick-hero @spectrum-spectre

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #peace of mind #gerry writes

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | eight

🐴Chapter summary: with Jessi in a wheelchair you’ve taken on every task around the ranch, and finally realize how hard it is to run. But it’s a welcomed escape from Jimin, though it doesn’t help when Jungkook tries to push you two together again. 🐴Chapter title: Love You, Hate You 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of blood from a head wound, some blood from a cow giving birth and otherwise the standard angst and angriness. Yep, sorry again 😭 Things will somewhat start to look up in the next chapter!! ☀️ And if you feel like you need a reminder where the story is heading, read this spoiler 🫶 🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!) 🐴Word count: 9.5k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Love You, Hate You” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: I really feel like I’m putting my characters through hell 😂 I really do feel bad for Jimin and MC — but we’re almost there!!!! (also, when do you think one of them will snap and finally talk to each other???). 

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

wanna read a teeny tiny teaser for the next chapter? [here]

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“Hate you, love you, want you and I need you It’s not easy It makes me cry Need you, want you, hate you Love you, need you, want you Gotta go, say goodbye, say goodbye” - ‘Love you, Hate you’ by Rebecca Lavelle

Once more, Jungkook propels the car with an urgency that flirts with recklessness, yet you refrain from voicing concern. The unspoken agreement between you acknowledges his competence behind the wheel. Witnessing the transformation, his tears replaced by a steely resolve as he assumes control, leaves you in awe. The shift in his focus is palpable, a laser-sharp intensity that cuts through the emotional haze.

The familiar road unravels beneath the wheels, leaving a veil of dust in the truck’s turbulent wake. Your gaze fixates on the passing landscape, a silent witness to the gravity of the night. The realization dawns that informing the girls is not just a practical idea; it’s a lifeline to assuage their likely anguish. Retrieving your phone from the snug pocket of your jeans, you declare your intention, fingers poised to bridge the distance between uncertainty and reassurance. “Just gonna inform the girls.”

Jungkook nods, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the road ahead. You embark on a mission, fingers dialing Soo-ah’s number with a determined precision. The phone ascends to your ear, the ensuing silence pregnant with the unspoken gravity of the message you’re about to deliver. 

The moment Soo-ah’s voice resonates through the phone, an undertone of anxiety and fear punctuates the connection, mirroring the collective uncertainty that binds you all. “Jessi’s been in a car accident, and we’re en route to the hospital,” you disclose, your voice carrying the weight of recent tears. However, amid the distress, you impart a tentative reassurance, “She’s alive, but there’s something off—her words were slurred. I think she hit her head. But we will know more when we get to the hospital.” 

Turning to Jungkook, you observe the fierce determination etched in the pallor of his knuckles, a testament to the vice-like grip on the wheel. Traces of dried tears mar his cheeks, a visual echo of the emotional tempest that has swept through him. In that moment, a palpable lump lodges itself in your throat, an involuntary response to the profound vulnerability laid bare in the silent interplay of clenched fists and tear-stained faces. 

The remainder of the journey unfolds in stifling silence, the cabin suffused with an unspoken tension that hangs thick in the air. The specter of fear, like an insidious intruder, stealthily reclaims its place within the confines of your bones. 

Anxiety courses through you—for Jessi’s well-being, for the unknown revelations awaiting, for the uncertain terrain that stretches beyond. The all-encompassing fear becomes an insidious force, its weight rendering the atmosphere within the confined space utterly paralyzing.

The hospital materializes on the horizon, a beacon of both hope and trepidation. Jungkook, propelled by urgency, deftly navigates the maze of parking spaces, abruptly silencing the truck’s ignition before catapulting out of the vehicle with a sense of purpose. 

In tandem, you and Jungkook storm into the emergency department, urgency pulsating with every step. As you approach the desk, a receptionist greets you with a smile—her eyes, pools of warmth and empathy, mirroring the softness of her welcoming expression. 

“We’re looking for Jessi,” Jungkook declares, a pillar of tension leaning against the elevated desk. 

The receptionist’s nod is both swift and affirmative, a reassuring beacon in the sea of apprehension. “Room 134340,” she utters, the numeric sequence hanging in the air like a lifeline. 

In unison, you and Jungkook practically bolt towards the imposing doors, a shared urgency propelling you forward. The corridor becomes a labyrinth of tension as you navigate the sea of room numbers, each passing moment marked by the thunderous cadence of your hearts echoing within your chests. 

Please let her be okay.

At last, the numbers the receptionist shared come into view, and with a delicate touch, you ease the door open, unveiling a serene image—Jessi, reclined on the bed in peaceful sleep. Your gaze lingers on her slumbering form, taking in the telltale signs of the ordeal she endured—bandages encircling her head, a cast cradling her right arm, and another enveloping her left leg. 

The scene before you paints a grim reality, a tapestry of injuries that whispers tales of struggle. Yet, in the midst of this stark portrayal, the ember of relief flickers—she’s alive. 

A lump lodges in your throat once more, and with teardrops poised in the corners of your eyes, you approach your sister. Jungkook follows in your wake, settling on the bed. Leaning in, he tenderly caresses her cheek, mirroring the gentle touch that first bridged the gap between his fingers and her skin at the scene of the accident. 

Your gaze lingers, capturing the rivulets of tears tracing Jungkook’s expressive contours once more. In the soft luminescence of the room, his eyes shimmer with a profound mixture of emotion, fixated on your sister. 

A hush descends as the door swings open, ushering in a figure clad in the sterile garb of a doctor. Your attention pivots, fixating on this harbinger of information. 

“Hello. Are you Jessi’s family?” The doctor’s gaze oscillates between you and Jungkook, and your response is encapsulated in a silent nod. Words seem to elude you once more.

“Yeah, This is her sister, and I’m her friend,” Jungkook affirms, his voice carrying a burdened undertone that hints at the unspoken complexities and tensions simmering beneath the surface—an emotional undercurrent that has woven its threads through the past weeks. 

The doctor’s nod carries a weighty reassurance as he imparts the diagnosis. “Alright. Jessi has a minor concussion; the impact against the steering wheel caused some bleeding. She’s also dealing with a broken arm and leg, along with a few bruised ribs. Thankfully, that’s the extent of her injuries,” he imparts. 

“When can she come home?” Jungkook’s voice, simultaneously textured with rough edges and a tender timbre, resonates in the room. He reaches for Jessi’s hand—the one untouched by the cast—infusing the question with an unspoken urgency and a touch of vulnerability. 

“As a precaution due to the concussion, we’d like to keep her under observation for a day or two. After that, you can take her home. However, she’ll need to use a wheelchair, and rest is absolutely crucial,” the doctor informs you, leaving a weighty prescription for recovery in the air. With that, he departs, leaving the two of you alone with Jessi, still in the embrace of a healing slumber. 

Your gaze locks onto Jungkook, and as Jessi’s fingers stir against his, a soft gasp escapes you. Jungkook, attuned to the subtle movements, shifts his attention to your sister’s face. Her eyes, a slow dance of reawakening, flutter open, and she casts a weary but genuine smile at both of you. “Hi,” she utters, and the simplicity of that greeting carries a profound weight, a testament to resilience and the indomitable spirit that endures even in the face of adversity.

A shared chuckle resonates between you and Jungkook, but he takes the lead, concern etched in his question, “How are you holding up?” 

“Everything fucking hurts,” she confesses, the words escaping through gritted teeth, and a wince that lingers in the air. 

As you observe, her speech is no longer marred by slurs, and a glimmer of hope flickers within you. Offering a gentle smile, you cling to this positive sign, a fragile beacon of recovery in the aftermath of the accident. 

“We were worried there for a second,” you admit with a smile, your heart still tethered to the lingering uneasiness. 

“I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine,” she reassures with a languid smile, her eyes retaining a drowsy allure. 

Jungkook continues to tenderly stroke her hand, a lone tear betraying his emotion as it slips from the corner of his eye. 

“Why are you crying?” Jessi inquires in a weary tone, her question carrying a subtle mix of curiosity and fatigue. The fatigue in her tone, juxtaposed with the curiosity in her eyes, creates a moment of vulnerability and curiosity, inviting the reader to delve deeper into the emotional intricacies of the scene.

“Because you look so bad,” he chuckles through a teasing sob, a bittersweet smile dancing on his lips as he attempts to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. 

Jessi scuffs, “If I could slap ya, I would,” she drags out, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “Sis, can you do it for me?” 

You shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you observe their usual teasing banter. Despite the ordeal, the fact that she can still summon her playful spirit brings a sense of relief, a small but reassuring glimmer in the midst of uncertainty.

Your laughter lingers in the air, but a subtle sadness creeps into your voice as you inquire, “What happened?” 

She groans, eyes rolling in frustration as she recounts, “There was this red car that appeared out of nowhere in the turn, driving on the wrong side of the road.” 

Your eyes widen with concern, a gasp escaping your lips. “What happened to the red car? Did it just drive off?” 

“Managed to dodge the car, but ended up colliding with a damn tree instead,” she says, a hint of frustration in her tone. 

“And to top it off, the guy just speeds away like nothing happened!” she scoffs, her irritation palpable and echoing the injustice of the situation.

“Do you have any idea who that was?” Jungkook demands, a mix of curiosity and sternness in his gaze, his fist clenching at his side as if ready to confront the reckless driver.

“Some arrogant city slicker. Never seen that car around here. Clearly not a local,” she scoffs, disdain dripping from her words as she curses the reckless driver.

“Can you call Namjoon for me?” she suddenly requests, locking eyes with you. You find yourself curious about why she specifically wants to talk to Namjoon at this moment.

When you shoot her a quizzical look, she adds, “I want to tell him something.”

“Can’t it wait?” you counter, not quite grasping why it’s so urgent for her to speak with Namjoon right now.

“No.” 

Fine. You reluctantly pull out your phone and dial Namjoon. Describing the situation, you implore him to come as soon as possible, and he assures you he’ll be there swiftly.

As the minutes tick by in the hushed room, the tension thickens, yet an unspoken understanding binds you, Jessi, and Jungkook together. Silence reigns, pregnant with the weight of shared concern, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.

The hospital doors burst open, revealing a disheveled Namjoon sprints in, clutching a bouquet of flowers. His eyes scan the room, taking in the sight of your sister lying on the bed, and his breath catches in a mix of relief and worry.

His voice laced with concern, Namjoon places the bouquet on the bedside table, his eyes fixed on your sister. “It looks bad. Are you okay?” he inquires, his worry echoing in the sterile hospital room.

“Fuck you. I’m fine,” she retorts, a smirk playing on her lips. The room fills with laughter, and seizing the moment, you gesture to the couch on the other side of the room, silently signaling to give Jessi and Namjoon some space. Jungkook rises from the bed, joining you on the couch.

Without a hint of preamble or consideration for the weight of her words, Jessi suddenly declares, “I want to break up.” Her words echoing through the room with a weight that sends a jolt through both you and Jungkook. You exchange a glance, realizing you’ve stumbled upon a moment too intimate for your presence.

Namjoon wears a puzzled expression, questioning, “Are you sure about this? Is it the concussion talking?” 

Definitely, she shakes her head.  “No, my mind is crystal clear.”

Regret lingers in her eyes as she confesses, “I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you anymore. I want to break up.” Her gaze, tinged with sadness, speaks volumes as she nervously bites her lip, the weight of her decision palpable in the room.

Namjoon nods thoughtfully, “Okay. No hard feelings. I understand.” His gaze shifts to Jungkook, a hint of unspoken understanding passing between them. “You can always call me—whether it’s just to talk or if one of the animals gets sick. Friends?” The air seems to lighten with the sincerity of his words.

“Friends,” she breathes out, the words carrying the weight of a burden lifted from her heart. Her gratitude spills forth, a sincere “And thank you, Namjoon,” echoing in the room.

She shares a smile with him, and his response mirrors the sentiment. From your perch on the couch, the intimacy of their moment feels oddly intrusive, and you can’t shake the sense of being an unintended witness to the delicate unraveling of their relationship.

Namjoon pivots, offering a parting nod and a soft farewell before gracefully exiting the room.

As his presence fades, you exhale the breath you’d been clutching, the room finally free from tension. “Well, that was uncomfortable.”

Jessi chuckles, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness you just witnessed, her laughter echoing through the room.

You rise to your feet, stretching your tired body, and with a gentle tone, you ask, “Do you want to head home now, Kook?”

Jungkook remains seated on the couch, exchanging a meaningful glance with your sister. “I was actually thinking about staying and bringing her home tomorrow,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet determination.

Your eyes flicker open, but you quickly compose your expression, offering them both a gentle smile. “I’ll call Soo-ah to come pick me up then,” you say, your voice carrying a mix of understanding and reassurance.

Jessi doesn’t possess a single bone wired for relaxation. Despite the doctors’ earnest advice to take it slow and steady, does she heed it? Absolutely not.

With determined grit, she maneuvers the wheelchair around the house with one hand, attempting to shoulder every task single-handedly, only to find herself faltering at each turn.

In her quest for a simple glass of water, disaster struck – the glass slipped from her grasp, dancing precariously on the edge of destruction before miraculously escaping the fate of shattered fragments.

Your sister’s unwavering stubbornness has sparked numerous discussions, leaving you weary from the incessant cycle of repeating yourself.

“Why can’t you just stay put and let me handle it?” you groan at her futile attempt to set the dinner table. Exasperated, you snatch the plate from her hand and expertly arrange it on the table.

You’ve relocated all her belongings to the guest room, a practical move given her current inability to navigate the stairs. It’s a convenience for everyone, yourself included.

Exasperated, you burst out, “Sit your ass down!”

Her laughter rings through the room as she retorts, “I am sitting.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at her playful defiance.

Kneeling down, your eyes lock onto hers, a plea in your gaze. “I can take care of everything for you. Pushing yourself too hard will only slow down your recovery. Is that what you really want?”

Her gaze shifts away, words escaping in a soft mumble, their meaning lost in the air between you.

“What was that?”

Her response is a defiant whisper, almost a rebellion against her own vulnerability. “No. I don’t want that. Fine. You can do everything. It’s just not in my nature to let everybody do everything for me.”

When you told your sister you could handle everything on the ranch, little did you anticipate the relentless demands that awaited. Now, sweat beads roll down your hairline, and sticky shirts cling to your fatigued body—your new normal. Soreness and exhaustion threaten to overcome you, yet you persist. The unwavering support of Soo-ah, Ara, and Ha-rin becomes your lifeline, and you find yourself profoundly grateful for their presence. Without them, the daunting tasks ahead would be impossible.

Despite the relentless physical and mental demands, there’s an undeniable love that fuels your every effort. It’s in the rhythmic cadence of working with the horses, the joy of discovering ripe veggies in the garden, the satisfaction of feeding the cattle and horses. Cleaning the stable, tending to the yard, and meticulously fixing the fences become more than just chores—they’re threads woven into the tapestry of a passion that now defines you.

As if the outside challenges weren’t enough, the list of tasks inside the house seems never-ending—cleaning, organizing, tackling taxes, and conjuring up dinners that dance on the taste buds. The sheer magnitude of it all makes you marvel at Jessi’s ability to juggle these responsibilities, leaving you to wonder how she navigates this intricate dance without succumbing to the relentless rhythm of exhaustion.

In the whirlwind of responsibilities, Jungkook offers to lend his hands in fixing one of the fences on your property.

The anticipation of Jungkook’s assistance becomes a beacon of relief in your hectic schedule, and a mischievous thought flits through your mind—wondering if you could sweet-talk him into tackling the entire task, granting you a rare and much-needed moment of respite.

In the driver’s seat of your brand-new pickup truck, a lustrous shade of dark purple that gleams in the sunlight, you reflect on its arrival, replacing the ghost of the white one marred by Jessi’s unfortunate accident. The former wreck, irreparably damaged, made way for this sleek, modern model, boasting enhanced comfort that transforms every drive into a genuine pleasure.

As you turn the key in the ignition, the hum of the engine beneath you, and shift the truck into first gear, anticipation courses through you. The Eastern paddock awaits, its fence in need of repair, and Jungkook has promised to join you. The radio provides a lively soundtrack, and you find yourself singing along with joy, only to fall into a hushed silence as the familiar silhouette of a blue truck comes into view, neatly parked beside the fence.

Cursing under your breath, frustration seizes you as you realize Jungkook— that damn traitor, has sent his brother to handle the job he promised to do. 

The betrayal stings, especially considering the current strained terms between you and Jimin. Anger simmers within, escaping in a low, gritted scoff as you pull your car up beside Jimin’s.

Jimin dives into the task at hand, effortlessly measuring wire lengths and expertly cutting them to fit the fence. There’s no denying it, not that there ever was – Jimin is undeniably attractive. As you observe from the comfort of your car, your gaze lingers on his sweaty forehead, his biceps flexing beneath the rolled-up shirt. Another curse slips from your lips; why does he have to look this good?

A whirlwind of emotions courses through your veins – desire entangled with frustration. Jimin’s effect on your mind is infuriating. Yes, you still crave him, but the bitterness lingers. He chose someone else without engaging in a conversation about what transpired, a choice that feels painfully immature.

Relaxing your crossed arms, you swing the door open and step into the sweltering air. You circle the car to grab your tools and approach Jimin, who doesn’t bother to cast even a fleeting glance your way.

You scoff and roll your eyes. No greeting? This is a new low. You expected, at the very least, a bit of small talk. Seems like even that was too much to ask for.

“Hey, Jimin,” you say, attempting to mask the tension growing thick in the air. He remains silent, his focus fixed on his strong and calloused hands diligently working on the fence.

At least you’ve chosen to be the bigger person, maintaining your politeness. You dive into the task at hand, assisting him in measuring, cutting, and applying the new wire. The absence of conversation hangs heavy, a stifling silence that feels more like a heavy weight on your chest. It’s uncomfortable, this void between you two, and you can’t help but despise it with every fiber of your being.

In the suffocating silence, you realize that attempting conversation is futile, as he remains resolute in ignoring your every plea. Determined to endure the unbearable tension, you find yourself silently cursing Jungkook in your mind for orchestrating you into working with Jimin. There’s no question about it— you’ll have a serious talk with him later about this stupid plan of his!

Your hands accidentally collide with Jimin’s a few times, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a sensation you hastily withdraw from as if burned. The lingering touch awakens something buried deep within, a sentiment you’re determined to suppress. Those residual feelings must be banished, relegated to the recesses of your heart.

You can’t help but notice Jimin’s persistent gaze fixed upon you, and it’s disconcerting. The emotions swirling in the air are indescribable, leaving you puzzled about the cause of his intense scrutiny. Yet, the expression etched on his face is far from one of happiness or satisfaction; instead, it bears the weight of pain and unresolved sentiments.

The realization hits hard—there’s no denying it now. You and Jimin let your moment slip away, a truth that’s crystal clear now.

As a heavy sigh escapes your lips, you find yourself yearning for a past rewritten, a canvas of memories painted with different hues.

“It’s official!” 

In an exuberant burst of joy, you proclaim the moment, your voice echoing in giddy celebration as you sit on the grass. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, and the tranquil scene unfolds with Holly and Marshmallow leisurely grazing on the grass.

Ecstatic, he declares, “We’re in business, baby!” His laughter resonates, and his radiant smile competes with the brilliance of the sun. You join in the laughter, though the pet name doesn’t quite sit right with you.

Playfully, you groan, “God, please don’t call me ’baby’,” as laughter continues to ripple between you. His response is a simple, hearty chuckle.

As the sun dips below the horizon, a serene quiet blankets the hilltop, providing a perfect backdrop to absorb the significance of the moment. You and Yoongi, now proud business owners of a wild horse gentling venture, revel in the excitement of the journey ahead. The prospect of working with more horses and bringing joy to people through these extraordinary animals fuels your anticipation.

