#i do like the more mature sound of her voice which is well natural | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deadsetobsessions · 3 months

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Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).

I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.

Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2]

——

Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.

He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.

His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.

He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.

“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”

Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.

“Stay still, you motherfucker!”

“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.

“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”

“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.

Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?

Huh. His options for dinner was limited.

“Take this!”

Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.

“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.

“Get him!”

God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.

Great.

Oh, speak of the devil!

“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.

He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.

“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.

The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.

“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”

“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”

“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”

The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.

“You have a lawyer?”

“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”

“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”

“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.

“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”

This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.

“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”

“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.

“Like, Dare Devil good.”

“You know Matt Murdock??”

“Sure do.”

“He… he’ll take on our cases?”

“Dang, all of you?”

“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”

“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”

“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”

“Got it. Sorry.”

Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.

And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.

“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.

And Spider-Man

——

Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.

He twisted.

“Boss, what the fuck?!”

“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.

“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”

“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”

Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”

“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”

Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”

“I know!”

Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.

——

Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.

“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.

“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.

That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.

He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.

He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.

He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.

The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.

With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?

Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”

Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?

Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.

He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…

Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.

“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”

His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]

Peter stared at the words, gut churning.

Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.

Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.

“Fuck.”

He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.

——

Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”

Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.

He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.

“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”

Five things.

1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!

2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.

3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.

4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.

5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.

Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.

Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.

Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.

3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.

Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.

Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.

“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.

Now… People of Interest.

This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.

Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”

“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.

And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.

Subcategory B: Local celebrities.

“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.

“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”

“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.

“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”

Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.

Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.

Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.

Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.

So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.

Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”

And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.

And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.

Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.

He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.

For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.

He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!

Oh my god.

Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.

Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.

Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-

“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.

“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”

The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”

Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”

“Food, duh.”

“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”

The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”

“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”

“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”

Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.

“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”

Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.

“I’m Peter!”

“… Frank.”

He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.

“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”

Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.

“Uh. Hey.”

Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.

“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”

Peter chewed faster.

Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”

Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”

Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!

“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”

Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!

“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”

“That was easy.”

Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.

“Ow!”

“Whatever, shrimp.”

Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.

Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.

“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”

“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.

“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.

“You’re looking for a place?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.

“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”

“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.

“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”

“Dunno? Probably not.”

“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.

Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.

“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”

Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”

“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”

“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.

——

They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.

“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”

“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”

And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.

Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.

“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”

“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.

They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.

“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.

“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”

“No-” Frank had started.

“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.

“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”

Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.

“Uh.”

“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”

“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”

Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”

Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.

“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”

Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.

“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.

“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”

“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”

“I can use a cart.”

And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.

“Can you even reach the handle?”

“I’m not that short!”

Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.

“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.

“Okay!”

Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.

“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.

——

As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”

Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.

He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…

He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.

Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.

He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and

He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.

All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for

So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.

“Hey.”

Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”

Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.

“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”

“Rude. No, of course not.”

Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…

“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”

The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”

“Nice! We can eat on this!”

——

When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.

“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.

“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.

——

When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.

So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.

An hour later, he met his first vigilante.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”

“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.

“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.

Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”

“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?

“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”

Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.

“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”

“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.

“Photography buddy!” He cheered.

They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.

“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”

“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.

——

Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.

“Red Robin to Nightwing.”

“What’s up, Red?”

“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.

“… What?”

“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”

“Copy. Oh, that kid…”

“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”

“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”

“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.

“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.

“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.

“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.

——

Peter: lay low and get home

Also Peter: talks to a vigilante

None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.

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wntrs0ldier · 4 months

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AN OFFER II · 05

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,3k warnings: mafia, language, violence (graphic descriptions), minor character death, mature themes, dark themes, angst, smut, toxic behavior, blood and injury, abuse and sexual abuse, hurt/comfort,

Taking his eyes off you, Bucky turned to Sam. “Go get Clint,” he ordered, his voice — just like his stare — lacking a particular tone; it was emotionless, perhaps with a hint of cooling anger, the seed of which got there completely naturally. Then he looked at Steve, his jaw clenched again. “Get her out of here.”

series masterlist

The exhibition, crowning the last few months of your work, was going surprisingly well for something you had initially occupied yourself with just to pass the time.

It all started with Bucky’s absence and now he was there — keeping his hand on your lower back, stroking it in a comforting manner, he made you forget about all the things that could go wrong. You watched some people admiring the artwork you’ve collected, exchanged some words, shook some hands, and Bucky didn't leave your side for a second.

At some point, Tracy appeared right next to you, touching your shoulder to get your attention. “There’s a call from Connie. She couldn’t reach your phone, so she called the gallery. I put her through to your office.”

Your friend, whom you had fortunately dissuaded from the idea of using her leave to attend the exhibition, was currently enjoying her free time on a real vacation. It certainly would have been nice to have her around, but it wasn't worth it; besides, you had solid support coming from not only your husband, but also Steve, Sam and Clint.

“Thanks,” you said, and when Tracy left, you turned to Bucky to hand him your glass with the wine you haven’t had the chance to finish. “I'll be back in a few minutes. An hour tops,” you informed, smirking.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirked up. “Sure. Got any knives I could juggle?” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, to entertain your guests.”

You sized him up, your eyes narrowed. “Do you really know how to juggle..?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged casually. “I can show you somewhere a little more private.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed, smacking his shoulder.

Bucky’s mouth stretched into a much wider smile as your laugh reached his ears. “I’ll be waiting here,” he promised. Still grinning, you cupped his face and kissed him, then went to the stairs.

Having hurried into your office, you got to the phone. “Connie?” you spoke with undisguised excitement.

“Hi, babe,” Connie giggled. “How’s the exhibition? How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, the exhibition is fine…” you sighed, resting your free hand on the desktop. “I have a lot of buyers, actually. It's better than I thought.”

“Is one of those buyers your filthy rich husband?” she asked, and if she was here, right beside you, she would probably pinch you teasingly.

A bright smile came to your lips. “He’s banned from doing that, and is here only for support.”

“That’s really great,” when you heard that, you also heard her smile fade away. “I'm sorry I can't be there for you.”

“Oh, come on, Connie. We talked about this. You deserve a rest, especially from those uptight bankers.”

Connie said something else, but you got distracted by the sound of the door opening. You looked over your shoulder, and to your surprise, saw Adrian.

“Y/N? Can you hear me?”

“Uh, Connie? I’ll call you back, okay?” Without waiting for your friend's answer, you hung up the phone. “Can I help you..?” you asked flatly, turning to Adrian.

“Have you made a decision? About Paris?”

Your eyebrows rose; you secretly hoped that Adrian would eventually use his common sense, and as a result, realize how ridiculous the idea was. “I told you already. I can’t come to Paris with you.”

In a moment of weakness it crossed your mind that, perhaps, you should agree for the sake of the gallery. But Bucky was right — you couldn't sell Adrian your time; not when he was pushing the limits that way, treating you like an object he could do whatever he liked with.

“You are making a mistake. Big mistake,” he stated slowly, and just as slowly covered the space between the door and the desk.

You understood that you were just a woman — a fragile, weak woman, left alone with an offended man; the only thing in that room more fragile than you was only Adrian's pride. And yet, when he approached you, you didn't even flinch, didn’t take your stern gaze off him.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” he questioned, giving you the last chance to change your mind. “Are you sure what you are doing? You are rejecting the opportunity of a lifetime. And it will cost you a lot. Can you afford it?”

He grabbed your forearm rapidly. Twisting it, turning your body, stiff and paralyzed with sudden panic, he pushed you, then pressed against the desk. The moment you collided with the hard surface, the air abruptly spilled out of your lungs, leaving you breathless, and the hit your chin took from crashing onto the desktop cut your bottom lip open; the rusty taste of blood settled on your tongue.

One of Adrian's hands, which had wrapped around your forearm earlier, moved to the nape of your neck and pressed your torso down to the glass surface; his legs pinned your thighs to the edge, at the same time opening them for easier access. His other hand struggled with the fabric of your dress until it finally gave in and chose to betray you with a deep rip on the side.

“Adrian,” you grated, your breath heavy as you unsuccessfully tried to fight back, “get the fuck off me.”

“Stand still, bitch,” he hissed, pressing your body even harder. You were losing your breath again, since your chest didn't have enough room. “And shut up.”

Struck by the sudden return of panic spreading at an alarming speed, you became numb when Adrian lifted your dress. His sickeningly cold and wet hands, touching your skin directly, without any additional layers protecting your body, turned your stomach sick.

Until that moment, you were clinging to the hope that you could get out of it, or that Adrian would come to his senses. But now, it didn't appear that either of those things were going to happen; Adrian was going to get his way, he was going to take something from you, to break you.

Despite the shock of realizing what your fate would be, you swept your hand over the desktop to scan the area. In the process, you knocked down the phone, which Adrian considered to be continued attempts to fight, and eventually found something that, judging by its shape, was a stapler — an useless tool. A moment later, your hand felt something thin and oblong. A pen. Without much thought, you clenched it tightly in your palm and, pushed by adrenaline, blindly slammed your weapon into whatever happened to be behind you. All you knew was that it went in deep.

Adrian let out a loud, inhuman noise. The pressure of his hold loosened enough that you were able to break free. You darted to the door, and when you opened it, you ran into Bucky standing on the other side, clashing with his body. With your heart beating painfully fast, you lifted your gaze to him — your eyes still carried terror and distress, but there was a little room for relief as well.

In Bucky's case, it was different. With his forehead creased and his lips parted in devastation at what he had in front of him, he examined you closely — the ripped dress, the broken shoulder strap, the cut lip. His mouth snapped shut in a hard line, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could easily see that familiar twitch below his cheekbone, his nostrils flared. And although just a moment ago his eyes expressed so much — helplessness, fear, disbelief, disappointment — in a split second they became cold, dead. They passed you, as if you weren’t there anymore, and switched to Adrian.

Adrian looked around in a frantic search for an escape route, but the only exit from the office was blocked by you and Bucky.

Having placed his hands on your arms, Bucky moved you carefully to the side, then made his way to Adrian. You immediately looked over your shoulder, and the rest of your body followed.

“Hey, man, let’s talk-”

Bucky rammed into Adrian, and the kick that reached his stomach was charged with force so powerful that the man crashed into the cabinet standing against the wall. There was glass splattered everywhere — it came from the cabinet door, and from broken bottles; a few pieces cut Adrian's skin harmlessly, although it would have been better for him if one had killed him instantly. Bucky didn't wait for his target's reaction; he got on top of him, and, heedless of protests, pleas or pathetic screams, punched him in his face. Again, and again, and again.

“Stop. Please, don’t-” Adrian managed to choke out. He tried to defend himself, but was unable to block Bucky's blows, driven by tremendous power and speed. “I can pay you! I can pay you a-”

To Bucky, his words meant nothing, his money worth nothing. What really mattered to him — what kept replaying in his head, boiling the blood in his veins, steering him to the only possible ending — was the fact that some man, no matter who he was or how much he had to offer, hurt his wife. He touched her. He touched in a way that made her too terrified to even cry.

With each repeated punch, a little blood sprinkled out — Lancy spit and choked with it, coughing and screaming, but Bucky still didn't pay the slightest attention to it; he stopped feeling his own hand — the pain spread through his metacarpus at first, but that soon went numb — instead, he felt Adrian's bones break and crumble under his fist; he felt his nose snapping, his jaw cracking, his cheekbones collapsing. He felt only that; no shame, no regret, no remorse. Why should he, when none of these things were shown to you?

Bucky did what he had to do — he beat the life out of Adrian Lancy with his bare hands. But to Bucky, he was no Adrian, no young investor with a bright future. He was a scumbag that attacked his wife and before that, put her on a short leash.

Breathing hard and slowly, Bucky stood up. For another brief moment he stared at the lifeless body, feeling a little less disgust. Despite the fact that instead of his face, Adrian now had a bloody, still steaming hole, he no longer evoked such disgust in Bucky.

He turned around. Blood covered his hands, especially the right one; crimson specks now decorated his face and his white shirt. You didn't feel the slightest need to run away, and if any shiver ran through your body, it was a shiver of admiration, of delight.

You didn't know when exactly, but at some point Steve and Sam showed up; Steve stood right next to you, Sam stayed somewhere behind your back.

You've lost track of time; you haven't checked it once since you and Bucky separated. Staring stubbornly, and without any purpose, at the darkness outside the bedroom window, you stood frozen, numb, wearing his t-shirt, that wrapped around you like a safe embrace.

Your skin was still aching from the almost burning water and excessive rubbing — you tried to deeply wash off Adrian’s scent and touch, but you could’ve sworn you still felt him. His smell — unpleasantly strong, hitting your nostrils aggressively — lingered in the air, and his hands, cold, sweaty, driven by evil intentions, remained on your body. A repulsive tingling plagued the places where he touched you, making you sick.

The door opened carefully, letting in some warm light from the corridor. You turned away from the window; Bucky entered the room, and then, keeping his eyes on you, came closer with a cautious step. And this time he scrutinized your figure intently.

In contrast to his shirt, there was no trace of blood on his face or hands. He washed it away along with the memory of that man, so it wouldn't clutter his mind. Instead, he knew that he would never forget that he had failed you; that he should have protected you better.

Without any words, you started unbuttoning his shirt; your fingers worked quickly and smoothly — you, too, wanted as soon as possible to get away from everything that reminded you of the events of a few hours earlier. When you were done, and the shirt tails opened, showing Bucky's tensed stomach muscles, you cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. By instinct, he placed his hands on your hips and pressed his body against yours, his tongue slid into your mouth, and despite your lip stinging, you eagerly accepted it, meeting it with yours. You already knew the way you could wash Adrian off you.

Bucky bent his knees to lower himself a bit; he moved his hands under your ass to lift you, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He walked to the bed and sat down; Bucky, as well, was fully aware of what you needed.

He laid down, pulling you with him — without breaking away from his lips, relishing the taste of the man who had done something so thrilling for you, to the point of intoxication, you began rubbing against his crotch. Both of you breathed heavily into each other's mouths as your core, now wet and throbbing with desire, grinded on Bucky's bulge. But it wasn't enough — you needed him inside you, immediately.

You backed away just enough to be able to unzip his pants. He raised his hips, lifting you along with them, in order to slip his pants lower. At that moment, neither of you thought about taking the time to remove all your clothes; it was only about gratification, about forgetting, about pleasure.

You rose, wrapped your hand around his engorged cock and guided it to your entrance, then sank down on it slowly, a quiet, breathy moan leaving your lips. At first, Bucky looked at you with concentration, as if making sure you could handle it without his help, and when he got the proof, he relaxed slightly. Feeling your pussy swallow more and more of his cock, he groaned, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, but soon returned his gaze to you. He had to — there was nothing that could draw him away from the pleasure of watching you.

You grabbed the ends of the t-shirt you were wearing and stripped it off. Seeing your body almost in all its glory, feeling it on his own, Bucky pressed his lips together, the devotion and worship visible in his stare only deepened.

Now, it was you who had the control you so badly needed to regain; you needed to regain yourself, and that's what seemed to be the best way to do it. Bucky's dick was plunging into you with your every move, penetrating you, hitting that sweet spot just right, but it was you who was fucking him. The bliss overpowered you enough that, forgetting the previous damage, you sank your teeth into your bottom lip. Bucky kept looking at you — your face overtaken by delight, your body moving up and down, the way you were riding him flawlessly — and the view alone would have been enough to make him cum.

Lifting his torso off the mattress, Bucky sat up. Your back arched as you propped your hands somewhere behind, your hips rolling in circles. Bucky slid his tongue between your breasts up to your neck, leaving a wet trail on your skin. With his hand supporting the back of your head, his mouth traveled all over your face and jaw, dropping sloppy kisses.

Sensing some weakness creeping into the dynamic you had set up, Bucky returned on the mattress, taking you with him. And you let him, knowing it would be worth it.

“Take my hand,” he whispered between heavy gasps. You followed his request without a second thought; the hand that only a few hours before had brought death was now holding yours. His fingers, intertwined with yours, reminded you that he was here for you; fully consciously, voluntarily, not just to satisfy some animal needs.

Bucky's spare arm embraced your back, pressing you as tightly as possible to his body. His hips began to move fast but not violently, he was moaning softly, pumping his cock into your cunt. It was hard for you to concentrate on anything other than that delicious sensation of being filled like that — your brain was melting, making you nothing more than a body to fuck, but the same brain told you to look at Bucky. So you looked at his lips, parted, swollen, in that familiar deep shade of pink they had turned from biting, and finally decided to occupy them with yours, devouring his warm, plush mouth.

The space between you, if such a thing had any right to exist, was filled with Bucky's loud breaths and grunts, your soft whines and his name — the sweet promise that you belonged to him only.

Bucky went still, letting out an interrupted whimper. A single, strong shiver ran through his body, his seed filled you up. When his mind regained a small percentage of sobriety, he continued thrusting into you. You straightened up to the sitting position, but still held tightly to Bucky’s hand. The tension building in your stomach released — orgasm shook your body, sending it into strong spasms, throwing your head back, squeezing only a heavy exhale out of your lungs.

Bucky looked up at you; he admired your jawline, your arched neck, the blue gemstone of the chain he gave you hanging in the middle of your collarbones, the single drop of sweat running down between your breasts. You were the most beautiful creation he had a chance to experience.

You gazed at him too, tears shimmered in your eyes, one of them dropped unexpectedly on Bucky's chest.

He furrowed, and, gripped by a burning panic and worry looming over, sat up; one of his hands was instantly on your cheek, the other brushed a few strands of hair away from your face. “It’s okay,” Bucky said softly. Sniffling, you nodded, the tears still streaming down your cheeks. “It’s okay…” he repeated more to himself, his eyes studying your face nervously, helplessly. With his thumb, he quickly wiped off another teardrop that escaped from your eye, then leaned closer and kissed away a new one, the salty taste smeared on his lips.

“Nothing-” you sobbed, then took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me,” you choke out. Bucky's jaw clenched, his eyes filled with sadness. Nothing like this has ever happened to you, and now that you were his wife, it did. On his watch. He was convinced that the blame lay with him, but he didn't admit it out loud — he wasn't going to make a victim of himself, all that mattered was you. “I shouldn't have let him-”

“No,” Bucky interrupted you strongly. He looked you in the eye. “It's not your fault, Y/N. You hear me?”

In response, you only sniffled again, dropping your gaze. “You told me something like this could happen. And I didn't listen.”

“Hey,” he said to get your attention, his voice gentle, but you didn't have the courage to bring your eyes back to his. Yet, with his hands on your cheeks, he made you look up at him. “Don’t do that. That fucker had no right to touch you even with his finger. That’s not on you.”

You weren't sure about that — your mind wasn't in a place that would allow you to believe Bucky's assurances. The wounds were still too fresh, the memories too vivid. However, one thing you were sure of; you had washed Adrian off of you. Bucky's scent clung to your skin, but your body was also marked with his sweat, his spit, his cum.

You started crying all over again — you needed this kind of purification. Bucky got that, so he wrapped his arms around you and pressed to his chest. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, stroking your hair.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign @xhollycowx @samfreakingwinchester @thrnlvr @samjuarezzz @loustan90 @kandis-mom @abaker74 @gabshouse @casa-boiardi @globetrotter28 @fand0mskullfa1ry @iateall-yourcookies @swordofawriter @theroyalmanatee @midnightvitality @thebuckybarnesvault @milanaasblog @itsmytimetoodream @talesofadragon @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @bbiaa420 @funkybarnes @sebastians-love @walkingwithoutreason @hereticdance @abitofblues @purple-vegan @queenashen @oqueano @yourdryadwife @lethallyprotected @abbyyourlocalmilf @sapphirebarnes @matchat3a

247 notes · View notes

mint-yooxgi · 1 year

Text

{4} - Paradise Gardens - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Book Two to Hotel California

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Seonghwa, Yunho, & Yeosang)

Words: 9,390

Warnings: Petty jealousy, nasty comments and name calling, slut shaming (not done by any of the guys). Minor violence, blood mentioned and the use of it to smear against someones's back in a show of dominance, unconventional cleaning of wounds. The later half of this chapter isn't edited, so please excuse any weird mistakes. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Here it is!!! The next part!!! I'm very excited for this chapter, and the following ones to come. I have a feeling a lot of people are going to enjoy the next one a lot *wink, wink* hehehe, anyways, as always feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three

A vast expanse of red and golden rocks stretches on before you as soon as you transport to the harpy’s nest. The badlands are dry, raising at odd peaks which round out above your head as the sun shines in a cloudless sky. You can practically see the heat rising off of the stones as you shift your gaze, three males surrounding you.

“Their nest lies beneath the ground,” Yunho explains. “We just need to await their messenger.”

You nod your understanding. “I know this is way off, but I am so tempted to make a joke about hunting for dinosaur bones right now.”

“The only carcasses you’ll find here are from last weeks' hunts.” A feminine voice sounds from between the hoodoos. “I apologize for Riza making you wait to be seen. You should have been invited to appear inside.”

The woman is beautiful, there’s no doubt about it as she steps into your line of sight. Her skin is a pale blue, a stark contrast to the red hue of the stones surrounding her. Feathers line her arms, bright red in colour to match her hair which falls nearly to her waist. Her arms are crossed, and on the tips of her fingers, you can just make out the faintest outline of claws.

“Wow.” You cannot help the breath that escapes you in awe.

The smile she sends your way is polite, albeit apologetic, and you notice short, pointy teeth lining the inside of her gums. It appears as if there are two rows on top, the front slightly shorter than the back, and only one row on the bottom.

“These three know me, but allow me to introduce myself now,” she addresses you fully. “My name is Rita, the youngest of the harpy sisters. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She inclines her head in your direction, blinking at you lightly with dark brown eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You incline your head back, introducing yourself as well.

She smiles. “If the four of you would follow me, we can get this meeting underway. My sisters are waiting for us inside.”

Immediately, she begins to lead you all deep into the heart of the badlands, beginning to descend into an opening with crystals lighting the way. You notice she hardly spares a glance in Seonghwa’s direction, and his shoulders seem to relax the more time passes without her making a comment his way.

You hum lowly to yourself, noticing Yeosang quirk a brow in your direction subtly. A second later and you’re leaning slightly into Seonghwa. “I understand.”

It’s slight, but his breath catches in his throat, a nervous smile being sent your way.

The deeper into the tunnel you descend, the more you notice other harpies peeking their heads out to look at you. All of them seem to have that same pale blue skin that glimmers beneath the light of the crystals, along with vibrantly coloured hair and wings. Some have their feathers lining their arms, while others have large wings which protrude from their backs. There are even some with more bird-like features, including beaks and plumage around their necks and eyes, highlighting their sharp gazes and pointed teeth.

“They’re just in the main chamber,” Rita says, leading you through a separate hallway once the path diverges. “I honestly don’t know why they insisted to wait inside. We literally could have taken all of five minutes to come to an agreement, but you know my sisters. Always have a flare for the dramatics.”

You can’t see her face, but you bet more than anything she’s just rolled her eyes.

“My apologies for that,” she mumbles, a slight sigh escaping her lips.

Reaching the end of the hall, Rita pushes open a large set of double doors. Stepping through, she doesn’t bother to close them as more harpies begin to fill out the grand hall where you see three thrones near the front. Two thrones are currently occupied by a female each whom both seem to be chatting with a third person, but harpy they are not. At least, not with the way their hair seems to slither and hiss with every movement they make.

“Rika! Riza! Will you act like the leaders you are and greet our guests?” Rita clicks her tongue, shaking her head in clear annoyance.

The two harpies sitting on their own respective thrones straighten slightly. The one on the middle throne immediately locks on to Seonghwa, a sultry pull of her lips upwards as she sits forwards. Her bright green wings twitch in excitement behind her, hands grasping the arms of her chair for support. Her dark brown hair, almost black, falls to her shoulders, and she’s quick to brush some strands out of her eyes.

The other, with deep purple feathers trailing down the skin of her arms looks you all over, a curt nod being sent your way in greeting before she’s turning back to the gorgon in front of her. She has bright orange hair, cropped short to her head and styled in every direction messily, but it suits her well.

“Oh,” the one on the middle throne seems to flick her gaze over to you for the briefest of moments, nothing but a look of disinterest crossing her features, “you’re here.”

“Nice to meet you,” the other one gives a tight smile in your direction. “I’m Rika, the middle sister, and this is Riza. The eldest. You’ve met Rita already, but we’re the harpy sisters.”

“Thank you for hosting us today.” You incline your head, introducing yourself quickly afterwards.

Riza snorts, rolling her eyes quite pointedly as she leans back in her seat. “Save the diplomacy, we all know why you’re here.”

Yeosang’s eyebrow twitches, Yunho exhaling a low breath as he crosses his arms over his chest. Seonghwa goes to take a step forward, but your hand on his shoulder stops him. A movement of which you notice causes Riza’s eyes to narrow where your skin makes contact with his.

“Always such a warm welcome with you.” Seonghwa huffs, not bothering to hide his irritation.

“For you?” Riza leans forward, that sultry smirk pulling onto her lips once more. “Always.”

You cannot prevent the way your eyebrows raise in response, eyes widening slightly as you blink in disbelief.

“I apologize for my sisters,” Rita directs her comment at you, another sigh escaping her as she shakes her head. “They aren’t usually like this.”

“This is the coldest greeting we’ve ever gotten from you.” Yeosang observes, tone cool and calculating as his gaze flicks over the two sisters still sitting on the thrones before you all.

Your brow quirks, gaze darting between the three sisters before you.

“Bring better company next time.” Rika shrugs, turning her attention back to the gorgon before her.

Yunho takes a deep breath to steady his building rage, but at one small brush from you against his mind, he manages to calm himself enough to stay where he is.

“Didn’t realize this meeting was for an approval committee.” You deadpan, shrugging cooly in the next second. “Not that your opinion of me matters all that much.”

“You seem to regard yourself highly.” Riza huffs, clearly unimpressed.

“I’m not one to waste my time bragging to someone who hasn’t learned the difference between incompetence and imbecile.” You shrug, and you hear Rita snort out a laugh from your left. “You’re a leader, aren’t you? Learn some respect before you demand it.”

“Oh, I like you!” Rita points at you eagerly, noticing her eldest sister practically fuming in her seat.

“Well, so far, you’re my favourite.” You turn to her, grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “You must be the head sister. You’re certainly the most mature out of the three of you.”

You notice both Riza’s and Rika’s feathers flare in irritation.

“I’m glad someone’s noticed,” Rita grins right back, back straightening as she stands a bit prouder than before. You swear a pleased coo escapes her, too.

“Oh, shut up, Rita,” Rika rolls her eyes. “You literally fall to your knees for the first person who praises you.”

You turn to Rita, brow quirking playfully. “Praise is rather flattering when it’s earned, juxtaposed to an air of preeminence.”

“Not our fault it’s a great ego boost.” Rita crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head quite sassily at her sisters.

“You’re agreeing with the human who just insulted us?” Riza scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back in her throne.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she’s sulking. You particularly don’t appreciate the way her gaze keeps flicking over to Seonghwa, hoping for both his acceptance and support.

“Don’t dish out what you can’t dish in.” You shrug casually. “I really don’t have time for petty jealousy.”

“Me, jealous of you?” Riza replies, incredulously. “As if!”

You lean slightly into Yeosang’s side. “How old did you say they were again?”

“What does our age have to do with anything?” Rika frowns, staring down at you from her throne.

“You two are acting like young human teenagers.” You shrug, somewhat nonchalantly. “I thought I left that shit back in high school.”

“You’re really going to let her talk to us like that?” Riza shifts her gaze between the three males beside you, purposely leaving Seonghwa for last so she can stare at him with mock hurt in her eyes the longest. “Do I mean nothing to you?”

The way your breath catches in your throat does not go unnoticed by any of them. You stiffen, and it’s Yeosang who places a comforting hand onto your lower back.

Rika smirks.

“We’ve already dealt with the jealous ex, we don’t need another.” Seonghwa states, rather bluntly as his scrutinizing gaze trails over Riza’s figure. “Not that you could even be considered an ex. We were never together.”

“Yet, you kept coming back for more.” The way she smirks is nothing short of malicious, especially when she turns to look down her nose at you.

You bite your tongue to keep the retort you have building within you from escaping your lips. Only, it’s as if your void has slipped, and Seonghwa has read your mind.

“But am I with you now?” He quirks a brow, a clear look of skepticism on his face.

“You could be.” She hums, a sultry look pulling onto her features as she practically spreads herself out on her throne for him. Almost as if she’s trying to entice him in every and any way she can.

You cannot hide your appall as you blink up at her in disbelief. Your lips part slightly as your eyebrows raise, your head tilting the slightest bit to the side.

The entire room is silent, both Rita, Rika, and the gorgon looking between both you and Riza periodically. It’s as if they are waiting for a bomb to drop, noticing the way the three males practically shake in rage beside you.

“Oh, sweetie,” you shake your head, tutting all the while. “Desperation isn’t a good look on you. Frankly, it’s embarrassing. You’re the eldest of the harpy sisters? Really? I’ve met dogs with more manners than you.”