With a hint of emotion in his voice, a touch of longing, Yoongi shares, “I’ve already found our inaugural customer.” Intrigued, you turn to face him, your eyes prompting him to reveal more about this exciting news.

With a weighted voice, laden with deep emotions, Yoongi reveals, “There’s a guy not far from us. He’s taken an interest in Holly.” Your gasp resonates with the dread that settles in—oh no, not Holly.

“But isn’t she yours to keep?” you ask, a tinge of sadness reflected in your eyes. Expectations of Yoongi keeping Holly for himself, the first horse you both worked on, echo in your question. The bond he shares with her seems uniquely special, so why part with her?

“I truly adore her, but she’s just a horse. And this is business,” he sighs, his voice carrying the weight of the decision as he gazes at the sunset. A lump forms in your throat, and tears well in your eyes. The thought of selling Mikrokosmos, your horse, feels almost impossible. She’s not just a business asset; she’s a part of you, and the idea of parting with her is heart-wrenching.

“Well, I hope she’ll love her new home,” you say with a bittersweet smile, gently shoving him playfully on the shoulder. The mixture of emotions swirls between you two, acknowledging the business aspect while secretly hoping Holly finds as much happiness in her new home as you both found in each other’s company.

“I hope so too,” he murmurs, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deep affection he holds for the horse is evident, and you sense the internal struggle he’s facing. This decision weighs on him, and you find yourself sharing in the silent understanding of the emotional complexity tied to their parting.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting hues of warm orange and pink across the sky, you remain on the hilltop, sharing the tranquil moment with your horses grazing beside you. In the company of Yoongi, your best friend, you reflect on the genuine bond that has grown between you. His presence is a comforting constant, a reliable listener, and a confidant you deeply appreciate.

In a moment of vulnerability, you confess, “You know... I’ve never really felt at home anywhere since I left the ranch.” The weight of emotions settles over you, and tears threaten to escape. 

Sensing your need for comfort, Yoongi turns to you, wrapping you in a gentle hug that speaks volumes without uttering a single word.

Amid the hues of the setting sun, Yoongi poses a poignant question, his voice laden with a mix of emotion and weariness. “Do you feel at home now?” he asks, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a response teeming with a complex blend of gratitude, uncertainty, and the subtle realization that ’home’ might be more than a physical place.

“I actually do.”

Words tumble from your lips as you gaze over the ranch from the hilltop, the golden glow of the sun casting a warm aura. “I never thought I would feel at home again. But this place has a way of working its magic on everything,” you confess, a testament to the transformative power your surroundings have woven into the fabric of your heart.

His smile echoes the sentiment, and he envelops you in a tight hug, as if the embrace itself is a testament to the enchantment this place has cast upon your lives. 

“That it sure does,” he murmurs, a shared acknowledgment of the profound connection you both feel to the land beneath your feet.

In the vast expanse of uncertainties, you shudder at the mere thought of navigating through the challenges without Yoongi by your side, a reliable anchor in the unpredictable sea of life. The gratitude for his friendship lingers in your heart, a sentiment too profound to be expressed in mere words.

“Will you come over tomorrow? The guy that wants to buy Holly will come and pick her up in the morning…” You discern the unspoken plea in his eyes, and with a tender smile, you draw closer, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence.

“Of course I’ll be there, Yoon.”

After the sun’s final bow, Yoongi rides back to the Park ranch, and you descend the hill towards your home. The term ’home’ once felt foreign, but now it wraps around you like a familiar embrace, an unwavering truth – your refuge, always and forever.

The next day, fueled by a hasty breakfast, you dash to the stables, the eager anticipation of your visit to Bell Ranch propelling you forward. Your task at hand: preparing Marshmallow for the journey ahead.

In the quiet embrace of the barn, you exchange a warm greeting with Marshmallow, ushering him into the center of the space. There, you deftly equip him with a saddle and bridle. As you guide him outside, the crisp morning air envelops you, and the gentle caress of the early sun bestows warmth upon your skin. A deep inhale fills your lungs, and with a graceful exhale, you mount Marshmallow. With a subtle nudge, you prompt him into a rhythmic gallop, traversing the lush expanse of green that unfolds before you.

The journey feels fleeting, far too brief for the solace it provides. Arriving at the stables, you swiftly dismount and tenderly remove Marshmallow’s tack. Leading him to one of the paddocks, you release him to the embrace of the open space, allowing him a well-deserved respite while you prepare to work with Yoongi.

You make your way to the pen, where Yoongi bids farewell to Holly. His arms envelop the brown mare’s neck in a tight embrace, soft pats accentuating the silent conversation between man and horse. Tears trace a path down his cheeks, and unexpectedly, you find your own emotions stirred, empathizing with the bittersweet parting, even though Holly isn’t your horse.

You acknowledge him with a quiet nod, hesitant to disrupt the tender moment between him and Holly. Leaning against the fence, you observe the heartfelt exchange. Holly emits a deep, resonant whinny, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as though she comprehends the impending separation.

As the sound of a truck pulling a trailer draws near behind you, the realization dawns—it’s time. Yoongi lifts his head from its resting place on Holly’s neck, offering her a final, affectionate pat before reluctantly stepping away.

With a heavy heart, Yoongi guides Holly towards the waiting trailer in the yard. The man has preemptively opened the trailer door, and as Holly steps inside, Yoongi closes the latch with a palpable reluctance. Standing on the sidelines, you observe the exchange—the man handing Yoongi some money, their handshake resonating with unspoken emotions. As the man returns to his car and drives away, Yoongi walks over to you, a profound sadness etched on his face.

“It’s okay,” you offer a comforting reassurance to Yoongi, wrapping him in a gentle hug.

He shares a bittersweet acknowledgment, a tinge of sadness coloring his smile, as both of you reluctantly shift your focus away from the departing car.

“Do you want to work on Mikrokosmos? I feel like I need something to do to keep my mind off Holly,” his request hangs in the air, laced with a subtle vulnerability as he looks at you with a sheepish smile. A shared understanding passes between you, and you nod in agreement, both silently making your way toward the stables, seeking solace in the comforting routine of working with Mikrokosmos.

With a confident stride, you retrieve Mikrokosmos from her stall, guiding her down to the pen without the need for a rope or halter. Yoongi walks beside you, a wistful smile playing on his lips.

Swinging the gate wide, you usher Mikrokosmos into the pen, her graceful steps echoing within the enclosure. Yoongi assumes his customary perch atop the fence, his observant eyes tracking the movements of the spirited mare.

Allowing Mikrokosmos to explore your scent, you initiate a tactile connection by stroking her forehead, tracing the path down her elegant neck, and along the sinewy contours of her shoulders. As your hands ascend to her back, you apply a gentle yet firm pressure, echoing the techniques you observed from Yoongi weeks ago, establishing a silent rapport with the magnificent mare.

Feeling the mare’s ease under your touch, you gradually increase the pressure, traversing her back with a comforting rhythm. When your eyes seek Yoongi’s for guidance, a silent understanding passes between you. Without a spoken word, he reads your unspoken query. “She’s ready,” he asserts with unwavering confidence, his voice a testament to the bond you’re building with Mikrokosmos.

Emboldened by Mikrokosmos’ serene response to your touch, you decide to take a daring leap, mimicking Yoongi’s approach with Holly. With a sense of excitement and trepidation, you pull yourself up onto her back. To your delight, she remains unfazed, allowing you to settle in, planting your bum securely on her back. It’s a moment of triumph, a testament to the trust building between you and the spirited mare.

In a breathless moment, Mikrokosmos stands still, and then, breaking the silence, she releases a soft whinny. Your heart swells with a mix of wonder and joy. As you pat her neck, a gentle coaxing with the press of your legs encourages her to move. Together, you embark on a slow journey around the pen, a newfound connection unfolding beneath you. From atop the fence, Yoongi grins widely, witnessing the magical communion between rider and horse.

A surge of pride and accomplishment courses through you. It’s a defining moment, a testament to the progress made. Confidence radiates from your every move as you navigate the pen on horseback, a triumphant smile adorning your face.

As a sudden pressure builds in your bladder, frustration wells up internally. Of all the moments, it has to be now. Succumbing to the inevitable, you voice your discomfort, “I need to use the restroom. Can you look after Mikrokosmos until I return?”

Yoongi acknowledges with a nod, and you smoothly descend Mikrokosmos’ body, grounding your feet in the sand. With a burst of energy, you vault over the fence, sprinting all the way up to the main house.

You forgo the courtesy of knocking, opting to swing the door wide open as you make a beeline for the bathroom.

As your fingers extend toward the door handle, it unexpectedly swings open, catching you off guard and sending a jolt of surprise through you.

As the door swings open, you’re met with the unexpected sight Deiji, draped only in a towel. Her damp hair and glistening skin hint at a recent shower, and the small droplets of water sparkle in the light. A startled shriek escapes her lips as her gaze locks with your equally surprised and wide eyes.

Panicking, you blurt out, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Your words stumble over each other as the sound of approaching footsteps from upstairs adds to the awkward tension in the air.

Down the stairs descends Jimin, clad in nothing but a pair of snug grey joggers, his feet bare, hair wet, and your jaw practically hits the floor.

“What’s the matter, babe?” He queries, running a hand through his damp hair. His eyes find your startled form, and he instantly eases into a more relaxed demeanor.

You’re caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Your heartbeat skyrockets, and you’re torn between the urge to look away and the magnetic pull keeping your gaze fixed on Jimin. Every contour of his physique, from well-defined pectorals to a happy trail of natural brown hairs leading down to his crotch, leaves you both captivated and flustered. He is everything you imagined and more. 

A sudden wave of heat engulfs the room, making you feel as if you’re suffocating. You become acutely aware that you might have been staring for too long, as both Jimin and Deiji shoot you concerned glances, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin inquires, casually flexing his abdominals with a smirk playing on his lips. It’s a dirty move, and he knows it. Why does he have to look so devilishly good, practically flaunting something you can’t have? It’s not fair—Park Jimin is a temptation, and you can’t help but feel he might be your downfall.

As realization dawns, you suddenly recall the purpose of your intrusion. “I have to pee,” you blurt out, a mixture of embarrassment and urgency in your tone.

Amused laughter fills the room, and Deiji graciously clears some space, saying, “You can use it; I’m done anyway.”

Nodding, you flash her a grateful smile, a strange mix of nerves and curiosity swirling within you. As you pass her, a trail of her sweet floral scent lingers, enveloping you. Just before slipping into the bathroom, you steal a glance at Jimin. His face wears a smirk you can’t decipher. 

Suddenly, it dawns on you - this is the first time he has spoken to you in weeks.

Basking in the midday sun, a gentle breeze toys with your hair, allowing its tender touch to dance across your neck as you gallop through the undulating hills astride Marshmallow.

Thundering across these expansive landscapes, a spirited gallop grants temporary solace to your heart, momentarily eclipsing the tumult within. Damn Park Jimin and his angelic and devilish looking face. The ache intensifies witnessing him with his infuriatingly perfect girlfriend; a pain that lingers, leaving you uncertain if you’ll ever get over him.

Granting Marshmallow unrestrained freedom, you traverse diverse landscapes—dense forests, the serene lake, and finally, the ranch’s Eastern expanse. Yet, an unsettling discord interrupts the tranquility, an eerie cry that echoes of an animal’s distress. Tensing the reins, you guide Marshmallow toward the source of the ominous noise.

Arriving at the scene, your eyes widen at the sight of a cow standing in the paddock, its posture awkward, and a pair of feet protruding from its laboring form. A gasp escapes you as the realization dawns – the cow is giving birth.

Dismounting from Marshmallow, urgency propels you toward the struggling cow. The rhythmic movement of the legs suggests the birthing process, something doesn’t seem right and you don’t know what to do. In a quick reflex, you pull out your phone, dialing the only person you know what to do.

The ringtone echoes anxiously, each second an eternity as you plead silently for the familiar voice to answer. The urgency in your chest intensifies with each passing ring. Please, just pick up, dammit!

Relief floods over you as Namjoon’s voice resonates through the phone, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “This is Namjoon,” he declares, and in that instant, it’s as if the universe aligns to bring order to the chaos around you.

“Thank god! Can you come and help? There’s a cow giving birth in the Eastern paddock, and it sounds like she’s in distress!” Your urgent plea pierces through the phone, echoing the distress emanating from the laboring cow.

“You know these animals can handle calving by themselves, right?” He chuckles on the line, and you roll your eyes, dismissing the notion with a hint of impatience. There’s no time for a history lesson; immediate action is what you need.

“The baby cow’s legs are moving back and forth—is that normal?” Your voice carries a hint of sternness, convinced that this situation isn’t within the realms of normalcy. Silence greets you on the other end, and for a brief moment, you fear he might have hung up.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible!” His voice, once calm, now carries a sense of urgency and stress, and in that moment, you grasp the gravity of the situation.

“Try to see if you can pull the calf’s legs out until I arrive, okay?” His urgent plea echoes in your ears, mingling with the distant sound of a car door opening and closing on the line, signaling hope that he’s racing to your aid.

“Pull its legs out?” Your frantic voice echoes into the void as the call disconnects. A heavy sigh escapes you as you gaze at the distressed cow. Uncertainty clings to you like a shadow; you’re torn between the fear of causing harm and the weight of Namjoon’s expertise urging you to act. He’s the vet, after all, and if he says it’s the necessary step, you steel yourself for what needs to be done.

Rolling your sleeves up, you step forward, determined to help the distressed cow. Your hand rests gently on its back, employing the same calming touch you would use with a wild horse. Slowly, your hand traverses down its body to its hindquarters where the legs protrude awkwardly. With a careful grip, you attempt to pull, but to no avail. It becomes apparent that the helpless calf is firmly lodged inside, presenting a daunting challenge.

Beads of sweat mingle with the dust on your brow, the relentless struggle to free the trapped calf becomes a desperate dance. The distant hum of an approaching engine brings a surge of hope, and relief washes over you as Namjoon’s truck roars to a halt behind you. Oh thank god!

With a swift, purposeful stride, Namjoon emerges from his truck, the familiar cadence of urgency echoing in each step. In his firm grip, the vet bag swings like a lifeline as he hastens toward you and the distressed cow.

Apologies linger in Namjoon’s voice as he swiftly dons a pair of absurdly long, cerulean gloves from his well-stocked bag. His keen eyes scan the scene, assessing the situation as he poses a question that cuts through the tense air, “It’s still not out?”

Retreating to give Namjoon the space he needs, you watch in awe as he envelops the tiny legs with his gloved hands, channeling the strength of his entire body into each determined pull.

“It normally doesn’t take this long to birth a calf…” sweat beads on Namjoon’s forehead as he exerts more effort, a hint of concern in his voice. With a final determined tug, the calf emerges, first the legs, then the head and the rest of its body. Namjoon carefully lowers it to the ground, leaving the newborn covered in a mixture of slime and blood.

Namjoon discards his gloves into a wash bag, his eyes shifting from the exhausted cow to the newborn calf finding its bearings on the grass. “Calling me was the right move; it didn’t appear the cow could manage to push the calf out on her own,” he remarks, a touch of relief in his voice.

Gratitude fills your words as you express, “Thanks for rushing over and handling everything – I mean, doing the heavy lifting for me.” A soft chuckle escapes your lips, acknowledging the reality that pulling out a calf was far beyond your strength.

“No problem,” his response is accompanied by a warm, bright smile, radiating reassurance. As he stows away his bag in the truck, he turns to you, locking eyes with you.

“How’s Jessi doing?” His question comes with a warm smile, yet beneath it, a subtle dance of curiosity and nervousness in his browline. A soft chuckle escapes you as you contemplate the enduring care he holds for Jessi, even after the end of their relationship. It’s nice that they are able to stay friends and still care for each other like this.

Your smile mirrors his, genuine and bright. “She’s holding up well, still bossing everyone around. Though she’s confined to crutches for now, the silver lining is that the casts are scheduled to come off in just a few days.”

His smile widens, and he nods appreciatively. “Well, that’s a relief to hear.”

You chuckle again, the sound echoing in the air. Namjoon, a genuinely good guy, radiates warmth, and it’s a bittersweet realization that things didn’t work out between him and your sister. Deep down, you silently wish him a future where he finds someone who can fulfill the desires that shimmer in his eyes – a quest you sense he’s earnestly pursuing.

“I’ll get going then. Everybody needs my help today.” He chuckles, his robust frame resonating with the warmth of his laughter, and Namjoon announces his departure. Acknowledging his unwavering commitment to helping others, you nod in farewell, watching as he steps into his truck and drives away.

You return to Marshmallow, your hand gently caressing his neck in appreciation before seamlessly mounting him. With a swift swing of your leg over the saddle, you guide him on the journey back home.

“Why are we subjecting ourselves to this culinary chaos again?” you groan, placing yet another dish onto the grand table in your dining room, glancing at Jessi for an answer.

Jessi gracefully moves around the table, lending a hand in setting up while ensuring everything is perfectly in place. “It’s all in celebration of liberation from the cast!” She jubilantly shakes her once-encased arm and leg, now liberated. You can’t help but roll your eyes; your sister’s idea of a celebration might be a bit eccentric, but it’s her party after all.

In the bustling kitchen, Ha-rin and Ara work tirelessly to craft an array of delectable dishes, infusing the house with a symphony of tantalizing aromas. Meanwhile, you, Jessi, and Soo-ah engage in a meticulous dance, setting the table with precision and placing each carefully prepared dish, allowing wisps of steam to rise and tantalize the senses.

As the feast approaches, your sister has extended invitations far and wide, and that inevitably includes Jimin and his girlfriend. The mere thought of encountering him again prompts a preemptive groan, and you find yourself yearning for a way to evade the impending interaction. Alas, with him being your neighbor and frequent collaborator on ranch-related endeavors, avoiding him proves to be a challenging feat. You scuff at the predicament, silently longing for a different reality.

With an audible clunk, you assertively place the plates on the table, the reverberation echoing the intensity of your emotions.

“Easy there!” Your sister scolds, her tone a playful warning, as she delicately places the glasses in front of the plates.

You chuckle, a lightness returning to your mood, and set the plates down with a flourish before heading into the kitchen to collect the utensils.

Anticipation gnaws at you as you set the table, a desire to get through this dinner quickly, fueled by the looming presence of Jimin. His silence has become a heavy weight, and ever since that unexpected glimpse of him almost naked, unwanted thoughts and vivid images intrude your mind. You scold yourself, reminding that he isn’t yours to entertain such thoughts about. It’s not fair to him or Deiji, and you need to push these images aside.

As you mope around the dining room, preparing for the gathering, the atmosphere shifts with the arrival of guests. Jungkook bursts in, enveloping your sister in a warm embrace before turning his attention to you. His hug is almost too tight, prompting a small squeak to escape your lips, and he responds with hearty laughter that fills the room.

As Jimin and Deiji make their entrance, you acknowledge them with a subtle nod, instinctively creating a bit of space between you. The air seems to tighten with unresolved tension, and you navigate the space carefully, aware that every step brings you closer to a rendezvous with emotions you’d rather keep at bay.

Hoseok strides into the room, with Yoongi next to him, he’s the first to envelop you in a warm embrace, a radiant smile on his face. He peppers you with questions about how you’ve been, and with a reassuring nod, you assure him that everything’s going well. Then, seamlessly, Yoongi joins in, encircling you with his arms, a reassuring and tight embrace that momentarily eases the complexities lingering in the air.

“Missed you,” he chuckles, his arms refusing to release you as you playfully roll your eyes. Amidst the friendly banter, you can’t help but notice Jimin’s intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes darken, and the once bright smile on his face transforms into a subtle frown, leaving you with a sense of unease.

Your heart sinks, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Does Jimin not know that Yoongi is gay, and that his kiss was merely his attempt at figuring out his sexuality? It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t. After all, Yoongi hasn’t openly shared his sexual orientation, and you’ve kept it confidential as well. The pieces start falling into place, and you comprehend the anger simmering in Jimin’s eyes. If he assumes that you and Yoongi are a couple, it would explain the tension and frustration etched on his face.

How do you convey to Jimin that your relationship with Yoongi is nothing more than a deep, platonic friendship, without revealing Yoongi’s sexual orientation?

And in the grand scheme of things, does any of this even hold weight now? With him having a girlfriend, laying the truth bare seems futile. Why would confessing change a thing? He’s maintained radio silence for months, a streak of silence that shows no signs of breaking, so why break it now?

Yoongi releases you, and you respond with a playful slap on his shoulder. As he steps back, falling in line behind Hoseok, you can’t help but catch the subtle way his gaze traces Hoseok’s figure.

As you glance over, you spot Namjoon and Seokjin in the hallway, each holding a bottle of wine. A smile plays on your lips as they make their way toward you, meticulously placing the bottles on the table before joining in the gathering.

Namjoon envelops you in a warm, tight hug, his curious voice breaking through the buzz of the room. 

“How’s that calf doing?” he inquires, while Seokjin raises an intrigued eyebrow at him.

Gratitude warms your voice as you assure Namjoon, “He’s doing fine with his mother and the rest of the herd. Thank you so much for helping.” A warm smile accompanies your words, and you motion for them to take a seat.

“That’s great,” he remarks, pulling out a chair and settling in beside Seokjin.

Ha-rin and Ara make their entrance into the dining room, their foreheads glistening with the sweat earned from their hard work in the kitchen.

You take your seat beside Yoongi and Soo-ah, casting a glance across the table where Jimin and Deiji have settled. Jessi and Jungkook, positioned next to each other, are engaged in a playful banter that echoes the dynamics of a married couple, the subject revolving around trucks and bikes. Despite your eye roll at their antics, a sweet smile tugs at your lips, warming your heart with the familiarity of their friendship.

Ha-rin’s exhausted yet earnest voice scolds gently, pointing with pride at the array of delectable dishes that have emerged from the depths of her labor in the kitchen throughout the day. “Please, eat your heart out. I’ve practically lived in that kitchen to create this feast,” she urges, her eyes reflecting the passion poured into every culinary creation with the assistance of Ara.

Expressions of gratitude fill the air as your entire group starts delving into the carefully crafted dishes before you. The aroma is irresistible, and your anticipation intensifies as you eagerly anticipate the first savory bite, your hungry stomach protesting its emptiness.

Savoring the heartiness of the meal, you indulge in a bit of everything, each mouthful a symphony of delectable flavors. A wave of gratitude washes over you for having Ha-rin on the ranch, as her culinary skills elevate the dining experience, compensating for your own culinary shortcomings.

Seokjin, caught in the rapture of each bite, pauses to express his culinary admiration. His eyes gleam with appreciation as he licks his lips, savoring the flavors. “Ha-rin, this is truly incredible. Would you mind sharing the recipe later? I don’t want to miss out on a single secret behind this delightful feast.”

Ha-rin’s laughter, a melodic accompaniment to the clinking of cutlery, fills the room. A subtle blush tints her cheeks, and a bashful yet confident smile reveals her teeth. “Thank you,” she responds graciously, “I can send you the recipe later, no problem.”

You can’t help but chuckle, observing her graceful gesture of tucking a strand of short, black hair behind her ear. Her eyes, adorned with a spark of admiration, linger on Seokjin as he savors every bite.

As you glance around the table, a warmth spreads through you, witnessing everyone relishing the moment. Namjoon gracefully pours wine for those seeking a more refined sip, while others opt for the familiar companionship of beer or the simple refreshment of water.

You relish a small glass of red, a rare indulgence that harmonizes beautifully with the culinary symphony on your plate, you’re about to shift your attention back to the feast when you feel the weight of Jimin’s gaze. His eyes pierce through the air, intense and fervent, as though etching a connection with the depths of your soul.

A nervous gulp courses through you, a fleeting warmth that fans the flames of self-consciousness. Your throat tightens imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of the unspoken tension in the air. Summoning courage, you lock eyes with Jimin, your gaze unwavering. The question lingers in the charged atmosphere – why is he studying you with such intensity?

Deiji’s laughter echoes, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Jimin’s eyes. With narrowed gaze, you shoot back a piercing stare, mirroring the frustration and pain you’ve bottled up. Unnoticed, your fingers tighten around the utensils, and red begins to flare behind your eyelids.

“Calm down,” as frustration tightens your grip on the utensils, Yoongi’s calming whisper in your ear nudges you back from the edge. With an exasperated huff, you release your clenched hands. Jimin’s persistent gaze lingers, a puzzle you can’t decipher. Annoyed, you shoot him a furrowed frown, determined to focus on your meal. If he has something to say, he can use words instead of cryptic glances. You refuse to grant him more of your time without a proper conversation.

You practically spear the defenseless food on your plate, the residual anger simmering within. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, a sound that offers a glimmer of solace. In the midst of your inner turmoil, it’s a relief to know someone can find enjoyment in this tense dinner.

Throughout the remainder of the dinner, laughter dances in the air alongside light-hearted conversations, a melody you struggle to fully engage with. Purposefully steering clear of Jimin, you catch his occasional glances in your direction, each one like an unspoken question lingering in the room.

As the final bites are savored and the dinner concludes, a collective effort ensues to tidy up the remnants of the feast. While some bid their goodbyes and disappear into the night, a handful remain, drawn to the allure of the terrace to indulge in leisurely drinks before ending the day’s festivities.

Soo-ah, Ara, Ha-rin, Yoongi, and Hoseok gravitate towards the terrace, creating a lively ensemble beneath the canvas of a sky painted with the remnants of a sunset that bid its farewell just hours ago. The air, now a gentle embrace, cradles the warmth of the departed sun, fostering an ambiance ripe for drinks and smalltalk.

You cradle the red wine in your hands, the rich hue mirroring the depth of your thoughts. It’s only your second glass, but who’s keeping track anyway?

You exhale with a profound sigh, sinking back into the chair, as if the weight of the day is lifting off your shoulders in that single breath.

Hoseok gazes at you, concern etched across his face. “What’s eating at you?”

You let out a frustrated groan, a desire to yank at your own hair bubbling beneath the surface. Uncertain about revealing the source of your vexation, you debate whether to open up about what’s truly bothering you. Given that your friends are well aware of your feelings for Jimin, it’s not as if you’d be sharing some profound secret.

“I’m just tired of Jimin,” you confess with a deep exhale, absentmindedly twirling the wine glass in your fingers, the crystal capturing the soft glow of the terrace lights.

Yoongi chuckles knowingly; he’s been a willing listener to your rants and frustrations about Jimin countless times. The girls exchange sympathetic glances, silently urging you to share more of your feelings.

“It’s frustrating, really. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since that awkward encounter when I met him and Deiji coming fresh out of the shower. The only thing he did say was to question why I was there. And now, he keeps looking at me with this strange intensity and weird look and I just can’t figure out what’s going on in his head,” you confess, letting out a heavy sigh.

Hoseok bursts into laughter, breaking the tension with his infectious humor, “Maybe he wants a threesome?” Your eyes roll at his playful comment, appreciating how he effortlessly lightens the mood, a skill he seems to master whenever things get awkward.

“I’m sure he doesn’t. Not that I’m interested!” Laughter ripples through the group, a collective release of tension that eases the weight on your shoulders.

“Maybe he just wants to talk then?” Hoseok suggests, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope beneath the terrace’s soft glow.

“If he wants to talk to me, he should just do it instead of giving me those fucking angry eyes,” you scoff, the frustration and deflation evident in your voice.

“I’m just so angry!” you declare, your body tensing with each word before finally releasing the built-up tension.

“We get it,” Soo-ah remarks, her voice understanding and sympathetic.

“Love is hard,” she adds with a touch of melancholy, her gaze lingering on Hoseok. You know that she likes him, but you don’t know if Hoseok feels the same for her. 

You let out a bitter, angry chuckle, the sound escaping from deep within as a manifestation of the frustration and tension bubbling inside you.

“By the way, does his girlfriend look familiar to any of you?” you inquire, turning to face them, only to be met with a chorus of laughter. Their unexpected reaction leaves you bewildered and searching for answers.

Ara quirks an eyebrow, suppressing a smile behind her delicate hand, and gently teases, “You haven’t realized yet?”

You shake your head. Realized what?

“She looks like you.” Ha-rin’s revelation is like a sudden thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, her words hanging in the air with a weight that sends a shiver down your spine. 

She looks like you? 

Every fiber of your being comes alive, reigniting the small fire you had extinguished for Jimin. The embers, once dormant, now glow and dance, casting an unexpected warmth that spreads through the chambers of your heart. The uncanny resemblance between you and Jimin’s girlfriend becomes a flickering flame, illuminating the shadows of your emotions and casting doubt on the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around your feelings.

Could this mean what you think it does?

Fuck.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[ralvezfanatic]

Not-so-secret Valentines

Spencer Reid x Luke Alvez

Spencer gets a secret valentines gift and can't exactly figure out who it's from. Luke helps him figure it out.

Prompt: "if you’re still wondering who left those flowers at your desk, i think i’m ready to put your mind at ease.” || Taken from @scealaiscoite prompt list | Changed a bit but was inspired by the prompt.

Also available on AO3

A/N: I keep seeing these prompt lists and decided to finally use one, ofc with Ralvez because I love them so much. Also.. this was supposed to be a short blurb id how its almost 3k 😭

Word Count: 2.7k

Spencer got into work early like usual, with only Emily and Garcia, except this time he walked in alone. Luke was running late. Supposedly, his alarm didn't go off and he didn't wake up on time, so he was behind schedule.

Although Spencer didn't completely believe it, he also didn't think Luke would lie to him. There wasn't any reason to lie, they were honest and open to each other.

It just felt hard to believe Luke would sleep in late when he wakes up early to go on a run before work, but mistakes happen Spencer told himself.

“Boy Wonder!!! Hellooo! Do you like the decorations? I put them in myself, came in extra early to set it up!” Garcia greeted him happily, walking up to him.

Spencer looked around the office quickly and nodded, it was decorated with hearts, streamers and all Valentine decorations Garcia could find. It looked nice, but just reminded Spencer how single he was.

“Yeah, it looks nice Garcia. Really nice.” He nodded again, pressing his lips together to form his slightly awkward smile.

“Where's Newbie?” She asked when she noticed the lack of the other agent. They've been arriving at work together for a while now, and they're always hanging out together, so seeing them alone feels odd to the team sometimes.

“He was running late and told me to go because he didn't want me to be late either.” He looked to the side as he spoke, checking out the desk which all seemed to have something on them.

Garcia looked at him for a moment, and it was obvious that she was thinking of something but decided to leave it be. “Alright then. It's a bit rude that he'd make you come alone on Valentine's Day but whatever.. he'll be hearing from me.” She said, muttering the last part as she left.

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, confused by her comment. He didn't see why'd it be a big deal. They were friends, Luke had no obligation to be with him On Valentine's Day. He has spent almost every single Valentine's Day alone, so what did it matter.

He didn't mind, not at all. It was just a silly holiday for business to make money off.. at least that's what Spencer told himself every year. In reality, he wished he had someone to spend it with. Just once at least.

Actually, he wants to spend it with Luke.. but that's just because they're good friends. Since Luke joined, they both have been wanting to spend time with each other.

So it makes sense that he wants to spend Valentine's Day with Luke. Friends could do that right? Of course they can, people do it all the time.

Maybe not to the extent Spencer wants to..

He wants to cuddle with Luke, be held and kissed by him.

But that's not going to happen, so Spencer just heads to his desk. He's met with a small heart shaped box with a hand written note from Garcia.

“Happy Valentine's Day Boy Wonder! - Garcia :)”

Spencer smiles at the note and puts it down before opening it to find a bunch of his favorite sweet treats. He makes a mental note to go out to buy her chocolates as a thank you, then carefully puts the note to the side and the box on top of it so it doesn't accidentally fly away.

He then starts to work on some files, trying to make the day pass so he can go home and eat some takeout. Alone. On his couch. Doing nothing. Being single. Again, for what he feels is the hundredth time.

Luke finally arrives to work, being the last to get in. He walks down the desks, passing Spencer and stopping to greet him.

“Morning Spence. Sorry about this morning, I have no idea what happened with my alarm.” He apologized as he stood by Spencer's desk.

“Oh yeah no problem, things happen. It's fine.” Spencer assured him, smiling up at him.

“I'll be sure to fix my phone though, don't worry” Luke added on.

He was about to say something else when he noticed the heart shaped box on Spencer's desk, his usual grin faltering slightly.

He wondered who gave him a gift. He didn't think it could be from the team. So was it someone from another unit? Did Spencer know them? Did he like them too? Did he have a partner he wasn't aware of?

Luke tried to calm down and looked away from the box and back at Spencer, who didn't seem to catch Luke's over-thinking.

“Uh, I'll talk to you later. I should probably get to work now.” Luke smiled before heading to his desk.

The rest of the work day was as normal. They fortunately didn't get called to a case, so everyone (who had plans) were happy.

Luke had a gift he really wanted to give, but he didn't have a moment to do so. Spencer never got up for long, his coffee cup had been refilled by some kind coworker, and for some reason, Spencer hadn't finished it yet.

Luke was annoyed, wishing the team wasn't so kind and let Spencer get up to get coffee himself. (He says this but he has refilled and even bought coffee on multiple occasions).

After what seems like forever, Spencer finally got up. Luke subtly watched him walk down the office and head to the bathroom. He practically jumped up as soon as Spencer entered the bathroom and took his bag.

He grabbed a small box from Spencer's favorite donut place, and another box of chocolates and a card, quickly heading over to place them on Spencer's desk.

They looked so much better than that small heart shaped box, he thought to himself.

He didn't really care who saw him, he was sure the team knew about his crush on the doctor.

He smiled, wondering how Spencer would react to the random gifts. He wondered if he'd figured it out it was from him. He hoped Spencer liked it, even if he didn't figure out it was from him.

Luke headed to his desk, sitting down right on time as Spencer exited the bathroom.

Luke pretended to work, typing at his computer and looking at a case file trying to seem distracted.

Spencer approached his desk and his eyebrows furrowed as he noticed the gifts. He looked around the bullpen, searching for who did this, or someone who seemed like they knew something. He looked over at Luke, but he seemed busy in his work, just like everyone was.

He sat down cautiously and checked the items on his desk.

He first took the card, the front being a small cup of coffee with the words “Words cannot espresso how much I like you.” He let out a quiet laugh, finding the joke amusing. He opened it to read “Happy Valentine's” with a small hand written addition and a heart.

As he read the note, his eyebrows furrowed again and he looked up to scan the bullpen once more.

Luke had been watching Spencer since he sat down, waiting for his reaction. He smiled when he saw him laugh as he read the card, glad that he liked his choice, even as cheesy as it was.

He watched him look around the office again, and he quickly looked back at his case file, hoping Spencer didn't notice him. He wanted to keep it a little secret for a while, just to mess with the genius.

He looked up again and saw Spencer move onto checking the donuts, and he felt his heart melt as Spencer's face lit up. Luke had bought his favorite donuts in heart shapes and wrote a small note on the inside of the box. “I donut know how to tell you that I love you.” with a nervous donut doodle on it. Or maybe sad? Scared? It wasn't a very good doodle..

Spencer felt his cheeks go hot and he closed the box quickly, (after taking out a donut).

He decided to check the chocolates at his house, not being able to handle any more cheesy comments.

All day Spencer kept wondering who gave him the gifts. He asked around, but got no answers, and as much as a genius he was, he was dumb too

He had a small idea who it could be, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. Spencer tried to think of everyone he knew and would get him all these items. He made a list and removed people one by one, until only Luke was left. Then he'd remake that list, thinking he was just being delusional.

Finally, around noon, he gave up. Even though he kept asking his friends about it, they would give him no response. Not even Garcia knew, and he was sure she would have helped more.

The bullpen was mostly empty, everyone seemed to have decided to go out for lunch, leaving only Spencer and Luke at their desk, Emily and Garcia in their offices.

Spencer looked at the boxes on his desk, trying to figure out this mysterious Valentines. How could he solve crimes and find serial killers, but he couldn't find the person who liked him?

Well, he had figured it out ages ago, but he just didn't think it was possible.

Spencer let out a sigh and stood up, going over to the coffee machine to refill his empty mug. He poured in some coffee, then added about half the container of sugar and stirred it.

“So.. still trying to figure out the mystery of the treats?” Luke asked as he approached Spencer with his own empty mug.

“Um.. yeah. I can't think of anyone who would get me all this, and write these little notes. I mean I barely talk to anyone! Like not to seem sad but you guys are my only friends. Other than the nice barista at that coffee shop and the people at the bookstore near my house, I don't have many non-work friends.” Spencer frowned, taking a sip of his coffee to taste it.

Needed more sugar.

Luke felt a bit saddened by Spencer's response, but kept his face the same. He grabbed the pot and poured himself some coffee, adding a normal amount of sugar unlike the tall genius.

“Could it have been the same person who gave you that other box?” He suggested with a small shrug

“The heart shaped one? No, definitely not! Garcia would have given it to me directly, and she wouldn't have denied giving it to me anyway.” Spencer shook his head, oblivious to his friends' jealousy.

Oh.

Luke felt a bit stupid now.

He should have known Garcia would give Spencer a Valentine's gift. They were best friends, why wouldn't she?

He took a quick glance at the other desks, seeing similar boxes on their desks.

She got them for everyone except him.

Ouch?

Luke turned back to Spencer who was adding in more sugar to his coffee.

“Well, I could tell you who it was.” Luke said, taking a sip of his coffee.

Spencer looked at him, his eyebrows raised slightly as he stopped stirring. “You could?”

“I could.” Luke nodded as he set his mug down.

“How would you know? Nobody else knew anything, why would you know?”

“Because it was me.” Luke replied, looking up at him, waiting for a reaction.

Spencer stared at him for a second, unable to believe what he just heard. His face was flushed and he couldn't come up with a response.

“What? You? You like me? Since when? Why?” Spencer spat out, flustered at the small confession.

Luke let out a small chuckle and nodded, finding Spencer's reaction adorable.

“Yes, me. I gave you all that, cheesy puns and all..” Luke sheepishly smiled as he remembered the notes he wrote.

“But why?”

“Because I love you. Since the day we met, I've liked you. I mean, I thought you were drop dead gorgeous the first time I saw you, but after getting to know you more? Hearing you talk so passionately about things, your intelligence, your kindness, everything about you. I fell in love.. and I fall deeper everyday I’m with you.” Luke confessed, his voice genuine and soft as he looked into Spencer's eyes.

Spencer was a complete flustered mess, his brain was useless. He couldn't come up with a response, his face only flushing a brighter red.

“Was that too much? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drop all that on you at once.” Luke apologized, noticing Spencer's silence, feeling bad for his sudden confession.

“No! No it's okay. A bit much to take in but.. give me a second.” Spencer shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and assured Luke that he was alright.

“I love you too.. You've always let me ramble on about useless information, and you even ask me about it. You look genuinely interested in what I have to say too. And you're just so kind to me. You don't think I'm weird, even when I clearly am. And you're really hot too.. Like you're hot and super nice to me! Like honestly, how could I not like you?”

Now it was Luke's turn to blush. He felt his heart melt at Spencer's own confession, but chuckled at the last part. He looked down and shook his head before looking back up at Spencer with a grin.

“You think I'm hot?” Luke asked, a smirk on his face, stepping closer to him.

“Yeah, a bit.” Spencer smiled, leaning towards Luke slightly.

“You're not that bad either.” Luke whispered, leaning in and holding Spencer’s cheek.