“Did you just call me a fucking bitch?” She stands from her seat so quickly, you swear it almost topples to the ground as her feathers ruffle.

“If the shoe fits.” You shrug, nonchalantly.

“You come into my home-“

“You insulted her first, Riza.” Rita cuts in, stepping in before her sister can swoop down upon you from her position atop her throne. “Not everyone is going to put up with your shit.”

“It’s about time someone put you in your place.” Rika chuckles, standing from her own throne and descending the steps to stand before you. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I apologize for my sister’s eccentric behaviour.”

“Older sisters,” you huff out an amused breath, lips quirking at the corners. “Am I right?”

“Literally, you could not be more correct.” Rita nods along with your words, quite enthusiastically.

“Hey!” Rika shifts to ruffle her younger sister’s hair. “It’s not like you’re a pile of daisies, either!”

“Don’t we have things to discuss?” Riza calls, irritation clear on her face as she glides down from her throne to join the two of her sisters standing before you.

“We do.” Yunho replies, quite sharply. There’s no hiding the irritation on his face, that all too familiar darkness swirling within as he glares at Riza for the moment.

“I see Sudaem has already arrived.” Yeosang shoots a pointed look towards the gorgon still standing off to the side.

“Unlike some, she’s actually welcome here.” Riza replies, somewhat pointedly in your direction.

The three males don’t even attempt to suppress their growls any longer. If Riza is going to throw all sense of diplomacy out of the window, then so are they.

“Riza.” Rita hisses, smacking her sister harshly on her arm.

“Sudaem is our friend, and also the current leader of the gorgons.” Rika informs you, a light smile pulling at her features - her way of easing the sudden tension between all of you.

You notice the gorgon tilt her head in your direction when she senses your gaze on her. You bow back, a small, polite smile gracing your own features.

“She was worried Jongho was going to be attending the meeting.” Rita says, causing your eyebrow to quirk at the almost dreamy way she speaks his name. “He scalped their last leader.”

“Yeah, cause she tried to assassinate us.” Seonghwa retorts, his entire body tense as he stands beside you with his arms crossed over his chest.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Riza inching closer to him.

“Talk shit, get hit.” You blink, turning back to the three sisters in front of you.

“Oh, I really like you.” Rita grins, her fangs on full display.

“You’re nothing special.” Riza mumbles, now being the sister standing the closest to Seonghwa.

Faintly, you register the side of her wing brush against his arm.

Irritation flashes in his eyes as he steps away, shifting closer to you for the moment.

This time, you don’t even react when the eldest sister says this, turning back to face Sudaem.

“You’re still contemplating whether to join the alliance, right?” Once she nods, you continue. “Then, join us. We’ve got a lot to discuss. This affects you as much as them right now.”

“I thought we were already in agreement to join you?” Rita frowns, looking between her older sisters for the moment.

“After the way this one,” Riza jerks her chin in your direction, “has treated me, I’m having second thoughts.”

“Riza, can it.” Rika shoots her sister a sharp look. “No one wants to listen to you whine.”

The eldest harpy huffs in response, a subtle pout tugging at her lips. Again, she shifts closer to Seonghwa, almost as if she’s hoping he’ll comfort her.

Her wing brushes tenderly against his shoulder, and this time, he shoots her a dark look. He eyes her figure pointedly, disgust pulling at his features. “Don’t touch me.”

Riza clearly looks taken aback by the malice in his tone. Enough so, that she retracts her wing. For now.

“So, this alliance,” Rika begins once Sudaem has joined the seven of you. “You mentioned we’d be going up against Malik, and the sorcerer Dimitri?”

“Yes.” Yunho confirms with a nod. “Miyeon convinced Malik to stage that coup twenty years ago, and now we’re seeing all the uprisings her little rebellion cause has started. They’re determined to make a ‘New World’ for all. Dimitri has simply been caught in the crossfire: he’s suffering under mental manipulation from her, even after her death.”

“You mean you haven’t freed him, yet?” Riza quirks a skeptical brow in his direction, clearly unimpressed.

The way Yunho purses his lips does not go unnoticed by you. You frown.

“You’re weaker than I remember.” She hums, beginning to pick at her nails.

“Don’t you dare speak down to him.” Your brow is furrowed, eyes blazing with a building rage.

You can handle insults being thrown your way just fine, but the moment something is said against someone you love, you have a little bit more of a difficult time controlling yourself. You have half the mind to tell Yunho to fuck with her own mind right now, but you’re not that petty. Yet.

“Riza, he could tear you apart in an instant if he wanted to.” Rita reminds her eldest sister.

“We’ll just call San to do it.” Yeosang shrugs, noticing how all three of the sisters seem to stiffen slightly in fear.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Riza feigns confidence, scoffing in disbelief.

Again, she attempts to move closer to Seonghwa.

A blink and you’ve wrapped your arm around his waist, pulling him into your side and away from her. Her arm just misses brushing his, but from the faint rumble you can feel emanate from his chest, you know that he’s far too caught up in the feeling of you holding him against you to notice.

Seonghwa practically melts into your touch, immediately wrapping his own arm around your waist as Yeosang removes his hand from your lower back for the moment. The eldest can feel his heart pounding in his chest, a certain pride swirling within as your actions wash over him. You wanted to protect him.

Perhaps his fantasies are coming true. Maybe, just maybe, you are jealous.

Riza scowls, but you simply raise a brow in her direction. If she wants to challenge you, and disregard Seonghwa’s own boundaries, you are more than happy to remind her of her place.

“You said they have an army?” Rika draws your attention back to her as she asks this.

“Dimitri’s sorcerers and hunters for one. Plus, all of the demons that have pledged their loyalty to Miyeon and Malik’s cause.” Seonghwa replies, briefly filling them in on all of their other allies, too.

“Damn sirens.” Sudaem scowls, her hair hissing along with her. “Greedy bastards. Never content with just one thing.”

“No wonder Miyeon propositioned them with an alliance, then.” You huff dryly, shaking your head.

“Did she ever try to attack you herself?” Rita asks, meeting your gaze curiously.

Your lips purse, shoulders tensing slightly. A fact which you know the harpy beside Seonghwa notices.

“Multiple times.” You say, steeling your features for the moment as you attempt to keep your voice from shaking. “She succeeded once.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rita’s expression drops, worry taking over her features as she notices how tense the three males become beside you. “The few times I had the displeasure of meeting her were rough. I can only imagine what she was like with a personal vendetta against you.”

“No one deserves that.” Rika agrees, concern shining in her eyes as she notices you swallow thickly.

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” You tilt your head in acknowledgement to their words, your lips quirking upwards slightly despite the smile being tight.

Riza seems to hum in disappointment beside you, and you notice Yeosang’s hands twitch at his side.

“Our magic should be more than enough to combat the sorcerers.” Rita continues, looking directly at you as she says this. “After all, their spells don’t work against us.”

“They don’t?” There’s clear wonder in your voice, eyes lighting up as you meet her gaze.

“You mean you didn’t tell her about us?” Riza huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You weren’t important enough to mention.” Seonghwa states, rather bluntly as his sharp eyes dart beside him.

Her jaw clenches, clearly irritated by his response.

Rika chuckles. “To answer your question: yes. We can’t cast any spells of our own, but we have magic flowing through our blood all the same. Witches and warlocks do not affect us in any way, unless they choose to physically attack us.”

“That’s really cool!” You say, eyes lighting up in awe. “Having your own immunity to magic must come in really handy.”

“For sure!” Rita nods enthusiastically along with your words. “It’s like having a built in forcefield around us at all times.”

“Do you feel it if a spell gets deflected off of you, or is it undetectable when magic is used against you?” You ask, that curious gleam ever so prominent in your eyes.

A look which three males know all too well, and despite the irritation they feel towards a certain sister, they all cannot help the way fond smiles begin to pull at their lips while looking at you. It’s nice to know that you’re still curious about their world, and that you want to know more about the different creatures that reside within them. They would tell you themselves, but what better way to learn than from that species themselves?

“Sometimes we feel it, and other times we don’t.” Rika answers, a smile pulling at her features as she sees you turn your bright gaze towards her. “It depends on the level of the spell, the intricacy in it’s casting, and the power of the wielder.”

“Though, only those with casting magic in their veins can perform spells.” Rita adds. “If there’s no trace, the spell won’t work.”

“A caster doesn’t even need to have any training for a spell to work for them.” Sudaem chimes in. “Though, it depends on how much stored magic said castor has. If it’s a high level spell, like summoning or inflicting damage on an opponent, then they have to come from a strong line of casters.”

You blink, as if realizing something. Subtly, your grip tightens around Seonghwa’s waist.

“Sorry, can we just pause for a second.” You raise your free hand in the air. “You just said that a caster can performs spells properly without knowing as long as they have powerful magic stored within them?”

Riza rolls her eyes, mumbling how you need better comprehension skills. You ignore her, as do the others for now.

“Yes.” Sudaem nods, meeting your gaze. “That is correct.”

“So, say someone read from a ‘book of spells’,” you put those words in air quotes for the moment, “for fun, but it actually worked. That means that person has casting magic lineage?”

Realization crosses the three male’s faces, eyes going wide at what this means.

“Most likely.” Rika confirms with a blink.

“Why? Do you know someone who is unaware they can cast spells?” Rita’s brow furrows, head tilting in curiosity at you.

You look between the three males surrounding you, amusement dancing in your gaze. “My best friend is a witch, and none of you bothered to tell me.”

“Your best friend?” Sudaem’s brow furrows slightly. “Did she summon them or something?”

“You could say that.” You reply, amusement dancing in your eyes.

“Summoned, how?” She presses, tilting her head slightly in curiosity. “Physically?”

“No, not physically.” Seonghwa answers for you. “It was only through a mirror at first.”

A snort of laughter is heard from off to your left. “Weak ass witch could only summon you through mirrors?”

Again, you ignore her, but that doesn’t stop your brow from twitching in irritation.

“Do you remember the name of the tome you used?” Sudaem meets your gaze.

“Uh…” you grimace slightly. “No, I do not. My apologies.”

“There’s only two clans of casters that are powerful enough to summon the Eight Kings.” Rita shifts her gaze between all four of you standing before her. “What’s your friend’s clan name?”

“Clan name?” Your brow furrows before realization crosses your features. “Oh, her last name is Ciervo.”

A brief look is shared between Sudaem, Rita, and Rika. Even the three males seem surprised by this revelation, for you’ve never spoken your best friend’s last name in front of them before.

“Has she ever discussed her magic abilities with you?” Rika turns back to face you, running a hand through her hair and causing the spikes to stick up in new directions.

“I didn’t even know she had them.” You reply, somewhat in awe as you blink.

“You didn’t know your best friend is apart of one of the most powerful caster clans in the realm?” Sudaem frowns slightly, nothing but a meek curiosity in her gaze.

“I don’t think even she is aware of it.” You exhale a low breath. A second later, you meet Sudaem’s gaze. “How do you know so much about casters?”

“Subject of interest.” She shrugs lightheartedly, a bashful chuckle escaping her shortly afterwards as she smiles.

“Our dear Sudaem here has been attempting to impress the head of the Sintra clan for years.” Rita affectionately wraps an arm around the gorgon’s shoulders, shaking her lightly.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t seem to be working.” The gorgon grumbles, looking down at her feet.

“Their loss, then.” You hum, and you notice her head whip up to look in your direction.

“You think so?” She meets your gaze, a sort of hidden hope shining behind her eyes.

“Anyone who puts in that amount of dedication to learn something about the person they like is definitely worthy of praise in my books.” You smile at her, nodding your head all the while. “Don’t waste your time on someone who sounds like they don’t deserve your energy. You’re better than that. You deserve better than that.”

She averts her gaze somewhat bashfully, only causing your heart to warm.

“If you have anymore questions, just let me know.” Sudaem mumbles, her hair swaying softly around her as the serpents coo affectionately.

“Oh, boy! Do I ever!” You immediately perk up, and loving chuckles are falling from Yunho’s, Yeosang’s, and Seonghwa’s lips. “Though, I don’t want any of my questions to come across as rude, or potentially ignorant.”

“Go for it,” Rika shrugs, straightening out her shirt for the moment. “If what you’ve said about them not telling you shit about us is true, you must be curious.”

“You honestly have no idea,” you breathe, meeting her gaze.

“Then, ask away!” Rita encourages you with a soft smile.

“Okay, this might be really ignorant of me,” you turn to face Sudaem once more, “but isn’t your gaze supposed to be able to turn people to stone?”

The one corner of her lips quirks upwards. “It does.”

Your eyes widen in awe, but before you can ask, she continues.

“We have a second set of lids that cover our eyes like a film. We can retract them at any time to allow our cold gaze to freeze anyone we see fit.” She explains. “It’s clear, so you don’t notice it, but if you know what to look for, you’ll be able to tell when it’s there.”

“That’s so cool!” Your lips part, a pure look of wonder on your features as you gaze at her. “I’m still wrapping my head around learning that all of these incredible species I’ve long since believed to be mythological are real. It’s incredible, and I’m honoured to be in your presence.”

Again, you incline your head in their direction, and you notice the smiles stretching wider on Rita’s, Rika’s, and Sudaem’s faces. Hell, even the corner of Riza’s lips twitch upwards.

“You should have seen her when she met the dragons.” Seonghwa hums, nothing but pure affection dripping from both his tone and gaze as he shifts to look at you.

“Apparently, she left quite the impression. The babies imprinted on her.” Yunho adds, pride clear in the way he stands a little straighter.

“We heard Wyno gave you her blessing.” Sudaem comments, her own eyes lighting up in awe. “That’s incredible!”

This time, it’s your turn for your cheeks to warm. Averting your gaze to the floor, you mumble out a ‘thank you’.

“It’s been over one hundred years since the alpha of the dragons has granted anyone her blessing.” Rika comments, clearly impressed. “You must both be extremely special, and have done something incredibly selfless to earn that bond.”

“She did.” Seonghwa confirms, a hint of roughness to his voice.

You squeeze him tighter.

“She is.” Yeosang adds, his loving gaze turning to focus on you as you briefly meet his own.

The smile you share is nothing short of tender, and you faintly hear some soft cooing coming from around the room. Your audience seems to be able to pick up the amount of love you have between you and Your Kings, and even Sudaem, and The Three Sisters all have to admit that your bonds are obvious.

Riza’s expression falls.

“I have been allowed to thrive thanks to them, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.” You admit, heart swelling in your chest at your own words. You speak nothing but the truth, and every person in that chamber can tell.

Three content hums from Your Kings greet your ears, each of them taking the time to brush tenderly against your void.

Sudaem smiles. “Do you have any more questions for me?”

You turn back to her, eyes lighting up with that familiar spark of curiosity. “Do I ever!”

Her whole demeanour perks up. Ever her serpents hiss excitedly.

“So, with the dual lids, do they change your eye colour at all?” You ask.

“Slightly.” Sudaem confirms. “Our natural eye colour is slate toned, but the lid makes them lighter. Would you like to see? I can’t show you my true eyes, lest you be turned to stone, but I can show you a half comparison.”

“If you’re okay with that!” You nod eagerly.

A few steps and she’s in front of you. The way her serpents slither to rest behind her shoulders to make you more comfortable as she gets closer warms your heart. Slowly, she leans in, and you watch her eyes as a clear film begins to shift over the one pupil. It raises about halfway before stopping, and you can see the bottom half of her iris is a slight shade darker than the top half.

“Wow.” Your lips part in awe, blinking a few times as you both lean away from each other once more. “That’s incredible!”

“Thank you.” Sudaem returns to her original spot, clasping her hands bashfully over the front of her body.

“Oh,” Rita teasingly wraps her arm around the gorgon’s shoulders, shaking her lightly, “someone’s getting shy.”

“Shut up.” Sudaem mumbles, her hands beginning to fiddle with each other, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Aw, our little Sudaemie is gonna develop another crush,” Rika joins in on the teasing, moving over to poke the aforementioned female’s cheek affectionately. “How will I ever survive my love leaving me for yet another?”

The way you see the serpents on her head begin to playfully nip at Rika’s finger has you laughing. You can just tell how close friends they all are.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Riza remaining oddly quiet for the moment. Her own gaze is calculating, never once leaving Seonghwa’s profile as she studies him from head to toe. The way your hand still rests comfortably on his hip has her pursing her lips.

“You three remind me of Reina and I.” You grin, failing to notice how the three males grin slightly along with you. “Teasing and all.”

“You mean you purposely continue to flirt with others despite being in a relationship?” Riza cuts in, clear malice on her features as she feigns shock. “Kings need someone loyal to them, not an ugly whore who spreads her legs for the first thing that gives her attention.”

Both Yeosang and Seonghwa nearly lunge at her right then and there. Only, your hand raising in front of all of them prevents either male from doing so.

“You certainly have a lot of pride for someone attempting to be a home wrecker.” You reply, somewhat bluntly. “You clearly have your own personal vendetta against me, and I’ve already dealt with someone much worse than you. You’re about as intimidating to me as a chicken.” You sigh, shaking your head before pretending to think about it. “Actually, no. At least chickens are intimidating.”

Rita bursts into laughter almost immediately after the words are out of your mouth, slapping her eldest sister playfully on her arm. Even Rika has a difficult time muffling her laughter, while Sudaem can barely contain her own.

“If all you’re going to do is stand there and insult me, I’d really rather you get it all out of your system now.” You motion her towards you, clearly unimpressed by her. “I’m sure the King you’re trying to impress will love you threatening His Queen, seeing as it worked out so well for the last one.”

Her wings flare out in irritation behind her, scowl pulling at her features.

“At least I’m not some weak, pathetic mortal who needs saving every ten minutes.” Riza spits, taking a threatening step towards you.

Only, you perceive it as her wanting to get closer to Seonghwa again, given the way she goes to reach for him. So, you do what you feel is best: you push him behind you as you fully turn to face the harpy beside you.

“Sorry, how long have we been talking?” You tilt your head, almost mockingly at her.

If she’s going to continue to be a bitch, then you’ll gladly match her energy.

Immediately, her wings spread out behind her in attempts to intimidate you. You can see the irritation shining clear as day on her features, fingers flexing at her sides as her claws glint in the light.

The way you hear all three males growl warningly behind you lets you know that her flaring her wings like that holds some deeper significance. The next words you hear only serve to confirm that fact.

“Riza, not the wings.” Rika warns lowly as a commotion begins to stir within that chamber.

All of the other harpies present begin to whisper, their feathers ruffling as more enter to see what all the fuss is about. A few even go so far as to take off into the air, hovering around to get a better view of the action that might be about to take place.

“Don’t challenge her.” Rita adds, a hint of worry shining in her eyes as she sees the dark gazes of the three males behind you.

“No, if this wannabe Queen wants to come into our home, and insult me, then she should expect retaliation.” Riza spits, rather harshly. “I’m not going to stand here and take this disrespect.”

“Riza, you’re being a huge hypocrite right now.” Sudaem grimaces, glancing between her friend and the three Kings whose black eyes are all on full display. Her serpents hiss nervously, shifting restlessly over her head.

“Can it, Sudaem.” Riza hisses, feathers ruffling as her wings flare once more. “This is between me and her.”

“I literally never took issue with you to begin with.” Your tone is blunt, a bored sigh escaping you. “You’re the one who’s had it out for me since we walked in here. Just get it all out now, I’d really rather not have issues on the battlefield.”

“Who says we’re going to align with you?” Riza’s fingers twitch once more, snarl pulling at her lips.

“So, you’ve wasted all of our time.” You nod your understanding. “Good to know.”

“No, wait! Please!” Rita reaches out for you before stopping herself. With how tense the three males look beside you, the last thing she wants to do is actually touch you. Who knows how they might react. “We’ll align with you! We have in the past, and if the sirens have truly agreed to fight with Malik, then our friends in the gorgon territories aren’t safe!”

“You’ve had my allegiance since you mentioned that fact. Besides, I really like you.” Sudaem nods firmly in agreement. “We’ll support you in any upcoming battles.”

“Thank you. That is very much appreciated.” You smile at the three other women off to your right.

They all smile back, shoulders slightly drooping in relief as they believe this issue to be resolved. Only, you know better.

Riza still does not back down.

“Well, since we’ve now done what we came to do,” you incline your head respectfully to the two younger harpy sisters, as well as Sudaem. “We’ll take our leave now.”

“Thank you for meeting with us.” Rita bows to you, along with Rika and Sudaem. “I would extend an offer to return, but not until out eldest here learns some manners.”

Riza’s nostrils flare, “how dare you sister-“

“Can it, Riza.” Rika’s eyes narrow at the female. “Don’t shame us any further because you want to fuck her King one last time.”

The harpy purses her lips, smartly remaining quiet for the moment. From the way her wings twitch, though, you can tell she has more to say.

“We’ll be in touch,” Yeosang states, rather bluntly. “Be ready for anything.”

“We will.” Rika nods, Sudaem and Rita adding their agreement.

“I’ll walk you out.” Rita practically skips over to you, a joyful glint in her eyes as she smiles your way.

“I would enjoy that very much.” You return her expression.

Shifting back to the open doors of the chamber, you begin to make your way back out of the caves. Your right hand comes to settle on Seonghwa’s lower back, an added protection and assurance for both you and him against that piercing gaze you can feel watching your every movement.

You get all of two steps before a loud huff is heard from behind you.

“Wait.” The voice is calmer than before, but still urgent, desperate in a way.

You feel it long before you register what has actually happened. You had been expecting something like this, anyways. Considering the way Riza couldn’t resist continuously reaching out for him, you knew she would most likely try one last time.

Your hand is around her wrist before the tips of her fingers can ever graze Seonghwa’s back. There is an unbridled fury burning behind your eyes as you meet her own, shock clear on her features. With a brief look around the room, you know she’s not the only one.

“I though he told you to stop touching him.” Your voice is deadly; calm in the way a storm is before it hits.

Riza’s wings flare out behind her once more, feathers expanding to make herself appear bigger as all eyes are on the two of you. Even the males can only watch on, a certain sense of pride and smugness welling within as they observe the scene. Yet, none are as affected as Seonghwa is.

You protected him. You defended him, and made sure this damn harpy knew her place. Despite the tension and rough patches in your relationship, you chose to fight for him. A fact which sets his entire body alight, soul blazing with that all too familiar burning desire and love he always feels when he looks at you.

Nothing could have ever prepared him for this.

“Don’t touch me!” Riza seethes, ripping her wrist out of your grip and managing to catch the skin of your palm with her nails.

Blood begins to drip onto the floor of the chamber, and the three males cannot contain the threatening snarls that escape them. Long since have their eyes flashed black, immediately shifting into offensive stances as they stare down the eldest harpy before them.

Alliance be damn, she just hurt their Queen.

“Oh, so you are aware of the notion of consent.” You hum, nodding to yourself as if you’ve just learnt something astounding.

“You bitch!” She lunges.

A screech tears from her in a blinding rage, her claws extending as she reaches for your throat.

The only assurance the three males get is you calmly brushing against their minds.

In the blink of an eye, you’ve flipped the eldest harpy over your shoulder, implementing the training both San and Jongho have taught you this past week. The fact that Riza doesn’t expect you to do this works to your advantage, momentarily stunning her, and using her own momentum against her.

She flips herself onto her stomach, attempting to lift herself back to her feet. Only, she doesn’t get very far.

Riza is forced to the ground, her face in the dirt as you step on her back, right between her wings. Each of your hands grip at the plumage of her feathers harshly, the bones groaning from the strain. Subtly, you lean in to her as you press her into the ground, your blood staining her bright feathers red.

“Get off of me!” She shrieks, arms trying, and failing to push her up from the ground. Your hold on her is too strong, and besides, every time she moves around too much, you tug on her wings, pain filled cries escaping her in tandem.

“Why should I adhere to your wishes when you continuously disrespect My King’s?” You hum, feigning innocence as you tilt your head mockingly down at her. “You challenged me first. I’m simply answering the call.”

Whispers reach your ears from around the room, overhearing some of the harpies whispering about how Riza did flare her wings at you earlier. From what you can gather, the eldest harpy sister has garnered no sympathy from the crowd.

“You wanted to test my patience. Now, you have to suffer the consequences.” You spit, tugging firmly on her wings yet again as she cries out for someone, anyone to help her. “Do not touch what isn’t yours, Riza.”

You lean in closer, dragging your foot purposely down her spine as your injured hand comes to rest between her shoulder blades. Squeezing your hand into a fist, you purposely let your blood drip onto her skin, smearing between the space between her wings as a crazed look takes over your features.

“Let this serve as your reminder,” you begin, voice booming around the room as you command everyone’s attention. “I am not some weak, pathetic mortal that you can walk all over and treat however you please. If you strike me, I will strike back. If you so much as lay a finger on someone I love without their permission, it will be the last thing you ever do. I only have respect for those who respect me, and if you ever disrespect My Kings, or me, their Queen, again, I will not be so forgiving.”

Shoving yourself off of her, you step back. Making a show of it, you wipe your hands together, cracking your neck all the while.

Your eyes flash. “Do not test me again.”

A silence so still settles over that chamber as you step away from the stunned harpy on the floor. Turning back towards the two younger sisters and Sudaem, you notice them tense as your fiery gaze meets their own. Firmly, you incline your head.

“Thanks again for today.” Your voice is somewhat gruff as you step back over to your three Kings. “We’ll be in touch.”

The moment those words escape your lips, Seonghwa’s hand is on your lower back. You can feel the way he physically trembles as his fingers press into your skin, immediately transporting you home. The foyer greets you in the blink of your eyes, and you let out a long sigh.

The others appear instantly, having both heard your sigh, and smelt your blood.

“What happened?” The worry is clear on San’s features, the memory of the first time you came back from visiting the dragons flashing through all of their minds.

“Nothing.” Your reply is short, tone pointed as you swallow thickly.

Jongho takes a step closer to assess your hand.

“I’m fine.” You raise your palm to him, the cuts now on full display.

“You’re clearly not fine, My Love,” Hongjoong’s brow creases in worry as he grabs your bleeding hand in his own. A single thought prevents him from healing you for now, instead choosing to take the pain away for as long as he can. He turns to the three males standing across from them. “What happened?”

Both Yeosang and Yunho share a look between each other, the corners of their lips twitching upwards seeing as the eldest cannot form a coherent sentence. A few words later, and they’re sharing their most recent memory of you putting that damn harpy in her place from mere minutes ago.

Seonghwa’s chest heaves, breathing ragged as he cannot tear his eyes from you. Hongjoong’s arm is currently wrapped around you waist in comfort, and the elder male cannot help the way his jaw twitches in slight irritation. That should be him right now. You protected his honour, and now, all he wants to do is worship you. He wants to show you how grateful he is, and show you just how much what you did for him means to him.

More than all of that, though, he wants to pull you into his arms and tell you how you just made him feel.

The warmth flooding his veins sets his skin tingling, electricity coursing through his very soul as he continues to stare at you. His eyes are hooded, nothing but that familiar darkness swirling within his gaze for you as he attempts to control himself for the moment. The fact that you went out of your way, not once, not twice, but three times to protect him today has an ecstasy unlike ever before running through him.

All he wants to do is please you. To show his Queen how grateful her King is for her very existence.

After all, it’s what he’s always wanted. It’s what you’ve always deserved.

Your voice manages to pull him out of his thoughts, grounding him to the very reality before him.

“I’m not jealous, I’m angry.” You seethe, pacing rather pointedly back and forth. “I’m fucking angry that that chicken-“ Mingi and Wooyoung both snort in laughter at this, “had the audacity to disrespect My King’s boundaries. Multiple times.”

“How do you think we felt, listening to her insult you the whole time?” Yunho hums knowingly, Yeosang quickly agreeing with him.

“Oh, insults I can handle.” You freeze in your spot as you turn to look at him. “After the shit I went through with Miyeon, I can handle some petty comments thrown my way. But the moment, the fucking moment those comments or actions get turned on any of you?”

If you were holding onto something, you would have already thrown it at the wall in attempts to dispel some of your anger.

The eight males straighten all around you, low, pleased growls emanating from their chests.

“I doubt that chicken will do anything else to you now, Angel.” Wooyoung chuckles affectionately, stepping towards you and wrapping you in his arms. “You’ve really put her in her place.”

“Yeah, and smearing your own blood over her back where her wings protrude?” San whistles lowly. “Power move.”

“I wish I could have been there to see it first hand.” Mingi sighs, almost wistfully.

“It was certainly a pleasant sight to see.” Yunho grins, eyes shining with that fondness you’ve become so used to from him. Not only that, but the way you can see that same pride lingering within sets your heart racing inside your chest.

A look you know is mirrored on all of their faces.

“Looks like all that training is coming to fruition much sooner than we thought.” Jongho wears a smug look on his face, chest rumbling in content as his hooded gaze zeroes in on your every move.

“How did it feel, Baby?” San asks, taking a step closer to you to join Wooyoung in holding you in his arms. “How did it feel to put that bitch in her place?”