He looked into his eyes, silently asking for permission before going further. Spencer nodded softly, his eyes shining with love for the other man.

Luke leaned in and pressed a kiss against Spencer, who quickly melted into the kiss.

Garcia, who decided to go question Luke about this morning and see if he deserved the small box of treats she got him or not, was found with the cutest sight at the coffee machine.

She let out a squeal and dropped the box from excitement, which scared the agents and made them pull away immediately.

“Oh my gosh!! You finally confessed to him? Here I was, going to question you about this morning, but this makes up for it even better! Oh I dropped your box, but honestly that is on you guys because how could you kiss in the office and not expect me to squeal when I see?” Garcia rambled on, bending down to grab the box and rushing over to the new couple.

“Garcia-” Spencer started, but was quickly interrupted by her continuing on.

“Oh newbie I was so mad at you for ditching our boy wonder here this morning! I took back my gift too, like how could you leave him alone on Valentine's? You didn't deserve my gift!” Garcia handed Luke the slightly dented box of candy as she spoke.

Luke looked at her and then the box, and listened to her. “Thank you..” He nodded before looking at Spencer and back at her.

“I had to leave him because I wanted to get something for him as a surprise.” Luke said, feeling a need to explain himself after Garcia's rambling.

“And I think it was worth it.. I hope?” He laughed as he looked at Spencer for his approval.

“Oh yeah definitely. I didn't mind taking the train after getting those donuts.” Spencer joked, knowing that's not exactly what Luke had meant.

“See, it was worth it to Spencer, and that's what matters.” Luke smiled, going along with him.

“Ohh, you guys are so cute already.. the rest of the team is gonna hate that they missed this! Oh I should text them” Garcia smiled excitedly as she got her phone out.

Luke laughed at her eagerness, while Spencer just seemed a bit lost now, but neither did any attempt to stop her as she walked off, texting the team.

“Happy Valentine's Day cariño..” Luke smiled softly, turning to Spencer.

“Happy Valentine's Day.” He replied, leaning in to press another quick kiss to his date (and soon to be boyfriend).

#luke alvez #spencer reid #criminal minds #ralvez #ralvez fic #spencer reid x luke alvez #fluff #valentines day #valentines fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff

[sequinsmile-x]

have you ever written a fic where emily and her daughter have separation anxiety by any chance ?? if not, possible prompt if you like! (LOVE everything you write, hope ur having a great day today<3)

hi bestieee

of course! <3 this turned into a 3 parter because of who I am as a person, so keep an eye out for the next two parts over the next week or so that will explore other moments in their daughter's childhood

hope you enjoy this, let me know what you think! <3

-x-

Slipping Through My Fingers

The one in which Emily and her daughter struggle with separation anxiety.

1/3

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 3.3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily presses the touchscreen of her phone, blowing out a slow breath at the lack of messages. She focuses on the picture she has as her wallpaper and smiles, tracing her finger over her daughter's face, the baby fast asleep in her arms. 

The picture was taken six weeks ago on the day Stella was born. Jess had brought Jack to the hospital to meet his newborn sister. Aaron had picked him up and sat on the bed, the enthusiastic little boy wriggling in his embrace as he tried to make sure he was careful with Emily and Stella. Jess had snapped the photo of them all, the first photo of them as a family of four, and then she’d sent it to Emily. 

She’d set it as her wallpaper immediately, finding herself endlessly grateful for the reminder of the joy she’d felt that day in the difficult, relentless early days of motherhood. 

“Still nothing from JJ?”

Emily looks up at her husband, a flash of embarrassment rolling through her until she sees his soft smile, nothing but love and understanding flowing out of every pore. She clears her throat and shakes her head. 

“Nothing,” she says, reaching for her drink and taking a sip. Anxiety she’d felt since they’d left home, Jack and Stella in the care of JJ, bubbles low in her gut, burning up her throat and taking residence in her chest, filling the space her heart used to be before she left it at home. She blows out a breath and shakes her head at herself, “I’m sorry I’m ruining date night.” 

It had been his idea. She’d barely left Stella’s side since she was born, and the longest they’d been apart was an hour when Emily had gone to get her hair done, something that was again at his insistence because he knew she needed a break. He knew she needed this too, that she needed just a few hours where she was Emily, but he could see her resistance. The guilt and anxiety simmering under her skin getting worse with every passing minute, her focus constantly on her phone in case JJ called like she said she would if she ran into a problem. 

He’d spoken to JJ separately when he’d asked her to look after Jack and Stella for the evening, pulled her aside at work and crossed the boundary of professional and personal to ask for her help. He knew what Emily needed was advice from a friend who had been in the same position, and JJ’s gentle coaxing as she settled a slightly fussy Stella into her arms just a couple of hours ago had, albeit briefly, calmed his wife down. He also knew that she was worried about the fact she was going back to work in six weeks, the halfway mark of her maternity leave one of the reasons he’d decided now was a good time for date night, but he knew now wasn’t the time to broach that subject, his worst fear being he’d somehow make it worse. He reaches out and places his hand over hers, smiling softly as he links their fingers together.

“Sweetheart, you aren’t ruining anything,” he assures her, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the heel of her hand, “I’m having a good time.”

She chuckles humourlessly and shakes her head, her eyes fixed on their joint hands, “I don’t think sitting with your wife whilst she obsessively checks her phone counts as a good time, honey.” 

He lifts their joint hands and presses a kiss to her knuckles, “Any time I spend with you is a good time.” 

She presses her lips together in a failed attempt to hide her smile and she rolls her eyes. She never thought that she’d fall in love with someone quite like him. Someone who could disarm her so quickly, his love for her both unexpectedly soft and unrelenting in its nature. Sometimes when she told JJ and Penelope about him, about the things he’d say when it was just the two of them, they struggled to believe her. The romantic and charming man he was in private completely at odds with their stern and serious boss. 

“You say the most ridiculous shit sometimes,” she says, squeezing his hand, “Sweet. But ridiculous,” she finds her gaze drifting back to her phone and she growls in frustration at herself, “God, what is wrong with me?” She rests her head on the hand not linked with his, her fingers tangling into her hair, “I’ve never felt like this before. When we don’t see Jack because he’s at school or we are at work I miss him, but it doesn’t feel like this.” 

He knows he has to choose his next words carefully, so he takes a moment, playing the conversation he’d practised in his head more than once over the last couple of weeks. He knew his wife well enough to know this was coming, her love for Jack one of the many things he loved about her.

“It’s different,” he says, wincing internally when her face already starts to fall, “You-”

“I don’t love Stella more than I love Jack, Aaron,” she says fiercely, trying to remove her hand from his but he just holds on tighter, “I love them the exact same-”

“I know you do,” he says, cutting her off this time, not wanting her to get into her own head about it, “But Jack was older when you came into his life as his mom. Taking him to school or us going away on cases has always been part of your relationship with him,” he says, grateful when he sees the tension in her shoulders melt away as quickly as it had appeared. “I know you love him, Em. Our kids are so lucky to have you as their mom.” 

She blushes at the compliment, one she could never hear too often, her insecurities always taking residence in her chest whenever she couldn’t settle Stella, or Jack was in a bad mood. Seeds that had been planted long before she ever decided to become a mother, so sure that her own mother’s lack of maternal instinct was genetic, that she was doomed to repeat the cycle. There were moments when the insecurity would bloom, the flowers of it taking up all the space in her chest and making it hard to breathe, but Aaron was always there. Always happy to reassure her and pull her insecurities out by the root, slowly healing the wounds that only he could see. 

She fights a smile but fails, only able to roll her eyes when he winks at her, pride for making her smile swelling in his chest before he turns serious, sensing her need for reassurance. She’d never ask for it, but she never had to. 

“It’s normal to find this difficult,” he says, “She’s your baby. You’ve never been apart from her like this before. It’s an adjustment for you both.” 

She blows out a shaky breath. It catches in her chest and it makes her ache, a feeling that had become all too familiar these last several months. She’d, optimistically, hoped that once she’d given birth her hormones would balance out quickly. Her lack of emotional control was her least favourite side effect of pregnancy by far. She hated not being able to hide how she was feeling, the walls she’d built around herself when she was still too young to understand what she was doing crumbling around her at the smallest thing. She was even driven to tears on several occasions by the fact she couldn’t stop crying, something that Derek had once taken great joy in until she threatened his ability to procreate if he laughed at her again. Her dislike of being constantly emotional outweighed her hate of even the extreme nausea she’d experienced in the first trimester, something that had made her sensitive to every smell including Aaron’s cologne. He’d taken it in his stride, as he had with everything, and he’d taken to not wearing it anymore and glaring at anyone who ate something near her that triggered her nausea. 

She looks up to the ceiling to try and stop herself from crying, a desperate attempt to save the make up she’d painstakingly applied, surprised that she even remembered how to after 6 weeks of very little sleep. 

“I…I feel so unsettled,” she says, placing her hand on her soft belly, the skin still looser than she was used to, “She’s either been next to me or living inside of me for the better part of a year.” 

He feels his lips curl up into a smile at the tone of her voice, as if she’s chastising herself whilst simultaneously proving his point, “Exactly. You will adjust though, sweetheart. I promise.” 

She nods, having no choice but to believe him, “Does it get any easier?” 

“Oh god no,” he says quickly, shaking his head, his smile getting wider as she laughs loudly. 

“Jesus, Aaron,” she says, chuckling again, “You couldn’t have lied to me?” 

He squeezes her hand and leans across the small table to stamp a kiss on her cheek, “Never have, and I’m not about to start now,” he pulls back and she takes the opportunity to capture his lips in a quick kiss before he settles properly into his seat, “It’s never easy, but you do get used to it.” 

Her smile shakes and she nods, clearing her throat to try and shift the emotion that had settled there, “I guess that will have to be enough.” 

He lifts her hand and kisses it, and they settle into the silence for a moment, both of them enjoying it, a luxury they so rarely had these days, “Come on,” he says, kissing her hand once more before he lets go, “Let’s order dessert then we can go home.” 

She smiles at the mention of something sweet, her love for chocolate immediately boosting her mood. She picks up the menu and starts to look over it, aware of Aaron’s gaze burning into her. She looks up and finds him staring at her, having made no attempt to pick up his menu.

“What?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at him and he shrugs, finally breaking his gaze and looking at the menu. 

“Nothing, you just look beautiful, that’s all.”

She presses her lips together, love and want spreading through her, burning her from the inside out. She looks at her menu and moves her foot under the table, smiling when he jumps when she runs it up his leg, pride that she could still do this to him rushing through her. 

“Speaking of dessert,” she says, purposely not looking up at him, “I am wearing some very nice new lingerie under this dress,” she smiles as her eyes meet his, “So if we get the baby down to sleep easily…” 

She drifts off and has to stop herself from laughing at how wide his eyes are. It had been a long six weeks for both of them, and her doctor giving her the all clear just a couple of days ago had been nothing short of relief. His brain seemingly comes back online and he looks from her to the waiter, grabbing his attention as he walks by. 

“Check please.” 

___

Emily hums quietly as she looks down at Stella, smiling softly when she sees that the baby is already half asleep, her eyes drifting shut as she unlatches from her, milk drunk and content in her mother’s arms. 

“We need to burp you first, sweet girl. Then you can go back to sleep,” Emily says, lifting her to rest her against her chest, rearranging her dress and bra as she does so, she kisses the side of Stella’s head and gently pats her back. She breathes her in, the sweet scent that she’d come to associate with her daughter over the last several weeks washing over her, creating a sense of calm that eases the last bit of anxiety in her chest, “Mommy missed you tonight.” 

When they got home, Emily had barely acknowledged JJ, throwing her friend a quick smile as she went upstairs to see Stella. Aaron had stayed and said goodbye to their friend for both of them, thanking her again for looking after the kids so they could go out. Stella had been asleep when they first got home, but it hadn’t lasted long. It was as if she’d sensed Emily was in the room, waking up almost immediately when she walked in to check on her. Emily was grateful for it, not only because she’d wanted to hold her, but because her breasts were almost bursting, and she didn’t want to pump. 

“I figured you’d be feeding her,” Aaron says as he walks into the room, a glass of water and a chopped up banana on a plate, “I brought you your snack.” 

She smiles as she looks up at him, Stella letting out a timely burp that makes them both laugh, and Aaron walks over to join them on the small couch they’d bought for the nursery. 

“We just got done,” she says, resting her cheek on the top of their daughter’s head, “I’ll have some of that banana though,” she says, but before she can rearrange her hold on Stella to reach for some, he holds out a slice for her. She rolls her eyes, but says nothing as she opens her mouth for him to pop it in, “I need to text JJ,” she says as she eats, “Apologise for not saying thank you.” 

“She gets it, sweetheart,” he says, passing her another slice of the banana, “She’s a mom too. She gets it.” 

She hums and looks down at Stella, smiling softly when she sees she’s fast asleep already, content and safe in her arms, “I missed her so much, Aaron,” she says, shaking her head as she looks up at him, “We were gone for what, three hours? And I missed her so much. How…how am I going to go back to work? Go on cases and be away for days at a time,” she sighs and cups the back of Stella’s head, tracing the swirl of dark hair, the same cowlick that Aaron had that she’d always been fascinated with even before they were together, “I don’t know if I can.” 

He stares at her as she continues to stare at Stella, and he waits for her to say something else, to clarify further, but she doesn’t, “You don’t know if you can come back to work?” 

She blows out a shaky breath and shrugs, “I’d like to carry on working. Just…maybe not with the BAU.” 

She wasn’t even aware that was truly how she’d been feeling until she says it, but all of a sudden everything she’d been feeling for weeks clicks into place. The panic she felt whenever she thought about going back to work, a job she loved that had once defined her, instantly making sense. It had always been the plan that she’d go back to the team after her maternity leave. It seemed obvious. JJ worked on the team still even though she’d had Henry, Emily and Aaron did despite having Jack at home. Leaving the team had never even crossed her mind until she saw her daughter’s face, the doctor’s words that she’d had a girl still ringing in the air, the sex of the baby something they hadn’t found out until that moment. 

She knew she’d feel the same way even if they’d had another son, but when she was alone in the hospital that first night, Aaron at home with Jack, she’d looked at her daughter and wondered what her own first night of life had been like. If her own mother had sat and stared at her and thought about all the things she could be. 

Aaron nods and clears his throat, making sure his smile is encouraging as she looks at him, “If that’s what you want, we’ll make it work.” 

They’d agreed on it long before Stella was born, and Jess said she was happy to help with the kids when they were away on cases, but Aaron would be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming. He’d seen it in his wife’s face whenever anyone mentioned her going back to work, how she’d hold their daughter just a little tighter each time, and a part of him wished that he’d suggested this a long time ago, that he’d pushed it a little more than just an initial idea when they were planning what their life would look like after their little girl was born. 

“Would you be disappointed in me if I didn’t come back?” 

Her quiet words draw him out of himself, and he only realises then that he’d gone silent. The concerned look on her face makes him put his arm around her, around them, and he kisses his wife’s temple. 

As her boss, it would create some work. There would be paperwork, interviews for her replacement, trying to figure out what she herself would do next, but as her husband, he was more relieved than anything else, and he’d do anything to make sure she got what she wanted, what their family needed, even if it meant talking to the director himself. 

“There is nothing you could ever do that would disappoint me,” he says, his sincerity easing her anxiety, “On a selfish level I’d miss having you with me,” he smiles softly and reaches out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “But never disappointed. If anything, I’m proud of you.” 

She frowns, her cheeks burning pink with the compliment, and she bites the inside of her cheek, “Proud of me?” 

He nods and kisses her forehead, his hand resting over hers on their daughter's back, “I’m always proud of you,” he says, kissing her forehead again before he pulls back, “And as I said earlier, our kids are lucky to have you as their mom.” 

She smiles, her face bright with it, the same smile he hopes their little girl will one day inherit, “They are pretty damn lucky to have you as their dad.” 

“Don’t say damn in front of the baby.” 

She rolls her eyes lovingly, ignoring his playful chastisement of her cursing, and she uses it to move the moment forward. They had a lot more to talk about, she knew that, but right now she wanted to flirt with her husband. She wanted to take advantage of the small amount of time they’d have before Stella woke up again. She smiles and shifts closer to him, making sure not to disturb their sleeping daughter, and she purposefully lowers her voice. 

“Feed me the rest of my snack,” she says, nodding towards the plate still balancing on his lap, “Then we’ll try and get her to our room without waking her up and put her down,” she bats her eyelashes at him, “And then I’ll show that new lingerie I told you about.” He stares at her for a moment and she laughs, leaning in even closer, “Focus, honey,” she says, winking at him, a smirk spreading across her face as their eyes meet, everything she’s feeling reflecting back at her in his eyes, “We have an hour or two at most before she wakes up again and I have plans for you that involve the shower.” 

He smiles, his gaze flicking down to her chest, to the peek of deep purple lace he can see sneaking past the hem of her dress. He picks up another slice of banana, his focus on how her tongue pokes out to lick her lower lip, “Yes ma’am.” 

-x-

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#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week Day 1: Reunion

Words: 1104

Notes: Well I tried to start Bechloe week with something flirty and fun but naturally I can't help myself and it ended up getting a bit deeper than that. I also think this is a bit of a stretch for a "reunion" prompt...

I'm probably going to be doing 3 of the prompts for this week, but maybe more if I can get time to write them

Read on AO3

-

“Bec?” Chloe said, wrapping on the door of Beca’s office, one hand absentmindedly rubbing against her stomach. “This is your 30-minute warning, okay? The Bellas are going to be here in an hour.”

“So shouldn’t I get a 60-minute warning?” Beca replied. “They’ll be late anyway.”

“They won’t be late, Aubrey is in charge,” Chloe said, pushing the door open and stepping into her wife’s office. “And you need a 30-minute warning because you’re not greeting our friends - who we haven’t seen in over a year - in your office sweatpants.”

Beca frowned and spun around in her chair. “You love my office sweatpants.”

Chloe cocked her head. “Is that something you imagined I said?”

“I guess I just assumed, since every time I wear them you always want to grab my butt.”

“I think that’s more about your butt than the sweatpants, babe,” Chloe said. “But whether I love the sweats or not, you still need to change.”

“Fine,” Beca said, taking Chloe’s hands and tugging her into her lap. “Well, I don’t need to do any more work, so what should we do with our extra 30 minutes?”

Chloe checked her watch. “It’s more like 27 minutes now.”

“27 minutes? That doesn’t really seem like enough time,” Beca said. 

“Well, we could have a little longer if we saved time by showering together,” Chloe said.

“Mrs Mitchell-Beale, I like the way you think.”

Chloe climbed off Beca’s lap and tugged her out of the chair.

“Make the most of this,” Chloe said, pulling her towards the bathroom. “Once the Bellas get here we have to behave for a full week.”

Beca groaned. “Remind me why we have that rule in place again? It seems cruel and unnecessary. It’s not like they don’t know we’re married. They were there. They even saw us kiss.”

“And they still haven’t forgiven us for that time Emily walked in on us in the laundry room,” Chloe said. “Poor girl nearly went blind.”

“In our defence, she didn’t knock first,” Beca replied.

“In her defence, who knocks on the door of a laundry room before they enter?”

“Okay,” Beca said, “fair point.”

They made short work of stripping out of their clothes and were soon stepping into the shower together. As it so often did, Beca’s hand found its way to Chloe’s stomach.

“You’re still sure you want to tell them?” Beca asked.

“Yes,” Chloe said. “When is the next time we will all be together again after this? I want to tell them in person.”

“I know,” Beca said. “I do too.”

“Then why does your face look like that?”

“Genetics?”

“Smart-ass,” Chloe said, rolling her eyes. She put a finger under Beca’s chin and tilted her head up so she would look at her, and not her bump. “Why do you look worried? This is good news.”

“It’s the best news,” Beca said. “It’s just… as soon as we tell them, it stops being our little secret. It… I can’t explain it.”

“You’re scared we’re jinxing it,” Chloe said. Beca’s eyes dropped to Chloe’s stomach again, and Chloe knew she was right. “This isn’t like last time.”

“I know that,” Beca said. “Logically, I know that.”

Chloe pressed a kiss on Beca’s cheek and then pulled her into her arms, and they stayed like that for a little while. The hot water cascaded on and around them, steam rising up to obscure the rest of their bathroom.

Feeling hidden away and protected, Beca spoke again. “Announcing him to our friends, celebrating him, it feels like we’re drawing attention to him. Like we’re asking for something bad to happen. The more excited I get to meet him, the more convinced I am that something is going to take him away.”

“Baby,” Chloe said, softly, holding Beca tighter. 

“I know I’m being stupid-”

“-You aren’t being stupid,” Chloe said, cutting her off. 

“I know it isn’t logical,” Beca said as if there’d been no interruption. “But then the more I try to convince myself that it isn’t going to happen, the more I feel like it will. If you tell yourself over and over again that everything’s fine, that everything will be fine, then the more likely it is that the universe will want to screw you over.”

Beca’s thoughts were spiralling now, she was working herself into a panic. She took a slightly shuddering breath and opened her mouth, as if to continue before something tapped her on the palm of her hand.

She froze. 

During their hug, her hand reached Chloe’s stomach again. One hand was pressed against Chloe’s back, the other resting protectively on the side of her stomach.

She had felt her son kick for the first time.

They hadn’t made it this far last time.

Beca let out a shocked laugh and tears sprang to her eyes before quickly joining the shower water spilling down her cheeks.

“He can hear you,” Chloe said, smiling as tears filled her eyes too. “He’s letting you know that he’s okay.”

Beca laughed again and bent down to press a kiss against Chloe’s stomach.

“Hi buddy,” Beca said. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

“We don’t have to tell the Bellas,” Chloe said. “I can wear my big sweaters.”

“In L.A. in July?” Beca said, straightening back up, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m always cold, they’ll believe it,” Chloe said. 

“We should tell them,” Beca said. “They’re our family.”

Chloe smiled. “Good, because they would never have believed the sweater thing.”

Beca laughed and kissed her wife again. “I’m sorry I dumped all that on you. I didn’t mean to, it just came out.”

“Don’t apologise,” Chloe said. “Have you talked to your therapist about it?”

“Yeah, we’re working on it,” Beca said. “I know it’s just my anxiety working overtime. My dumb brain doesn’t like it when I’m happy, apparently.”

“Not dumb,” Chloe corrected. “Just… misguided? It thinks it’s protecting you. It thinks it’s keeping you safe.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Beca said. “I’m sorry I ruined the mood. I was planning on doing my best sex moves and everything.”

“I suppose when everyone’s safe in bed tonight, we could try again,” Chloe said, with a hint of a smirk. “Our door does lock, after all.”

“Do you think you can be quiet enough for that?” Beca asked, grinning as she pulled Chloe in for a kiss.

Chloe pulled away. “We don’t have time right now. I don’t even know what time it is, we’ve been in here for-”

Ding-dong!

“Crap,” Chloe said.

“So greeting them soaking wet and naked is better than my work sweats, how exactly?”

#bechloe week 2023 #bechloe week 23 #bechloe week #bechloe #bechloe fanfiction #fanfic #pitch perfect fanfiction #fanfiction #pitch perfect fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #beca #chloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #pitch perfect fic #no matter the timeline

[orionchildofhades]

steddie swapping soulmate au part 5

part 1 |[...]| part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | Ao3

---

when he wakes once more, Eddie is back in his body.

he knows because he is not hurting. and thats something.

he shift in his bed, enjoying the lack of aches and thinking over the previous day.

now that his mind is not as hazy, he tries to put the informations he learned in order. he wants to keep everything in, and make sure he understands his soulmate.

for a second he lets himself dream of waking up in his soulmates bed once more. but with his soulmate. with this person, his person, by his side. and it's stupid because they are fifteen, and Eddie is sixteen and they probably won't meet until much later when they both, hopefully, would have moved out.

he frowns. he didn't learn much though.

they can't see well, and they have a big bed in a big room in what is probably a big house.

and that's it.

I mean, they're also sick but that's only temporary, he adds, unless it's not? maybe they have, like, some disease?

he panicks for a second, not sure to be able to just leave their soulmate alone at home while suffering, everyday at every hour, without even company

he breath a little, reminding himself that both of them will be fine and that there is pretty much nothing he can do at the moment.

but it's okay. it's alright because he knows he has a soulmate know and he can carefully plan their wedding while acting cool and collected on the outside.

all thoughts are cut off when Wayne barges into his room, in very un-Wayne fashion.

"Patricia?" Eddie asks, trying to come back to earth from his little daydream

"What? No, son, why didn't you tell me you swapped? I just read over Patricia's note!"

"Patricia met my soulmate?" he jumped out of bed and almost fell over the pile of book that was not there the previous day. or the day before that perhaps.

"Yeah, and barely said nothing about them! she wrote, and I quote, 'it seems to me that Eddie has a very nice soulmate and I hope I'll can spend the day with them sometime again soon'" Wayne said before looking up from the paper he held in one hand.

Eddie on the other hand was walking to his own desk where he looked for a couple of books, which were now in the pile by his bed, before coming back and checking more titles. he could swear the last one was at the bottom of his laundry basket last time he checked. which had been a while, admittedly.

"I think Patricia and my soulmate cleaned my room..." he told Wayne with big eyes, full of both wonder, and terror.

seeing how clean and peaceful his other half's room had been, he couldn't muster the will to wonder about what his soulmate thought of him and the mess - organised mess!- of his bedroom.

with something akin to pity and understanding behind his eyes, Wayne nodded once, "that's tough kid, but at least they made cookies?" he said with a shrug before leaving the room

it's only once Eddie got back in his room, done with mopping about being shamed in his own space, and his belly filled with the delicious cookies Patricia had baked, that he saw the small note on his bedside table.

he was thinking over the fact that his soulmate had cooked him something, relishing in the addition of the sweet taste of cinnamon in the usual recipe, before he made a go for the furniture and took with careful hands, almost worshipping, the tiny piece of paper.

sorry you had to go through my flu, I didn't touch under your bed (that's personal), I enjoyed spending the day with your aunt(?), until next time ;)

Eddie lets a squeal escape his lips before falling, swooning really, on his bed, clutching the thin layer of matter witholding so many of his emotions.

he couldn't wait to meet them, he only whishes he had a name to put on them

#patricia and steve making cookies together #wayne feels for eddie because he himself went through the same thing with Patricia #but she left a lengthy note for him after shifting the first time about how she'd keep cleaning even if he didn't #as the writer #i can tell you #Patricia needs to clean everything #her truck is the cleanest motherfucker on the road #she smells nice #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie x steve #orionwritesthingies

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 30/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

All three men join them on the drive back to the safehouse so they can bring the files up in one trip. They’ve been careful, moving only between the Gunmen’s house and their secret apartment, diligently watching for recurring vehicles and changing their route at random. The purported Jehovah’s Witnesses have not knocked on the Gunmen’s door again, however they’ve seen a utility worker checking gas meters as well as an unfamiliar mail carrier on the street, so they are operating under the assumption that the house is being monitored to some degree. 

Scully is too emotionally exhausted to summon the energy for paranoia, so she keeps her head down and allows her male companions to watch for anyone nefarious who might be following them. After all five boxes of files are deposited on the kitchen counter in the safehouse, the Gunmen wish them a good night and remind them to set the alarm, and once again she and Mulder are alone. 

Alone. She still feels so alone, now maybe more than ever. She can’t stop thinking about Missy bleeding out in her entryway, about the vacancies in her ovaries where her future children should be. Mulder is standing in the living room window, hands in his pockets, staring blankly at the gray walls of the surrounding buildings. The memories stored in the very cells of her body are begging her to go to him, to seek comfort in his touch and the smell of his skin. But while he does seem to believe that she is who she says she is, he doesn’t remember her. The question of why is too painful to consider. 

She slumps onto the couch with a weary sigh and he turns around, then carefully makes his way over and sits on the other end, as far away from her as possible. 

“I’m sorry about your sister,” he says, and she looks at him, desperate to find some flicker of recognition. It’s Mulder’s face, Mulder’s eyes, Mulder’s voice. It’s him, but there’s something missing. The part that knows her. That loves her. 

“I’m sorry about yours as well,” she says quietly, and his expression falls. She looks at her feet, feeling maudlin and guilty. This isn’t his fault; they’re both victims here. “Are you afraid of what you’ll find? Is that it?” she asks, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. 

He’s quiet for a long time, but she can sense the buzzing of his thoughts, and waits patiently for his answer. 

“If I read those files, and what I learn is that everyone I know is lying to me…” his voice catches and he stops. Again, she waits. “Won’t that be even worse? To have nothing, and no one?”

She considers her words carefully. It feels incredibly profound to have the opportunity to tell someone who they are. What they believe. What they would want for themselves. She shifts so that her back is against the arm rest, her legs folded up on the cushion in front of her. Mulder pivots his body towards hers as well, his expression expectant.

“There is still so much that I don’t remember,” she tells him, “but I know you. And there is nothing that is more important to you than the truth. Even if it’s painful. Even if it’s inconvenient.” She points to the row of boxes lined up on the counter, and his eyes follow her finger. “The Mulder that I know would have torn through every single one of those documents the second we walked through the Gunmen’s door.” Her voice begins to quaver and she clears her throat. “And I believe that if you will please just read those files, you might remember that.”

Despite her best efforts, a tear springs free and runs down to the corner of her mouth. Mulder watches it fall, and then looks at the floor. His chest rises and falls heavily, and after a few moments, he stands. He stalks toward the back of the apartment, disappearing through the bathroom door, and her heart sinks. Minutes pass. Horrible, desperate minutes in which she has horrible, desperate thoughts about how she can possibly extricate herself from this torment. The toilet flushes, the bathroom door opens, and he appears back in the doorway. 

“Okay,” he says with an air of finality, his shoulders squared. “Let’s get this over with.”

_

She expects that the information regarding Samantha’s abduction will be the most difficult for him to accept. She can recall the way it consumed him, the way it defined the edges of both their lives. She expects it to be just as big, just as prominent, just as important. She is wrong. 

His mother and father, both liars. That fact gives him pause, makes him stop and walk out onto the balcony to collect his thoughts. The idea that his parents are unkind to him feels familiar, and it makes her so indescribably sad. But he moves past it, keeps reading page after page with a set jaw and a blank expression. When it comes to Samantha, he tells her he’s had dreams. He says that it makes sense, in a way, like the final piece of a puzzle. He keeps reading, and she wonders if he will truly find himself again. 

It isn’t until he gets to the parts of the file regarding his life with Diana that he starts to lose control. Starts clenching and unclenching his fists, heaving frustrated sighs and chewing on his bottom lip. She wants to ask him what he’s reading, what he is learning that has him so agitated, but it feels like information that she isn’t entitled to. There was a time that she suspected Cal of being in on it, of lying to her, and she feels a great deal of empathy for Mulder that her worst unfounded fear is his reality. He turns a page over and taps his index finger rapidly against the back of it, his nostrils flaring. 

“Are you okay?” she asks from her spot curled up on one end of the couch. 

She watches the flex of his jaw as his eyes scan wildly over the documents on top of the coffee table. He seems to calm suddenly, running the tips of his fingers under the lip of the tabletop thoughtfully. 

“Mulder—”

He stands with an agonized shout, grabbing the edge of the table and flipping it over. It crashes against a shelf and papers go flying, fluttering through the air like falling snow. Scully’s heart leaps and begins to race, but she stays calm and waits to see what he does next. 

“Did you know?” he asks angrily, spinning to look at her. She’s too stunned to speak, so she just shakes her head, not understanding the question. “Did you know that she did this?!” he asks again, taking two steps toward her and pointing at the mess on the floor. 

“I don’t know anything, Mulder,” she says softly, pressing herself into the corner of the couch. 

“I need to get out of here,” he says, stalking toward the door. 

Scully leaps up and rushes past him, putting herself between him and the door just as he’s reaching for the knob. 

“You can’t leave, Mulder, it’s not safe,” she pleads. 

“Get out of my way, Scully,” he growls, not looking at her. “I can’t be here, I just need…I need to go. Please.” Now it is he who is begging. 

“No,” she says resolutely, straightening up to make herself as large as possible. “I’m not going to let you do that.”

He slowly lifts his eyes to hers, and there is so much pain there it nearly takes her breath away. 

“She lied to me,” he croaks. “About everything. We’re not married, I never left the FBI, she’s not a fucking lawyer.”

His chin puckers and he looks at the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry,” Scully whispers, though she knows that she is not the one he needs an apology from. 

When he looks back at her, his eyes are wet. 

“She let me believe that I cheated on her. She made me believe it. She held it over me, Scully, she—”

She reaches for him then, and he accepts her embrace. He collapses slowly toward the floor in increments, a sinking ship, and she escorts him down to the bottom. To the depths of his loss, his pain, his betrayal. He leans heavily into her and she strokes his hair, rubs his back, tells him how sorry she is that this happened to him. To them. She thinks again about Missy, about Emily, about the terrors that her body has gone through. While she is technically the one providing comfort, she allows herself to take it as well. From the feeling of his muscles flexing under her palm with his shuddering breaths, the weight of his head on her shoulder, the smell of his breath—something she didn’t realize she knew so intimately. They sit there like that, feet from the doorway, until the room starts to grow dim with the setting sun. 

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” she says sweetly, the way his mother should have, but never did. “I think that’s enough reading for today.”

She helps him into the bedroom and out of his clothes, not allowing her eyes to linger on his chest and belly, not allowing herself to remember how they feel pressed against her bare skin. She tucks him in, but when she moves to leave he grabs her hand. 

“Do you need something?” she asks, searching his face and raking her fingers through his hair. 

“Could you sleep in here? Is that…would that be okay?” he asks, so vulnerable it makes her chest ache. “You don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable,” he adds, breaking eye contact. 

“Sure,” she says lightly, as though her heart isn’t about to burst at the idea of being so near to him, of sharing a bed—even if chastely. “I need to go get ready for bed, but I’ll be back soon, okay?”

She smiles at him, and he attempts a smile back. In the bathroom, she changes into her pajamas, washes her face, and brushes her teeth. By the time she arrives back in the bedroom Mulder is quiet and still, and she can tell by his even breathing that he’s fallen asleep. She considers going back to the couch, given that he seems to be sleeping just fine without her, but she told him she would sleep in the bedroom with him and she won’t allow herself to be added to his list of broken promises and lies. 

Carefully, she draws the covers back and slips underneath them. Mulder is lying on his back right in the center of the mattress, so she lays on her side as close to the edge as she can get, both to avoid waking him and to reduce the possibility that she’ll gravitate toward him in her sleep and potentially make him uncomfortable. She feels concurrently exhausted and wired, and she focuses on the steady hush of Mulder’s breaths in and out, synching her own breathing to his. There’s something familiar about this—lying beside him, keeping her distance while craving closeness. She allows her mind to wander, and her eyes to fall closed. 

“What are you thinking about?”

She blushes, even though she knows that he cannot see her face in the murky dark of his motel room. Truthfully, she was thinking about his half-naked body, dappled with drops of water from his shower. She was thinking about the towel slung low on his hips, and the trail of hair below his belly button that disappeared beneath that towel. 

“Nothing, just can’t sleep,” she lies, and he hums. A beat passes, and the air feels thick with anticipation, setting the hairs on her arms on end. “What are you thinking about?” she asks him, sensing that he has something to say. 

She hears the wet sounds of his lips and tongue forming words that don’t make their way out of his mouth. Her heart starts to pound, though she can’t rightly say why. 

“I’m afraid to tell you what I’m thinking about,” he finally admits. “I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

She has never wanted to know anything more in her entire life. Are her instincts correct? Is he thinking about what she thinks he is? What she hopes he is?

“Is it bad?” she asks, testing the waters. 

A pause. He clears his throat. 

“That’s fairly subjective. I’m not sure if you’ll think it’s bad, and I suppose that’s what I’m worried about.”

“Please tell me,” she says, not even caring that the desperation she feels can easily be heard in her voice. 

She feels the mattress dip and hears the rustle of the blankets as he rolls to his side. They are now face to face, the minty heat of his breath warming her cheeks. She can’t see him nearly at all, save for a vague outline, and for that she is grateful. 

“You know how important you are to me,” he says softly, and she nods, even though he didn’t ask a question, and he can’t see her. “I can’t risk the possibility of losing you.”

“You won’t, Mulder,” she tells him. Inside, she’s screaming for him to come out with it, to be brave enough for them both. 

She feels the tips of his fingers bump up against her elbow, and he follows her arm up to her shoulder, then her neck, finally cradling her jaw in his palm. He runs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, and she closes her eyes. Please, please, please, she begs. 

He begins to pull his hand away and she grabs it, holding it against her chest. 

“Please tell me,” she says again, giving his hand a squeeze. 

He shifts, moving closer, returning his hand to her jaw. She tilts her chin up, letting her lips fall open, and when she feels the brush of his breath against her mouth, she arches up, meeting him halfway. Her whole body relaxes, and he pulls her close as he kisses her again. And again. And again. 

She shoots up in the bed, disoriented and panicked. Mulder is thrashing beside her, kicking at the sheets and shouting half-deciperable gibberish. 

“No! She…she…leave her alone!” he wails, swiping at nothing in the air in front of him. 

Muscle memory kicks in. She’s done this before. 

“Mulder, it’s okay,” she says, touching his shoulder. “You’re dreaming. You’re safe.”

“Don’t touch me!” he barks, throwing an elbow that collides with her cheek bone. 

She cries out and scoots away from him, one hand cradling her throbbing face. She reaches for the bedside lamp and switches it on, squinting and blinking as her eyes attempt to adjust. Mulder shields his eyes with his forearms. 

“Samantha!” he keens, and her stomach drops as she remembers that light does not help. Bright lights are a trigger.

She switches the lamp back off, trying to remember how she used to calm him down in these moments. Pressure. Weight. That’s what he needs. To feel grounded, to find himself in place and time. 

She pitches herself onto him, shielding her face from his flailing arms with her own. She moves quickly, not giving him a chance to throw her before she sits on his chest, her knees tucked into his armpits. She folds her body in half, bringing her mouth as close to his ear as she can get it, and shouts, “Mulder, stop!”

He startles, and his arms and legs freeze before they slowly drop down to the mattress. Now that he’s quiet, she can hear his ragged breaths and feel the hummingbird beat of his heart against her thighs. 

“You’re okay,” she says gently. “You’re safe. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

His heart slows. He doesn’t speak. There is a shuddering breath, and then the bark of a sob. He brings his hand up and covers his mouth, but his chest lurches beneath her and gives him away. She attempts to move off of him, but he grips her upper arms urgently so she stays close, tucking her body against his flank and laying her head on his chest. He holds her so tightly it hurts, his fingers twisted up in her pajama top and his face buried in her hair. And she feels awful, so incredibly awful, because it feels so, so good. To be held by him, to be wanted, and needed. She breathes him in deep, holds him right back, cries her own tears of relief. This isn’t how she wanted it to happen, but if it’s all she can get, she will happily take it. Just to be near him. 

It will have to be enough for now. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #x files #xf fanfic #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

[scribbling-dragon]

are we allies or enemies? (this will be the death of me)

summary:

Only when it persists does he finally close all of his eyes again, opening only the normal pair to stare down at his wrist mournfully. Invisible now, but visible just moments ago, was a green string, thin and wavering on occasion but resolutely leading somewhere. That somewhere presumably being Joel. The sensation makes sense now, if his soul has, once again, been tied to another. This one somehow being more reckless than the last. [alternatively, what if the "double life" of session three was a little more…literal]

(ao3 link)

(6,382 words)

been going a little insane over joel and grian since last week's episodes, so here you go! fun little reminder to reblog if you enjoyed it (and leave me any thoughts in the tags! i love reading 'em!)