You turn to him, sparing a glance out of the corner of your eyes as you finally get your breathing under control for the moment. Gently, your hand comes up to rest on the skin of his forearm, grounding yourself as you avert your gaze to the floor.

“Amazing.” You breathe, voice barely above a whisper as you shift your gaze up to meet Seonghwa’s eyes across from you. “Like it has always been what I’m meant to be.”

“And what is that, My Love?” Hongjoong asks, an eager gleam shining within his gaze. A look which he knows is mirrored on all of his brother’s faces right now as they watch you intently, hearts beating erratically within their chests.

Your back straightens and you take a deep breath in.

“Your Queen.”

Eight pleased snarls greet you in response, Wooyoung going as far as to affectionately nuzzle his face into the side of your neck. Even San’s grip on you tightens, but you’re slipping out of their hold in the next second. Much too soon for either of the two male’s liking.

This whole time, Seonghwa has yet to stop trembling. His eyes track your every movement as you approach him, shamelessly leaning into your touch the moment you reach up to cup his cheek.

For a moment, nothing is said between you. The silence is calm, welcome as you search his face. For what, you’re not quite sure, but the way you trail your hand down to grasp his own, tugging him towards your room for the time being, Seonghwa knows that everything will be okay.

The others don’t bother to stop you, nor do they say anything as you walk passed them. Even Kuroo seems to be nowhere in sight as you shut the door gently behind the two of you.

Softly, you guide him over to your bed, sitting with him on the edge of your mattress. A blink, and your hand is back on his cheek.

“Mars,” the way you call his name, so tenderly and full of nothing but love for him as your eyes fill with concern has a shudder caressing his spine. “Are you okay?”

He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he absolutely revels in this moment here in time with you.

Still, he cannot keep himself from shaking.

“I should be the one asking you that, My Divine.” His eyes blink open, that same fond look shining through as he stares deeply into your own.

“I’m more worried about you.” You admit lowly, thumb stroking along his cheekbone as he blinks at you. “I’m sorry I let her push your boundaries so far.”

“No, My Divine,” he shakes his head, shifting all the more closer to you as he cups your own face gently in the palms of his hands. “What you did for me today, what you said, has made me so unbelievably happy. Even now, I can hardly contain myself from ravishing you on this very bed to show you just how deep my gratitude for you lies.”

You cannot deny the way your heart simply flutters from his confession, breath catching in your throat.

“The fact that you wanted to look after me, that you wanted to protect me means more to me than you’ll ever know.” He tilts your head forward slightly in order to place a gentle kiss onto your forehead. Allowing his lips to linger against your skin for as long as possible, he mumbles, “Now, let me take care of you.”

Carefully, he reaches down to grasp your injured hand in his own, pulling away the slightest bit to get a better look at the cut. He’s glad Hongjoong listened to him, allowing for him to heal you after everything that you’ve done for him today.

You didn’t even notice you were still bleeding, blinking down at the open wound. There seems to be about three small slits, the blood flow slowing, but still enough to have droplets of red swelling against your skin.

Seonghwa’s breathing deepens, intently staring down at the blood that gathers in the palm of your hand. His touch is nothing short of tender as he caresses your wrist in his hold, and from the way you can feel his finger pressing into your pulse, you have a feeling you know exactly why he’s in such a trance.

“Please, My Queen,” he’s nearly panting at this point, eyes locked intently on your hand. “May I-“ he swallows thickly, grip tightening the slightest bit on your wrist. “I promise to be gentle, just please,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips, “may I have a taste?”

Your own breath hitches in your throat, and you notice his eyes flick upwards to meet your own. You swallow thickly. “You may.”

Seonghwa’s heart positively leaps for joy in his chest, eyes flashing black as the significance of this moment washes over his very soul. The fact that you’re even allowing him to do this, and he’ll be doing so after such a monumental event that happened today, means more to him than you’ll ever know.

Slowly, and with the greatest of care, Seonghwa raises your hand slightly, leaning down all the while. Gently, his fingers hold your palm open, his tongue lightly dragging over your wounds.

The very second that your blood touches his tongue, he moans. All sense of composure is thrown to the wind as he cleans your blood from your hand, his tongue nothing more than a gentle caress over your skin.

With every drag of his tongue, those small cuts begin to heal until there is nothing left. Still, he holds you to him, laving his mouth sensually against the skin of your palm as he begins to place wet, open mouthed kisses over your hand.

Shamelessly, he moans against you, guttural groans escaping him as he begins to trail his kisses up your palm, and to your wrist. Purposely, he laves his mouth over your pulse, feeling the way it stutters beneath his lips for him and him alone.

His tongue continuously darts out to taste your skin beneath him, slowly making his way up your arm with his kisses until he can go no further. The barrier of clothing irritates him, but that does not prevent him from wrapping his one arm around you and pulling you flush into him.

A moment later, and his forehead is pressing against yours once more.

“I love you, My Queen.” He breathes, the ghost of his breath fanning over your lips and causing tingles in its wake.

“Mars-“

“Please,” his voice is desperate, and he knows this as the words escape him in no more than a whisper, “My Divine, may I kiss you?”

This time, you don’t even have to think about your answer. Hopefully, you won’t be interrupted again, either.

“Yes.”

His lips are on yours without a second thought, pulling you impossibly closer as he pours all that he is into the kiss. The way he can feel you hum against him is simply icing on the cake, and he cannot prevent the way he begins to smile against your lips.

A moment later, and he deepens it, one hand coming up to support the back of your neck as he holds you to him. The way you shift to crawl onto his lap has a pleased growl escaping him, his eyes flashing as he feels you gently push him down onto your bed.

You can taste the faintest bit of your blood lingering on his tongue, but it doesn’t bother you at all. Not when he’s holding you like this. Not when he’s kissing you like you are the very air he needs to breathe.

He groans, hands holding onto your waist tenderly as you pull away from him in order to stare down at him from your position above him. A position he has fantasized about more time than he’d care to admit.

“My Queen,” his voice is nothing more than a pleased rumble as his thumbs begin to stroke tenderly against your skin beneath your shirt. “Kiss me more.”

You smile: a simple, seductive pull of your lips upwards as you lean into him once more. He can feel the ghost of your words against the skin of his lips, and he shivers, pulling you closer, “With pleasure.”

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aconflagrationofmyown · 7 months

Text

Patch It Up Baby

A Sarge and lil Mama fic

Summary: It’s 1977 and Jesse Presley has never loved his family more or had more chances to prove it. When America’s last dynasty implodes, it‘s up to the Presley heir to mend and rebuild what’s left. His first and least glamorous commission is to take his little sister Daisy Mae to rehab in Texas after she embraced their daddy’s rock n’ roll lifestyle a little too thoroughly. In the great game-plan of getting mama and daddy back together, keeping up appearances and bolstering up his siblings’ spirits, what Jesse doesn’t expect is Donna. Just…Donna.

Warnings: mentions of past hard drug use, mentions of withdrawls, a brief but recounted callous comment encouraging death, children dealing with parent’s divorce, publicity of said divorce, paparazzi stalking, a panic attack, Jesse being a bit hardcore like his father to a stalker and mentions of his previous violence, brief sexual scene and occasional mentions of sex.

My thanks to all the dears who helped me so much with this, who added their lines to this and aided in the plot, @prompted-wordsmith @elvisabutler @stylespresleyhearted @ab4eva @butlersxbirdy @eliseinmemphis to mention a wee few

NOTE: In this chapter the baby that is referenced as growing inside Elaine was conceived during Elvis and Elaine’s divorce, and ends up being Danny. Jesse refers to his upcoming sibling as a “last” and “surprise” baby, which he was. However he was neither the last nor the only surprise for Elaine and Elvis. Danny came and a few years later was followed by Shiloh. So uh, that means better times must be around the bend, right? But of course, Jesse wouldn’t know that. ;)

2nd Generation Refresher: as this is out of order and missing many key pieces, I understand it may not make perfect sense yet but I hope y’all enjoy getting a glimpse into the family later on. You’ll meet Elvis and Elaine over the phone and the older kids as they grow into their maturity. Everyone is a bit spread out in their different pursuits in this one compared to the last one shot when it was all young, familial domestic chaos, but there’s little updates in here I think y’all will enjoy. Xoxo

Jesse’s long and ringed forefinger pecks peevishly at the Rehab Center’s grimy rotary dial. He waits for the phone connection to be made with studied nonchalance, leaning casually against the bleach white wall in a tiny alcove, checking like a studied dandy for dirt under his nails. It’s a photogenic sorta lean, one boot crossed over the other and bell bottoms flaring in a way that naturally carries the eye to the belt buckle at his tapered waist.

Daddy taught him well enough how to cut a figure, and daddy was the reason why Jesse had any need to pretend nonchalance when calling home.

Home, he wants to scoff.

Not Graceland while this fiasco lasted.

Graceland was too storied and way too watched. Home was Palm Springs and warm weather and privacy to figure out what the hell the rest of them were gonna do with their lives and if mama and daddy could still make it. Together.

Home, where mama could cook this last little one that precious few in the outside world knew was coming, home where daddy could eat crow and stay sober.

Jesse’s teeth ache from the way he grinds them in his stress, he rubs at his cheek and wills the tenseness away, if he answered with clenched teeth mama would be able to tell. And mama would worry. And mama had done enough worrying to nearly cost her her life.

“Hello?” came through the receiver.

Jesse felt guilty for one brief second at his immense relief that she’d been the one to answer, not daddy, but then a flood of very legitimate grievances against one Elvis Presley came flooding in and he shrugged it off. “Hey mama.” he kept his voice down but he couldn’t help the smile that lifted his tone at just hearing her sound so soft and rested. “How’re you doin’?” he ventured, keeping an eye at the nurses and patients passing nearby, always aware of potential eavesdroppers.

“I’m good baby, I’m real good, how’re you holdin’ up?”

Jesse listens for any trace of a fib in her tone but for once she doesn’t sound strained when she says she’s good. He’ll take it that physically she must be finally good for the first time this whole pregnancy. “Thas good.” he whispers, cupping the receiver closer, “He takin’ care of you, mama? He’s being gentle a-and he’s -he bein’ respectful?”

Of her space and her nerves and her whole taken for granted self. He’s picked a cuticle till it’s bleeding on him, wincing he sticks it into his mouth, full lips curling around it, something his mama gave him in a face strikingly similar to his father’s. The scowl he sends at a lurking relation of some inmate in this druggie bedlam is entirely his father’s and he’s grateful for that one singular legacy. It’s come in real handy as folks come up to him and pepper him with questions on the football field like:

-is your dad strung out on coke or heroin these days? is it true what happened to your sister, man? did your daddy force himself or is your mama so pathetic she couldn’t say no to a man she was divorcin? got anythin’ I can trade off ya, Presley?-

Benign, regular family questions. Sorta questions most 20 year olds have gotta answer, for sure. He sucks harder and tastes copper round his finger.

“Oh yes. Really darling, I’m fine. We’re fine, in fact.” Mama’s talking again. That’s a bold statement. To refer to them as “we” and to say they’re fine. She’s not mean enough to lie to him now, not now it’s all crashed and crumbled and they’re trying to pick up the pieces together. His little cupcake world of happy families is sorta shot to hell by this point, anyways. Least Mama can do is be truthful about it, and learning from his daddy’s mistakes, Jesse chooses to believe her when she says she’s well.

That they’re good.

“Ok, good.” he breathes for what he realizes must be the first time in awhile, his fingers are numb and his lips feel tingly, he’s gotta stop doing that, he’s gonna pass out one day, he can feel it. “The baby?”

“Fine. We’re all fine, Butnin, I asked how you were.” she reminds him gently.

“I’m fine, mama.” he is, now that he’s back to breathing. Breathing is good for one’s health. He’s gonna keep it up. “Daisy is settling in alright, too.” he beats Mama to the question, glossing over some of the more queasy aspects of heroin rehabilitation. “T-the nurse here, uh, D-Donna, she uh, she said we oughta be over the worst of it. The uh, initial withdrawls and such.”

“Was it bad, Jesse?” poor mama, how’d it come to this that she has to ask it.

“Yeah, fairly.” he admits, recalling his baby sister’s foaming mouth and dilated eyes and seizing throat. Holding her as she scratched at herself like a maniac, forced her to tear at him instead. Donna, the nurse, has got him fixed up with plasters all up and down his forearms and hands. “But that part’s worn off.” he assumes mama knows what he means, if she hasn’t dealt with it directly with daddy she at least knows of it, even if his were all prescribed. “She’s just real sleepy now. Sleeps all day and most the night. I try to keep her talking and singing and playing stuff so, uh, so that she’s tired, ya know? So she’ll sleep heavy. She’ll get better quicker. That’s what Donna says, the more she sleeps the faster she’ll detox.”

“My sweet boy.” Mama murmurs and that’s compensation enough for how little sleep he’s gotten this past week and everything else.

“Happy to do it.” he mumbles, and he means it.

“I know,” she answers earnestly, “and we’re grateful.” they both let that lie and after a minute she speaks up again, a saucy undercurrent to her tone that throws him for a loop. It's been such ages since he heard it: “So, this Donna, you’ve mentioned her last time and before that, too. Is she an experienced nurse, dear?”

Jesse groans into his hand only to realize it’s amplifying the sound through the speaker. In his loneliness here he may have forgotten how obvious it is that he’s latched on like a limpet to the one genuine human who’ll give him something besides canned answers when his sister aspirates on her own spit in the bathroom floor.

“I-I-I lost one sister this way already.” he’d gasped to sweet little Donna and her baby cheeked self as they peeled Daisy off the floor and got her on a stretcher, “Jo, Jo died from this.”

Not a drug withdrawal, of course. Jo had drowned inside mama. But still.

-Aspirating.

It held a bizarre terror for him, that fancy word, his whole childhood and the whole nine months of waiting for Marie to come out healthy. He’d never forget asking his daddy one day at table how they could be sure this new baby wouldn’t drown, too. Daddy had gotten so angry before bursting into tears at the head of the table. Nobody had ever seen anything like it before or since. All that grief just stored up, and him scared as any of them for a repeat and no kid’s tactless inquiry and it all surface. “We don’t know.” Mama had said and daddy cut her off harshly, “No, Elaine!” he’d near yelled, “No, don’t even say it. This one’s gonna live, I'm demandin’ it.” Mama had bit her lip and replied softly, “Then we’d better start praying so.”

And that’s what they did every night for eight months, Daddy led them all in laying their hands on mama's growing belly and prayed and prayed until Marie came screaming into the world with clear lungs. And so Jesse got himself on the floor and beat at Daisy’s back while praying and Donna did it too, right with him.

“Uh, Donna’s pretty young but she’s capable.” he answers mama’s question.

“How old?” there’s nothing sly in her tone now, just genuine concern for the quality of her daughter’s care takers.

“She’s nineteen, mama,” Jesse admits with a wince, “she’s my age.”

“Ah.” and a long pause follows.

“There’s others too, but she’s the most eager, most -caring.”

“That’s good. Thank God he sent someone for y’all. I knew He would.”

“Yeah, she’s, she’s real sweet mama.” he assures.

“Oh is she?” there’s a smirk in her tone now.

“Nineteen and sweet.” that’s daddy’s voice coming through the phone from a distance and Jesse starts to stiffen. “Does this Donna happen to be pretty, too, son?”

Jesse is back to grinding his teeth and it sends a spark of pain up to his temple.

“Elvis!” His mama honest to god titters and it’s been such a while since Jesse heard that sound he suddenly feels like forgiving his daddy a few things just for that. Just for bringing that back. It makes his eyes sting.

Donna has hair the color of mamas but with a touch more red in it and it curls and fans in such a messy and unstudied way as to remind him of an artist, all while smashed beneath a nurse's cap. And her smile is sunshine incarnate and her eyes are as blue as his and her lips as plump as strawberries and she’s the first person he feels like he can trust in ages. Not that he’s trusted her with much besides showing he’s at the end of his rope with exhaustion and emotion. But she never missed a beat.

“I-I-I don’t mean to keep mentioning her it’s just-“ he bites his lip harshly before deciding to be frank, “it’s hard to trust anyone. Even here everyone is gossiping about us, they think I can’t hear ‘em but I do and it’s all the time and I ain’t going up to one of those tongue wags and asking them to help Daisy when she’s that vulnerable. I just can’t. So -so it’s Donna.” he explains.

It’s dead silent on the other end for a length of time that oughta be uncomfortable but instead it soothes something in Jesse’s soul to think that he got his point across enough to shut his smartass father up for a whole minute.

“I’m sorry this is so damn hard for you, son,” it comes in a deep rumble and bitter as he is, Jesse feels his hands sweat and his cheeks too, or else that sting has overflowed and he’s crying. In public. “I’m sorry you’re havin’ to pay for my sins.”

“I-I-I’m just glad you’re back.” he croaks and looks about the place frantically to make sure he’s unobserved.

It had been so good that day daddy walked through the threshold at Graceland looking twenty pounds lighter and stone cold sober, there to sort out his children, there to intervene for Daisy. The day mama’s body gave out on her and she puddled like so much water on Graceland’s foyer floor, as if her body trusted Elvis to take care of her family even if her mind wasn’t sure he’d forgiven her for the divorce. Daddy had been perfect that day, picked mama up like a baby and took her to the hospital, made press statements like a ordinary human sayin simply that he’d “jacked it all up and was here to make amends.”

Mama and him tucked off to California to grow that baby that made her faint and Jesse was charged with Daisy and bringing her here to Dallas. It had felt like old times, Sergeant Presley and all that famous stage presence ordering them all to battle stations.

It wasn’t till later that Jesse wondered how the hell the man had the gall to show up and demand respect. Turns out mama had kept that fire going bright enough all the kids just fell in line like nothing had ever been askew. Jesse wonders if now he can go back to being nineteen again. He’s a little scared to hope. That’s the worst of it, he’s not bitter, he’s scared.

Twenty year olds have futures with little nurses named Donna. For now Jesse is not a normal almost-twenty year old.

“I’m glad you’re back.” he repeats to his daddy, “Please…stay…back.”

It’s what he begs Daisy when she tries to bribe him to sneak her illegal shit next morning.

“Enough of that, you’re nearly sober and you’re gonna stay sober. Please stay good, f’me! Please.” he begs and weedles until her big blue eyes go from watery to scornful and she has fun at his pathetic expense but Jesse doesn’t mind. It gives her something to do, teasing him for being a blubbering softy over her. It distracts her. It assures Daisy she’s wanted, that somebody -more than one in fact- would be devastated if she didn’t win this fight.

She’s become a skeleton as the detox racks her. Hospital food tasting bad on a good appetite, it’s ever worse on a poor one and Jesse tears out clumps of his now shaggy black hair in desperation to have her stay nourished. He’s not supposed to be sleeping there overnight but Donna fibs for him. He’s not supposed to sneak shit into the clinic but Donna takes him back to her house, lets him use her stove to cook pancakes -Daisy’s favorite- and helps him smuggle them in under his leather jacket. All for the price of a motorcycle ride.

Jesse’s belly burned for nights after where her little hands had overlocked to hold onto him during the ride, burning him and cooking his guts hot and wanting even beneath the leather and the layers.

“Donna’s got the same spatulas you use, mama.” He’s reporting by the third week.

“The baby’s the size of an cantelope.” she reports back.

“What’ve y’all been doin?” he tries to make conversation and even to his own ears he sounds suspicious. When did he start to sound like Jack? How much more could daddy possibly screw this up? Knock his ex-wife up doubly? Like a cat? Jesse snorts and covers with a cough.

“Talkin’ mostly, floatin in the pool.” he can hear her shrug from here, “It’s terribly hot.”

“Mmm.” he sympathizes.

“We got a marriage license yesterday.” Daddy pipes up and Jesse lets out a stifled sob of relief. The gang is back together, it would seem.

“Cool.” he rasps before Donna passes and then approaches in concern for his blotchy face.

“You ok?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, yeah fine,” Jesse scrambles, “hay fever. Killer.”

“Who’s that, Butnin?” mama asks.

“Uh, umm nobo-“

“Is that Donna?” she guesses and he winces for the umpteenth time at this damn phone.

“Mamaaaa.” he begs.

“Can I talk to her? Please, please!” she begs in turn.

“Mama no!” Jesse pleads right back and Donna backs away with that keen sense of intruding while unable to suppress her fond smile at this cute, boyish side to such a burdened young man.

By week four Donna and him have taken to walking Daisy along the corridors, getting her strength back and making her move, her always lanky frame a featherweight between them now. They all share a laugh at how Daisy towers over Donna’s tiny self, has to hunch to use the petite nurse’s shoulder while Jesse’s height makes her strain to reach. They can use a laugh, the stares they get as Daisy’s famous face gets hauled past in pajamas and socks makes Jesse lose all appetite afterwards, his fingers going cold and his lips numb. He’d like to punch something but everything here is breakable, his sister and his family’s reputation, most of all.

It’s not fair to her and it’s more work for her but this loss of appetite worries Donna and by the end of their long day’s shift they’re together again as she force feeds Jesse tacos from a nearby stand, as they walk around the old part of the city and inadvertently become friends. He may have sucked some mango salsa from her fingers, but neither of them mention it. Too busy watching the others' faces as the sun dies out and eventually he drives her home, her body tucked behind his on his bike, wind whipping her hair that’s escaped his offered helmet.

By the fifth night of this routine he steals a kiss. It’s not hard fought, she leans into him eagerly and for the first time in his life there’s nothing about conquest in the act for him, it’s just…nice. So nice he tries it the next night while they’re sat on his bike, parked by a dance hall. It’s less nice and more like licking fire this time, suddenly his sweet intentions for her are a burning mass of need and that night Jesse goes back to his dinky motel alone and engages in wasteful practices in the shower. Donna had asked where he was staying and when he told her she’d been aghast.

“I just prefer something more -normal.” he’d said.

“Sure but -but that place is dangerous, Jesse.” she’d been so concerned for him and he gobbled it up like a starved man. “Normal folks don’t stay there even.”

“Maybe I’m not normal.” he’d quipped and Donna thought about his mother and her mafia connections, the ones with the dirt that sank Colonel Parker during the divorce, she thought of the bike clubs that Jesse is seen frequenting in the magazines, she thinks about how far the Presley’s might go to reconnect with normal folks -she holds her tongue. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, lil, I can handle myself.” he’d assured her as he thumbed out her frown.

“I know.” Donna had replied, “I mean, I’ve read about how you handle yourself.” and she’d run an admiring hand down his bicep before kissing him again.

That was another thing he liked about Donna, she didn’t play stupid about his family and she also didn’t pry. She’d read about him and Jack bustin’ those guys asses for what they did to Rosalee and she mentioned it. And left it at that. Jesse liked that maybe most of all. He also liked how everything he’d trusted her with never got related by anyone else. No nursing staff gossip or a sweet insider tip for a newspaper. Donna took his trust and tucked it tight inside her chest, right in that tender heart of her’s. He liked that about her, right next to her sweet smile and her warm nature and the feel of her breasts smashed to his back on a long ride.

“You’re in love.” Daisy goaded him the next day as she scribbled in the journal he had gotten her. They encouraged writing here and Daisy’s material had gradually shifted from juvenile doodles and giant block letters proclaiming “JESSE IS AN ASSHOLE” to something that looked alarmingly like stanzas as he snooped over the top of the pages.

Jesse colored brightly at her goad and adamantly refuted it. “That’s the drugs talkin’.” he joked.

“So you’re just passin’ time with her.”

“I-I-I dunno, Daisy.” he spluttered, “It’s not exactly hoppin’ here when you’re out cold. Can only call mama so many times a day. Gotta talk to someone.”

“Does mama hate me?” she asked suddenly and he stopped cold in the middle of tuning her guitar to stare at her dumbly. “I mean -I deserve it I just…”

“No she don’t hate you!” he found his voice, “Don’t be an idiot. That self pityin’ mope don’t help the beauty of those dark circles none. She’s just wore out.”

“I wore her out.”

“Mm well, we all had a hand.” Jesse fudges.

“Ella told me to just get on with dyin.” she reveals, and Jesse puts his pick down for good this time, taking a deep breath and trying to listen coolly. “When mama was taken to the hospital and layin’ there unresponsive, Ella said I’d brought her to that, said if I was so intent on killin’ myself that I should get on with it and spare mama the suspense.”

“Well,” Jesse tries for a moderate tone, “that was a shitty thing to say.” he concedes, “And you -don’t pay Ella no attention. She’s worried and scared to death half times that Johnny won’t come back from ‘Nam. And now she’s takin’ care of Marie on top of her own baby. She’s just a little vinegary, thas all, pregnancy hormones. Took it out on you.”

“I think she’s scared the guy she married in such a rush is gonna come back.” Daisy growled. She crossed out a line angrily and Jesse was really starting to worry about those scribbles.

Jesse let her finish before he asked, “Why’s that?” It’s not like he got much thinking done lately between the court hearings and getting his head knocked about on the turf.

“She don’t love him.” Daisy rolled her eyes heavenward in an action that mama would have looked on with annoyance. Jesse glared at Daisy in her stead.

“People love in different ways, Daisy.” he sighed even as he had no bullets to fight her argument, Ella had left in uncharacteristically rash fashion, seemingly unable to take the atmosphere at home anymore. “And she says John’s a good man.”

“All that means is he don’t beat her.” Daisy snarked.

“Well, that’s a step towards romance.” Jesse joked back and they let the subject lie.

Each day Daisy gets stronger and writes more and more in that little book. Not that Jesse sees her at it most times, it’s just the pen she wedges in to keep her place gets closer and closer to the middle, and then towards the back. Snooping isn’t an option but he imagines they’ve got a lotta heartbreak on those pages, maybe bled out like lyrics.

Now days he makes the walk with her without Nurse Donna, and it’s both sad and a victory in one. Now that she’s strong enough to notice the stares Daisy takes delight in feebly flipping off her voyeurs and that’s a fight Jesse doesn't have it in him to win. If it makes her grin, he allows it, that stupid, crooked little boy grin that his daddy plopped right onto a young girl’s face. She’s perfect, she’s perfect and getting healthy and the stares don’t matter much. Not till he hears a voice he’s become very attuned to, snap at some idling nurses:

“Haven’t you got any work to do?”

And his head spins like a top on his neck and sure enough, that was Donna, temper snapping for what might be the first time in her sweet life, and Jesse feels his tingly gratitude down to his very toes.

“She’s alright, that one.” Daisy smirks beside him and little does he know her enthusiasm stems partly from last night when Daisy gave a little sisterly admonition to Miss Donna that her brother liked her and if she didn’t treat his soft heart gentle like, then Daisy was gonna unstring her guitar and end her with a metal cord.

“How ya doin, mama?” he asks her on a Tuesday and even to himself his voice sounds better. He may be far more tired than he was when he first came in here but his relief at Daisy’s progress colors his tone in hope.

“Doing good Butnin, real good.” she sounds good alright, more than good and Jesse uncurls his fist and let’s himself relax a little as he gives his daily report on Daisy. And Donna.

“Rosalee told me she’s gonna pop in and see y’all.” Mama informs him.

“Good time for it,” Jesse hums, “Mae Mae’s better enough to chat but she could use the encouragement.”

“I bet.” Mama sounds sad again. That won’t do.

Jesse lip curls up in mischief as he asks next, “Jack been by to see ya?” he inquires about that little sea creature hybrid he’s been missing and must call brother, “Brought any dolphins home to meet ya yet?”

“Oh Jesse! Stop!” she laughs a sweet peal of laughter and Jesse smugly twirls the phone cord round and round at his success, “He’s coming to dinner tonight, he has been too caught up before, he’s been out on the ocean for six weeks! I’m scared to see the state of his skin!”

“Welllll,” Jesse drawls, “No way the sun could burn that dimple off so, he’ll be fine.”

“He actually saved someone’s life, uh, day before yesterday.” Daddy’s voice rumbles through the receiver and Jesse’s eyes roll backwards a little at the way he’s never caught his parents separate on this trip, not even once. He can picture the patio phone and its loungers and its umbrellas right now, and imagines that daddy is probably cradling mama’s belly like he can push that magic healing through the skin and make that baby the healthiest infant California’s ever seen.

“Did he now?” Jesse admires, “Makin’ us proud, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, hauled someone who’d been adrift for ages, right up into his boat.” Daddy elaborates without a hint of mockery in his proud tone and Jesse smiles to himself.

“Bout time he put those muscles to use, s’not like he uses them when carrying snails around.” he teases back because having a serious and admiring conversations about Jackson might be a step too far in the healing process. Not this early, mama resting and then getting remarried and cooking a baby is plenty for the plate. Conceding that Jack isn’t a walking disaster is a little too much too soon. Heroics aside.