Sparks burst to life before him, flaring green and burning themselves into his retinas, leaving afterimages he’ll be blinking away for the next few minutes. The book presents itself amidst these sparks, swirling together out of nothing.

The book he reaches for, and catches in his hands, is however very real. Unlike the sparks, which don't even carry any sensation with them. They may as well not land on his skin, for how little he feels of them. The sparks alight on the ends of his fingers as he closes them around the leather-bound book, but there is nothing beyond the visual of green sparks that tells him this.

The sparks fade from vivid green to nothingness as he flips the book open. Its cover ripples beneath his touch, enchantments sending a smooth wave of cold over his skin. It’s colder than usual, seeming to permeate every fibre of his being.

For every injury Joel Smallishbeans receives, you must receive the same. You can let him in on this secret but no one else... If either of you die in the next twenty-four hours, you fail.

As Grian reads the exact details of his task, as he allows the information to settle within his brain, he feels something else settle alongside it.

It is unfamiliar, and yet not. Something that he remembers, but different, in a way he cannot find words for. There is no description for the familiarity with which he accepts the sensation, nor are there any words for the unfamiliarity of it.

To share whatever damage Joel takes with himself…

He straightens his arms out in front of him, scrutinising the backs of his hands. There is nothing there except the few feathers he has dotting the backs of his hands. The tawny brown feathers rustle in an unseen breeze, before he’s flipping his hands over and scrutinising his palms instead.

There is no sign of damage, no sign of anything amiss, and yet the strange sensation persists.

He frowns for a moment, hands still held out in front of him, book awkwardly held in one hand.

He sighs, dropping his arms back down and turning to shove his task book into the small book holster they’d all been given. He doesn’t want to think about the small details on the bag, nor the way it fits each of the participants perfectly. He’s seen others customising their own, painting over the leather with team designs to denote belonging to one faction or another.

His own remains in the same state it was when he got it. The only decorations are a single eye, wide open, and embossed on the side he keeps turned inwards, resting against his side, and a cactus charm. He doesn’t question the choice of accessories; to do so would only open up a whole other can of worms. And he’s already got a rather complex can of worms opened in front of him, namely Joel.

He glances around himself as another idea comes to roost in his mind. He checks around himself carefully. His vantage point upon the spiralling staircases of his base means he can see for miles around, watching carefully to make sure no others are approaching to interrupt what he’s about to do.

With that confirmed, he turns back to himself and opens his eyes to See.

It’s obvious, almost immediately, what is wrong. The sensation that sends something crawling beneath his skin, a restless itch that cannot be scratched no matter what he does. He still stares at it a moment longer, as though his Sight would ever be able to deceive him. As though It is capable of such a thing.

Only when it persists does he finally close all of his eyes again, opening only the normal pair to stare down at his wrist mournfully.

Invisible now, but visible just moments ago, was a green string, thin and wavering on occasion but resolutely leading somewhere. That somewhere presumably being Joel. The sensation makes sense now, if his soul has, once again, been tied to another. This one somehow being more reckless than the last.

He groans, allowing himself this singular moment of despair. Joel has been more reckless this go-around more than anyone else. His injuries are numerous, and refusing to heal, and yet he continues on. It’s as though he’s incapable of learning not to leap from high places or fight a skeleton without a shield. At least he’s not got the arrows still sticking out of him.

He casts a baleful look towards the sky above him. “I'm sure you're finding this really quite hilarious,” he mutters to himself. He feels Their eyes turn onto him, watching with something that almost resembles amusement. As much amusement as an amorphous collective of spectators set on consuming your agony can feel, he supposes. “Is this a joke? Or are you trying to get me to keep Joel alive a little longer?”

He almost takes his book out of the holster its currently sitting in to wave it at the sky in protest. But doing so will only make him look like a madman, and he’s rather certain he can hear people moving around the bottom of the hill he resides on. No need to scare anyone else away – he’s alone enough as it is already.

Their eyes continue to rest on him, silence filling the unmeasurable distance between him and Them. They could be right in front of his face, for all Grian would know of it. Only if he opened all his eyes again would that happen, and he’s already starting to get a headache from using that a minute ago.

“Whatever,” he dismisses them. “I'm sure you're just looking to cause me the most pain possible; congrats! He’s already halfway to yellow, and he doesn’t have a wary bone in his body! You’ve set me up for failure here!”

Their silence almost seems to suggest laughter, which is when Grian gives up. He throws his hands in the air and storms back down his winding staircase.

He can only hope that no-one saw him yelling at the sky.

=== === ===

He approaches slowly, cautious of the voices he can hear carrying on the wind. Entering this particular area always makes him feel as though he’s been twisted around and put back together wrong. The sideways house and the upside-down house confuse some part of his brain; as does the somehow-sideways pond. Mumbo hadn’t given him and answer on just how he managed to make such a thing.

Stood beneath a cherry tree, talking to his teammates (are they teammates? They all live close to each other, but he’s not sure they’ve ever confirmed forming a team), is his target.

“Joel!” he calls, waving a hand when the man in question turns to see who’s calling out for him. “C’mere, I need to talk to you!”

“I- one second, Grian. We’re having a bonding moment right now.” Joel turns back to his conversation, one about favourite movies for some reason.

Grian tries not to let himself feel too frustrated at him. “Yeah, well, I might need you to un-bond for a second.” It would be so much easier to just snap the tether between him and Joel, to take a pair of metaphorical scissors to the metaphorical, non-corporeal thread linking him to Joel. For something that doesn’t actually exist, it rests pretty heavy around his wrist.

Joel ignores him. He huffs in frustration, scuffing his foot into the grass. He’s well aware that he’s not the most patient person, but what he has to say is far more important than some bonding moment over movies!

He could go right now. He doesn’t even need to tell Joel about this. He could just leave, and Joel would be none the wiser.

…And then there’d be no opportunity to protect Joel. No way to watch over him and make sure Joel doesn’t come to harm, so he doesn’t come to harm. He scowls a little deeper at the grass in front of him, digging his heel in a little deeper. The soil is soft, and gives way easily beneath his foot, as though it’s only just been shifted to this spot and not yet trampled properly into place.

“Joel,” he calls out again, during a lull in the conversation. He puts a little more urgency into his voice this time, slightly pleading with the man to simply listen and come with him. Joel looks over his shoulder at him, must see something in his face, his eyes – whatever – to convince him to finally listen.

“Okay, one sec. I need to see what Grian needs.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as finally Joel comes over to speak with him, abandoning the rest of his group to continue talking about movies.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay?”

“Not here,” Grian turns around, spotting Joel’s helter-skelter almost immediately. “Let’s got to your base; we can discuss things a little more privately there.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel nods, sounding almost like he disagrees. Still, when Grian turns to check over his shoulder, Joel is following behind him.

=== === ===

“Look, just. This might seem like it’s against the rules, but here.” He’s halfway through undoing the latches on his book holster, the leather straps slipping free of their buckles easily. He reaches in and retrieves his task for the week. His hands clutch it a little tighter, eyes almost straying towards where he knows the Secret Keeper’s statue sits as it watches.

He releases it after only a small internal debate, depositing it into Joel’s hands.

“Uh, you feeling alright fella?” Joel’s fingers don't tighten around the book, don't do anything to keep a hold of something that is, realistically, actually quite precious. And important. “You're aware you just handed me your secret task book, yeah?”

“No, Joel. I've actually gone blind from exposure to the sun and I meant to hand you the other, totally normal, book that I keep in my specially designed book holster.” He pauses for a moment, letting the sarcasm sink it, lets the annoyed expression begin to cross Joel’s face before he continues. “Yes, Joel. I just handed you my task. Just read it; everything will make sense once you do.”

“Alright…” Joel continues to eye him, even as he flips the book open. He turns past the battered pages of already complete tasks, instructions crossed out in blotchy ink. He holds the book in one hand, spine cradled in his palm and thumb pressed over the eye engraved into the book’s back cover. A mirror image to the one embossed on his book holster. It almost seems to burn a brand into his leg, where it rests. “Your loss, I guess. For every injury,” he begins to read.

“Not out loud!” Grian hisses, surging forward to cover Joel’s mouth with his hands. He doesn’t quite make contact, stopping just before he can actually cover Joel’s mouth – he doesn’t feel like being licked today. Joel pauses as well, the hissed shouting enough to shut him up for a second. “Not out loud,” Grian repeats, a little calmer. “Read it silently; use your head words.”

Joel hums, before looking back down at the task again.

Grian can see the exact moment everything slots together in his head, because he gains an odd glimmer in his eyes, a gleeful laugh falling from his open mouth. “Oh my gosh, is this real?”

“Why wouldn’t it be- yes it’s real!”

Joel cackles again, snapping the book shut and tossing it back to Grian. Grian fumbles, reaching out to grab it before it can spill open on the ground between them. It would be just his luck for someone to come along at just that moment and be let in on the secret. The task may not be one he’s looking forward to, but he’d rather not fail that early!

He looks back up. “Woah, hey, what are you doing? Joel? What are you doing-!”

He lurches forward, forgetting the book and reaching for Joel instead. Who continues to laugh as he steps backwards off the small ledge he’s left behind. Grian shudders to a halt, the shock of impact crawling up his legs. He winces, peering over the edge with an angry scowl as he hears Joel hiss in pain.

“You idiot!” His wings flare out at he yells down at Joel, casting a shadow over where the other man stands. “Why’d you do that!”

“For fun,” Joel shrugs. He takes a step and winces. Phantom pain flares up along Grian’s own leg, a tingling sensation that quickly dissipates. “Maybe shouldn’t’ve.”

“You think?” He might be overreacting slightly, but that wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t tell Joel this. None of this would have happened if he just contented himself with watching from a distance. Sue him for wanting to spend a little time around some of his friends though! He sat and built a staircase leading to nowhere because no-one stuck around with him for long enough last week!

“Hm, maybe.” Joel begins clambering back up to where Grian stands. Hopefully, not to jump off again. “This is probably why I don't last very long in these things.”

Really? Grian doesn’t say, though he tries to communicate it as best as he can with his face alone. You think?

“Okay, whatever.” Joel sighs, “I’ll do my best not to get hurt today, alright? Spare you the pain, or whatever.” He then makes a shooing motion with both hands, looking confused when Grian sticks around instead.

“You want me to just leave?”

“Uh, yeah. Things’ll be a bit hard with you hanging around, y’know. I want to get my own task done; my very secret, very important, task.”

“You're aware of who you're talking to, right?” He tips his head to the side, spreading his hands out to the sides, as though gesturing to himself. The guy that kept Scar from killing himself almost immediately, goes unsaid, though he’s sure the sentiment gets across to Joel. “You can’t just get rid of me that easily.”

“You're gonna make things very difficult. You're gonna make my life quite difficult if you're hanging around with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he crosses his arms and puts his foot down. Metaphorically. His feet are already on the ground. “You need to be kept safe.”

=== === ===

He turns his back for one moment. One moment. And Joel is gone. Disappeared into thin air.

He absently waves goodbye to Gem as she leaves. And then it’s just Grian and the looming figure of the Secret Keeper. He almost turns back around to face It, maybe swear at it a little bit for putting him in this situation (seemingly over and over again- Scar, Scar again, now Joel). He doesn’t, if only because this is a public area frequently visited by others, and he doesn’t want to be found cussing the statue out for his task.

Fine. Fine, whatever. He can work with this.

If Joel wants to slip away when Grian’s not looking, then he can Look for him in return. Is it cheating? Probably. Does he actually care? Not at all. The Secret Keeper looms behind him, a threatening and ominous figure on the dark horizon. He ignores it easily, considering the cussing-the-statue-out idea again before dismissing it just as easily.

When he opens his eyes – hundreds upon hundreds of them, wings flickering with the lights of thousands of eyes opening at once, not something you want to be seeing if you're just a regular old person – he finds Joel almost immediately. Halfway across the server and looking for Scar of all people.

He snaps the eyes shut again just as quickly, settling back into his body uneasily. He checks around himself carefully for any of his friends – passing out from the weight of a thousand eyes resting upon you is not, apparently, a very fun way to do so. And it’s an incident he’d rather not repeat.

His eyes take a moment to refocus on the ground in front of him, unused to only viewing the world from a singular pair and making him dizzy as they struggle to readjust.

He shakes his head, which only makes the dizziness worse for several long seconds, before it clears up completely. After that, it’s a relatively short trip to Trader Scar’s, where he comes across Joel as he’s walking away from the shack.

“Where have you been!” is what he chooses to announce his presence with, watching as Joel’s head swivels around to face him. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, and I find you here?”

“Grian…” Joel looks faintly guilty. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Uh-huh,” he crosses his arms. “You not got anything else to say to me?”

“Like what?”

“Sorry would be a good place to start,” he sniffs in a short breath through his nose. He would look away from Joel, but he’s also pretty sure Joel would take that as another opportunity to slip away (-which…hurts a little, he can admit that much. Sure, Joel has his task to do, but to slip away from one of his friends when they're really just hanging out for the next day. Hurts a little-) and instead keeps his eyes firmly fixed on him. “Though I will also take you begging for my forgiveness.”

“Yeah,” Joel snorts. “Why don't I just give you all my diamonds while I'm at it?” Joel brightens visibly a moment later. “Scar! Just the guy I was looking for!”

Joel brushes past him, shoulders barely touching as he ditches him in favour of someone else. Grian frowns, turning to look after him, and maybe he’s being a little bit too sensitive about this. Maybe he’s just been spending a little too much of his time alone with his twisting, nonsensical staircase for this to be upsetting him as much as it is.

He’s distracted a moment later when Joel starts talking to Scar. The gentle thrumming of another heart beside his own, only picking up on occasion when he runs or encounters a creeper. Mumbo’s stood on the edges of the conversation, the same as him.

Now, it’s going a mile a minute, thumping so hard that Grian’s convinced he can feel the heart – Joel’s heart – in his throat, pressing at the back of his mouth and making him feel sick. He clamps his mouth shut with the realisation, anything he was going to say cut off.

“Why is everyone so concerned about the camel, and where is the camel is the real question!” Scar responds, gesturing widely. He looks vaguely distressed about the whereabouts of his camel.

“I dunno where the camel is but I just want you to play it safe.” Joel looks completely relaxed, and Grian maybe would have believed it if it didn’t feel like his heart was about to beat out his chest and leap up his throat. It’s not even his heart – it’s Joel’s! He’s really beginning to feel like he got the short end of the stick here. Should have just collected a new task from the Secret Keeper and been done with all this. “I feel like you should stay off the camel today Mumbo- I mean Scar.”

“Why is Mumbo and Joel both telling me to be careful with my camel?” Scar looks over at him, like he has the answers. He shrugs, the only response he can manage while still feeling as though he’s going to vomit. How Joel’s carrying out a normal conversation, with his heart thumping like this, is beyond him.

“I dunno. Weird isn’t it.”

“It is weird,” Scar agrees. He’s squinting at Joel now, suspicion written across his face.

“Like seeing two black cats.” Joel’s heart slows a little, something akin to disappointment washing over his face, there and gone again.

“…Depends how many cats you own.”

Grian pauses, then starts laughing. Mumbo laughs along too, perhaps not sure on why their little group has just started laughing at the little comment he made. Maybe because it cut through the invisible tension that had begun to form in the air between Joel and Scar, Scar obviously attempting to figure out why Joel was acting so odd. Grian had a small idea, but not enough to confidently say he knew what Joel’s task is.

=== === ===

Grian has to jog to catch up with Joel, who was definitely not trying to slip away from him again.

“Joel!” He calls out.

“Grian,” Joel slows and turns to face him. “Funny to see you here.”

“You weren’t trying to slip away from me again, were you?” he teases. Both of them know full well that Joel was trying to slip away from him, escape and do whatever task that he’s apparently unable to do with Grian present. A task that also, apparently, makes Joel’s heartrate skyrocket – enough to make Grian feel the effects of it. “’Cause I just want you to know that’s impossible.”

“Really? ‘Cause that sounds like a challenge.”

“It is most certainly not-”

“Agh!” Joel leaps backwards, almost crashing into Grian and sending both of them to the ground. “Turn around, turn around! There’s a skeleton there.”

That’s it? Joel continues backpedalling, away from the skeleton that has apparently spooked him badly enough to do a complete one-eighty. He turns around to tell Joel just this, completely ignoring (forgetting) the skeleton stood just a few feet away from him.

He makes a pained sound as the skeleton shoots him in the shoulder, raising his shield just a moment too late. He almost reaches up to yank the arrow right back out, pausing, and raising his shield instead. He ignores the way the arrow shifts in his shoulder, buried in the junction between skin and feather.

Joel makes another startled sound, and Grian – remembering to raise his shield this time – turns to watch him fending off a singular zombie. For someone that so confidently killed several of his friends last time, he sure is struggling with a singular zombie.

“Grian!” Joel calls, voice cracking. “Aren't you supposed to be protecting me right now!”

“Bit busy here!” An arrow embeds itself into his shield with a thunk, the skeleton rattling ominously as it takes a few more shambling steps towards him. He reaches out from behind the shield to swipe at the skeleton, sword aiming for its bony neck at the exact moment that Joel drops his shield and gets swiped by the zombie.

Grian stumbles at the flare of pain up his forearm, taking another arrow to the shoulder as penance for his momentary distraction.

Grian can already feel the blood welling up from the wound, causing his jumper to stick to his arm as it continues to bleed. The injury will not begin to clot or heal or scab over, it will just stop bleeding, eventually, in order to prevent them bleeding out.

He grits his teeth through the pain and swipes at the skeleton, hitting the mark this time. He ignores the way it jostles the arrows stuck in him, the flare of pain spreading like wildfire before fading back to a dull throb moments later.

He hears Joel’s small noise of victory as he manages to defeat the zombie, the last groans of the undead fading away as it collapses into a pile of ash. Joel kicks a foot through that pile of ash, further dispersing it.

“C’mon,” Joel begins walking again, forcing Grian to abandon his task of trying to pull one of the arrows out of himself safely. “You gotta be quiet if you're sticking with me, yeah? When I hide, you hide. When I'm quiet, you're quiet.”

“Whatever you say.” He can only hope this means that Joel’s going to stop slipping away from him. It’s hard enough to keep him alive as it is!

=== === ===

His shirt is completely ruined. The blood stains the white fabric really quite obviously, making it completely unsalvageable. He could put it through the washing machine a thousand times and it still wouldn’t come out clean.

Which is why he has no qualms with using it to clean the quickly drying blood off his arm. He presses his back a little deeper into the dirt him and Joel are currently hiding behind. He keeps his breathing as quiet as possible to let Joel do…whatever it is that Joel is doing. He’s listening in on someone’s conversation behind them, making small notes to himself in his task book.

At least he’s keeping the book directed carefully away from where Grian crouches. As much as it’s against the rules, he wouldn’t be able to resist peeking if he was able.

He continues to clean the blood off his arm calmly. This jumper’s probably ruined as well. He might be able to wash it and continue wearing it like normal – it is red after all, but the blood has dried darker than the fabric, leaving it as a rather obvious stain at the moment.

The arrow in his left shoulder is next. He grips is gently around the base, poking at the entry point of the thing. It doesn’t seem like the arrowhead shattered within his shoulder, but you can never be sure. Skeleton’s arrows are notoriously prone to falling apart at the slightest impact; and the amount of force it takes to bury and arrow into flesh is a little more than the slightest impact.