By week six at the Center they’re into behavioral shit and Jesse can freely admit this isn't the Presley family’s strong suit, but he’s gotta hand it to his sister that she is less preoccupied during it than he is. Out of respect for Rosalee’s interest in the same profession, Daisy pays a decent amount of attention to the therapist’s counsel. Jesse would be more attentive if the first fifty pages of Red West’s freshly published tell-all of his family’s secrets wasn’t banging around in his head. Somehow, somehow it’s not even the dirt that gets to him, makes him stagger out into the hall after a while and crumple against a cart and let the world go dim.

It’s the sweet stuff, the gentle stuff, the stuff that was only ever supposed to be theirs as a family and that fuckers like Red West were goddamn privlidged to be witnesses to, spilled out for all the world to pick apart and psycho-analyze. He hasn’t told Daisy and now she’s asleep and as he’s on the floor in the deserted hall he finds there’s really nothing stopping him from doing what he wants. So he panics and lets himself work up to a dim eyed fury and only the cool shock of a wet rag against his neck brings him back from it.

“Just breathe for me, honey.” That little Texan ascent is saying as he gulps into a brown bag with the embarrassed realization he’s had a panic attack. Sure Daddy had them at his age, too, but that was to go perform in front of hundreds of folks. This is just from reading Red Fuckin’ West’s bad prose. He can hear himself laughing, hiccuping little laughs of derision at himself and it, and Donna cooing all the while.

“You can’t drive your bike like that.” she points to his still shaky hands half an hour later.

It’s comforting watching Donna shut the place down, not that it’s totally abandoned at night, not at all, but just watching her finish up her duties and stash away her papers and arrange her workspace feels as if the heart of the place, the vitality if it, is turning in for the night. And he’s going with it.

He follows Donna like a lost puppy and she doesn’t mind it, he’s sweet and soft spoken and no matter what she does she only gets weak chuckles from him.

His boisterous charm and tired joviality is threadbare and she feels like it’s the right thing to do to slip her hand into the crook of Jesse’s elbow, to gently tow him out of the Center’s fluorescent lit maze and out into the night. He giggles at her guiding him into the passenger side, a soft little noise of trusting gentleness that is bizarrely attractive in such a capable man. He folds his long limbs into her dinky car and waits patiently for her to get into her side.

“What?!” Donna asks him as Jesse keeps gazing at her with big blue eyes and droopy pink lips as she turns the key and fidgets with the windows to get some air flow, “Am I gonna have to buckle you in?” she teases at the way he’s just melted into the seat, head leaned against the headrest and long limbs folded where they first flopped.

“Mmmmmaybeee.” Jesse drags it out and giggles again -and she knows it is common to be a little drunk, a little silly, a little loopy after a panic attack as severe as the one she found him having, but she’s never heard of it or seen it be so cute. Against her better judgment to coddle a grown man, Donna leans over the small console between them and reaches across Jesse for the seatbelt, getting the strongest whiff of his natural musk and spicy cologne she’s ever gotten, it makes the musty cab of the car feel ten times hotter than it was moments ago and she fumbles in her haste to hurry up and distance herself.

It’s silly, Donna thinks, she’s being silly to find this procedure of bucking him in a intimate thing when they’ve done far more, when they’ve kissed heatedly on his bike and danced wildly to that new Elton John record in her off time. They’ve been more forward than this but somehow his pliant and drowsy magnetism has her heart thudding and her body responding in ways not even his glorious kissing could produce. But the way his breath puffs from his lips and the way he looks at her as if she’s everything he wants in this moment makes it hard to brush this interaction off as a nurse with her patient. Or a friend helping a friend. Donna brought Jesse in because he was physically unfit to drive, she is being kind because he’s obviously had an awful day, he’s loose and pliant because of exhaustion -these are familiar things to Donna, they are integral to her vocation and her expertise.

And yet there’s those eyes of his, soft and burning all at once, catching her skin on fire and soothing it right after.

It does nothing to make her breathing calm as she drags the buckle across his soft yet lean belly, down the taper of his waist, so willowy and elegant that it makes her want to cry in envy, sliding it to latch at his hip.

“Donna.” he rasps before she can pull away, his hand shakily coming up to touch her cheek and she stalls, feeling as scared as a kid for what he’ll say next, “You take the sunshine with ya, everywhere you go. M’sorry for those poor suckers we’ve left.” he jerks his head towards the blazing ball of light that is the Center amidst the dark parking lot and Donna blinks at the compliment, absorbing it slowly as his fingers on her cheek do their best to wipe her mind blank.

“Daisy is gonna be fine.” Donna assures, scrambling to order her reassurances for maximum comfort, “She’s getting stronger and she’ll be asleep the whole time we’re gone. A-and we gotta take care of you, ok? Can’t have you going down too, can we?”

“Okay.” he whispers and she realizes her hand is still pressed to his belly. “I-I’ve had a bad day.” he admits, and it’s the first self focused thing she’s ever heard out of this forever uncomplaining boy.

“Let’s uh, let’s get you home -rested. Let’s get you rested.” she propels herself back over to her side of the car and jerks the gear more forcefully than needed before driving them out. She’s not sure they actually talked about it or that it was agreed to verbally but they somehow both know they’re headed to her rented house, the place with the ratty sofa and the duck taped windows and the malfunctioning stove that Jesse cajoled into working long enough to make Daisy batch after batch of fluffy pancakes. She had nearly sprung on him back then, taken him down to the floor and ravished him for being such a nice human being.

The bar might be low for men, but since that day, Donna had learned that Jesse Presley was more than lean legs, a nice ass, a gorgeous face and an earnest desire to please. Jesse Presley was a good man. And so Donna felt no qualms about taking him to her house, plopping him down on the sofa after fetching sheets, and letting his grabby hands tug her down atop him for a goodnight kiss. A kiss that lasted, and lasted, and lasted. Lasted until he was kissing between her breasts, the neck of her tshirt tugged down in a way that would deform its shape forever as she was idiotically scrambling to undo his clunky belt, eager to see the expanse of perfect, golden skin that his face and neck promised.

Donna had never gone this far with a man before but some inner voice told her it was a once in a lifetime chance, not to sleep with a Presley, but to ease a boy who needs so much comfort right now he literally can’t breathe. Jesse’s kisses don’t stop and she doesn’t try to make them, he’s inexorable while being slow, and it’s a combination she’d never witnessed before. Perhaps if he’d rushed her, or made an outright pass, she’d have had time to consider, to deny. But he just kissed her and kissed her as his hands mapped and worshiped her, caressing her all the way from his allotted couch to her bed until she was beneath him, accepting him inside her body like she had let him in her heart.

Idly Donna wondered how many girls his father took and left with the same good intentions, winders if the generations will just keep at it, on and on. It doesn’t feel trite though, she’s not sure if it’s because it’s her first time or because of how intensely tender he is, or the way he cries partway through the act.

“Hay fever, sorry.” Jesse insists weakly.

“Killer this time of year.” Donna agrees, stroking down the sweaty muscles of his rippling back, “For me it’s the cedar.”

She feels trusted with his tears, cherished by his revenant kisses, and never once does he give her cause to regret it, to panic. It’s slow and needy, strong but kind, the whole way through -just like him. Donna’s eyes sting at the realization he’s giving her such a sweet first time, even if he doesn’t know it. She finds herself sniffling with him over the thought that it might be the only time.

“Thank you, thank you.” he gushes, sweet as anything in a thin whisper, after he scrambles out of her and she adds her hand to his to finish him off. He had dexterously snagged a pillow case off one of her pillows and after it had served its purpose, he dropped the sodden thing to the ground.

There’s nothing trite about the way they lay in sweet silence afterwards, the way he doesn’t even try to collect his autonomy but instead winds those long limbs around her and keeps his face on her sweaty chest. “You’re a rare one Donna.” he praises, sleepy and gentle over her heart.

Donna struggled against sleep for the next hour, desperate to engrave the feeling of him laying melted on her in peaceful slumber and the pounding ache between her legs that had finally known a man. Something like virginity that she simply hadn’t gotten around to tossing away, was suddenly something very dear and painfully sentimental to her now it was gone. Now it was now wrapped up in soft kisses, large hands entwining hers to the sheets and raspy endearments. She fell asleep propped against the pillow with his head on her belly, repeating to herself at the rhythm of her pulse down there -it’s just a fling, it’s just a fling, don’t expect more, you hopeful idiot.

Cold sheets, or the sound of the door shutting from his exit or the scratchy presence of a note the next morning were conspicuously absent when Donna woke up.

Instead she heard the sound of gentle babbling, like the way a person might talk to a pet and combined with the gentle wriggling she sensed beneath the sheets, Donna engaged briefly in a time warp and wondered when she got a puppy and who was talking to it. But there was no puppy here, instead, as cognisense fully set in she frantically sat up and beat at the wriggly sheets, Donna found Jesse, still long and lean and naked as she hazily recalled from the dimness last night, wedged between her legs and chatting with her muff, placing chaste kisses to it that barely parted her outer lips.

“No way.” she said her foggy morning thoughts aloud at the sight of this beautiful boy still with her in the daylight and more pressingly -face to face with her used and unwashed and unshaven privates. “Oh what are you going to do?” she wailed as that mortifying relaxation sunk in. “Why’re you down there, you nut?“

“Good Mornin’ to you too, miss.” Jesse laughed and his breath tickled her core that was feeling strangely achy and happy all at once. “I’m gonna lick your wounds, silly.” he slapped her thigh gently as he went on as if to reprimand her while tugging up a mildly bloody sheet corner as evidence for his displeasure, “Donna, ya shoulda said, dear.”

“Oh it’s not a big deal.” she insisted in a bit of a panic to get him away from her vagina and in an attempt to convince herself it didn’t mean much. “You were so good. Don’t worry about it.”

“But you shoulda told me.” he insisted gently.

“There wasn’t much time for talking.” she cringed as soon as she said it but he took that in stride after realizing she was not insinuating any wrongdoing on his part.

“Are you hurtin’ much?” he asked gently and he was still down there, broad and smooth shoulders wedged between her stubbled thighs, tapering down to his tiny waist and that peachy butt and then those legs that were hanging off the edge of her bed like so much lumber. “Donna?” he asked with laughter in his voice as her eyes glazed over in review of him.

“No, not much, you were very nice. It felt great.” she insisted truthfully and ended with a little hiss as he ran his knuckles along her petals. “I mean, I-I’m honestly not sure I’m up for more activities right this minute but it’s not bad. It’s not hurting. Please don’t worry about it.”

“Did you even…peak?” he asked and his face flushed red like he was most ashamed of not being sure of that.

“No I-I was mostly just soaking up the whole…experience.” she admitted because it was true and didn’t strike her as deplorable at all. He had been big and she was new and it wasn’t quite comfortable enough to get there. Which hadn’t diminished the experience or changed the point of their tryst anyway. “That wasn’t the point of it all anyway.” she said softly while reaching to push his hair out of his eyes. It had grown inches since she first met him. “Not for me.”

Jesse’s face softened quickly at that. Like she had struck a nerve and soothed him all at once. “Yeah,” he nodded, “it wasn’t for me either.” and it feels like a far larger confession that it is for both of them, “Which is rich comin’ from the man who got to come.” he laughed at himself right after and she did too. “Now spread these legs so hims can do a lil community service on hers poor widdle clam shell.”

Donna never would have thought such babyish, almost infantilizing gibberish could be so authoritative but the potency of its endearing qualities, with his skilled tongue and earnest desire to please, ensured her cooperation so that they didn’t leave the bed for hours yet. Donna soon forgot her unshaved legs, her need for a glass of water and the fact she’d forgotten to set an alarm -and then when she recalled that detail in a lull of his caresses, she recalled that it was Saturday and she was off. And then he wiped her mind blank again.

It wasn’t till halfway through the radio blasting Dancing Queen and Jesse discoing in jeans and nothing else while flipping an omelet that it seemed to occur to him there was a life outside Donna’s little place and Donna’s fluffy hair and Donna’s ratty rented flat, and Donna’s sunshiny smile. She watched as reality intruded on his creaseless features, an instant pucker and burdened eyes clouding that ethereally sweet face as the outside crashed in.

A world outside Donna. It felt as good to see how well she’d helped him to escape as it was painful to watch it all come back down on him, weighing like a mantle on those strong shoulders.

“Shi-eeet!” he slid to a screeching stop of his jiving in his sock feet across her linoleum floor. “I was gonna call mama, see how they’re takin’ the book release stuff.”

Donna had vaguely heard gossip about what she supposed was the book in question. A dirty little tattle tale by a fired employee is all it sounded like to her. “It’s bad then?” she asked.

“Shitty enough grammar to make me puke.” he joked bashfully and she supposed that it was his way of asking to drop it. “What’re you doin’ with your weekend? Like today? What else ya doin?”

“Not much.” she admitted, crossing her arms over the baggy shirt she’d donned to watch him cook her breakfast. “Um, I suppose I should get more groceries-“

“-I’ll make ya a list and we can go.”

“-and, oh. Ok. Yeah. And umm, well, I need to check on my dad. I usually spend my Saturday dinners with him.”

“Oh.” Jesse bit his lip, “I-I can go…you wouldn’t mind me taggin’ along for the groceries bit?” he asked.

“Of course not!” she tried to laugh off her butterflies, “Are you worried I’ll buy the wrong flour?”

“No, I’m worried you’ll buy margarine instead of good wholesome butter.” he growled gravely as he looped his arms around her waist and tugged her to him, laying his chin on the top of her head like she was dear to him and the butterflies went rogue in her belly against all her attempts to stay untangled. “I just wanna be with ya.” he admitted and she shuddered, winding her arms around his willowy waist and clinging on.

“I’d like that.” she admitted.

“Lemme just call my Mama real quick?” he asked.

Donna cringed before admitting, “I don’t have a working landline.”

“What?” Jesse pulled away just enough to look her in the eye, his own wide in protest, “Good lord darlin’, that won’t do. Livin’ alone and no phone for me to hear if you’re alright. Well, lemme grab my shirt and- help yourself to the omelet, baby. And remind me to get ya a damn phone!” he was already disappearing down her hall and she stared at the egg and ham concoction before her, wishing the terrible anxiety she felt over much she liked him would calm so she could taste it.

They ended up swinging by the Center first as Jesse acted like he’d committed a murder when noon rolled around and he hadn’t checked on Daisy yet. Donna felt for him and recalled the feel of his tongue too clearly to a fuss as she flicked her blinker to turn left, away from groceries and phones, and back towards her workplace. Some little part of her hoped he’d forget his promise to buy her one, it was extravagant and a little embarrassing.

The thumping beat of Springsteen’s Thunder Road filled her car with verve that matched the muggy exhaust tainted breeze that whipped through the windows and the noonday sun that glinted off Jesse’s rings as his hand wind surfed out the window.

“I got to play bass on this one.” Jesse murmured like someone might mention they had a hand in scoring a strike in their local bowling championships.

“What?! On this? You’ve worked with Springsteen?” she cried in shocked admiration.

“S’all my mama’s doin’.” he insisted as if regretting he’d made a deal of it. “A-and daddy. He taught me bass.” it’s the first personal thing about his daddy he’s divulged and Donna tucks it away for safe keeping.

“Aren’t you marvelous.” Donna swears.

“Hardly,” he blushes, “S’just when your name is Presley and your mom’s got her hand on the levers -artist’s tend to let ya mess about.”

“I somehow doubt they’d let a complete dud jam on their album.” she snarks and he bites his lip and doesn't retort.

The harmonica warbles on and Jesse’s hand raps out a rhythm on the car door. “-show a little faith there’s magic in the night! You ain’t beauty but hey you're alright, and that’s alright wi’me.” he sings to her, far more melodious than Springsteen’s grit and his eyes sparkle far more than stereo light ever could.

Once parked he worries his lip between his fingers as he stares at a faintly familiar car parked by his bike. It’s probably telling enough that Jesse left the thing here and went home with someone else. Or maybe folks will assume he wandered the streets and dive bars all night. At least that would spare Donna’s reputation while at it. “How ‘bout I go in first a-and if you want you come in later or -if ya don’t mind, you could wait out here? I’ll be back! Soon, I-I won’t dawdle, I swear!” he assures.

“Jesse, take all the time you need.” she smiles at him, leveraging her chair to lay back as sunbeams bathe her in a lemony glow, “I’ll be out here working on my tan.”

His smile is so full of relief that Donna realizes he was worried she’d be offended by his distancing himself and if he weren’t so relieved then maybe she’d be tempted to be offended. But she can’t bring herself to be. It’s all a mess in her head but she figures she can not make it worse by being accepting of the fact he doesn’t want to be seen with her. It’s ok, his smile makes that ok, as does the way those long fingers unclasp his seatbelt and the way those long limbs lean over her in a mirroring of last night and she feels those plush pink lips smooch her forehead, long and devoutly.

“Sit tight, baby.” he commands with his lips barely leaving her skin and then he’s out the door and strutting across the parking lot without a seeming trace of nervousness.

Rounding the hall down towards Daisy’s room he passes by the familiar wall phone and stops in his tracks at the sight of Rosalee propping Daisy up while having the receiver wedged between their cheeks. For a flash in his mind they don’t look a day over six with their scrunched faces and contrasting hair, always so compatible while entirely opposites.

Rosalee spots him first as Daisy is busy yacking at whoever they’ve held captive on the line and her blue eyes light with sweet recognition as she teases, “Well hey loverboy, good morning. Or is it afternoon?”

That makes Daisy look up and she answers someone on the line by proclaiming, “Yeah, he juusssst nowww walked in.”

“Who is that?” Jesse mouths, his forehead a washboard of wrinkled anxiety that Rosalee can’t bear anymore so she cracks and admits,

“It’s Mama, silly.”

Jesse relaxes a little on that account, moreso for the fact Daisy has obviously gotten past her presumption of being hated by their mother, if the giggles and gumption in her talk are any clue.

“Well yeah, I think he can talk,” Daisy is saying, “I mean I dunno, I’ll ask him. He looks like he’s missing a few ounces of fluids. You still got your tongue Jess?”

“Hush up!” He begs, pink in the face at the thought of mama thinking he’s been sleeping around when he was entrusted by Daddy to take care of his sister.

Daisy sticks her tongue out at him and Jesse finds that more reassuring that she’s stone cold sober than any other behavior he’s seen from her in rehab. Checking to make sure their squabble is unwitnessed, Jesse turns back and sticks out his own.

“Eww put that away, where’s it even been this morning?” she groans and his closes his mouth so fast his sisters become convinced of what had just been a suspicion.

“Oooh…” Rosalee coos.

“Nope nope nope.” He silences them with a meaningful hand chopping motion to the throat, “I kinda had an episode last night, and uh, Miss Donna was kind enough to lemme ride with her since my hands were shakin’. That’s it.”

“Oh Jesse!” Mama’s concern is loud enough over the phone to blast Daisy’s eardrums and reach his own, “Are you ok? You gotta make sure you eat and sleep. Did you sleep? She taking care of you? Baby? Are you -is he there, y’all?”

Rosalee scootches aside and pats the tiny sliver of white wall between the twins in invitation and resignedly he wiggles between them as Daisy laughs and tugs on the cord to help it reach him. Tucked together like this it feels doubly absurd to Jesse to be so fretted over and also, entirely soothing. He flings a lanky arm around each girl’s shoulder and squats a little to help Daisy reach his ear as she holds the receiver for him.

“Mama I’m fine.” he insists mid giggle as Rosalee’s finger finds a way to his armpit.

“Yeah, so fine you can’t drive!” Mama retorts and it relieves him that she obviously thinks the best of him, that he was in bad enough shape to go to a random girl’s house and not that he’s behaving like an absolute horndog in a new city. Just to make her not worry, he half wishes she’d think worse of him and just be displeased.

“Alright so, maybe I snooped through Red’s book yesterday.” Jesse admits since he intended to see how daddy and she were taking it, after all. “And it’s such shitty storytelling I got a little worked up. You know how I am when folks lyrics are dry a-“

“-Red wrote a book?” Rosalee interrupts as does Daisy with a-

“-am I in it?”

Jesse purses his lips and nods, twirling the phone cord and waiting quietly for Mama to say something.

When she does it’s a droll, “Red made takin’ LSD sound boring.” And between Donna’s sweet lovin’ and mama’s superhuman ability to shrug off the most defaming shit on the planet, Jesse is left smiling and burdened with only one small anxiety.

“How’s daddy takin’ it?” he asks as his ear gets pinched from Daisy mashing her face to his, eager to overhear. Rosalee is just face watching and Jesse knows she’ll get more information from that than if she listened.

“Oh, a bit hard.” she admits, “It's just so -so- tacky. To do that to a friend!” now she sounds mad, “When did we ever hurt that narcissistic fool? If our lifestyle was so unbearable he coulda quit, he had two decades to do it.”

“Yup.” Jesse pops the word for emphasis and notices someone down the hall has a disposable camera pointed at their little huddle. He supposes they do look a little bizarre, stacked in the alcove like overly matured sardines.

“Anyone giving you trouble about it?” Mama adds in concern.

“No. You know it jus’ came out yesterday and I-I-I haven’t been out and about much today.” Jesse admits and Daisy makes suggestive hand motions at waist level that he pointedly ignores.

“He predicts that when we’re in our fifties we’ll get back together.” she murmurs.

“Spoilers!” he hisses and mama laughs as does someone in the background that could only be daddy. “A real, genuine prophet, that Red.” Jesse wheezes. “And daddy,” he hollers loudly in hopes he’ll hear, “he were wrong about me hating the damn rollercoaster. I shit my pants everytime outta joy, I swear. Don’t let nobody make ya doubt that.”

For a minute all he can hear are mama’s suppressed belly laughs before Daddy’s rings clatter on the other end and the kids can almost hear the scratch of a sideburn against the mouthpiece, “Y’all can hear me?” he rumbles through and Jesse’s face gets smashed from both sides as the girls crowd in.

“Yeah we can hear ya daddy.”

“Alright then listen to me, lil munchkins,” his voice sounds as deep and smooth as chocolate, even over a trashy phone speaker, and they all hypnotically sway in anticipation of his next word, “y’all know how much I love each of ya, that I’d happily burn down my trophy room ‘fore I let anythin’ happen to the window boxes with yer various uh, weeds and rocks and such in ‘em that Red was always mockin’ and uh, I wanna apologize to ya, from the bottom of my heart, that I hindered y’all in your quest to strap the Wests to Roman Candles that one christmas. Ya had the right idea.”

Jesse’s day gets magically better after that phone call, like one sentence from Daddy can patch up his whole life. But deep down he knows, it’s a thread of Donna running through the whole thing, buoying him up, smoothing out the creases, patching up the little cuts. It makes daddy’s voice sound richer and his promises truer and Jesse holds the receiver and smiles as Rosalee makes plans to drive back for classes and visit them while she’s at it and Daisy suggests baby names.

Things are as they should be and somehow that means he ends up walking out into the parking lot with his two sisters, one of whom was technically not released and piling into Donna’s beat up Oldsmobile and taking off for the grocery store as if that were a sane thing to do. Rosalee tries her best to meet the young woman driving them and Donna is anything but cagey, yet with Daisy’s blathering about her and Jesse’s blushing over her and Donna’s slightly overwhelmed joy at it all -they make for a chaotic entourage picking out butter and pickles and hamburger buns.

Next stop, Donna watches as Jesse and Daisy spend a solid twenty minutes weighing the value of different landlines when all Donna needs it for is to answer if she’s been murdered or not and during this analysis she learns from Rosalee that the auburn haired girl with the bashful grin is going to school at Stanford. Nearly gave her father a heart stack, she laughs when she tells it, but she wanted to study psychology and be nearer him -the subtext that Elvis was more often in Vegas than at his own home goes unsaid and Donna doesn’t bat an eye.

For what the papers have to say about this family, there’s never once been due credit given for their love and comradery. It couldn’t have been easy and maybe it was far from good at times, but the Presley’s didn’t create this much love from a vacuum. Some aching part of Donna wants to meet them all and watch them in their natural habitat, swear to them that she gets it, that she’s so starved for it herself she’d trade anything for such affectionate dysfunction.

The phone Jesse buys her has no superior merits in static or connection but it does have a zebra print handle on it that Daisy insisted was the height of chic, and he insisted in turn that Donna deserved sexy things. Looking down at her overalls and plaid shirt, Donna has to agree she’s not exactly in Jesse Presley’s league.

Before she can think on that for too long and get herself into knots about it, they’ve piled back into the car and Daisy is eagerly asking if they can get dinner -if she can eat outside of her fluorescent lit, sterile white prison. Donna feels for her and she can see Jesse trying to formulate an excuse, how now is time to let Donna be as she’s gotta go visit her dad. If she weren’t so convinced these dear kids actually liked hanging with her she’d never have the guts to suggest it but they’re too honest and forthright in their affection for her to doubt it so she hears herself suggesting:

“Y’all could come meet my dad? H-he loves your dad’s music. Learned drums awhile back just to match Fontana. I know he’d love y’all to bits.” Rosalee and Daisy raise a chorus of agreement in the backseat but Jesse hesitates and Dona refuses to be hurt by it. He’s obviously the more cautious of them, and he’s got reason to be. Donna thinks she saw someone taking photographs of them all as they came out of the market.

There’s also the unspoken worry about putting Daisy out in public so soon with surroundings teaming with alcohol and other temptations. It makes Donna clarify, haltingly, “It would be somewhere quiet, wholesome. My dad he’s um, he’s a recovering alcoholic, see? That’s how I got into nursing, mama left to go get more from life and I stayed to take care of him. He’s been clean for a good bit now but -he could use the friendship.”

Daisy looks like she’s about to take offense at being considered only fit for friendships with washed up drunks and Donna gets it, that it’s touchy but it needed to be said if they’re going to meet him. Rosalee intervenes instead with a soft,

“Sounds good to me, we’d love to meet him. For my schedule it works, doesn't it Jesse?” she asks, “I mean, as long as it’s somewhere quiet? Maybe out of the city proper?”

“Yeah,” Donna agrees, already having a joint in mind, “we’ll get out of the city. Maybe out by Plano? They’ve got good barbecue at this one place.”

“Jess?” Rosalee asks again, softer this time.

Jesse just turns around in his seat, long arm bracing himself and his bulging forearm stretched across the console and Donna’s mouth waters at the popping veins and nimble fingers as she watches him stare a mute Daisy down. “Can I take you for barbecue with Miss Donna and her daddy and trust you to behave yourself?”

“Oh for fu-“

“Daisy?” Jesse cuts her off, dead serious and so easily authoritative that Donna’s legs rub closed despite the inappropriate context. He’s not all sweet boy and needy young heir and it gives her shivers. “I mean I don’t want even a raised middle finger outta ya, you hear me? Just imagine whatever you do is gonna be plastered everywhere, think about that and we’ll go. We got a deal?”

Daisy seems to weigh her anger at her brother’s bossiness with the dire need for something besides hospital food and after twenty tense seconds of belligerence she gives in with a hoarse, “Deal. Gosh it’s not such a big thing, relax.”

That night Donna’s love for them gets cemented. They’re only licking their fingers of sticky sauce and ordering five different smoked briskets to try but the kids make conversation like they’ve learned a bit of everything from everywhere. Which in retrospect, Donna assumes that maybe they have, exposed as they were to the best and the worst, but she didn’t expect it to be so natural and kind, so outwardly focused where Jesse pulled anecdotes about the Korean War from her dad she’d never heard and a mention or two of Ma from happier times after one of Rosalee’s queries.

Everyone just talks, talks about the stuff they want to talk about but usually don’t. It’s cathartic and Donna hasn’t seen her daddy so recharged in ages. Jesse ends the night digging in his deep pockets for something that ends up being a guitar pick.

“I-it’s my d-daddy’s, sir,” he stammers as he puts it in Donna’s father’s weather palm, “wish he were here to swap stories but I-I-I thought maybe you’d like it. Till you can m-meet him.”

Her daddy takes it gratefully and thumbs over it with a fondness Jesse has seen a lot of folks show for the man he knows too well and they love more than seems possible for strangers. It never fails to humble him and reignite some apprecIation of his own for Elvis’ warmth that’s made it all the way into the heart of a middle aged vet from Waxahachie Texas.

“I’d sure like to meet the man someday.” Her daddy admits. “And thank ya for dinner, young Presley.”

“I hope you will meet him, I think ya will.” Jesse stammers and can’t bear to meet Donna’s surprised gaze, “We owe your Donna a heap, sir. Mama is about ready to come down here and eat her up she’s so grateful. And I uh, I intend to not lose touch.” he mutters the last bit and it makes Donna feel close to faint with hope that her father misheard as they go on to talk about how the press has treated Elaine Presley and eventually say their good nights. Jesse won’t meet her eye, just tucks her into his armpit like her short height mandates for a hug and says goodnight. After the heat of last night she thinks she’ll waste away from such propriety.

As she gets in the car to drive her dad home, working the shift, a bright light slices across their windshield and after the sparks clear from Donna’s dazzled eyes she realizes someone, probably with a professional grade flash, just snapped a photo of them. They’re ordinary people who had barbeque with the kids of a famous man and now they’re being stalked. It’s not fair to them or the Presley’s and her dad rages against the unfairness of it and how nice those kids were all the way back to his place. It keeps Donna from crying over the notion that Jesse went through all those motions this morning to make her think he liked her more than just a lay, and now it’s a sideways hug and a terse “goodnight.”

Jesse’s heart hurts as he drives the girls back to the center in Rosalee’s car, smiling softly as he listens to their protests against his ratty motel and noticing the car behind trailing their every turn. He knew that the rehabilitation was wrapping up and he knew they were getting sloppy at laying low. There’s been a countdown in his head that’s kept him going, after all, and they’re so close now to the finish line that he had burned out and fallen into Donna’s arms for the last leg. The fact it is the last leg makes him jittery with a thousand thoughts at once. The chief one is how unfair it all is.

For her mainly.

But if there’s one thing Donna taught him last night, it was to take a little time to hurt for himself. By the time he sneaks Daisy back into the Center under a cloak of darkness and drives Rosalee to a hotel fit for housing a nice girl like his sister is, his heart just about wants to burst with hurt. He sends Rosalee up to her room with a kiss to the forehead and plans to have her car back in time for her to drive back tomorrow. He goes cback out to the parking lot and making a beeline for the beater Mercedes’ parked three rows down from his ride. He raps on the window and it doesn’t even take the gun in his boot to freak the unexpecting and nosy little bastard in the driver seat.

“Hey, brother.” Jesse greets as the guy actually rolls the window down in his panic on being confronted, “You like my route?” he asks congenially but there’s an edge to his voice that isn’t false bravado, “I noticed ya liked the barbecue, too. Wanna come up to my room and watch me sleep? Or were you gonna wait till I leave and try that with my sister? Hmm?”

The guy, like most guys in the nation, knows what Jesse did to the last fella who tried something with Rosalee, how his brother Jack and his friend Sam and the whole of Sam’s squad from the Memphis police just sipped bourbon while Jesse drug the fucker by the balls down S. Riverside Dr. It makes the smirking boy at his window a lot more imposing than his decent stature, hippy length hair and strong hands seem on first impression. “N-no man I’m here- I’m here to- uh-“

“Just hand me the damn film rolls and we’ll part ways, ok?” Jesse holds out his hand expectantly and the guy hesitates a bit. Sighing heavily, Jesse reaches into his back pocket for the persuasive shit and he can see the man’s panic show in his eyes again as Jesse reaches, only for it to be replaced by confusion as he’s presented with a badge of sorts. “This here badge was given to me by President Nixon himself, alright? Back when he asked to meet my daddy in the Oval Office, and he gave me this badge and it’s got the authority to demand such private property as photographs of my face and my sisters’ faces, ya understand? I wouldn’t wanna get you into trouble none by writing a damn reportc a. Just -hand ‘em over, k?”

The guy still hesitates, doubtful he’ll get off so easily and wary to give in and still get his ass handed to him. To be perfectly honest he doesn’t care much about some badge that some impeached President gave a rockstar’s fifteen year old kid . “Really, dude, I’m just here to meet a-“

“You really wanna see what my daddy gave me for my birthday last year?” Jesse asks with burdened patience and somehow, without it even being said, the man knows that birthday gift was a gun. Elvis Presley has been downright insane for some time now, it just fits. Jesse Presley, lanky frame bent to wedge into his low window like a looming specter in the dark doesn't look much more stable. He fumbles in the passenger seat and grabs the priceless rolls containing an excellent shot of that girl he’s been hanging out with, in her car with her dad as she pulls out of the barbecue place. It hurts the guy deeply to watch them go but he comforts himself with the thought of all the earlier snaps he’d managed to drop at the publishers earlier.

“Here, Jeeze.” the guy plops them in Jesse’s large palm and Jesse’s fingers curl over them elegantly while his pointer finger beckons still.

“Gimme the one in the camera, c’mon now. I’m not stupid.”

“You can’t shoot me-“

“No, I can do way worse, believe me. The roll, give it here!” Jesse’s ringed fingers make a gimme-gimme motion and the guy notices that those rings would make a mean and gaudy sort of brass knuckle if tested. His nose hurts at just the thought.

He hands over his camera and despite expecting the kid to drop the precious thing and stomp on it or something, all Jesse does is pop the lid and take out the roll. Adding it to the others in his back pocket along with that stupid and sentimental badge that belongs in an era back when his famous daddy still had the nation’s respect.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Jesse murmurs as he hands back the neutered camera, “and I hope you understand that if I ever catch you at this again, for myself or my friends, you’re gonna have more audits and subpoenas than you do donuts in that gut. Am I understood? I’ll bury your ass.”

It’s freaky getting threatened so effectively by a teenager. Like he’s old inside and knows that paperwork is scarier than a knife when you’re tired and broke. Most of these Presley’s belong in the loony bin or the MET, with Elaine Presley being the latter and the rest of her family the former. Either way, all of them need to be under lock and key, except they're too rich for that. And they’re certainly rich enough to make the guy’s

I life a living hell. Or very rich if he were to sell pictures of Jesse Presley necking a rehab nurse on his bike.

“Yeah ok, can I go?” the guy asks, exasperated.

“By all means, get the hell away from my family!” Jesse smiles and backs away, patting at the back of the guy’s car in farewell before the man hears a screeching sound of metal ripping off.

He frantically looks behind him only to find Jesse innocuously sauntering back to his bike in the dark parking lot. Suspicious of what the kid did, and suspecting a poked tire but too scared to get out and investigate while he’s still on the prowl, the guy waits and watches as the kid’s bike revs to life. Sure enough Presley steers the thing right past his window while waving the guy’s license plate like a giant metal envelope in his hand.

“Have fun without this, man, lotta bored cops on the lookout tonight!”

Feeling very good and very angry, Jesse waits at the red light, full aware the guy is watching him and when the fucker doenst get the hint to leave the parking lot ahead of him, Jesse revs his motor and bekons the guy over like a gentlman ushering a lady through the door first. Exhaust fumes have never smelt so sweet to him as he takes a turn trailing the guy until he’s well out of Dallas and nearing Arlington, well away from Daisy and Rosalee.

And Donna. Jesse’s blood boils and the hot summer air clings to his neck as he peels off into the dark of night and heads back to his motel with its greasy bedspread and its mildew shower where he’s gunked up the drain with his fervor for her large lips and sweet eyes and eyebrows that are like busy caterpillars dancing across her forehead. He wants her so badly it’s painful and now he knows what it’s like to be with her and held by her and accepted so readily, so selflessly, so sweetly -it’s worse than before. He can’t even bear to think of settling for shower steam and his fist. He falls into bed and rolls onto his belly, pulling open the bedside drawer before placing the license plate next to the complementary motel Bible. It makes him smile, Donna’s got a phone and he’s got a license plate. He keeps staring at his tin trophy knowing fully well tonight’s slumber is merely metaphorical. He’ll not be sleeping a wink.

He’ll be thinking of her. And how he’s gotta be a bastard for a little longer to keep her safe. And how mama’s about to have a baby and daddy’s about to remarry her and Rosalee just started to sleep herself after the attack and how Daisy will be out and testing herself and how John will be coming home to Ella and their baby and -he really outta visit Ella while he’s here in Texas. And while she’s got Marie staying with her. Marie could use to see another face. There’s so much ahead and none of it needs to involve Jesse fending off reporters so he can go make professions of premature love to a little Texan with a penchant for his pancakes and clitoris nibbles.

Like the planner his mama taught him to be, he steadies himself with a hand to the bridge of his nose and lines all these frantic responsibilities into a tidy row. And to the side are his wants. For a few years now those have gotten a little dusty and he doesn’t begrudge that, not really. But right now he makes another column to this mental checklist.

His needs.

Which comprise Donna and more Donna and Donna forever. It’s so simple, the roses ahead that may take years but it is simple nonetheless.

Go get the girl, that’s what they all say. Daddy had done just that.

Jesse thinks about that phone he got her this afternoon, assuming she’s hauled it out of the trunk by now. He’s already arranged for someone to hook it up by next weekend.

Step one accomplished. He wants to laugh at his own impatience. Step one, already done. Before the end of the week he can be calling her and she’ll be wrapping her fingers around the phone like he wishes she would somewhere else and he can make comments about how nice the barbecue was and she can ask about Daisy’s progress once released.

And they can keep that up. Till he finds a time to marry her. Hopefully not in some red letter year that involves his parents remarrying or making a surprise child.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

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#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #austin butler fanfiction #Austin butler #elvis austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin x reader #austin butler elvis #austin butler smut #elvis the king #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis #sarge and lil mama #sarge: 2nd gen

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the-fiction-witch · 5 months

Text

Little Duck

Media The Maze Runner

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Smut AF!

I laid so very cosy and comfy in my sweet covers, the sound of the glade starting up for the day outside the little shed I called my room. I knew it would be time for work soon but I was just so comfy I couldn't bare to get up. I heard my door open and close and the familiar voice speak up

“Mornin’ Love, Time for work.” AHH newt the sweet blonde Brit that certainly works to my advantage.

Newt and I … let's say have an agreement, an unspoken agreement as it were. We had both been in the glade a good while and of course had grown in that time from little kids to mature teens. Well mostly mature anyway and of course being locked in a huge maze doesn't exactly stop the natural processes of puberty and hormones so we'd become… helpful to each other let's say.

I smiled and pushed my covers away a little sitting up as I wore only my loose oversized blue hoodie one side completely fallen off my shoulder, and my hair a mess from my sleep, I did a big yawn stretching my arms high and rubbing my little eyes as cute as I could, and of course he stood there at the end of my little mattress with his arms crossed over his chest staring like I was a fresh plate of bacon. I knew what I was doing all I needed is for his blonde butt to figure it out. Which didn't always come so easy this early.

“Good morning second in command, what's on the plan today?” I asked sweetly

“We have a few trees to cut down on the edge of the deadheads, some weeding, some inventory and then dinner” he explained

“Ohh I see. Do you think maybe I could skip the trees?”

“Why?”

“I'm just really sleepy newt. Yesterday took it out of me”

“You had a day off yesterday”

“Exactly now my body is so tried, you think I could stay in bed just an extra twenty minutes pretty please?” I whined moving my knees a little to open them more and tugging down my hoddie a little more

“You need to work little duck” he warns

“Please, just a little longer”

“We could maybe an arrangement?”

“Oh?”

“Hoodie off.” He demanded

So I pulled my hoodie throwing it onto my bed he smirked and crawled in with md sitting behind me and pressing his chest against my back before he grabbed my breasts he gave them a good firm squeeze before then jiggling them in his hands holding under them to feel their weight sitting and fondling my breasts for a good few minutes

“Ummm what a good little duck,” he cooed kissing my cheek of course by now my nipples were semi hard which he took as an Invitation to pinch them and tug on them to force them to harden “humm it is a little cold in here isn't it?”

“Very cold, you should warm me up”

“Ohh I will” he smirked twisting them and pinching them between his index finger and thumb moving his fingers back and forth hard and fast leaving me nowhere to escape arching my back and trying not to squeal from the pleasure it caused I moved my hand back to wrap in the strands of his blonde hair and pull him down to kiss my neck all while he chuckled amused at the idea all the other glade boys stare, talk and dream of My breasts and he got to play with them to his heart's content and his own amusement and torturing me one hand left however slipping down my stomach and between my legs to run his fingers across my lips “ohh what a wet little duck.” He cooed but I grabbed his wrist and forced his hand away

“You know the rules. You want more I get more” I whispered

“You'll get to cum isn't that enough for you?” He whispered back

“You want to touch this?” I asked moving his hand to my mound “then you have to pay up newt”

“Fine.” He snapped “you get half an hour meet me in the garden and we'll start the weeding” he says giving my breasts and good squeeze before he got up licking his fingers where he rubbed on my lips

“And if I'm late?”

“Don't be late. Or I'll spank my little duck so hard her pretty ass will be red a week. Got it?” he warns stroking my jaw and tapping my nose

“Yes newt” I giggled

“Alright, weeding half an hour” he remained before he left so I happily got my covers and got cosy for an extra half an hour rest.

Once I got up properly I got dressed into my bra, panties, hoodie and shorts doing up my shoes and heading out into the glade and off to the gardens where I found newt just starting in the weeding he saw me with a slight glare gave me my area to work on, so I started my work kneeling in the dirt to weed the plants humming to myself as I did. Until I felt a firm slap on my ass

“Your late” he said as he worked beside me

“You said thirty minutes”

“Yes thirty not fouty little duck” he glared

“I'm here now aren't I?” I smiled having to lean a little forward to pull a weed and he slapped my ass hard

“Deadheads. Now.” He demanded heading there himself so I pulled the weed and followed him, as soon as we were out of sight of the other boys he grabbed the small of My back and forced me over a fallen tree leaving me bent over at his mercy, “don't disobey the second in command little duck. I warned what would happen” he smirked using of the ties for the plants to tie my ankles together before he unbuttoned and janked my shorts down to my ankles “awww cute” he smirked snapping my panties before he pushed them higher leaving them tight to my pussy and leaving my ass cheeks exposed he gave them a squeeze first then a gentle sooth before he spanked me hard

“Uhhh!” I gasped

“Not a word.” He demanded so I silenced “humm that's a good little duck” he cooed but his spanking continued he made sure to change cheek often so by now both where red, sore, and ached with his every touch “you only have yourself to blame’ he cooed giving me a moment of resbite as he slid my panties to the side and slipped three of his long slender fingers inside moving them from tip to knuckle over and over driving me crazy my wetness dripping down his fingers and my legs “uhh a very soaked little duck” he growled I found grips in the tree trying desperately not to scream as my eyes rolled back from the building pleasure all while my ass still stung in pain he slipped them out licked them clean as he moved to grind his hard bulge against me making me ache for him but he spanked me again before he moved and licked my pussy from my clit to the bottom of my entrance “ummm shuck- I wanna eat you so bad little duck.” He growled licking my clit and around my entrance to toy with me “maybe I would if you got here in time” he smirked before he slipped his tounge inside me using it as he had his fingers moving in and out flicking the tip of his tounge as he did to pleasure me so much but before I could even moan he pulled back and bit my left ass cheek hard enough to leave his teeth there in my sore skin but not to draw blood or anything he stood and spread my ass as far as possible making it ache given how sore it was and he spat down letting it drip down onto my already soaked pussy “finish your weeding then we have inventory in the shed” he said spanking me again “you dare, be late again little duck.” He warns heading back to the gardens taking his tie with him but I giggled and looked over my shoulder at him spreading my legs a little more as I moved back from the tree and touched my toes leaving nothing me hidden

“Or else what?” I giggled standing back up acting as innocent as possible even with my pussy out and just tugging my hoodie down to hide my pussy a little bit

“Or I'll walk you through the whole glade with your shorts around your ankles and my bite mark on your ass” he smirked before he went back to the glade, I quickly fixed my shorts even if my ass was badly sore and I went back to work as everyone went on break.

I did my work and headed for the shed luckily I was there first so I slipped off my shorts and hoodie before I began the inventory work counting seeds and small starter cuttings and soon enough the door opened, closed and locked. He stood there hoodie around his waist licking his lips as he saw me “what a good little duck” he cooed “right here waiting for me” he smirked coming to kneel with me and grabbing my body hard “you just have to wear that for me don't you?”

“I thought you liked me to work comfortably”

“Yeah there's comfy and there's half naked?”

“Which would you rather?”

“We both know the answer to that little duck” he smirked biting his lip as his index finger slipped down the centre of my bra tugging it hard to pull my bra fro my tits

“Newt can't you do the inventory? My hands are tried from weeding”

“Are they now? Well you want something you better pay up?” He smirked

“Okay, against the shelf” I told him and he happily went and stood against the shelf so I crawled over making sure he got a good look at me before I stroked up his legs and unlaced his brown pants while he petted my hair, I pulled them down exposing his hard bulge in his washed out red boxers which I pulled down quickly too to reveal his hard erection desperate veins across his stuff shaft and his head egarly dripping precum I giggled and toyed with him batting him with my fingers and my nose sometimes pressing little tiny kisses to his shaft

“You may struggle at first little duck,”

“Why?”

“I've already cum today”

“Did you? When?” I giggled

“Not telling”

“Tell me newt, or I'll have to titty fuck it out of you”

“Umm yeah? That a promise little duck?’

“Tell me” I warn squeezing his base

“Fine! I skipped breakfast. After I just spent all morning in your room playing with those cute bloody tits your can't blame me for being too hard to go to work. So I skipped breakfast and got myself off in the bathroom”

“Naughty newtie” I giggled kitten licking his head

‘uhh! How could I not having my hands on those perk tits”

“I managed not to finger myself both in bed and after the deadheads”

“Well you have more restraint then I do. Plus you know you'll get to cum later you know I can't sleep without watching you squeal. I don't always get to cum”

“Well I'll make sure of it” I smiled taking him into my mouth and sucking gently moving my head up and down his shaft he grabbed my hair and threw his head back holding back his moans badly

“Uhhhh…. Uhhhh… uummm shuck!... Uuuughhhhh! Oh god yes! Uhhh harder little duck” he moaned but I ignored him instead cupping his balls massaging the to make his release easier “‘uhhhh harder! I need ya come on! I'm so close little duck, ummm bloody hell- uhhhh y/n please I'm on the edge little duck just a little harder!” He begs so I sucked hard and swirled my tongue around his head which was enough to too him over clamping his hand over his mouth as he moaned loudly gripping my hair tight as little spurts of his jizz tumbled onto my tounge filling my mouth. I swallowed everything pulling back to see just how much had covered his shaft even after I swallowed all that and I licked him clean

“So much, especially after you've already cum this morning” I giggled

“Well you treat me too good little duck. Get some clothes on I'll finish up.” He said fixing his clothes

“I thought you liked me like this?’ I pouted squishy my boobs together with my arms

“I like you to much like this that's the problem. You keep making me hard” he smirked

“Fine” I sighed getting my clothes back on.

129 notes · View notes

she-is-juniper · 2 years

Text

Put It Into Practice — Steve Harrington x Reader (chapter one)

Pairing: Scoops Ahoy!Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Rating (by chapter): M (Mature) (next chapter will be Explicit!)

Summary: “King Steve” Harrington had been the subject of swooning for every girl in their right mind back in high school. But when his sexual dexterity comes into question the summer after graduation, Steve is not about to let his reputation become marred quite so easily. Luckily, Steve is offered the help of his new friend—to give him advice, a few pointers, and maybe a bit of healthy practice…

Word Count (by chapter): 6k

Content: cursing, healthy banter, a teeny bit of angst, setting y'all up for some real good smut to come

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Stranger Things or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized.

A/N: This is my first fanfic in 2 years! I'm new to the Stranger Things fandom, so show me some love, feedback, follows, etc? 🥺 (P.S. New followers will have dibs for REQUESTS which I will open very soon!!)

I nearly forgot—thank you hugely to @o-holynight for reading through this fic for me when I needed some assistance!! ♡

READ CHAPTER 2 NOW!!

On a quieter-than-usual summer weekday at the Starcourt Mall, Steve Harrington looks even more sullen than he usually does while slinging ice cream samples from behind the counter at Scoops Ahoy. As one of his closest friends, you’re well aware of the usual reasons for Steve’s insufferable moping—shitty job, shitty parents, shitty sex life—but today, something about the lifeless droop to his eyes indicates there’s something else going on.

“What happened to you, Harrington?” you ask, pulling off your work cap as you walk into the ice cream parlor.

Steve looks up at you from the cash register, but he glances down to resume counting cash in lieu of his usual greeting of a smile. You frown. During your part-time shifts at The Great Cookie, you typically spend your fifteen minute work breaks visiting with Steve and Robin—ergo, teaming up with Robin to poke fun at Steve. It’s all in good fun, though, and Steve typically matches your jests with some good-natured teasing of his own.

Not today, though. “I’m not in the mood to hang out today, Y/N,” Steve grumbles—a sound not uncharacteristic for him, yet somehow even grumblier than usual.

You ignore him, sauntering through the empty parlor and propping your elbows against the glass counters above the ice cream tubs. “What? Drop another banana boat on a customer?”

Steve winces, likely at the memory of the aforementioned fumble from last week, still avoiding your eyes. “Okay, first of all, Gretchen Jarrell totally made me spill her order on purpose so she could complain to my manager and get her ice cream for free.”

A voice chimes in from behind the window to the parlor’s back room. “I’d pay good money to watch you drop another banana boat down Gretchen Jarrell’s cleavage again, Steve.”

“Shut up about it, Robin!” Steve hollers back at his coworker. He turns to speak to you again. “And second of all, I told you I’m not in the mood, so can’t you find somewhere else to loom today?”

“No way,” you protest. “Where else would I go on my break?”

“I dunno. A table at the food court. The Gap. Take a lap around JCPenney for all I care. Just not here.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell’s got your panties all twisted up,” you say, leaning further over the glass counter to flick his shoulder. Steve grimaces and held his arm, glaring at you.

“Ow,” he hisses. “And don’t say panties. Who says panties? That’s gross.”

“You’re such a baby.” You aren’t about to take no for an answer. You like hanging out with Steve, and you know he likes hanging out with you, too. You and Steve have known each other for years all throughout high school—through the likes of Tommy H. and Carol, both of whom you’d effectively de-friended a few months ago, similar to Steve. But it wasn’t until you and Steve got summer jobs at Starcourt this summer that you started becoming close friends, along with Robin Buckley, who you used to play trumpet with in middle school.

Before you can pester Steve further about his sour mood, a group of teenagers come in, donning shopping bags and giggling loudly. Steve’s face suddenly contorts, his eyes shifting right and left as if he were scouring the parlor for a way out. It was too late, though, and the girls flit up to the counter, a wash of bright colors and perfume. You shifted down the counter to give them space, leaning against the side wall and watching.

“Hi, Steve,” one of the girls, red curls ablaze, says in a mock-flirtatious voice.

“H–hi,” he stammers back.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I want to order? Or are you bad at this job, too?” the girl at the front croons, and all the girls behind her titter with laughter. Something about the way she emphasized this job piqued your curiosity. Same as Robin, who peeks out from the window confusedly and meets your gaze. You just shrug.

Steve was starting to turn red at the cheeks. “I–yeah–what can I get for you?”

The red-headed girl taps a manicured finger to her chin and pretends to peruse the tubs of ice cream. “Hmm… I’ll take a scoop of sugar plum, please.”

Steve scans the ice cream flavors in the refrigerated display counter, his whole body fraught with tension. “Sugar plum? Uh…I don’t think we have—”

“What’s the matter?” another girl says, sneering. “Can’t find it, Steve?”

The gaggle of girls bursts into full-on laughter now. Your mouth falls open in disbelief, as does Robin’s. Steve, however, just closes his eyes in humiliation.

“Maybe you need some lessons, Steve,” Redhead drawls, smacking her gum.

“Yeah,” another pipes up. “Wouldn’t wanna leave any more girls feeling disappointed.”

“Oh, my, god,” Robin whispers, her mouth still agape. Realization starts sinking in for you: they’re not talking about ice cream.

“Alright, alright, joke’s over,” Steve all but growls at the girls. They don’t need to be told twice; their work here is seemingly done. Still laughing at Steve, they mosey out of the parlor, gone just as soon as they came.

“Oh my god,” Robin repeats. Steve’s jaw is set and his mouth pressed into a hard line as he watches the door where the girls departed.

“Steve…” you begin. “What did you do?”

“Can we just drop this?” Steve sighs.

“Drop it?” Robin says, emerging through the kitchen doors. “Steve. Those girls just came in here and announced to the world, by means of a cryptic ice cream metaphor, that you are bad at sex. We’re not gonna let that one go so easily.”

“I’m not bad at sex, Robin!” Steve barks. Robin just raises an eyebrow.

“Those girls seem to think otherwise,” you tell him. “Did she really ask you for sugar plum ice cream?” You snort, and Robin bites her lip in an attempt not to smile. You and Robin share a look and start giggling, but the daggers shooting from Steve’s eyes effectively silence your laughter, and you immediately feel a little bad.

“Can we just get back to work already and pretend like this never happened?” Steve pleaded.

“Absolutely not,” Robin says. “I implore you, Steve, to share with the class who exactly it was—among your numerous female conquests as of late,” she adds sarcastically, “that you seem to have disappointed oh so dearly?”

Steve opens his mouth to protest but, with a heaving sigh, he says, “Fine. I’ll tell you. But for starters, I don’t even know those girls, or why they knew about…about…”

“...about how bad you are at sex?” I guess.

“I’m not bad at sex!!” he insists again. “It’s just…I’m just… I’m… Maybe I’m not so good at…”

You and Robin stare at him, unblinkingly, waiting.

“...at a certain…element…of sex…maybe.”

Now it’s your turn to say, “Oh, my, god.” It was all making sense. The sugar plum innuendo, the can’t find it joke, and leaving girls disappointed…

Steve Harrington—King Steve Harrington, Steve “The Hair” Harrington, Steve-Who-Any-Girl-In-Her-Right-Mind-Wanted-To-Bang-In-High-School Harrington, your friend Steve Harrington…

…Steve Harrington, your secret crush—something you would never admit to anyone in a million years and have a hard time admitting to even yourself…

…is, evidently, bad at oral sex.

“Can you please stop saying that?!” Steve pleads, just as Robin was about to say “oh my god” again. “You two are so obnoxious, I knew I never should have said anything—”

“Okay, okay,” you say. “I’m sorry, okay? Robin and I are sorry for laughing. Robin, tell Steve we’re sorry.”

“We’re sorry, Steve.” Robin’s wide eyes flit over to you for the briefest of moments, and you’re all of a sudden transported back to your middle school days, passing notes and exchanging glances with Robin and trying not to giggle in the middle of band class.

“Whatever,” he mutters.

You study him. He somehow looks even more dejected than he had a few moments ago. Every one of his features seems to be drooping. Even his hair —or what you could see of it poking out from his “Scoops Ahoy” hat—looks like it’s drooping.

“It’s just that we were…a bit surprised,” you explain.

At least, you felt surprised. Robin, in turn, chortles. “I’m not surprised, not one bit, that our friend Suave Steve here doesn’t know where the clit is—”

“Ahhh-t-t-t-t,” he hisses and waves a hand vehemently to cut her off. “I know where the—where the clit is, Robin! Will you stop ridiculing me? I swear to god, I will leave right now. This day absolutely sucks ass already, and I don’t need your shitty sense of humor to make it worse for me.”

The humor of the situation dissipates, leaving pity—and a touch of curiosity—in its wake. “I’m sorry those girls came in here like that,” you say genuinely.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees. “Jokes aside, that was…decidedly uncool of them. Who were they anyway?”

Inexplicably, Steve droops even more, hanging his head low. “Friends of Lisa R.’s,” he mopes.

Back in town for summer vacation from Notre Dame, Lisa R. is the latest subject of Steve’s romantic interest for the past few weeks. Having graduated from Hawkins High in the class just before yours and Steve’s, Lisa R. is older than the two of you by a year—and thus way out of Steve’s league, or so he insisted every time she came up in conversation and you urged Steve to ask her out. Last you’d heard from Steve about Lisa R. was that she agreed to see a movie with him over the weekend. Steve had been over the moon when he told you about it during your shift break last Friday—three days earlier.

“Steve,” you say. “What happened with you and Lisa R.?”

“Idon’twannatalkaboutit,” he mumbles.

“Spill, now,” Robin commands. “We’re not gonna stop pestering you about this until you do.”

“I—okay,” he gives in, looking around the store curtly although it’s completely devoid of customers again. “On Friday, I asked her to the movies Saturday night, right? We—”

“Which movie?” Robin cuts him off.

Steve gapes at her. “Does it matter?”

“Pertinently.”

“Fine, if you must know… We saw The Goonies.”

“The Goonies?! Steve!” Robin chides. “You took Lisa R. on a movie date to go see The Goonies? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She throws her hands to her head. “You’re hopeless. He’s hopeless, Y/N.”

“It’s a Steven Spielberg! It looked like a good movie!”

Knowing Steve’s inexplicable proclivity to befriend literal children, you want to make a joke about Steve not being able to resist a film about a band of preteen misfits. But you bite your tongue. “Back to the point,” you say, “how did the date go, Steve?”

“Believe it or not,” he starts, glaring pointedly at Robin, “It went good. Like, really good. Lisa R. said I was cool.” He starts to beam in excitement, but his smile falters. “The movie let out pretty late, so we went in my car after to talk, and, I dunno, hang out.”

He hesitates, and Robin urges him on with a circular motion of her hand.

“Anyway, things start to get, uh, pretty heated…” Steve’s skin reddens almost imperceptibly, except you notice in a heartbeat. You always notice. “And it’s going pretty well, until she…she asks me…”

“Spit it out,” Robin berates him. “Until she asks what, Steve?”