He grips the arrow firmly, between finger and thumb, and yanks. He grits his teeth to muffle any small noises of pain he might make, curling in on himself slightly. A little more blood leaks out now that the arrow has been removed, sitting in his bloody palm instead.

The arrowhead looks to be intact, which only makes him grateful that he doesn’t have to dig around in his shoulder for any small pieces of flint that may have chipped off. Just the thought is enough to make him feel ill, and the memory of the last time he did have to do it makes bile rise in his mouth.

“What are you doing,” Joel hisses at him when he starts trying to reach for the other arrow. This one is a little more awkward to reach, embedded in his back rather than his front, forcing him to try and reach over his shoulder to yank this one out.

“What does it look like I'm doing,” he hisses back. The pain’s making him a little grouchy, wings moving behind him. His nerves are all kinds of weird right now, leaving him with twitchy feathers and in an irritable mood.

“Looks like you're trying to be an idiot,” Joel returns. “Did you really have to do this right now? Right here?”

“Oh, so sorry,” Grian whispers. “I’ll just sit here for the next thirty minutes with these damn arrows sticking out of me!”

“I didn’t turn you into a pin-cushion,” Joel mutters. He looks back at Grian a moment later, no longer peeking over the top of their little hiding spot to watch the small group nearby. “Just, turn around. You're gonna snap it off like that, and then you’ll be in even worse spot than before.

Grian grumbles to himself but shuffles around, ignoring the cramping of his legs from being crouched in one position for so long. He feels Joel’s hands on his back and wing, pulling the wing and stretching it out slightly to see where the arrow’s stuck in him.

The feeling of another’s hands on his wings will never not be strange to him, but he grits his teeth and bears it as Joel prods at the arrow. Perhaps not very gently, but then he also doesn’t yank it out of him with much gentleness either.

“Oops, sorry,” Joel says, patting him awkwardly on the back. He sounds at least a little sorry for just yanking it out like that. “Thought it’d be better to just, get it out, you know? It’d only irritate and worsen everything if I just sat and wiggled it around.”

“Thanks,” Grian manages. The sound of his own flesh parting around the arrow is not something he wants to hear any time soon. The gristly sound of it enough to make the bile rise in his mouth again. He breathes through it as best as he can, watching as Joel returns to listening in on other people’s conversations.

They’ll go butt into someone’s conversation in a few moments, Joel attempting a task that Grian still doesn’t understand.

=== === ===

The warmth of the flames against his skin is comfortable. Maybe he should have thought this through a little more, considered everything a moment longer, before setting the base on fire in a fit of frustration. Nothing about it looked quiet right, and he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it.

“And his base is on fire,” the other source of his current frustration said, announcing his arrival. “Why’s the base on fire?”

“Oh no,” Grian glances back at his on-fire, currently collapsing mess of a base. “I didn’t even realise. Definitely didn’t…set it on fire myself. That’d be a stupid thing to do,” he tucks the flint and steel he used back into his inventory. “Seems like I only have one choice now! Gonna have to move in with you now!”

“Yeah, look.” Joel inhales sharply, pressing his hands together before looking back at Grian, “I'm considering begging for a new task, at the moment. This one’s turning out to be impossible, even without you following me around.”

“Good to know I'm not the problem,” Grian responds, voice dry.

“Yeah, yeah. I thought I’d come tell you, because, you know. It’s gonna affect you if everything goes wrong and stuff. Which it probably will!”

“Wait- what? You're being serious? Just- why would you wanna ask for another task? You’ve not got much life left in you, you get any more taken away and you're gonna be surviving on basically nothing!”

“Wow, already predicting my failure?”

“The tasks are near-impossible, Joel! There’s a very high chance that you're just gonna fail!”

“Yeah, and I'm gonna fail this one anyway,” Joel crosses his arms.

“At least there’s no consequence to it- look,” he sighs. “Just give it a few more tries, yeah? If it still doesn’t work out, go get a new task.”

“Ugh, you care way too much about this,” Joel grumbles.

“My life is also on the line here!” He might fail if Joel dies, sure, but he might also die with it. There’s no saying how far this bond goes between them.

=== === ===

“Grian!”

“Agh- Joel!” Grian startles at Joel shouting in his ear, nearly dropping his axe as he spins around. “You're lucky I didn’t cave your head in just then!”

“Yeah, thanks for that. Can I have your heart?”

“I- what?” Grian blinks at him. “You reappear out of nowhere, after ditching me again, and ask for my heart? While your wife’s watching?”

Joel waves him off. “We can go somewhere a little more private, if you want. Lizzie doesn’t care. I’ll even gift you a heart back, yeah?”

“Uh, sure.” He pulls out his comm, glancing up to find Joel doing the same, both of them tapping the command into their screens simultaneously. Grian feels the moment Joel’s gift bursts through to him, a slight reduction of his general tiredness, making him feel a little lighter than before. It’s a welcome relief after the not-even-a-full-day that he’s had.

“So I got another task,” Joel says seconds later, ruining any kind of relief Grian might have had.

“What?” Grian resists the urge to grab Joel by his shoulders and shake him. Maybe he’ll manage to shake the idiocy out of him. “What do you mean? Why would you do that?”

“’Cause I felt like it,” Joel shrugs. “Could you get everyone to gather at the Secret Keeper? I got something I wanna show them.”

“Oh, wow,” he hopes his expression conveys how unimpressed (and annoyed) he is with Joel right now. “I wonder why that might be. Gathering the whole server together for a bit of fun?”

“Something like that, yeah. Alright,” Joel turns around, “see you in a bit! Make sure you get everyone!”

Grian drops his head into his hands and groans.

This day can’t get any worse. Ack, no, he shouldn’t think like that, because now it will get worse.

=== === ===

“And, everyone’s almost here,” Grian feels a little breathless, running to every corner of the server to collect every single person. He wishes for his wings to recover a little quicker – the clipped feathers would usually regenerate themselves within a few days, leaving him able to fly over the server. But with the state of things right now, they’ve remained clipped and grounded him. “Don't see why you couldn’t have done it yourself.” He pokes Joel in the chest, half-joking and half-irritated for having to run to every single corner.

Joel pushes his hand away, laughing a little at Grian’s misery. “Consider it payment for the attempts that you messed up.”

“I didn’t mess any of your attempts up, you-”

“Oh, wow, would you look at that, Grian! Everyone else seems to be arriving, ahaha! Goodbye!” Grian turns to glance over his shoulder where Joel points, only to turn back and be graced with the sight of Joel already twenty blocks high.

“Joel!” he yells, already knowing that there was nothing to be done here. “Oh gods.” He watches Joel precariously build himself up another ten blocks before he buries his face in his hands. “I can’t watch.”

“Oh my gosh,” the rattle of bones pulling up beside him heralds Lizzie’s arrival. “Oh no, what is he doing?”

“I don't even wanna look,” he complains. He can hear the tumbling of pebbles from the pillar Joel’s created for him, peeking through the gaps in his fingers despite his earlier words. Joel seems to just be going up and up, climbing higher without end. He feels sick just watching it.

People begin to arrive in small groups, more and more gathering as Joel only gets higher and higher. People ask him what’s happening – they’ve been together all session, so people think he knows what goes through Joel’s mind. He doesn’t think even Joel knows what goes through Joel’s mind.

He lowers his hands from his face to watch as Joel stops, teetering on the very edge of his tower. He looks down, watching as Martyn continues to scramble up the wonky tower, on the verge of falling of it himself in pursuit of guessing Joel’s task before he can make the leap of faith.

Grian covers his eyes again, unable to bear watching it. He can feel Joel’s heart in his ears, beating a fast tempo alongside his own – it’s a panicked sort, like the thundering of a drum or the frenzied pumping of a rabbit’s heart moments before its own death.

Please let him succeed, he begs, almost begs. Please, don't let him fail, he amends.

He can feel the moment Joel steps off the edge, can feel the sudden weightlessness – the feeling of panic that carries over the bond. He can feel the loss of air in his lungs, as the rapidly reducing height steals it from his chest.

He sits down a little heavily, on the raised dirt mound just behind him. He leans against it, really, unable to watch as someone tied to him plummets towards the ground.

It’s in the last few moments that Grian realises he’s not going to make it. When the panic flashing across the bond turns into sheer terror. It renders him gasping for breath as quietly as he can behind his hands as everyone else yells – a mixture between shock and encouragement. It’s been only a few moments, barely enough time to process what’s begun to happen in front of them.

The pressure of it travels so sharply up his legs that he’s certain they’ll break, jarring and so, so different to that first jump Joel had done, right when Grian revealed the situation to him, to test how far it went.

He drags in a ragged breath as the shouts of excitement turn to ones of horror, as everyone processes it. He only draws his hands away from his face when he’s certain he’s not going to be sick, phantom pains still ricocheting through his limbs. Through his entire being.

Maybe it’s better to fail.

Joel’s voice breaks out over the crowd, respawning in front of the Secret Keeper rather than his base. As though It wants to parade him around, to allow everyone to gape and gawp at his failure moments after it has happened.

His legs feel as though they won’t hold his weight, meaning when he manages to stand he’s more than a little surprised. Joel’s at the centre of attention, everyone watching him – eagerly – hand in his failure, to receive the punishment the Secret Keeper bestows upon him for reaching higher than he can achieve.

Grian accepts his own failure graciously. It is far better to fail and gain nothing, than die alongside Joel and still gain nothing. As selfish as that makes him feel. He still feels a little out of it, even as he smiles and grins and jokes as he hands in his task, accepts the failure and the light-hearted mockery of his friends.

He feels a little bit not himself. The injuries passed over to him by Joel remain, as though their souls had not properly separated after his death. He knows they did. He hasn’t checked properly, not yet, not with so many onlookers, but the thumping of a heart that he’d barely noticed before is missing.

“Ugh, that was lame.” Joel says, after the majority of the crowds have dispersed, rolling his neck as he speaks, working out whatever respawn joint stiffness was sticking with him. He looks over at Grian as he speaks. “Uh, Grian? You alright there?”

Grian smiles in response, hopes it doesn’t waver with the phantom pains still rattling his bones a f coursing through his veins. “Just fine,” he says. “Almost perfect!”

He is. The bond broke before he could die alongside Joel. He’s fine.

He’ll be fine.

#juno.writes #joel smallishbeans #grian #secret life smp #slsmp #secret life #secret life joel #secret life grian #life series #trafficblr #traffic smp #traffic series #trafficfic

[melanie-ohara]

Take Yourself Apart For Me - Chapter 2

Whumpuary2024, Day 08 - Prompt: "Help Me"

Shin confronts her deepest fear: asking for help

I'll level with you: I cried a bit writing this one

AO3 Here

Shin spent the next two days in the Mandalorian's bed. Despite her escape attempt, they never attempted to put her back in the restraints - maybe they thought her injury would keep her captive. Or maybe they trusted her not to kill them in their sleep. Ahsoka Tano had given her back her lightsaber and from the weight of it Shin knew she hadn't removed the power pack, and she wondered what Baylan would have expected of her now. Tano was a war hero, he had told her, and she had no chance against her. She would sense her intentions even in the deepest of sleep and cut her down in seconds. But Sabine was weak: barely able to use the Force unless her life depended on it, unbalanced, and with aggression that rivalled Marrok. Shin had bested her in every contest they'd had, and she could kill her without breaking a sweat. 

Her eyes shifted down to the drawings on the wall. Did she want to kill her?

Baylan had sent her to Lothal. Morgan Elsbeth sent her on Seatos. Thrawn sent her on Peridea. Not once had she decided for herself. 

The door opened and Shin rolled onto her side to face the wall before Wren could see her face. Murley's portrait looked up at her, and Shin felt that its stare was a little accusatory.

"Brought you food," Sabine said, with cheer that didn't sound forced, no matter how much Shin wished otherwise. She lifted her hand and Sabine pressed the carton into her fingers without complaint. As always, she'd already put the straw in for her.

At Huyang's insistence, Shin was on a liquid diet of blended protein infusion until she was fully healed, and the thick, flavourless gruel she had to suck down through a straw sometimes made her wish Feldspar had actually killed her. She could hear Sabine beside her, unwrapping a protein bar for her own breakfast, and wished her presence didn't comfort her so much. She was sick of eating alone.

"Your armour," she said, after a long silence broken only by Sabine's chewing. "I heard the droid saying."

"It's wrecked," Sabine said, trying and failing to sound flippant. 

Shin remembered Sabine kneeling under a barrage of blaster fire from the bandits that had once been her allies. "Why did you save me?" she asked abruptly.

She didn't need to look to know Sabine had shrugged before she answered. "Ahsoka saw something in you," she said. Neither of them spoke for a moment. "Why didn't you go back to Thrawn?" Sabine finally asked.

Shin closed her eyes. She wanted to reach out for her lightsaber, sitting on Sabine's desk on the other side of the room - not to attack, just to feel the weight of it in her hand for a while. Instead, she pictured it: the orange crystal sitting at the centre of the emitter matrix, the delicate twists and curls of the cables that ran along the core to the power cells, the thick insulation sheath and the metal hilt that sealed it away. 

"I don't know," she lied.

"Right," Sabine said, scrunching up the wrapper of her protein bar and getting to her feet. "Good talk."

She sounded annoyed, and it reminded Shin uncomfortably of the way Baylan had spoken when she was younger, and failed one of his drills or didn't put her all into an exercise.

"Wait," Shin said, before she could stop herself. She rolled onto her back to check that Sabine hadn't left, and saw her standing with her head cocked slightly and her hand on her hips as she looked at her. 

"Go on," Sabine prompted. Gently this time. 

Shin swallowed hard, and then nodded. "Baylan left me," she said. The words caught in her throat, but she got them out. She had barely admitted it to herself before now. "I… couldn't leave him."

Sabine sat down again. "He's family."

Shin shook her head. "We're not related. But I've never known anyone else."

Sabine moved her hand, and for a frightening moment Shin thought she might touch her. Instead, she just laid her fingertips gently on the edge of the mattress, an inch away from Shin's arm. Her nails were painted deep red.

"I lost my family too," Sabine said quietly. "My planet. And Ezra, twice now."

Shin looked away from her eyes. "I never had any of that," she said to the ceiling. 

Sabine tilted her head. "Well, not many people have an Ezra to lose."

Shin thought it might have been a joke, but she didn't feel like laughing. It would hurt too much anyway. Sabine sighed and Shin felt her weight shift like she was about to get up, and she opened her mouth just to stop her.

"I haven't felt anything since that day." 

Shin couldn't tell which of them was more surprised by what she'd said, but it was true so she didn't try and take it back. She did try to stop the tears welling in her eyes and the tightness constricting her throat, but it didn't work. Slowly, Sabine leaned forwards.

"I've been there," she said softly. Shin felt a tear breach the corner of her eye and roll down the edge of her cheek into her hair. 

"Then… can you help me?" she asked.

This time Sabine did reach out to her, and Shin tried not to flinch too obviously when her palm came to rest on her forearm. She could feel the warmth of her touch even through the sleeve of her shirt. 

"What do you need?"

*

Sabine took her weight as she guided her across the common room to the cockpit access, one of Shin's arms over her shoulders. Her instinct was to loop her own arm around Shin's waist, but she had noticed how little she liked to be touched without warning and instead left it pressed awkwardly between their bodies as they walked. She kept an eye on the white surgical patch Huyang had pressed over Shin's wound once the skin had healed enough, looking for signs that she'd torn her stitches again, but they made it to the cockpit without incident. She lowered Shin carefully into the pilot's chair and then took her usual seat once she was settled. 

Sabine flipped the intercom switch. Ahsoka had left early to scout the mountain path ahead, but Huyang had stayed aboard with them. "Huyang, I'm taking us for a ride," she said.

"For what purpose?" the droid asked.

"Uh… We've been hovering for a week now, I want to run the engines for a bit. Make sure they don't dry out," she said, shooting a glance over at Shin. She was too busy familiarising herself with the cockpit to return it.

"This is a T6 Jedi Transport," Huyang complained. "The engines do not 'dry out'." 

"Ignore him," Sabine said. Shin was already ignoring both of them.

"Taking us out," she said, and tugged the yoke towards her. The ship rose gracefully into the sky and Shin accelerated a little as they climbed towards the clouds. Sabine watched her hands move over the controls with the ease of an experienced pilot and the care of someone who dearly loved to fly, and was reminded strangely of the way Hera flew the Ghost. She felt a pang of sadness then - Hera and Zeb and her old life were so far away now, and she would probably never see them again. Kanan was further away still.

"This suits you," Sabine told Shin, more to get out of her own head than anything else. It was true though: the other woman was sitting up straight with a look of calm concentration Sabine had never seen on her. When they fought, she looked feral - blistering focus and a vicious will to win - but now she looked in control.

"Baylan didn't like flying the ship," Shin said without taking her eyes off the wisps of cloud starting to break apart on the screen. "I taught myself."

She banked the ship a little faster than necessary and Sabine saw her relish the brief rush of G-force pressing them sideways into their seats. She didn't smile, exactly, but her wide unblinking eyes softened and the tension in her jaw eased for a moment. It returned quickly, though, and Sabine noticed her knuckles tense a little against the yoke.

"What is it?" she asked, and immediately regretted it. Shin hated her prying, but she couldn't help it.

Shin's lip twitched, but she answered the question. "The last time I flew, I was trying to kill you."

"That was you?" 

"You didn't know?"

Sabine thought for a moment, remembering the one-man fighter craft diving and twisting out of her gunsights every time she thought she had them locked. "The gold one," she said, and Shin nodded. "No wonder I couldn't hit you."

The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at Shin's lips, and Sabine let herself grin openly at the victory of finally cheering her up as Shin took one hand off the yoke to adjust the thrust vector of one of the engines, and then instead of putting it back on the controls she laid her hand, almost casually, on the console between them. 

Sabine stared, slackjawed and stunned, for several seconds. Then she looked up at Shin, who was looking very intently the other way. It was obvious, overt even, in a way she would never have expected from the woman who communicated in angry glares and five-word sentences. She almost didn't believe it, especially when Shin shied away from any attempt to touch her. Cautiously, Sabine moved her own hand - not close enough to touch Shin, but near enough that she would know she had noticed. She was reminded of facing off against her on Seatos, and the way she had read Sabine's guard and taken a counter-stance to match her. Sabine's heart was racing the same way, too. She looked over at Shin to see what she was going to do next. A barely perceptible blush rose on her cheeks under her gaze, and slowly, without taking her eyes off a point on the distant horizon, Shin moved her fingers out until they brushed against Sabine's own. 

Sabine couldn't help the gasp that slipped her lips, and she worried for a second that the sound made scare Shin off. Instead, when she looked over, she saw Shin looking back. She hadn't turned her head much, just enough that Sabine could see both of her pale, blue-green eyes. Her usual wide-eyed stare had softened, and now there was a definite smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

"Thank you, for this," Shin said. 

Sabine nodded slowly, and flicked out her tongue to moisten her lips. Cautiously, she lifted her little finger and let it drift gently across Shin's until she could curl it into the space between her third and fourth digit. Shin took her counter-stance: her little finger closed around Sabine's.

"So what happens now?" Sabine asked. 

"I don't know." This time she was telling the truth.

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno4 #help me #wolfwren #sabine x shin #sabine wren #shin hati #star wars #ahsoka #fanfic #writing #Pilot Shin #Not a hug #but close #hurt/comfort #the hurt was mostly caused to me #There will be a third installment #in February #I've run out of gifs of them for now

[runawrites-blog]

Until The Break Of Dawn Ch. 7 (Josh Washington x Reader)

Summary: You plan on making your escape with your friends but it's not easy. (Female Reader) Warnings: Talk of Mental Health. Grief. Reader having to let go of the last gift her father gave her. Fire. Wendigos. Specific warnings will be posted in the notes of each chapter. No Y/N, Petnames (Honey) Author's Note: You can find the previous chapter here. Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49644949/chapters/125305714#workskin

“It’s not much further.”