“God, will you just let me explain at my own goddamn pace? She asked me to…to go down on her.” Steve chokes out the words as if they were stuck in his throat. “And, uh…I guess I’d never really done that to a girl before. So I didn’t really know what…” Then, almost like he realizes his surroundings for the first time, Steve glances between you and Robin mortifyingly. “What am I doing? Why am I telling you two about my most embarrassing sexual encounter to date? Jesus Christ…”

You wish he wouldn’t feel so sheepish talking to you and Robin about these kinds of topics, but you can understand why he does. Two pretty girls interrogating the hell out of him after he’d just been publicly humiliated by Lisa R.’s friends? You’d feel embarrassed, too.

You exchange a look with Robin, determining she’s thinking roughly the same thing. “Hey, we won’t tell anyone,” you reassure him.

“Yeah, your secret’s safe with us,” Robin adds.

Steve crinkles his nose, which you can’t help but find infuriatingly adorable. “Man, as if that even fucking matters anymore. Lisa R.’s already gone and told all her friends about how bad it was. Fuck,” he curses, ripping his hat off and running his hand through his hair. “This is so bad. My reputation is ruined. The whole town probably knows about it by now.”

“Um, probably not the whole town,” Robin consoles. “My parents haven’t caught wind of it yet, probably. Or Mr. Mundy the math teacher, it’s possible he doesn’t know—”

“You know what I mean,” Steve groans in exasperation.

You purse your lips, mulling over everything you’d just heard. Frankly, you’re more than a little shocked to learn that Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High and notoriously popular among the girls of every grade, had never gone down on a girl before.

Not even Nancy Wheeler, you realize with a start, his long-term girlfriend. Poor Nancy. But you regret that thought only a millisecond after thinking it. A man was more than his sexual ability, and as far as you could tell from getting to know him this summer, Steve was probably a pretty great boyfriend, all things considered. Especially after he grew up a bit and ended his friendship with Tommy H. and Carol like you had.

Regardless of it all, it’s clear that Steve’s ego got bruised from the whole experience, badly. You feel bad for Steve that his first experience with going down on a girl was with someone so immature as to go and gossip to her friends afterward about how bad it was—and for them to show up here where he works, just to make him feel even worse about it. Lisa R. sounds like an absolute bitch to you, same as her friends. Steve deserved better for that first experience…someone patient, someone willing to express her desires and guide him in the right direction.

Knowing Steve now—knowing his energy, his personality, his eagerness to impress the women he likes—you wonder how bad it could have actually been for Lisa R. Experience level aside, enthusiasm was half the battle, and you imagined Steve Harrington had enough of that to spare. He couldn’t have been that bad…

Then again, what could you possibly know about any of this? You’d only been in two flings before, and neither of those boys had particularly wowed you in the oral sex department.

As you are preoccupied by your thoughts, Robin and Steve have begun to vex each other again. “But the bigger question is, why are you so concerned about your stupid reputation?” Robin was saying. “You’re graduated now, Steve. There are better things to worry about.”

“Oh, sorry, you’re right, I’ll just suck it up and ignore the group of Lisa R.’s friends who just came in here and humiliated me in public for everyone to hear.”

“Literally no one else was in the store except for me and Y/N.”

“It’s the principle of it!” Steve exclaims. “Besides, that’s easy for you to say, coming from someone who doesn’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinions. And by the time you graduate, you’ll probably be well on your way out of Hawkins, on some kind of fancy nerd scholarship for being a multilingual, musically-talented band geek—”

You glance at your watch. “Shit. I have to go. My break’s over.”

Steve groans. “Don’t leave me here with just her, Y/N,” he says, jabbing his head toward Robin, who just sneers.

“Lighten up, dingus. You know you like being entertained by me.”

You throw your work cap back over your hair. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

The pair resume bickering without saying goodbye, but as you depart the parlor, you can’t help but glance back at Steve as he argues animatedly with Robin. He glances up at you for the briefest moment with those sad puppy eyes, and your stomach gives a little tug as a thought emerges:

You won’t be able to do much to restore King Steve Harrington’s reputation, but there is something you can do to help repair his ego.

————————————————

It’s a crazy thought—foolish, unhinged, and presumptuous—but it’s a thought you can’t stop thinking about for the whole day and most of your night. You really should just let it go, let Steve get over the whole Lisa R. thing and move on. But that single, crazy thought has completely permeated every inch of your mind.

The thought that you could teach Steve Harrington how to go down on a girl.

At first, the thought presented itself as a fantasy, more or less, that you kept replaying in your brain as the second half of your shift that day dragged on and on. Despite the knowledge that Steve was admittedly horrendously inexperienced, you found yourself fixated on the mental image of…of Steve perched in between your legs, his arms wrapped around your thighs, his mouth—

God, this needs to stop. I’m at work.

As the day progressed and you finally went home for the evening, the fantasy progresses, too, until it becomes less of a fantasy and more of a hypothetical notion. What if you did make a…proposition, for Steve? How would you even go about it? Hey, I know you mentioned the other day you were bad at oral sex, so why don’t you give it a go on me and I’ll give you some pointers? Gag.

But would that really be such an outlandish proposal? Steve could certainly benefit from it, in more ways than one. He would gain experience, learn more about the elusive subtleties of the female body. In turn, he could mend his ego after such a disastrous experience with Lisa R. Not to mention, you realize with a laugh, you’d also be doing a service for all the girls to come after Lisa R., after you, by teaching him what it takes to pleasure a woman correctly. Plus, Steve’s a boy. You were basically offering him free, no-strings-attached sex. What’s not for him to like?

But were there really no strings attached? You’re not willing quite yet to fully consider that.

What would be in it for you? The obvious answer is, well…the deed itself. You’ve never actually come from a guy going down on you before, and frankly, you’re curious to know what it’s like. Assuming Steve did agree to practice going down on you, the obvious benefit to you as the recipient of said act was the potential for a world of pleasure. By Steve Harrington, no less, the boy you’ve been trying and failing to talk your way out of crushing on all summer.

But Steve is your friend. If he went through with your proposition and didn’t succeed at repairing his ego (Worst Case Scenario #1)—or, worse, if he outright rejected your proposition altogether (Worst Case Scenario #2)—your friendship may never go back to the way it is now.

And all of it hinges greatly on one small detail: whether Steve could see you in that way, in a sexual way, or if his friendship with you is strictly platonic. The way things are now between the two of you, it’s hard to tell. He doesn’t act nervous or jittery around you the way he does around the cute girls who come into the ice cream parlor while he’s working. And while he’s always been friendly toward you, offering a lopsided smile nearly every time he sees you, it’s always been only that—just a smile. Not looking your body up and down, no sultry smirking, nothing glaringly obvious to indicate that he’s ever thought of you in that way.

Despite all the potential ways for this to completely derail your friendship, your fantasy-turned-hypothetical-notion begins to morph into a plan. You decide you’ll test the waters with Steve, gauge his interest—both in you and in learning from you. The plan involves getting Steve to hang out with you after work, which is something you and he have only done once before. And it was with Robin, in which the three of you had picked out a movie from Family Video to watch at Robin’s parents’ home. Would Steve think it’s weird if you ask him to hang out after work?

If you never try, you’ll never know.

The following day, you return to Scoops Ahoy once again on your shift break. Steve’s mopiness has evolved into a general aloofness toward his menial job, evidenced by the halfhearted way he wipes down the glass windows at the front of the store.

Sitting at your favorite bench and licking the scoop of complimentary ice cream you’d haggled from Robin (in exchange for a free cookie at The Great Cookie), you watch Steve clean the windows, calculating your next words. As soon as Robin at the cash register finishes up with a transaction and disappears into the kitchen, you decide to make your move.

“Alright, Steve, I’ve had enough of your moping,” you say lightheartedly.

“I’m not moping,” he retorts.

You crumble up a napkin from the dispenser on the table and chuck it at his head. He finally looks over at you, miffed. “You are. At first I felt for you, but now it’s just downright pitiful the way you’re feeling bad for yourself. And annoying.”

“Well, excuse me for annoying you with my—with my very reasonable reaction to my reputation going to shit,” he whines.

“Ah, yes,” you say, hopping out of your seat to pace nonchalantly behind him as you talk. “Your dear reputation. King Steve Harrington.” You pause, taking another lick of your ice cream. “Can’t have the womenfolk of Hawkins possibly thinking you’re bad at anything, now, can he?”

Steve has stopped cleaning the windows long enough to glare at you. But his eyes drop almost imperceptibly to your mouth as you eat your sweet treat. “Listen, I don’t expect you or Robin to get it,” Steve says defensively. “It’s just—yeah, okay, I care a bit about it, okay? So what? Sue me for caring about how I’m not everything I used to be.” With a huff, he turns back to the window, scrubbing it a little harder than necessary with the cleaning rag. “I used to be the Popular Steve Harrington. Used to have influence, friends. The Sports Star Steve Harrington. Now I’m just Washed Up Steve Harrington, forced by his dad to sling ice cream for three bucks an hour, no hope for the future—”

“Okay, I get it, your life’s a drag,” you cut him off. Clearly he’s got a chip on his shoulder that’s bigger than just the Lisa R. problem. ”But it doesn’t have to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, we gotta do something to cheer you up.” Steve watches you as you pluck another napkin from the dispenser and pull out a pen from the pocket of your work apron. You scribble down your address onto the napkin. “What do you say we hang out after our shifts are over, tonight? My parents are out of town. We can—we can order Pizza Hut, pop in a movie. And I’ll have some booze.” Luckily you have a good friend over the age of 21 who’d be able to hook you up with liquor.

“A party?”

“No, not a party, just two friends decompressing after a long day of work.” You glance toward the kitchen in the direction of Robin. “And maybe this can be a chance for you to get a little break from Robin… I can tell she gets under your skin sometimes.” You like hanging out with Robin, so you feel kind of bad about purposely excluding Robin, but Steve acts relieved.

“You have no idea,” he laughs. “Alright. That sounds…that sounds nice.”

It’s a date, you think. But you just fold the napkin and approach Steve. You pull at the sailoresque collar of his work uniform and tuck the napkin against the skin of his chest, trying not to focus for too long on the dusting of chest hair. Or the way you feel sparks flying at the brush of your fingers against it. “Come by at 8?”

You weren’t positive how Steve was going to react to your proximity—you hadn’t ever gotten so close to him before. His shoulders tense, and he blinks about ten times in a second. “Y—yeah, sounds good, Y/N,” he chokes out. “I’ll stop by Family Video on the way out.”

You smile and leave him without another word to return to your job, and you can feel his gaze boring into the back of your head as you walk away. The napkin-in-the-collar move was unplanned. Was that too obvious? you wonder. Or not obvious enough?

So you turn to look back at him, just like yesterday. He’s still staring at you. You give him another coy smile, and he runs a nervous hand through his hair.

Just right, you decide.

————————————————

Your movie night with Steve was in full swing. You want to kick yourself for not taking action sooner to hang out with him outside of work. After four drinks (Bacardi and Cokes), a box of pizza (pepperoni), and an hour into your second movie (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), you and Steve were sufficiently drunk and happily laughing your asses off together. Laughing about the movie, about the funny things you’d seen at Starcourt Mall that week, about stupid memories from high school, about each other.

The latest subject of your humor was a memory of the time Steve had been giving a speech at a pep rally his sophomore year and tripped directly over a band kid’s sousaphone.

“You’re remembering it all wrong!” Steve groaned, throwing his hands up to his hair.

“I think I’m remembering it perfectly clear,” you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. You are seated next to Steve on your couch in front of the TV in your parents’ basement. Both your and Steve’s legs are resting on the small ottoman in front of the couch, your feet so close together they’re almost touching. They’d already brushed together a few times throughout the night; you can’t tell if it had been by accident or on purpose. “It was the end-of-semester pep rally, you were giving a motivational speech to the student body as the new ‘co-captain of the basketball team’,” —you sneer at him— “and you tripped directly over Helen Blackshaw’s big tuba.”

“No, no, no,” he retorts, sitting up straighter as if it would strengthen his argument. You thought it was hilarious. “First of all, it wasn’t the end-of-semester pep rally, it was the beginning-of-semester pep rally. And I wasn’t giving a motivational speech, I was running for class president. And lastly, I only tripped on Helen’s tuba because Joshua Gossman purposely pushed it in front of me. Remember Joshua? He had it out for me.”

You take another sip of your Coke-and-Bacardi and roll your eyes. “He had it out for you because you tried to flirt with his girlfriend, the flute player with the blond hair.”

“Okay, wow, like I would have ever flirted with a band geek, gross.”

“My recollection of you from high school would prove you wrong,” you jest. “You flirted with everyone.”

Except for you. You and Steve ran in different crowds and barely spoke, even when you were mutually friends with Tommy H. and Carol for a time. Even then, you and Steve hadn’t truly gotten to know each other until after graduation. Frankly, before you’d befriended the guy, you’d wanted nothing to do with him; you’d thought he was kind of a dick. You see now that he’s changed, for the better. But as disinterested as you’d been in King Steve Harrington, he’d been equally as disinterested in you.

Your heart sinks a bit. What if Steve truly had never thought of you as anything other than friends…never found you attractive, never found himself ever secretly wondering about you in bed, nothing remotely romantic or sexual in the slightest?

“Oh, come on, not everyone,” Steve says, pouring himself another drink. It looks more like a cup of straight rum with a tiny splash of coke.

“If it moved and had boobs, you flirted. Band geeks notwithstanding.”

Maybe you were imagining it, but he seems to glance down from your face for only the briefest second—to your chest. Oop. “Yeah, well, not like it matters anymore. I was a different person back then. Way cooler to the ladies than I am now.”

“Steve.” You sit up as straight as he’s sitting and give him a level glare. “You talk about yourself like you’re some kind of…shell of who you used to be. It wasn’t that long ago.” His face contorts, so you quickly add, “I didn’t mean that as an insult. I just mean, I don’t think you’re washed up just because you work at an ice cream shop, or because you’re not going to Tech next year.”

Steve furrows his brows. “Right…I’m washed up because everyone thinks I’m bad in bed.”

“Does it matter what they think?”

“You sound like Robin, now.”

“But do you really care, though?”

“Well, yeah, I’d like to go to work without pissing my pants every time a group of girls comes in, ‘cause I’m worried that they’re gonna publically call me out for being a bad lover.”

“Ignore the girls,” you say with an encouraging shove to his arm. “They’re jerks.“

“They’re jerks,” Steve agrees. But he’s still frowning.

“What is it?” you ask.

Steve sighs. “Well…I guess it doesn’t really matter what the rumors say. But… it does bug me that I wasn’t good at…you know. That I left someone feeling disappointed.”

Ah. Bingo. You hadn’t been sure where this conversation was going. But now that you’re here, right on topic, you feel confident about segueing into your proposition.

Except, in the heat of the moment, your heart starting to race with nervousness, you fail entirely to achieve a smooth transition. “What if you got someone to teach you?” you blurt.

Steve laughs. “What?”

“I mean—” you stammer. Fuck. “I just mean, if you wanted to get better at…at that part of hooking up, maybe you should find someone who could teach you how to do it.”

Steve raises his eyebrows as he considers. “I dunno,” he says. “I mean, who could I even ask? I’m not really friends with any guys from school anymore who talk about those kind of things. Maybe Tommy H., but fuck that guy. Jesus, my only friends now are literally children, and I can’t talk to Henderson about that, that’d be really gross and probably illegal—”

“No, you dumbass,” you say, forcing out a chuckle to give the illusion of casualness. “Not a guy.”

He looks at you like you’re insane. “What, then? A girl? You think I should ask another girl about…that?” He shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. I will not humiliate myself like that. Why would I do that if I could just, I don’t know, go to an adult store and pick up a pamphlet and watch a porno or something?”

You crinkle your nose. “Those movies are so unrealistic. Besides…that’s not what I mean.”

“A girl? Really? Who would I even ask for advice about that? Robin? You?”

You tilt your head at him, unblinking, urging him to understand. He stares back with a blank expression. In a blink, realization floods his face.

“Oh.”

Steve says nothing more, just stares at you with wide brown eyes. A long moment passes. You think your heart might explode.

At last, Steve shifts uncomfortably and says, “Are you saying that you…that you’d…”

“I’m saying maybe I could teach you.” You finish his sentence with words so soft they’re nearly imperceptible over the noise of the movie on the television you both had entirely forgotten about. Saying it aloud sounded so stupid now. How could you teach someone to go down on you when you’ve never even had success before with anyone else in the first place? You were probably the worst pick for Steve’s teacher.

Steve is reduced to silence again, a baffled expression etched permanently on his face. He tries to inhale, but his breath seems to get caught in his throat.

You can feel the flood of words filling your brain, your mouth, and finally spilling over your tongue. “But just as friends, nothing more,” you gush. “I was just thinking, maybe it’d help if you had someone who could help give you advice, tell you what works and what doesn’t. Someone you trust, who could get practice with. As, y’know, friends.”

No response. You start to get anxious. “You know what—never mind,” you gabble, starting to stand up. “I shouldn’t have said that. That was really stupid of me.” Of course Steve wouldn’t agree to this. You were delusional. “Forget I ever said anything—”

“Wait, wait, Y/N.” Steve grabs your wrist before you can stand up from the couch. “Slow down. Just…let me try to understand what you’re saying.” You hesitate, but after a moment you relax into his touch and settle on the couch again. Steve hasn’t looked away from you, and you turn your head to meet his gaze and can’t look away. “You’re saying you’d want me to…practice…with you?”

“If you want,” you whisper.

Steve looks dumbfounded. He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it. Suddenly, you become very, very nervous. More nervous than you’ve ever been with any guy. “Why?” he finally asks.

“Why what?”

“Why would you want to let me…” He doesn’t finish his thought, just running his hands through his rugged hair again. Then he speaks again suddenly, stammering over his words. “I-I don’t get it. Why would you want me to practice on you? I don’t have any experience, Y/N. Aren’t you worried that it wouldn’t be good, for you?”

You remind yourself to stop chewing on your cheek before it bleeds. “I mean, isn’t that the point? You’re inexperienced, so you could get the practice you need to get good.”

“Get practice…with you. On you.” Steve doesn’t even hide it now, the way he looks down at your body. But it’s not with desire, or eagerness. Panic floods his features. “Y/N, I don’t know…”

“I just thought maybe I could help you,” you say, words coming out in a rush again. “It's just, I just saw how upset you were about what happened with Lisa R. and everything and I thought—I dunno, Steve, she seems like an asshole, she seems like the worst kind of person to do that with for the first time. And you deserve to have someone who talks to you and communicates, who can help you figure it out.” You have to pause to suck in a breath. “And I guess I was just thinking that person could be…me.”

As you say the words, his whole body seems to have tensed up. “Um, I…” he stutters and glances around the room. And suddenly, he jolts up on his feet. “Listen, Y/N. I don’t think—I don’t think I can do that. Not with…you.”

Your skin burns with heat. “Oh…Oh. That’s okay, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not that you’re—” he says at the same time, but you’re talking over each other, and you both stop talking simultaneously. A static tension fills the space between you. When you say nothing, he points to the door and frowns apologetically at you. “I gotta—I gotta go, Y/N.”

“Oh—yeah, no, I get it,” you say, feigning nonchalance. You get up, too, and walk with Steve up the basement stairs without another word. The tension in the room is stagnant and unbearable.

When you and Steve reach your front door, he turns to look in your direction but doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t even worry about it,” you cut him off, waving a hand. “Forget I ever said anything?”

“I…” One look at Steve, and you know he’s not going to forget about this anytime soon. Fuck. Worst Case Scenario #2 just came true. But at last, he replies, “Yeah, no, of course.”

“Are you good to drive?” you ask, referring to the alcohol.

“Oh yeah, I’m good.”

“See you tomorrow at Starcourt?” You offer him a small smile.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

As the door shuts behind him, your parents’ house has never felt so silent and empty. You squeeze your eyes shut and stand there by the front door for a long time until you feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins finally dissipate enough to move.

Well, that was a fucking disaster.

There’s not much to do but clean up the basement and get ready for bed, even though it’s only 10:30. Your parents won’t be back until the morning, so you would have stayed up and enjoyed having the house to yourself for the night. But you don’t feel like doing anything but lie in the fetal position in your bed for a long time to mentally chastise yourself for forever ruining your friendship with Steve.

You clean up downstairs, shower, and brush your teeth in a daze. But just as your head hits the pillow, a gentle knock sounds from the front door.

On high alert, you peer out of your room and sneak down the stairs. You’d never usually answer the door this late at night while home alone, but something tells you to go look through the peephole.

It’s Steve.

His eyes widen at the sight of you in your pajamas as you swing open the front door. “Steve?” you ask.

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” he says. His long hair is somehow even more mussed than usual, indicating just how much he must have been running his hand through it in the past hour. “It’s just…”

You squint against the porch light. “What is it?”

He hesitates again, but finally says, “Just as friends, right?”

He’s referring to your proposition. “Just friends,” you reassure him breathlessly.

“Good. I’ve…thought about it.” For the first time since you’ve known him, Steve’s eyes rake over your body with a new emotion behind them: lust. “I’m down.”

Author's Note: Howdy! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my fanfic "Put It To Practice" 😌 This is a big deal for me, as it is my first full-length fanfic in over two years! My name is Juniper and I'm thrilled to be here in the Stranger Things fandom. I'm trying to meet more of you and make some new friends. So I'd love it if you could give me a follow and reach out to say 'hello' via my ask box!

I'm excited to publish the next segment of "Put It To Practice" for you all. I write fanfiction for free; and my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it's simply a "Wow, I loved it!", a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

If you wish to be tagged in the next part, please let me know via my ask box!

Much love ❤︎, Juniper

NEXT CHAPTER

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington x Reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things s4 #stranger things s3 #Robin Buckley #stranger things fandom #steve harrington imagine

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topazshadowwolf · 6 months

Text

GoopTales 19: Two Weeks Later

Sponge Bob Narrator voice: Two weeks later

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19(you are here)

AO3: Ch 1 (1-4), Ch 2 (4-8), Ch 3 (9-12), Ch 4 (13-16) Ch 5 (17-19)

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The mental, physical, and emotional drain on him could not be any more clear than how he slouched on the sofa. Nightmare was not one to sit in a slumped manner. The powerful and generally active tendrils sprawled out around him, one mustering what strength it had left to twitch now and then like the tip of an idle cat tail.

A week and a half. He had lasted that long before the thought of needing help crossed his mind as being something he could no longer avoid. Determined to prove himself wrong, he struggled through the rest of that week. It was now the start of week three, and he knew he was being a fool. That pride, which has been the cause of failure in others that he tried to keep in check, got him in the end.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was time to start dinner. Before he could, he had to make sure the boys were occupied. If he didn’t, then there was bound to be a disaster within minutes of him leaving the room.

Cross was playing a video game, thankfully an age-appropriate one. He had quickly gathered up and put away everything that was not “child friendly.” Still, Killer has somehow been getting into the mature games Nightmare had put away. Naturally, Cross is too well-behaved for that.

Unfortunately, that is not true for them all. For example, Horror was about to sneak up behind Cross. Nightmare has learned that Horror, even while younger, enjoyed giving others a scare now and then. Considering Sanses and their pranks, the dark guardian understood why. Still, that does not mean the others appreciate being startled by Horror.

“Horror, what are you doing?” Nightmare asked, and Cross paused his game to look.

Seeing his plan of scaring Cross was thwarted, Horror sighed, “nooothing….” He then shuffled over to play with toys while Cross glared at him. With that settled, though, Cross returned to playing his game.

Dust was curled up beside him, sleeping. Feeling the tiny skeleton’s negative emotions increase, he knew a nightmare was starting. He drew out some of those emotions while placing a gentle hand on the child’s skull. In return, Dust’s body relaxed, and he continued sleeping peacefully.

Wait… where was Killer? Nightmare quickly looked around the room, trying to figure out where the more active of them was.

A crash from the kitchen answered the question of where.

“sorry!” Killer called out.

With a long-suffering sigh, Nightmare stood up and made his way to the kitchen. The child had flour and other ingredients all over him and the floor. A bowl was upside down beside him, and he was trying to pick it up the best he could. But it was a large bowl and likely too heavy for one so young.

“Killer…,” was all Nightmare could say.

“you looked so tired… i just wanted to help…,” Killer explained, a feeling of regret emerging from his soul.

That was it. The guardian surrendered to the children tonight. He had planned on doing this in the morning, but the dark guardian needed rest now. Nightmare was exhausted after watching after them, tending the animals, filling in for missions, and being in charge of chores. He needed a moment, a chance to close his socket and sleep.

With that, he pulled out his cell phone and made a call. As he kept the phone to his head, he shuffled into the kitchen and picked up the bowl.

“Greetings,” said a soft, sweet voice. A part of him felt some guilt for this, calling her back to play nanny for him. But, he knew she offered and would likely not mind or see it that way.

“Could you come over in a half hour?” Nightmare asked Lyra. As he spoke, he grabbed the broom and dustpan, then set to work cleaning up.

There was a pause before the Guardian replied, “I can. Though, I must ask, are you alright? You sound different.”

“I just need to rest. If you could watch the boys for five… ten minutes?” Nightmare was ashamed he was pleading but was too tired to stop himself.

“you need longer than that!” Killer insisted, real tears in his sockets.

“Are you sure you don’t want me there now?” Lyra replied.

“I need to get the boys washed up… normally I would do dinner first…” Looking at Killer, Nightmare sighed.

“i’m sorry…,” the child said as he started to cry. Nightmare winced as he knew he would need to comfort Killer before Lyra arrived.

“we’ll be good…” That sounded like Cross, and Nightmare looked back at the doorway. There the other three were, looking into the kitchen with worried expressions. Meaning it would need to comfort all four.

“Let me give them a bath, as I need to talk to them anyway. Once that is done, they will be ready for you. All you need to do is watch them and then wake me to make dinner.”

“Night…,” Lyra started.

“Please.”

“Alright, I will give you time to wash them up. But I am making dinner, no exceptions,” Lyra said. “I will see you soon.”

“Thank you,” Nightmare replied as he relented dinner duty without any more fight. He then hung up and sighed as he looked at Killer.

“i’m sorry!” Killer then said before bursting into more tears. His soul had succeeded in changing back into the monster soul shape, which meant he could feel some of the emotions that had been cut off before. The poor thing was drowning in regret.

He wanted to pick Killer up in his arms, but Nightmare didn’t want to get covered in flour. Later, he will have to comfort the boy. Using a tentacle, he scooped the child up and then walked over to the others. “come along, bath time,” he said as he grabbed the others.

Walking was a kind way to put it. Nightmare shuffled down the hall until he arrived at their bedroom and set them down in the connected bathroom. There, he started to run water. Luckily, by then, Killer’s crying had calmed enough that Nightmare could speak. “I understand you wanted to help, Killer. I am not angry, just disappointed. You could have assisted me instead of trying to do it on your own. Your body is… you are small… and fragile right now. If you got hurt trying to do that, I would have been… very sad.”

Killer sniffled, “i’m sorry.”

“I know… now, come on, undress for a bath, all of you,” He said.

One by one, they each were placed into the tub to wash up. The bathroom was warm and smelled pleasant. The soft sound of them splashing around as they played in the water was calming…

“mr. night?”

Nightmare’s head shot up, and he blinked a few times. How irresponsible. With a sigh, Nightmare sat straighter beside the bathtub. He will have to do better about staying awake for their sake. Granted, skeletons don’t need to breathe and can not drown, unlike other beings. Still, now was not the time to doze off.

“Are you four ready to get out?” Nightmare asked.

Killer moved closer and stretched a hand out to pat Nightmare on the head. “can you please sleep longer than ten minutes? i… i don’t care if i have ta go to bed hungry! you’re too tired, and you need sleep.”

“we’ll be on our best behavior!” Cross added.

“And you will have Lyra watching you, and she insisted on making dinner for all of you. So, you will eat, and I will get some rest. Still, you are my responsibility,” Nightmare said, then yawned. “Ready or not, you are getting out. Lyra will be here soon enough.”

Nightmare got the towels and wrapped up each tiny skeleton. “Go get your pajamas,” He said as he walked with them into their room while holding Killer. “Thank you for caring about me, Killer. I forgive you, but please let me know next time.” He then set the child down.

Killer hugged Nightmare around the legs. “all right, mr. night,” the child replied.

“Go get dressed,” Nightmare urged, and Killer nodded before joining the others. Horror and Killer both do well at getting themselves dried off and dressed. Cross, being younger, and Dust, who is still learning, need a little coaching and help from him.

Finally, all dressed in PJs, they walked over and cuddled beside him. He could feel how sorry they were, and he wished he could say or do more. This guilt will be something they will just have to work through on their own, which is unfortunate but good for their development.

Just as he felt like he was about to drift off again, there was a light knock on the bedroom door.