Josh kept his hand securely around yours, nodding along to your words and still trying to warm you up as he mumbled reassurances to you, though you wondered whether or not he was saying these things to also encourage himself. The wind was still howling around the mountain as you made your way down a rather steep slope that would lead you into a small ravine and then up onto a trail once you’d exited that ravine on the other side. He’d proclaimed that it was much quicker than going all the way around the ravine.

You were freezing, despite Josh’s best efforts to keep you warm by periodically wrapping his arm around your shoulders to rub them, in pain from the deep scratches on your arm and flinching at every noise you heard. But you had to keep going. There was no time to be scared when your life and the lives of your loved ones were on the line -- you’d learned that the hard way years ago. And though you tried your hardest to keep strong Josh seemed to notice something was off, his eyes flicking to your face every once and again to check on you. He had been mumbling to himself about the mines for a while now but once he’d seen your state, he’d quieted down, now looking more concerned than anything.

“You look scared.”

“I’m fine, Josh.” You assured him as you watched him go down the last bit of the slope before helping you down after him. “How are you?”

“Terrified and horrified.” He nodded and pulled you closer again once you’d gotten to the bottom of the ravine. “I just-- Being with someone else, especially you, is helping a lot and-- and I know we’ll be back to safety soon.”

“That’s good to hear.” You whispered back as you kept walking. “Josh, what happened to your sisters down there was not your fault, you know that, right?”

“Logically, I know that the prank played on them and-- and what happened in those mines wasn’t my fault but-- but it’s still hard to remind myself of that sometimes.” He explained as you passed through a thicket of trees. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

“Right back at you, Sweetheart.”

“Are you sure you’re fine? You must be scared.”

“We need to keep going.”

Before Josh could answer there were noises coming your way and you both backed away in fear. Josh tried to shove you behind himself to protect you but you wanted to keep him safe so you grabbed a nearby branch and readied yourself to fight. But your fear turned to absolute joy when Matt and Jess emerged from the treeline. Immediately, you ran to embrace Jessica, hugging her tightly as she wrapped her arms around you.

“You’re alive! You can’t imagine how worried I was.” You squeezed her a little tighter as you spoke. “I’m so fucking sorry I left you.”

“No, no, it’s alright. You-- You lured it away from me and probably saved me. I’m just so-- I’m so glad that you are alright.”

“I’m so glad that you are alright, Jess.” You said and pulled back to look at Matt. “Are you alright? Emily said the radio tower fell and you jumped to get to safety. Did you get hurt?”

Matt nodded his head, a guilty expression on his face. “Is she angry that I left?”

“She seemed upset but I’m sure after everything that happened she’ll just be relieved to see that you’re alive.”

Josh grabbed onto your arm and made you look at him. “We have to get to the cable car, Honey. Let’s go.”

“Can you two walk?” You asked Matt and Jess, smiling in relief when they nodded. “Then let’s get going.”

Jess gave Matt a worried expression to which he simply extended his arm to her. She quickly grabbed it and clung to it tightly as you all set out. Josh’s hand found its way to your back as he guided you along the ravine and toward the ascend you’d have to get up to get onto one of the main trails.

You had just begun ascending the small hill when you heard a screeching sound from behind you. Fear immediately gripped ahold of you and you felt your eyes tear up at the realization that those creatures had once more ventured out of the mines, that you weren’t even safe outside that horrid place. Jess's fearful whimpers and Josh’s hand grabbing yours stopped you from spiraling into those helpless thoughts. You could still outrun these creatures and help your friends. Matt looked around to see where the creature was coming from, bringing an arm up to shield Jess. It was Josh who saw where the Wendigo was and when he did he grabbed your arm, pulling you up the ascend after him. Matt and Jess quickly followed as the creature took chase.

“The guest cabin is just up ahead! We can hide in there!”

Josh didn’t give you time to question his suggestion and simply shoved you inside, waiting for Matt and Jess to follow before he slammed the door shut. However, the window on the door was broken and the Wendigo quickly took the opportunity to try and get inside. Jess screamed in fear as she grabbed Matt by the arm to pull him toward the bathroom and you followed her quickly, Josh right behind you. Once in the bathroom, you slammed the door shut. The Wendigo was not deterred by the closed door and kept trying to break it down, scratching at it and rattling it. Jess was covering her ears and Matt was crowding her away from the door, staring at it in horror. You grabbed for Josh’s arm, fear overtaking you as he realized that now you couldn’t even run away anymore, that you were trapped. Josh felt your nails digging into his biceps and eyed you in worry, still keeping his head turned toward the door.

“Are you alright, Honey?”

But you didn’t answer as the true hopelessness of the situation sank into you. You were trapped, locked in a small cabin out on the mountain with a Wendigo trying to break down the door. There was nowhere to run and no way to make it to the people who depended on you to get them the key. The hopelessness brought with it panic and you heard your breath hitch before you even realized you were crying, tears running down your cheeks. Josh called out your name once more but the only reply he got was your broken sobs, all the fear you’d been feeling pouring out of you in the form of tears.

Josh reacted immediately and pulled you into his arms, a hand coming up to cradle the back of your head and allow you to bury your face at his shoulder. You quickly embraced him back, fingers digging into his back as you held onto him.

“I’m so scared, Josh.” You got out between your sobs, voice shaking with emotion. “We’re trapped and I’m so fucking scared. I’ve been so terrified all-- all night and I just-- I can’t keep it together, I’m so sorry. I should be there for you and-- and get us off this mountain but I am just so scared.”

“There is nothing to apologize for.” He soothed, leaning his cheek against your head as he kept his eyes fixed on the door. “It’s absolutely normal to be scared in a fucked up situation like this. You’re allowed to feel scared and you can still be there for me.”

“I’m scared, too.” Jess spoke up from where she was half-hidden behind Matt. “But we’re all in the same boat, so we will keep each other safe. I promise that-- that we won’t leave you behind.”

“No one gets left behind.” Matt said, keeping his eyes locked on the door as the Wendigo clawed at it. “We’re all smart people and we’ll figure something out.”

“How will I get us to safety when I’m this scared?”

“You won’t have to do anything alone. We’ll get off this mountain together.” Josh promised, keeping an eye on the door and frowning when you winced at the Wendigo’s attempts to get inside. “You don’t have to do everything alone. I will keep you safe.”

You took a shuddering breath at his words and slowly pulled back to look at him, watching as pain crossed his features at seeing how scared you looked. But he just reached up to cradle your face in his hands.

“We will get off this mountain, I promise.”

“Thank you, Josh.” You whispered, reaching up to wipe your tears away, feeling a lot better though your fingers still shook and you still felt heavy with fear. “Thank you, Jess and Matt.”

Matt looked back at you. “We will figure something out.”

“But how do we get out of here?”

“There’s windows in there.” Jess commented, pointing her thumb at the broken window behind her. “But it’s too narrow for us to fit.”

Matt nodded, concern clear on his face. “But we can’t go through the door, either.”

“When Mike and I went through the Sanatorium, he used fire to chase the Wendigos away.” You recollected and reached into your pocket to once more pull out your lighter. “But I doubt a small lighter could scare it off.”

“Not on its own but we can combine it with this.”

You all turned to Josh to find him holding a can of deodorant he’d taken out from the cabinet under the sink. His relieved smile gave you hope that you might actually make it to the cable car and get off this mountain. He held out his hand and you tossed him the lighter, watching as he readied himself to use it and the spray can as a makeshift flame thrower.

“So what’s the plan here?”

Jess turned to Matt. “We use the deodorant and lighter to scare it off, so we can make a run for it.”

“Then I say we ready ourselves to run once Josh has scared it off.”

Josh nodded and lit the lighter, readying the spray can and placing a finger on its button. Matt stepped forward and grabbed the handle to the door, taking a deep breath before he gently shoved Jess to the side, out of the way of the action. Then he gave Josh an inquisitive glance, silently asking whether or not he was ready. Josh took a step to the side, situating himself between you and the door, making sure that you were covered. Then he gave Matt a small nod.

As soon as Matt opened the door the Wendigo tried to get inside but Josh was faster, pressing the button on the spray can and sending a gust of fire straight at the creature. The Wendigo retreated at the fire and Josh stepped after it, keeping up his assault on the creature until it was in the hallway. The rest of you followed him and then he turned, crowding the Wendigo back into the bathroom before slamming the door shut. You, Matt, and Jess quickly took the initiative to move the dresser that stood in the hallway in front of the door and Josh handed the lighter back to you.

“Will it get back out?” Jess asked in uncertainty, grabbing for Matt’s arm as the Wendigo tried to get out through the door. “Can it fit through the window?”

“It might take a while for it to get back out.” Matt said and grabbed Jess by the wrist, gently pulling her after him. “We better get going.”

“We can’t just leave it in there.” You looked at the blocked door. “We need to do something to make sure it won’t follow us.”

Josh gestured around himself. “This whole thing is made out of wood. We could light it up and make a run for it.”

“You want to light your family’s guest cabin up?”

“We rarely stayed here and I doubt I’ll ever want to come back up here, anyway.”

Jess looked at you with a hopeful smile. “There’s a bottle of chimney lighter next to the fireplace. Maybe we can use that to help start the fire. We can use your lighter.”

“What are we waiting for?” Matt nodded in agreement. “I’ll get the chimney lighter.”

You took out the lighter while Matt ran, holding it in your hand and looking at it for a second. For years you had carried the lighter around, the last gift your father had ever had the chance to give you, the present he had hoped to use together with you. If you threw it into the cabin, into the chimney lighter, you wouldn’t be able to get it back. Slowly, you stroked a thumb over the silver surface, running it across where your name was carved into it.

“I’m back.” Matt proclaimed, opening the bottle and dozing the floor in front of the bathroom door in the fluid. “Get ready.”

Squeezing the lighter in your hands you took a deep breath, mentally reminding yourself that doing this was important for your survival. But the thought of parting from a sentimental item your late father had gifted you made your eyes tear up. Josh gave you a worried glance as he saw you clench the lighter and placed a hand on your closed fist.

“Honey, I know letting go of the lighter is hard and I understand that it’s painful.” Josh whispered, getting closer to you. “So if you want me to do it for you, I will.”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

Jess looked at you in confusion. “What’s so special about it?”

“Her father gave it to her before he disappeared. It was meant for family camping trips and teaching her how to light a campfire.” Josh explained, squeezing your hand. “It has sentimental value.”

“It’s ridiculous, I know.”

“It’s not.” Matt shook his head, frowning sadly. “I really get that it’s hard but it’s the only thing that will stop this creature from following us.”

“I know.” You took a shaky breath, looking at Josh with a thankful smile. “Thank you for the offer but I think I want to be the one to toss it into the fluid.”

Josh nodded and took your free hand. “You will always have your memories of him.”

You nodded at his words, knowing that he was right about that. Amongst your memories, you had photographs of him, other sentimental items, past gifts and so much more to remember your father by. So after waiting for Jess and Matt to move away from the door you uncurled your fist and took a deep breath. You brought the lighter to your lips, pressing a small kiss to it and thanking your father.

“Thank you, Dad, for once again saving me. I love you.”

Then you lit it and tossed it into the fluid, watching as the fire quickly prickled along the door. Knowing that the cabin would burn and the Wendigo wouldn’t be able to follow you, you all quickly fled the building. The three of you wasted no time heading for the cable car, running down the trails as fast as you could without slipping. Screeches echoed around you but you kept going, Josh keeping your hand firmly in his and pulling you along while Matt ushered Jess down the trail. When the cable car came into view you all rejoiced but your joy was short-lived before suddenly there was movement in the bushes ahead of you. Jess quietly urged you all to stay still, proclaiming that based on her observations in the mines the Wendigos would not see you if you didn’t move, and you grabbed Josh’s shoulder to steady him. With bated breath, you listened to the noise coming closer, hopeful that standing still would be enough to get whatever was in the undergrowth off your trail.

“You’re alive!”

You almost screamed in shock when Mike came out of the bush, looking at the three of you before pulling Jess into his arms, and holding her tight. She clung to him, breathing a shaky sigh of relief. And Mike wasn’t alone. Your other friends were with him, coming out of the bushes, stepping from a little beaten path onto the main trail. You felt tears of relief sting your eyes as you saw that were all alive. They were battered, bruised, and scared but they were alive. But there was no time for reunions because Sam quickly started ushering all of you down the path again.

“We need to get moving and get off this mountain!”

Now reunited, you all made your way to the cable car station, quickly getting inside and slamming the door shut behind you. Josh immediately put in the key, turning it and setting the cables into motion. The mechanical whirring was loud in the quiet night and you worried that one of the creatures would hear it. Josh saw how scared you looked and quickly pulled you close to him in the hopes of comforting you. Chris watched the two of you before he sighed softly.

“Josh, I’m sorry for leaving you in the barn. We should have never tied you up in there, let alone leave you alone.”

“It’s fine. I kind of-- I mean, I deserve it after what I did.”

“No, what you did was really fucked up but we-- we were supposed to be your friends, I was supposed to be your best friend, and you-- you needed us and we weren’t there for you.”

Josh shook his head again. “I really fucked up and I’m sorry. I just-- Fuck, you all came just to be there for me and I fucked everything up. We almost died because of me!”

Ashley piped up, giving him a soft smile. “Josh, this whole Wendigo situation is not your fault. You played a fucked up prank and-- and it will take some time for me to really-- to just trust you again. But the mines, the Wendigos, all of that, it was not your fault.”

“She’s right.” Mike said, making Josh turn to him in surprise. “Your girlfriend and I had a long talk on our way to the mines and it made me-- it made me come to the same conclusion as Ash. Your prank was fucked up but everything else that happened was really not your fault.”

“You weren’t the one that dragged me out of the cabin and into the mines.” Jess reasoned, sighing a little. “The practical pranks and all that stuff to scare us were stupid but you’re not the one that hurt me.”

“I’m not?”

“You’re the one that saved me back in the cabin.”

“Em and I were terrified when we thought there was a killer on the mountain.” Matt mumbled, leaning back against the console. “But it was nothing compared to what I felt when-- when these creatures followed us and-- and hunted me.”

Emily nodded and crossed her arms. “I mean without your dumb prank we wouldn’t have gone to the radio tower but it falling into the mines was not on you. I just-- It might take a bit for us to forgive you but we don’t blame you for all that happened.”

“Everyone will forgive you eventually. Some of us might just need a bit more time than others.” Chris promised, placing a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “But until then, we’ll still be there for you if you need us.”

“If you need anything, I will-- You just have to ask me if there’s anything I can do to help you. And not because I want to-- to urge you into forgiving me but because-- because I am so fucking sorry.”

“You could pay for the therapy we will no doubt need after this.” Emily said in sarcasm, making everyone go quiet. “What? You think we won’t need professional help after nearly being killed multiple times that night?”

Sam gave a dry chuckle, turning to Josh. “As long as the therapist we see isn’t Doctor Hill because I think he has not been helping you.”

“I think I should go somewhere else to, you know, get a second opinion or something.”

Before anyone could answer a loud metallic clang startled everyone as the cable car stopped inside the station. Mike quickly opened the door before turning back to Josh with a questioning look.

“It looks pretty small. We can probably all cram inside but can it carry all of us?”

“Yes, it can totally carry all of us down the mountain.”

Mike looked back at Matt in question. “You’re the most athletic one in the group. Do you think you’ll manage to turn the key to get the cable car moving and then jump inside? Chris and I will catch you.”

“Of course.” Matt nodded and turned to Emily who was watching him in worry. “You get inside and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Not that I doubt your abilities but do you think you won’t get hurt?”

“There’s no other thing to do, really. Someone has to turn the key.”

Emily was quiet for a few seconds, worrying her bottom lip as she looked up at her boyfriend before nodding. “Be careful, please.”

“I will. Now everyone get inside.”

Mike helped Jess inside and sat down with her while Ashley and Chris climbed in after them. The former sat down next to Jess and took Chris’ hand as soon as he was in the seat beside her. Sam ushered Emily inside who was still reluctant about the whole idea of Matt jumping into the cable car after turning the key. After they were inside, you helped Josh into the car, his movements apprehensive and uncertain. You guided him onto the bench and sat down next to him.

As you squeezed Josh’s hand Mike and Chris got to the door to catch Matt. He gave them a thumbs up and went to turn the key before sprinting for the cable car and jumping, just about making it before the car was too far from the ledge to get inside. Chris and Mike caught him by the arms before slamming the door shut. Emily was up in an instant to embrace Matt.

The car started to descend the mountain, leaving the cover of the station and everyone seemed to finally relax. Ashley let her head fall onto Chris’ shoulder, closing her eyes and he breathed a long sigh of relief. Next to them, Jess began to cry quietly and Mike rushed to her side to embrace her. Matt and Emily had not parted from their embrace but their shoulders relaxed visibly while Sam took a deep breath, letting her head fall against the door of the cable car as she gave you a small smile. You smiled back at her before turning to look at Josh.

But he wasn’t looking at you or anyone else. He was staring out the window of the cable car, mouth agape in horror and tears brimming at his eyes. You turned on the bench to face him, quickly inquiring what was wrong and his voice shook when he answered, tight with unushered tears.

“The lodge is on fire.”

Your head turned the second Josh spoke those words and you watched the immense fire on top of the mountain in shock. Everyone else had gone quiet and when you looked back at Josh you found him staring at the fire in despair, tears running down his cheeks.

“It’s all gone. All the memories of-- of Hannah and Beth, of our childhood are all gone.”

Gently, you placed a hand on Josh’s cheek but he wasn’t looking at you. He was averting his eyes onto anything other than you and that was a telltale sign that he was not doing good. You really couldn’t blame him but that didn’t stop your concern for his wellbeing. It was the tears running down his cheeks that made you draw him into your arms and he sobbed brokenly as you held him and let him cry.

To your surprise Ashley moved from her seat and over to the two of you to also wrap her arms around Josh and after her Chris quickly spurred into motion, coming out of his shock at seeing his friend break down to also embrace him. You gave them a thankful smile, tears in your eyes at how painful it was to watch Josh like this but touched by his friends’ care. Emily, Matt, and Mike kept their distance, not saying anything as they watched Josh cry while Jess placed a comforting hand on his forearm, the only place she could reach with how tightly he was being held. Sam did her best to place a grounding hand on Josh’s shoulder though it was hard to even reach him in between everyone else.

“We had no choice, Josh. I’m really sorry.” Sam whispered apologetically. “There were so many Wendigos in the lodge and we-- we had to make sure they weren’t coming after us.”

“Josh, I am so sorry.” You whispered, holding him impossibly tight. “The lodge may be gone but your memories aren’t. You still remember them and your childhood with them, don’t you?”

Josh nodded, drawing in a shaky breath as he tried to stifle his tears. “I do. I just can’t believe that-- that the lodge is gone. It’s the last place I ever saw them .”

“Josh, we’re so sorry.” Mike said mournfully, voice tight with emotion. “But your girlfriend is right. The lodge is just-- just a material memory but you have so many more memories of-- of the twins to think back on.”

Chris leaned closer, making sure his friend was listening to him as he spoke. “They loved you a lot, Josh.”

He nodded once again at those words and slowly pulled back, his eyes still teary but now focusing on yours again as he took a deep breath. “Thank you for being there for me after everything I’ve done -- all of you.”

“We will always be there for you.”

Loud mechanical whirring made you all look up and to your great relief, you realized that you were almost at the cable car station at the bottom of the mountain. Your friends all looked just as relieved as you did and readied themselves to get out of the cable car. Slowly, you reached for Josh’s hand and he squeezed yours. When you looked at him he was giving you a small relieved smile and you couldn’t help but return that smile, knowing that against your worst fears, you had all gotten a happy ending and escaped.

“We are finally safe.”

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