---

#GoopTales #Nightmare!sans #dust!sans #killer!sans #cross!sans #horror!sans #Lyra!Toriel #Balance!Toriel #Dadmare #Tired Noot #Let the guy sleep #Part 19/34 planned so far

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fictionadventurer · 4 months

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Have you ever seen the George C Scott one? Wasn't bad but not a particularly great Scrooge, but really good Tiny Tim, fantastic Ghost of Christmas-Yet-To-Come and probably the best Marley ever put to film.

I have now! It was already on my list, because at least two or three other people have mentioned it, and I've finally finished it.

Thoughts:

When it comes to atmosphere and mood, this is my favorite so far. It's so cozy and Christmassy and has all the vibes I love from the best '80s shows and period dramas.

That '80s atmosphere comes with some weird '80s computer effects, which is both unsettling and endearing.

Scott's Scrooge is charming--too much so. I like him from the beginning. He seems less like a harsh, disgusting miser and more like someone's grouchy but genial businessman uncle who just goes too far with his jokes. Like, the way he laughs through, "Every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on his lips should be boiled in his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly in his heart," makes it seem like he doesn't really believe that, but is getting carried away with his own joke. It seems like he just needs a minor attitude adjustment rather than a complete character reformation, which makes him not really Scrooge.

I don't remember what I thought of Marley one way or the other.

I loved that they included the fireplace tiles with the Bible scenes.

I didn't much care for this version of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

This is the only version I've seen that includes Scrooge rhapsodizing about his childhood reading, and I love it for that.

Yet again we have Scrooge's father hating him for killing his mother in childbirth. What part of "Fan is much younger than her brother" do they not understand?

This Belle was gorgeous, and pleasant enough, but I didn't like that they had her break up with Scrooge after he was late meeting her. It made her objections come off as passive-aggressive pettiness rather than mature reasoning.

I adore that this included the scene of Belle with her daughters. I'd given up hoping I'd ever see that scene in an adaptation, and they did it so well.

The Ghost of Christmas Present was fantastic. Looked great, had a good demeanor. At least until the scene in the Crachit house, where he became too harsh and mean. And what is with adaptations making the end of Christmas Present a horrifying nightmare moment?

Tiny Tim is adorable. The whole Crachit family is a bunch of adorable moppets. I love them to bits. This is just about the only "God bless us, everyone," that felt like something an actual child would say, because his adorable little lisping voice sounds like he's repeating something he's heard adults say before.

I liked that Scrooge played along with the party games. Did not like that they framed it as "he's sneering at these idiots who can't get the answers".

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come looked fantastic.

This might be my favorite version of Mrs. Dilber. She's not shrill or grasping--just a genial old lady who justifies herself, much the way that Scrooge does. It's a much more interesting and realistic-feeling take.

Scrooge was so dedicated to justifying himself every time someone criticized his behavior that his arc just didn't feel real to me. He was denying he needed to change, then denying that the dead man was him, so the last-second change at the gravestone didn't quite feel earned.

I figured Scrooge's genial nature would make his post-reformation scenes excellent, and I was right. He seems like a charming old man who should have a bunch of daughters and grandchildren. Makes me really mourn what he missed out on with Belle.

Though I didn't like his behavior at Fred's house. Instead of being uncertain and repentant, he seems smug and self-assured. Practically inviting himself over.

Tiny Tim running to Scrooge at the end was adorable and I may have shrieked at how cute it was.

Overall, not a very accurate version, but I love it for including some of my favorite non-adapted book scenes, and I love the atmosphere so much that I will likely visit it again.

#answered asks #a christmas carol #a christmas carol 1984

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desiresign · 3 months

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IDK if this is a character you're interested in writing but in regards to the prompt, "reflect" with Mamizou perhaps?

Mamizou gave herself the once-over as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her leaf hairpin was perfectly placed to separate her long brown hair. (Hair which was further separated by light gray strands.) Her glasses were rectangular and trim, giving a aura of intelligence to her figure. Faint hints of crow's feet darted across her freckled face when she smiled, her teeth imperfect and slightly yellowed. She looked almost human, at least 40 years old.

Of course, she was anything but. It was in her nature to change her appearance, the way of the tanuki being one of many transformations. It was like life in a way, having to adapt to many different bodies. Was it not the same as being a different person around your parents than around your friends? Was it not beautiful in that way, to not be held down by one societal role?

A nasally voice interrupted Mamizou's musings. "Hey, since when do you take so long to doll yourself up?"

Mamizou turned, immediately flinching and turning back at the sight of who - or rather, what, at the moment - stood before her. It was a ball of pure light. "Sheesh, cut it with the light show! Can't you go without blindin' me?" Mamizou muttered.

Sure enough, the ball of light wasn't really a ball of light at all. Rather, it was Nue. She was dressed up as well, wearing a casual T-shirt under a jean jacket that was decorated with various patches collected from various people and places. Ripped black pants covered lanky legs. Her wings were no where to be seen.

"Well sorry, just wanted to make sure you didn't die in here," Nue said, stretching her arms above her head. "Are you ready to go or what?"

"Is that the voice you're choosin' today?" Mamizou asked. "Don't think I've heard that one in a while."

"Is that the look you're choosing today?" Nue parroted. She smirked. "Well, yeah. If you can look like an office lady who just got off her shift, I can sound like a guy with a cold for the day."

Mamizou huffed. "With that attitude and dress, I hope no one mistakes us as mother and child. Some day I'll getcha to dress more mature."

"Hey! Just 'cause we're pushing 1,000 doesn't mean we have to act like it!" Nue teased. She relaxed her stance a little. "Nah, I mean we'd totally look like bizarre coworkers. I don't look that young." She paused. "Do I?"

"No, no, I jest," Mamizou assured. "You look mighty fine. So, shall we?"

Nue's smirk turned into a grin. "Well, let's go!"

#asks #*#fanfic tag #mamizou futatsuiwa #nue houjuu #maminue #the 'reflect' prompt was probably a real good excuse to write something emotional #instead. have some sillies! reflect? reflectION of yourself in the mirror before your date of course!

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legionaberrations · 4 months

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Got any Julie headcanons to spare? From general stuff (like appearance) to more... Specific stuff (like gender identity and voice). I would love to read them mun. Plus your art is wonderful and very cute to look at (I truly mean that)

(I have quite a few Julie headcanons! As the universe of DBD is functionally a multiverse where characters can have small differences between iterations of themselves it's fun to play with those kinds of alternatives and differences.

For my Julie's appearance I draw heavily on greasy 90s aesthetics and in particular Billy Loomis - the Legion is at its core a Scream reference and I personally thought making Frank "the Billy" is a little too obvious, too easy. That's why you'll see I often draw her with short greasy brown hair lol.

Gender-wise the version of her seen on this blog is a trans woman (and Frank in parallel as a trans man). I think a lot of the "horror" in suburban horror comes from feelings of isolation or even persecution in your community and as a trans person who was once an edgy and angry teenager I think it's fun to explore the Legion from that angle.

I'd never really thought about her voice! I think the female Legion voice in the game sounds a lot more like Susie to me than Julie, though. For me I'd really look to female vocalists from the 90s like Courtney Love or Donita Sparks.

I do imagine Julie's parents would be relatively supportive if ignorant (since it Was the 90s) and that acceptance would be a bright spot in an otherwise very distant relationship. Julie hides a lot of herself from her parents, as seen in the comics, trying hard to make them think she's just a normal girl. But smothering those parts of herself is obviously very painful and isolating for her too.

I think Julie projects a strong air of confidence but actually has a lot of negative views of herself. Not in being traditionally self-hating but I think in a truly teenage way she thinks there's something wrong with her, that she's evil by nature. Obviously she's just a troubled kid who needed her emotional needs acknowledged instead of being ignored, but that's something she was never mature enough to realize (and never will be, now! It's very sad).

At the time of being in the Entity I think she strongly believes that without her push and her influence, the other members of Legion probably never would've killed anybody, but that she was always going to end up here. It's kind of a moot point because she also realizes they were all too enmeshed and were never going to split up and she was always going to corrupt them (and I think this is an anxiety she shares with Frank, who probably sees himself as a violent rot that tainted all his friends).

Other smaller headcanons: I like to imagine that Julie has an older brother, but there's a large gap between them so he was already out of the house by the time she was in elementary school. He's a successful and well-adjusted man which just makes her feel more fucked by comparison.

Her family isn't rich or anything but is relatively well-off. She has a car (in some canons?) and unlike Joey didn't need to work to buy it for herself. She gets a reasonable allowance and is kinda the "friend who rents movies" and "the friend who buys dinner" when other people don't have the money to do it.

She likes gothic metal, favoring bands like Tiamat, Type O Negative, Lacuna Coil, etc.

Thank you for the compliment!! I appreciate that you like the blog. I should probably post more haha but I've been burnt out of late. Asks like this are very encouraging!)

#ooc

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red-moon-at-night · 9 months

Note

thank you for being so funky about mugram and being a funky mutual

I think I already sent this ask in, but do you have any interesting facts about yumemi? (I think I spelt that right I forgor)

mug!! thank u thank u 🥺💜 fellow funky mutuals unite! but in all seriousness I'm really looking forward to seeing more mugram I love OC stuff so so much with all my heart,,,

Yes I have interesting fun facts for you about Yumemi!! I've accumulated together several bits of information that are probably harmless to let free into the world (probably)... so without further ado:

✨️Fun Facts About Koike Yumemi✨️

She is hypermobile! As in, 'double-jointed', as in super bendy and flexible. Naturally inclined towards things like gymnastics and dance even if she's out of practice! Can also freak people out with weird backwards bending fingers and other fun party tricks :)

A lot of Yumemi's high school time was taken up with idol activities and responsibilities... which has led to a lower level of kanji reading comprehension. Also her maths isn't great. Also she probably has undiagnosed dyslexia that she doesn't know about which isn't exactly helping the situation! have a doodle to illustrate this point:

Her childhood 'what do you want to be when you grow up?' career choice was to be a nurse!! She wasn't actually one of those kids who said 'pop star' or 'famous'... *side eyes the present* Anyways. Sometimes life throws you curveballs! she is not coping well

She hates bugs (only certain ones) but is also the person who will Remove the bug for you. If there's one person in the room not standing on a chair because of a spider it's Her.

She doesn't have many hobbies, but the ones she does are very tactile. Yumemi is pretty good at origami!! She can fold you a crane or a swan or a pinwheel or a hat or a dragon or much much more. Also enjoys sculpting small creatures with clay <3

my voice claim for Yumemi that I've settled on for now is Minori Chihara (I've linked one of those voice reels because they're cute but this va has SO much music released it's insane here listen to this as an example). I think the slightly nasally and soft voice works super well for Yumemi! Plus her singing voice fits my vision of her too... a little more mature sounding with some very powerful pipes!!

Anyway, that's it for now!! Thank you for the ask I had a lot of fun putting this together hehe 💜

#milgram oc #ocgram #ask #I felt in the mood to draw some of this and hey look! finally a scenario where haruka and amane are kind of interacting with each other!#I truly make miracles happen :')#It was kinda hard to think of enough interesting things at first which weren't 'major plot point' but I got in the flow of things!!#thank u again for the lovely ask 💜#koike yumemi #amane momose #haruka sakurai #one day I'll draw her looking happy I swear 🥲#my art

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bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

Text

Ballroom Blitz, Part 1

Summary: *Stefon from SNL voice* This fic has everything: parties, Khonshu possessing his avatar, ballroom dancing, a cameo by the British royal family, LAYLA EL-FAOULY, the moon boys looking like this ⬇️ , and so much more!

Basically, Sigyn brings the Moon Knight to a classy function at Buckingham Palace, and all hell breaks loose. A continuation of my fic SCARED TO BE LONELY

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Marc x Fem!OC, Steven x Fem!OC, Jake x Fem!OC, past Loki x Fem!OC, past Marc x Layla

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Here have some Moon Boys and Sigyn while I write Marc and Jake screwing their breastfeeding wife in Shape of You land. Also, what can I say? I love dressing Marc and Sigyn up and making them dance in public together. Also I made Shuri queer and gave Khonshu they/them pronouns byeeeee

I could kill him, Sigyn thought to herself as she paced up and down the hallway of Buckingham Palace, the rather unimaginative locale for where the British royalty was hosting the ball. The sound of her stilettos meeting the polished marble reverberated down the length of the high-ceilinged corridor.

The Brits were hosting the event to foster camaraderie and diplomacy between the nations that were ruled by warrior-superheroes. The Wakandans were in attendance with all of their slowly dissipating mystique and perennial grace, and naturally the Asgardians - New Asgardians, technically - were invited as well.

While at first Thor and King Valkyrie had believed that going was a waste of precious time, time they needed to use hunting down Gorr and Loki, Sigyn convinced them otherwise. They had to go, she’d implored, because if they didn’t it would raise suspicion and worry. It wasn’t time for the general public to panic just yet. Furthermore, she’d pointed out, this would give them cover to debrief the Wakandans, since Gorr’s vendetta affected them too.

There was one more reason Sigyn knew that their attendance was the right move, and it was because of her escort. It was expected for Thor and Valkyrie to arrive as a unit, the former crown prince of Asgard and his successor on Midgard, which left Sigyn’s arm bare. She refused to attend alone, therefore she’d asked Marc to accompany her. He’d accepted.

Sigyn publicly on the arm of another man would infuriate her estranged husband. This was different than she and Khonshu’s avatars having sex in the privacy of her Claridge’s suite, or the dark corners and hidden alleys they’d fuck in each time they failed to find Loki as they chased him halfway across the galaxy. Attending the ball with Marc was an overt abandonment of Sigyn’s vows to her spouse, no matter that he’d forsaken them first. She was hoping that it would make the adopted Asgardian so livid it would deliver Loki to them, ending their weeks-long fruitless pursuit.

Yet, Marc wasn’t here. Nor was Steven or Jake. They all knew about tonight’s event, she’d told them each separately, and how much it meant to Sigyn. It was a chance for the princess to recapture a portion of her old life, her life in her home universe, where she was a shrewd diplomat and gracious guest. Not only was the system late, they weren’t answering any of their phones.

“Seeg,” Thor jogged over to her, looking dapper in his tux. “They’re going to start introductions soon. I’ve already asked the Wakandans to go before us, but is there any sign of him?”

I am going to kill him, Sigyn amended her previous thought. All traces of doubt were gone. She detested exceptions like this being made on her behalf, especially when she was conducting official business. How could they do this to her? As if she didn’t already have enough abandonment issues.

His sister’s dejected expression answered Thor’s question. He put his massive palms on her shoulders. “Hey, I’ll send Val in by herself. We’ll go in together, though we may be so blond and dazzling as a pair it could drive the Midgardians mad.”

The god took the small smile his words etched across his sister’s lips as a victory. “I’ll enter on my own Thor, you and the King need to present a united front. Besides, I’m not even being introduced as a royal anyway.”

Tonight, for the first time in nearly a millennium, Sigyn wouldn’t be introduced as princess of Asgard. Instead she would be Lady Sigyn Frodisdottir, her name when she was maiden. It made sense. She was royal on a different Asgard, and it would confuse everyone if a princess appeared out of nowhere in New Asgard. They’d all think she was married to Thor or Valkyrie. Nevertheless, it was more salt to the wound Loki carved into her heart, a wound Marc, Steven, or Jake’s presence would’ve served as a balm for.

“No!” Thor protested, “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Sigyn opened her mouth to insist once again, but a member of the palace staff approached her. “My lady, I apologize, but I believe your escort just arrived at one of the service entrances.”

Sigyn’s heart soared and burned all at once. He didn’t abandon her after all, but of course Marc hadn’t listened and arrived in a car like she’d told him to. “Is your team bringing him here?”

“We are my lady,” the staff member confirmed, “But for security purposes, could you come with me to make sure it’s him?”

“Of course,” Sigyn answered without hesitation. She turned to Thor and begged, “Buy us a little more time, would you? I’ll collect him as quickly as possible.”

Her brother nodded, mission accepted, as Sigyn and the staff member dashed from where the nobility waited outside the grand ballroom. The princess was surprisingly speedy in her heels.

“My lady, are you comfortable with passing through some of the staff corridors?” they inquired. “I loathe to suggest it, particularly to an esteemed guest such as yourself, but it may be wise in the interest of time.”

“Certainly,” Sigyn consented, “I don’t mind at all.”

Sigyn met Marc in a staff hallway just outside the kitchens. He was impeccably dressed in a classic tuxedo that Sigyn had procured for him through Claridge’s personal shopper. Steven had been fronting when they’d had a fitting. He nearly lost his mind over wearing a suit that was being altered for him by a tailor from Savile Row.

But this was undoubtedly Marc charging toward her. The storminess in his eyes and athleticism in his gait was unmistakable to the Asgardian. He was clean-shaven, his hair neatly pushed from his brow with a hint of product. His appearance would’ve made Sigyn’s heart skip a beat if she wasn’t in such a rush.

He began his apology, words pouring out of him, as soon as Marc glimpsed her. “I’m sorry, so fucking sorry. I rushed here, literally flew as fast as I can, Khonshu demanded that I–”

Sigyn stopped him “Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now, we’re delaying the introductions.”

The princess took Marc’s hand and tugged him to follow her, but now he’d been able to get a proper look at her, and Marc nearly choked on his own breath. Sigyn was a vision. She wore a simple yet timelessly elegant navy blue satin gown. It had a modest, delicate boatneck neckline, and fit the length of Sigyn’s body like a glove, the hem stopping just above the floor.

The Asgardian’s long locks were swept off her shoulders in a neat French twist. Marc had seen Sigyn without makeup plenty of times now, she was gorgeous and frankly didn’t need it he’d always thought, but there was something about the touch of smoky shadow around her eyes and an almost nude pink painted onto her lips that enhanced her divine features further.

A sparkling diamond bracelet encircled the wrist that held Marc’s hand, and two small teardrop diamond earrings fell from her lobes. Around Sigyn’s neck, a thin diamond choker. The princess looked like an old movie star, understated but still incredibly alluring.

That was until Sigyn turned around to tow Marc in the direction of the ballroom. If he was a cartoon, his eyes would have bulged out of his head and left his skull altogether. Where the front of the Asgardian’s dress rested just above her clavicles, the back was open, plunging down an expanse of bare skin to right above where Sigyn’s spine began to widen into the plump curves of her ass. And it turned out that her necklace wasn’t a choker at all, it was only a portion of a long diamond strand on which a sapphire, exactly the color of the princess’s eyes, hung at the root of her back.

Jake was so captivated by this development that he pushed to the front, forcing a switch with no regard that they weren’t alone. The palace staff hurried along beside them, but that didn’t stop Jake from grabbing Sigyn’s hips and pulling her back to him.

“Ay princesa, tu culo en este vestido”, he murmured. “Me estás dando una erección en medio del Palacio de Buckingham.”

Thank heavens the palace staff were bastions of discretion.

“You’ll never get this ass again if you make us any more late,” she warned him in Spanish.

Jake promptly released her and they resumed their race back to the ballroom, yet Sigyn only made it a few paces before her hand was captured and she was pulled into an equally hungry and earnest kiss.

“You look absolutely radiant tonight, love,” Steven professed when they broke apart.

“Thank you darling,” she melted. “But we must make haste, we’ll have time for the two of us soon.”

Which reminded Sigyn, “Whose name shall I give to the announcer?”

“Mine.” American accent. Marc. He’d switched back.

“One of these days I wish to speak with Khonshu,” Sigyn fumed. “This is outright obnoxious.”

“He thinks I’m serving you more than him lately,” Mark divulged.

That stopped Sigyn dead in her tracks. “You’re not serving me. I am your partner Marc, I could be queen of the multiverse but we’d still be partners in this venture. You know that, right?”

Marc nodded.

“That infernal ancient bird,” Sigyn swore.

Marc remained silent. He’d done his best to lose the Egyptian deity as he flew across London, but Khonshu was always watching. Marc knew that the god wasn’t exactly fond of Sigyn either and getting in between them would be nothing short of a shitshow.

They arrived back to the ballroom entrance just as the Wakandan delegation were finishing their introductions, Shuri and T’Challa the last to cross the threshold.

“You made it!” Thor crowed in delight, Valkyrie at his side. “We’ll go first, give you two a moment.”

“That violates protocol,” Sigyn protested.

“Who cares?!” Valkyrie exclaimed with playful irreverence. “On New Asgard, the protocol is whoever’s ready goes first.”

The King sent Marc a reassuring wink and soon they disappeared into the ballroom with the announcement “Her Majesty King Valkyrie of New Asgard and Thor, the strongest Avenger.”

“I can’t believe he made them say that,” Marc muttered as Sigyn adjusted his lapel.

“Do not get me started,” the Asgardian concurred through gritted teeth. She lay her hands on his broad chest. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

“This is the furthest a kid from working class Chicago can get,” Marc told her.

“Just take one step at a time and keep your gaze straight ahead,” she advised.

It was their turn. Sigyn whispered to the uniformed attendant waiting to announce them, then returned to Marc, who offered her his arm. This was it.

“Lady Sigyn Frodisdottir of New Asgard and Mister Marc Spector!”

A swell of strings from an orchestra greeted them as the pair entered the ballroom. Every eye in the massive space was on Marc and Sigyn as they descended the staircase into the room, Marc making sure to go slow so Sigyn would retain her balance.

Yet, the princess didn’t need his aid. She seemed to glide down the stairs, clearly the Asgardian noble was back in her element. Nevertheless, she covertly squeezed her escort’s arm, hoping he got the message “I’m happy you’re here with me” she meant to convey with the gesture.

He took her advice, setting his gaze directly in front of him instead of looking at his feet, channeling the confidence from knowing he was here with the most beautiful woman in the room.

Thor, Valkyrie, T’Challa, his consort Nakia, Shuri, her striking consort - a member of the Dora Milaje, plus the British crown prince and his wife were all waiting for Marc and Sigyn at the base of the staircase. The orchestra continued playing, so once they were level with the other couples, Marc led Sigyn out to the dance floor with the rest of the royals and began the waltz.

She’d given him advance notice about this part, which gave Marc time to teach himself the mercifully simple box step the dance consisted of as well as time to practice with her.

Sigyn beamed at her partner while they waltzed. When Loki first left, Sigyn couldn’t have dreamed that she’d be in the arms of another powerful, kinder, dashing man, dancing at an opulent Migardian palace in another universe. Though now Sigyn was here, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

“I’m so glad you made it,” she told him.

“You’re throwing off my counting,” he chided.

“Please, you can do this in your sleep and you know it,” she dismissed him fondly.

“I’ll be glad when this song is over” he groused, then softened. “This is a little different from the first time we danced.”

“Only slightly,” she joked. Sigyn wanted to kiss Marc, yet they’d mutually agreed that there were to be no public displays of affection this evening. Luring Loki was one thing, but they didn’t need any Midgardian attention. It was proving more difficult in practice, what with Marc dressed to the nines, holding her near enough for the princess to smell his crisp cologne, his chiseled face so close to hers.

“I know Steven and Jake already said it, but you do look really beautiful tonight,” he offered as they sailed across the floor.

“Thank you, Marc,” she grinned again, Marc was the stingiest with compliments. It wasn’t that he didn’t genuinely mean them, but sharing them necessitated a vulnerability the Midgardian was still unaccustomed to. “You look quite dashing yourself. Now what troublesome task did Khonshu insist you complete before you arrived?”

Marc opened his mouth to answer, but instead of vocalizing, his eyes glowed a pearlescent white, his posture stiffened, and his head tilted back slightly. Miraculously, he didn’t miss a step as they danced which could only mean one thing…

“Why don’t I tell you myself, hm? Since you are so eager to speak with me.”

Khonshu.

“Your timing is impeccable,” she commented, her tone dripping in sarcasm.

They twirled her, Khonshu’s agility taking Sigyn off guard. Marc had mastered the box step but not much else.

“It would behoove you not to wear your emotions so plainly on your face, little princess,” the god admonished her. Khonshu’s voice was unmistakably deeper than Marc’s and more sonorous.

They no longer shouted like they had the first time they’d puppeted Marc’s body with the Ennead. Now that Marc had experienced it before, Khonshu had a better grip on modulating his avatar’s volume.

“Typical man, telling a woman how and how much to feel,” Sigyn scoffed.

“I am a god.”

“That may be true, but you’re still a man,” she quipped.

“It has been a while since I was corporeal,” they rumbled, pressing Marc’s groin into her hip.

Sigyn recoiled so quickly, the normally balletic Asgardian tripped over her shoes. Khonshu steadied her, disguising her stumble as a dip on the dance floor.

It wasn’t fair that the mangy falcon was wearing Marc’s skin. The face she gazed upon, the arms that held her, did things to Sigyn. Involuntary things. Primal things. She tried to superimpose the beaked image of Khonshu Steven had shown her over Marc’s features and tamp down on the defiant arousal stirring within her.

“What are you doing here?” her glare full of flames, “Why now?”

The deity straightened, bringing Sigyn with them. “Because you’ve fallen in love with my avatar and he’s falling for you. Every damn one of him.”

“I don’t–-I’m not in love with Marc,” she instantly denied as they resumed the waltz. What if he could hear her? She went on, “I do care about him however. His safety and wellbeing is a matter of importance to me, which is more than you can say.”

Khonshu snarled in a harsh whisper “How dare you insult me.”

“I do not fear you,” Sigyn looked them straight in Marc’s eyes. “In fact, you ought to be thanking me, putting yourself in my debt. I’m trying to save you.”

“And yourself,” the god pointed out, “I will not allow you to pretend as if you're performing some great act of charity on my behalf. I enable your intergalactic travel, lest you forget. You are serving yourself just as much as you’re entreating my avatar to serve you.”

“All the stars above, they are not–”

A slackening in the body’s posture stopped the princess mid-sentence.

“Sigyn?” Her name was spoken in a British accent instead of Khonshu’s dark timbre.

“Steven?!”

Steven heaved as if he was holding the god back with all of his physical might. “So sorry love…we’re trying to get him out of here, but he’s too power–”

His eyes glowed once more and his shoulders went rigid. Khonshu had returned.

Sigyn exhaled an exasperated sigh at their reemergence. “Do they give you consent to use their body like this?”

“I own this body,” Khonshu replied simply.

“Well, that response clarifies perfectly who is in service to who.”

“And yet they do whatever you tell them to, then lick your quim afterwards,” the deity fired back.

“You are wildly fortunate that I enjoy your avatar’s face,” her voice lower and more menacing than any of them - Jake, Marc, Steven and Khonshu - had ever heard it, “because otherwise I would punch that smirk clean off of it.”

“Little princess–”

“No more,” Sigyn demanded. “I want my escort back. Now.”

“And why should I listen to you?”

“I won’t ask again.”

When Khonshu refused, still swaying with Sigyn, she began in the same ominous tone, “You know tonight is important to me, which is precisely why you decided to make your entrance now. I must hand it to you, Khonshu, it’s your most breathtaking act of sabotage towards me yet.”

She was right. The Egyptian deity knew Sigyn wouldn’t make a scene in front of so many fellow royals and prying eyes.

“However, Marc, Steven, Jake and I, along with Thor, King Valkyrie, and the buffoons at S.W.O.R.D., we may fail. Gorr may kill us all,” Sigyn continued, “Or if Loki rises to power, he’ll likely spare me. We’re still married according to most cosmic law, and he’ll want heirs. Legitimate ones. Norns, he’s wanted children for the past two centuries now.”

Sigyn leaned in close to Marc’s ear and murmured to Khonshu, “What do you think he’ll do to you if that comes to pass? Better yet, what do you think I will do after your insolence tonight?”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Perhaps I am,” Sigyn conceded, “Or perhaps I’m not. Are you going to risk discovering which it is?”

Khonshu pulled away so they could see Sigyn’s face. She sneered at him, “You will continue to permit your avatar to partner with me to stop Loki, and provide transport for us whenever we require it. Now return my escort to me.”

In lieu of a verbal reply, Khonshu merely cooperated, the body nearly collapsing on top of Sigyn when it was returned to Marc.

��Marc, darling, are you alright?” She held him close to her.

“Yeah…” he was panting as if he’d run a marathon, “yeah I’m fine. Can we sit down?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she cooed. The Asgardian and Marc rarely used pet names with each other, but in this moment after witnessing Khonshu’s cruelty, Sigyn couldn’t help herself.

They left the dance floor. Marc sank down onto one of the plush red velvet couches that were dotted around the edges of the spacious room.

Sigyn sat with him, rubbing his back. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I will be,” he assured her. “Just need a moment.”

Sigyn removed her hand to allow Marc his space. She kept quiet and flagged one of the servers, requesting a glass of water for her partner.

“Thank you,” Marc said when the server returned with the glass.

She surveyed Marc expectantly. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Marc answered honestly. “He’s done it before, but only when the Ennead convenes. It’s something I can’t get used to though.”

“I’m sure.”

Marc sent the princess a wry grin. “You were pretty fucking formidable back there.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she teased. “How do you think I was able to keep Loki in line for as long as I did?”

Her quip prompted a question from Marc. He tried to make it sound nonchalant. “So you two are still married?”

“Only legally. It’s similar to that term you told me, for when spouses have decided to no longer stay together but yet to properly divorce.”

“Separated,” he supplied for her.

“Yes, we’re separated.”

“Would you take him back if he won? If he became the sole god in the multiverse?”

“If it meant protecting those I care about, yes. I would.”

Marc respected her honesty. “You know I always wondered why you two—you…you didn’t have kids.”

“No child of mine will ever be used as a pawn, and that’s exactly what they’d be if we’d had one,” Sigyn explained. “In my universe Thor, much like the one here, is still unwed and childless. So I knew, no matter how much he’d deny it, that if I gave birth before Thor married and had an heir of his own, Loki would use our child as a bargaining chip to ascend the throne before his brother.”

“I can see why you wouldn't want to bring a kind into that,” Marc sympathized.

“I appreciate that,” she managed.

The two watched the other couples dancing in silence. Marc was surprised at how light the hulking god of thunder was on his feet.

Marc leaned over to Sigyn, “For the record, I don’t think I serve you.”

The Asgardian was diffident. “I’m glad.”

“And I really want to kiss you right now,” he confessed.

“We promised we wouldn’t.”

“That was before I saw you in this dress.”

“You think it’s been any easier for me with you looking like that?”

“Sigyn,” he rasped, crowding her space further.

The princess was on the verge of succumbing to Marc, breaking their mutual promise, when Thor strode up to them and interrupted, “Thankfully that’s over!”

Marc and Sigyn sprang apart. The Avenger pretended to be oblivious and continued, “Did anyone else feel the weird energy out there just now? Marc, my man, you’ve been holding back your dance moves!”

“What is it, brother?” Sigyn unsuccessfully masked the irritation in her voice, refusing to take her eyes off her escort.

“Valkyrie’s rounding up the Wakandans, it’s time.”

Ah. That. Sigyn turned to Thor. “Marc should come.”

“Marc should stay and be eyes on the ballroom while we’re away, like we discussed,” Thor was doing the thing where he sounded overly upbeat to mask his frustration.

Marc could sense it. He pecked Sigyn’s lips, effectively kissing the pout off of her face. “We should stick to the plan. I’m fine here.”

At last she agreed and rose from the red cushions. “We won’t be gone long, and you’ll pay for that, Spector.”

Marc winked. “I sure hope so.”

As Sigyn and Thor departed, the god whispered, “You said it was casual.”

“It is,” she countered, looking anywhere but Thor’s face.

“You two are acting like you’re square in the sexily-denying-their-feeling-for-each-other phase of any good rom-com,” Thor shot back.

Sigyn glared at him. “You need to lay off the Midgardian entertainment, I think.”

***

Marc set about sweeping the room in his date’s absence. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a server, not to drink, but as a prop for a very fake casual stroll around the room. Sigyn had warned him that Loki was a shapeshifter, so he did a lap to see if anyone, even the most innocuous attendees, perhaps the Queen herself, was tailing or watching him.

Who Marc found instead knocked the wind out of him. He blinked in disbelief, sure that the vision in front of him was in fact a hallucination. It wasn’t though, because once they locked eyes, she made her way over to him instead of disintegrating before him.

It was his ex-wife.

Where Sigyn had opted for a timeless subtle elegance with her gown, she had eschewed tradition and wore a much more modern ensemble. A cap-sleeved orange crop top showcased her broad shoulders, then stopped at the center of her rib cage, revealing a delectable strip of tawny skin at her midsection. A voluminous matching orange skirt bloomed from her waist, everything accented by the dainty gold jewelry she wore.

She looked gorgeous. He was going to need that champagne after all.

“Layla?!”

“Hi Marc.”

He tried not to betray just how much he was reeling at her presence. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same about you. Of all the colonizer palaces in all the cities in the world…”

A nervous laugh escaped Marc at her Casablanca reference. He took a pull from his champagne flute to ease him. “Sorry, I sound like a dick for asking, but why are you here?”

“I've been consulting for the Wakandans on recovering stolen artifacts,” she informed him. Layla kept her voice carefully guarded and aloof. It stung to realize Marc was no longer privy to Layla’s adventures.

He attempted to wheedle them out of her anyway. “What, you going to use the party as cover to make a play tonight?

Layla ignored her ex-husband’s question and sipped her respective champagne instead. “The reason you’re here made it pretty clear when she paraded you in earlier.”

Marc’s cheeks burned. Layla knew how much he hated pomp. “It’s…it’s not like that. We’re working together.”

Layla shot him her signature “don’t bullshit me” look but Marc doubled down.

“Seriously, there’s a threat involving an alien and a Norse god and I’m helping the Asgardians track them down before they can do too much damage.”

Her laser gaze intensified. Layla knew him too well, and knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. She cursed the dark, masochistic part of her that wanted to hear Marc say that they were sleeping together.

Marc didn’t feel the need to. Instead, he swore, “It’s casual. I don’t think either of us know what we are, or care to. No labels, no commitments.”

“You committed to learning the waltz.”

“You look great,” Marc changed the subject, one in which he could actually tell the truth.

“Marc—“

“Are you still working with Tawaret?” Marc pressed.

“Do you miss me?”

Yes, said his gut. He hated himself for it. The divorce was final, Marc still considered Layla as his wife. Deep down he knew he could fuck Sigyn six ways to Sunday and still a little part of him would miss Layla. It wasn't fair to his Asgardian lover, and it was bloody painful for Marc.

Marc searched for an adequate answer. He did miss her, and after everything they went through in Cairo, they thought they could give their marriage another chance. But Marc couldn’t shake the guilt that he’d condemned the person he loved most to the same servitude he entrapped himself in.

Though Tawaret was much kinder to her avatar than Khonshu to him, it also wasn’t lost on Marc how she blossomed in her new role as Cairo’s resident superhero. Not to mention the discovery of Jake threw him for a loop. Ultimately, he filed the divorce papers again because Marc believed he needed to allow Layla to enter this new chapter of her life unencumbered with his baggage, his DID, his love for others to exploit to get to her.

While Marc’s thoughts raced, Sigyn rushed to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder and melding herself into his side with a blind fluidity.

“Darling, Thor’s insisting that you sit for the Asgardian delegation photograph, and he won’t listen to me when I insisted we’ve put you through enough this evening. It’s his attempt at a fraternal gesture, I suppose, but we must—“

“Sigyn, this is Layla El-Faouly.”

The princess faltered, taking in the sight of the caramel skinned, raven haired beauty before her. Her mane of dark curls were reminiscent of a regal lioness, her eyes inquisitive as a hawk’s.

Sigyn felt her heart fracture and jealousy bloom in its cracks. Khonshu had been more right about her feelings for Marc than she’d cared to admit. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours, my lady,” Layla responded without missing a beat.

“Call me Sigyn, please.” The princess searched for something more to say, something safe. “Are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?”

“Very much so.”

“Yes, the British certainly know how to entertain their guests.”

“As well as subjugate and steal from other cultures,” added Layla.

Sigyn’s eyebrows shot up. “I ought to have done more research on our hosts it seems.”

“Didn’t you say you two needed to be going?” Layla asked in a deceptively airy tone, zeroing in on her ex-husband.

Sigyn also looked to Marc for help. He felt like a deer caught in not one, but two, deadly hunters' crosshairs.

The Asgardian broke the silence. “Right…well, I could always tell Thor that I couldn’t find you Marc, if you two have more to discuss.”

“No, let’s go,” he answered at last. The decision to leave with Sigyn hurt Layla more than if Marc had stabbed her in the heart.

Sigyn turned to the exquisite Egyptian. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“And you, Sigyn.”

The princess waited until they were far enough away to remark coolly, “She’s stunning.”

Marc tensed. “Sigyn...”

“Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she mused, drinking in the figure Marc cut in his tux. “You two make a beautiful couple.”

“Stop.”

Sigyn glowered at him. Marc moved in closer, put his hand on the bare skin of her back, just under where the sapphire dangled. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know, Marc, are you?” she shot back, angling away from his touch. “You said all of nothing back there.”

“I don’t want to do this right now,” Marc huffed.

“How fortunate, neither do I,” Sigyn parried, her mounting anger causing her to walk faster, “So if there’s one of you in there who hasn’t been with her I would much rather speak to them.”

That was despicable, she thought as soon as the words had left her mouth. Sigyn had no right to speak to Marc like that, to treat him as interchangeable, to demand a more convenient alter at any given moment. Yet before the Asgaridan could apologize, a pair of arms pulled her back against a solid torso just as they had earlier that evening, causing the blue gem she wore to dig into her spine.

“Estoy aqui, nena” Jake murmured into her ear.

“You were never with her?”

Jake laughed, his trademark humorless bark. “She doesn’t know I exist.”

“He’s furious at me, isn’t he?” She inquired about Marc. “He should be.”

He shushed her in a soothing tone. “Don’t think about that right now. Be here with me. I’m more fun at a party than the two of them combined.”

Sigyn walked out of his hold, though she kept her hand clasped in his. “They’re still waiting on us. Can you pretend to be Marc for the next five minutes?”

“Claro que si,” Jake assured her, following her. “Then we leave.”

“Not that soon,” Sigyn countered. “But soon enough.”

Jake growled in her ear with excitement. “Por favor princesa, let’s leave now. I’ll take you to a club where we can really dance.”

But they were already entering the opulent meeting room where the photographs were being taken, Thor booming “There you two are!” at their arrival.

READ PART TWO

A/N: I need everyone to know that I adore Layla and May Calamawy sooo much so that every OC I write must be intimidated and jealous of her because she is truly a goddess among us. That being said, I harscore ship Layla and the Moon Boys in canon, wanted to make sure NO ONE thinks I’m a hater!

Taglist: @starfirette @twwcs

Translations:

Ay princesa, tu culo en este vestido - Ay princess, your ass in this dress

Me estás dando una erección en medio del Palacio de Buckingham - You’re giving me an erection in the middle of Buckingham Palace

Estoy aqui, nena - I’m here baby

Claro que si - Of course

Por favor princesa - Please princess

89 notes · View notes

mint-yooxgi · 1 year

Text

Paradise Gardens - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Book Two to Hotel California

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Slight focus on Seonghwa, San, & Hongjoong)

Words: 7,205

Warnings: Car accident, mentions of past trauma. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Here it is! The moment you’ve all been patiently waiting for and greatly anticipating!! I know the chapter is a little shorter than the usual ones, but I feel it sets the tone for the series nicely, and frames the coming parts well. I’m super excited to show you all what I have planned, and to really dive back into the world of HC and everyone’s favourite Demon Boys hehehe As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Welcome to the Paradise Gardens~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist

The sky is clear, the night stretching out around you outside of the comfort of the vehicle you currently find yourself resting in. The muted sound of the car stereo reaches your ears. Softly, the familiar hum of your favourite songs drift through the speakers, relaxing you into this moment. Stars twinkle overhead like lanterns, illuminating the earth below.

Turning your head slightly, you watch as the desert stretches on before you. That familiar little cactus in the distance gets closer and closer, letting you know that you’re almost home. Right now, it is nothing more than a spec on the horizon, but you’d recognize it anywhere. A plant of which that they’ve told you marks the barrier of this realm with their own domain.

Beside you, Seonghwa sits. His one hand rests on the steering wheel, while the other holds yours over the console between the two of you. You can feel the metal of his ring - your ring - pressing against your fingers. A piece of jewellery you have yet to see him without since you gave it to him all those weeks ago. Almost absentmindedly, his thumb strokes over your skin, squeezing your hand softly every few minutes with his own.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” your voice is gentle, making sure to keep your tone low so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere within the sleek black vehicle.

A smile pulls onto his features, eyes shining with nothing but love as he spares a glance at you for the briefest of moments.

“Of course, My Divine,” he hums, gently lifting your intertwined hands to his lips in order to place a tender kiss onto the back of your skin. “I am always happy to spend time with you.”

“My sister absolutely adores you,” you chuckle, grin tugging at your features. “Don’t tell Mingi or Hongjoong, but I think you’re her favourite.”

Seonghwa’s one brow quirks, a teasing quirk tugging at his lips in the next second. “You’re telling me not to rub such a satisfying fact in my brother’s faces? My Divine, do you know us?”

“Oh, believe me,” you mirror his look, a knowing gleam in your eyes. “I do.”

In the back of your mind, a faint memory of Wooyoung bragging about bonding with your sister over the fact that she danced competitively throughout her teen years surfaces. Though, nothing could have prepared you for how smug Hongjoong had been after that very first dinner with your family. The way your mother kept complimenting him in front of the others was a keen topic of interest. One which he still hasn’t let the others forget.

You smile.

“She’s due any week now,” he informs you. “The baby is completely healthy, too. At least, from what we can sense.”

Your heart swells, and you squeeze his hand. A warmth immediately floods your veins from his words, tears threatening to line your vision. Ever since you made that promise to protect your little nephew in front of your family, the eight of them have sworn to help you keep it at any costs. You didn’t even need to ask them, or tell them to. It was already a given.

After all, they would do anything for you.

Already, one month has passed since you introduced them all to your family. The days have been slowly getting better, and all of the guys have been nothing but supportive and understanding with you. Not to mention patient. They’ve even slowly started helping you get into a small routine to prepare you for the start of your combat training with them. A fact of which you’re looking forward to every day, just as you know they are as well.

You cannot wait until tomorrow.

Already, Mingi and San have gone over some of the basic forms of self-defence with you. Both Seonghwa and Hongjoong have let you practice with them more times than you can count. Though, you will still never forget accidentally knocking the wind right out of Jongho’s lungs the one day when he snuck up behind you. All he had wanted to do was wrap his arms around you, but you jumped, immediately elbowing him in the chest as a shriek left your lips.

Countless apologies had fallen from your lips as he stood there rubbing at his chest with a pout on his face. The laughter from both Mingi and Wooyoung didn’t help at all, either, considering both males appeared as soon as they had heard you scream. Though, they were all glad to know that you were okay.

Thinking back on it now, a tender smile graces your features. Especially since you can recall a very amused Seonghwa appearing in the foyer with a belled collar a few minutes later. A fact of which made Jongho grumble about it as you laughed wholeheartedly, watching the elder male jingle that thin piece of black fabric in the air.

“All that’s left is to put him in a maid costume, and tell him to give himself cat ears and a tail!” Wooyoung’s boisterous laughter could be heard throughout the whole house.

Kuroo had walked in after that, cooing loudly for all to hear.

“See, even Kuroo has offered to give you some tips!” Wooyoung had cackled, soon to be followed by his shrieks of terror as Jongho chased him throughout the hallways shortly after that with murderous intent.

“Something tells me Wooyoung is projecting,” you had mumbled to San, leaning in slightly to his side at the time after bending down to lift Kuroo into your arms.

San had laughed at that, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Don’t we all?”

Focussing back in on the present moment, you squeeze Seonghwa’s hand once more. “Thank you, Hwa. You don’t know how much I appreciate it. How much I appreciate you.”

“We know how much both your sister and her child mean to you,” he smiles softly, turning once more to look at you for the briefest of moments. “Of course we would care, too.”

The way your eyes shine with such earnest affection has his heart racing in his chest. Seonghwa cannot even help the way his cheeks begin to turn the faintest bit of red as he absolutely revels in your tender gaze. He swallows the sudden dryness in his throat, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Get some rest,” he squeezes your hand once more, shifting slightly as his eyes scan the desert highway spread out before you. That little cactus creeps closer by the second. “We’ll be home soon.”

You hum, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as you settle into your spot. “I’m sure the others will be glad once we’re back.”

A gentle hum in agreement is all you hear in response, echoing alongside the soft purr of the engine as you continue to travel down the road. Seonghwa absolutely adores the way you angle your body towards him, even if only slightly. The fact that he could be the one to take you to see your sister today, and spend some quality time with you alone makes him happy beyond belief.

Slowly, things are getting better. You may never return to your old self, but that’s okay. They wouldn’t want, nor expect you to. Everything that has happened to you is still becoming a part of you in some way. You wouldn’t be who you are without it, and for that, they are grateful.

Every day, you are growing, and so are they. The best part is: you’re growing together, and from now on, you always will be.

The interior of the car is cool, comfortable as you rest further into the leather seat beneath you. Black, just like the sudden darkness that surrounds you as your eyes fling open.

It’s as if someone has thrown you into a cloud of black smoke, blocking out the entirety of the moon and stars. Your sudden vision loss makes you panic, and were it not for the way you feel Seonghwa’s hand still tightly wrapped around your own, you’d think you’d have left this physical plane of existence already.

Fear begins to seize you, your heart leaping into your throat.

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of weightlessness you experience as the car flips off of the side of the road. One minute, your breath is hitching in your throat while the world moves in slow motion. The next, you’re standing safely on the side of the highway, cracks of dried earth beneath your feet.

Seonghwa’s grip around you is deadly, the male holding you tightly to his chest. One hand rests on the back of your head, while the other wraps itself around your waist, his breathing heavy.

The sound of the car crashing as it hits the ground finally draws you back to reality, your heart beginning to beat once more inside of your chest. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the wreckage smouldering right beside that little cactus. It’s almost as if the front end had smashed into something to cause it to flip so suddenly. Yet, you never even felt the impact.

“My Divine, are you okay?” His voice is frantic, worry shining in his eyes as he pulls away to glance over your figure. Carefully, his hands grip the sides of your face, looking you over for any injuries you might have gotten as the car rolled off of the side of the road.

“I’m fine,” your whole body visibly trembles, eyes attempting to blink away your shock.

“I-“ Seonghwa’s words immediately die out in his throat as a low growl escapes him in warning. Instantly, he’s turned around, blocking your body with his own as he stands protectively in front of you.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to let anyone near you. Especially not this fucker.

“Well, well, well,” a rough voice chuckles out through the darkness. The dust from the wreckage finally settles enough for you to see a male standing on the opposite side of the highway. A male whom you’ve never seen before in your life. “If it isn’t my old King.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flash, a threatening snarl escaping his curled lips, “Malik.”

Your breath hitches, worry seizing your entire body. In an instant, you’re reaching out to both Hongjoong and Yunho in your mind, followed shortly by the rest of them in respective order.

A blink, and you’re surrounded by several more familiar males, snarls pulling on their features as they turn towards their shunned general.

The male across the way isn’t very tall, but neither is he short. He stands about average height, a malicious grin tugging at his tanned features. His shoulder length black hair gets flicked out of his eyes with a jerk of his head, arms crossed proudly over his chest. Faintly, you can see the handle of a blade resting over the back of his one shoulder.

“So,” he quirks a brow, “this is the bitch you think is fit to be Queen?”

Before you can stop yourself, you blink, a disappointed sigh escaping you shortly after. Just from the way Malik shoots you an incredulous look, you can tell your reaction surprises even him.

“Seriously? Is bitch the best you can come up with?” You shake you head, swallowing your fear for the moment. “Thousands of years, and that’s the insult you choose to go with? Abhorrent imbecile.”

Wooyoung immediately bursts out laughing, grins pulling subtly onto Jongho’s, San’s, and Mingi’s faces. Even Seonghwa cannot deny the way the corner of his lips twitch upwards in response.

“Dearest,” Yeosang’s somewhat worried tone reaches your ears, but you can hear the hints of a sigh bleeding through.

“I’m just saying!” You reply, a bit exasperatedly. “He made his entrance, but it wasn’t anything to write home about. If he’s going to insult me, he best do it properly. I’ve literally been called worse by angry customers while working retail, and believe me. That was a lot scarier than this.”

With every word you speak, you manage to calm yourself more and more. It gets even better for you when you can see Malik physically shaking in rage across the way. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that steam is coming out of his ears.

You lean in a bit towards San’s who currently stands just a step behind you to your right. You cross your arms over your chest. “Are you sure that this is the most feared general you’ve ever had?”

“I don’t need your approval, woman,” Malik seethes, words but a hiss on his tongue.

Eight threatening growls answer him in response.

“Woah,” you snort, clearly amused. “Someone get all butthurt over some trash talking? Should I call for your mother to come pick you up from daycare?”

“You leave my mother out of this!” He yells, drawing the blade form his back as frustration lines his features.

“Oh, touchy subject,” you feign concern, a pout pulling mockingly onto your lips.

My Love, as much as we all enjoy seeing this side of you, Hongjoong spares a glance towards you out of the corner of his eyes. Where is this coming from?

They’re all just lucky you haven’t closed off your void yet since you called out for them.

I’ve got some pent up resentment for his life choices, you reply, rolling your shoulders as Malik yells about tearing you limb from limb across the way. Besides, Mingi told me that this fucker’s always had trouble controlling his anger. Makes him unstable in a fight. Looks like the ex-general could use some verbal cues that might make him show his hand.

You little minx, Yunho chuckles, a fond look shining in his eyes as he brushes against your mind tenderly. I think we have more than just a Beautiful Queen on our hands.

Cunning, Wooyoung grins, eyes flashing as he watches Malik’s every move.

Intelligent. Hongjoong hums lowly in agreement, the hints of a pleased growl echoing throughout his tone.

Deadly. Seonghwa agrees, a sword of his own appearing in his right hand, glinting dangerously beneath the moonlight.

Strong. Jongho adds, sparing another look at you out of the corners of his eyes as he clutches the handle of his axe tighter in his grip.

I can’t wait for the day where you’re able to join us in battle, Baby. San takes a small step forward, properly coming to stand beside you for the moment as he grins maliciously. The bottom end of his spear hits the ground, arm lax as he holds it at his side.

For now, let us take care of things here. Yeosang summons a bow to his hands, a quiver of arrows appearing immediately strapped to his back. Alright, Dearest?

We would never forgive ourselves if you got hurt again. Wooyoung’s eyes briefly flash with that same fear you saw from all of them those few weeks ago as he spares another glance towards your figure.

Which is why you’ll be safer at home with me.

Before you have a chance to protest, Mingi places a gentle hand on the back of your lower spine. Instantly, he’s transported the both of you back to the foyer of the mansion, Wooyoung appearing not even a second later.

Your lips part in protest, only for Wooyoung to immediately press a gentle finger against them.

“They’ll be fine, Gorgeous,” Wooyoung smiles reassuringly at you. “Nothing we haven’t handled before.”

“You are our number one priority right now.” Mingi adds, gently brushing the tips of his fingers along the side of your face, and checking you over once more for any injuries.

You melt into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as you breathe out a small sigh in relief. “I’ll feel better when I know the others are safe, too.”

“They will be,” Mingi promises. “In fact, they might be back sooner than you think.”

Almost as soon as he gets those words out, the other six are appearing in the foyer.

“Damn bastard turned tail, and ran.” San grumbles, eyes flashing black in annoyance.

“He came to make a statement,” Yunho voices, frown tugging at his features as he stares down at the ground for the moment. “He did his recon, then left.”

“He only wanted to get a visual on his target,” Seonghwa’s hands are shaking, and you’re quick to step over to him and take his into your own. The moment he lifts his head to meet your eyes, relief washes over him. “I’m sorry I even let him anywhere near you, My Divine.”

You tilt your head slightly. “What have I said about apologizing for things that are out of your control?”

“That’s the thing, Gorgeous,” Wooyoung draws your attention back to him. “This is something we should be able to control. Given that this happened so close to the boarder of our domain, we should have been able to sense him coming.”

“Perhaps he has help from Dimitri,” you offer, blinking once. “It’s clear that that warlock can cast very powerful cloaking spells.”

“Please don’t remind us,” Jongho looks physically pained as he says this, worry tugging at his brow.

“She’s right, though,” Hongjoong frowns, lips pursing into a thin line. “We cannot ignore the fact that they could already be working together. We don’t know if they’ve met yet or not, but Miyeon was thorough in making sure we would be attacked from every possible angle. Even after her death.”

You move to lean against the desk, arms crossed over your chest as your gaze falls to the floor. Your whole body deflates, and you can feel that familiar tightness building in your throat.

A gentle hand on your arm catches your attention.

“This isn’t your fault. You know that, right, Petal?” Yunho’s gaze holds nothing but worry as he meets your gaze. A moment later, and he’s stepped in directly beside you.

“Dearest,” Yeosang is the next to move to your opposite side, hand coming up to cup your cheek gently. “Whether you are with us or not, she had been planning this for years to come.”

Cradling your elbows in your hands, Yeosang drops his hand as you look towards the floor. The way you can see the lights reflecting off of the tiles draws your attention, eyes zeroing in on that faint shine in order to keep yourself grounded for the moment.

“I just can’t help but think that I was the catalyst that set everything in motion.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as tears threaten to gather in the corners of your vision once more. “It’s the perfect excuse, isn’t it? What better time to instil an uprising than when a human threatens to stand on equal ground as gods?”

“Dearest,” Yeosang’s expression falls, quickly stepping in front of you and cupping both cheeks in his hands. “You know we don’t think like that.”

“It is our choice, our decision to crown you as Our Queen.” Yunho says, his hand gently finding purchase on your lower back.

Softly, his thumb begins rubbing over your skin in comfort and you find yourself leaning into his touch more than you realize.

“Anyone who has a problem with that will find that we are not so merciful.” San’s voice rumbles out, low growls of agreement echoing around the room.

“We chose you, Darling.” Jongho adds, somewhat softly. “We only want you.”

“The entire Realm could burn to ash for all we care,” Seonghwa manages to get you to meet his gaze. “As long as we have you, that’s all we truly care about.”

“It’s just as Yeosang said before, My Love,” Hongjoong steps forward, drawing your attention to him for the moment. “This revolution has been in the works for over twenty years. The coup Malik and Miyeon staged was the catalyst, not you. They have used you as the perfect piece of propaganda to win more over to their side. The only hope they have to win is in numbers, otherwise their strength is a lost cause. Especially against us and all of our allies.”

Slowly, you nod your head, bringing the back of your hand up to wipe at your eyes. Luckily, Yeosang drops his hold on you just as you do so in favour of stepping in beside you once more. That’s when you notice that none of them are holding onto any of their weapons any longer.

You swallow, offering them a tight, weak smile.

“You said the harpies are on your side?” You lift your head, and though each male can still see that uncertainty swirling within your eyes, they also see that determination they have become so used to from you.

“We have a meeting with them in a few days to confirm their alliance, but yes.” Mingi nods. “They personally requested Hwa be there to solidify it.”

Jongho snorts. “Of course The Three Sisters want Hwa to be there for it.”

At the way Seonghwa smiles tightly, shooting warning looks at his brothers, your brow quirks.

“Exes of yours?” You quirk a teasing brow.

“If only,” he sighs, his cheeks dusting a light red.

“Hwa just enjoyed flocking together,” Wooyoung wiggles his brows suggestively, and you notice how both San and Mingi grin right along with him.

“Oh, they were flocking, alright.” Yeosang mumbles, eyes wide in mock exasperation.

A snort of laughter escapes you, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you turn to look at Seonghwa once more. “Should I be worried?”

“No!” Comes his immediate response, shouting a little louder than he probably intends. He clears his throat. “It’s been years since I last saw them, and it was never anything more than just sex,” he’s rambling at this point, but the further your eyebrows raise, the less he seems to be able to stop. “They roughed up my back pretty badly the one time, I couldn’t stop bleeding for an hour-“

“Okay,” you chuckle, raising a hand in the air to prevent him from speaking any longer. “I really don’t need to hear all about any of your previous kinky sexcapades right now.”

A loud mewl greets your ears in agreement as a black cat struts into the foyer from the direction of your room. You chuckle, watching as Kuroo walks right over to you and begins brushing himself tenderly against your one leg.

“Oh,” San quirks a brow slightly, “are you, perhaps, jealous that our eldest here fucked the harpy sisters?”

Seonghwa not-so-subtly darts his gaze over towards you to gage your reaction. It’s small, but there’s a spark of hope shining within his eyes. Finally, you might get jealous over him, just as he’s always wanted you to do.

“Undecided,” you shrug, and you see both Wooyoung and Mingi nearly trip over their own feet. “What? I haven’t seen what the harpies look like yet.”

Yunho chuckles, leaning back onto the desk you’re still currently resting on. “I don’t think she’s going to get jealous in a way that we want her to.”

You raise a finger in acknowledgement, a knowing gleam in your eyes. “Now, if any of you tell me you’ve fucked Wyno… that might be a different story.”

Suddenly, both Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung avoid your gaze.

Your mouth falls open, scandalized at this revelation.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Your overdramatic gasp as you place a hand over your heart has a few of them chuckling in response.

In the next second, you’re jokingly stomping down the hallway and to your room, Kuroo in tow. Mutters escape you all the while as all eight of them can only watch you disappear around the corner in amusement.

“Damn demons and their damn kinks. Can’t even tell me they’ve fucked the most beautiful dragon I’ve ever seen in my damn life. Lucky bastards…”

“Do you think she wants to fuck a dragon?” Wooyoung leans slightly towards his brothers, an eager gleam shining within his eyes.

“I would love to fuck a dragon!” Your voice calls out from your room, freezing each male to their spots. “Especially Wyno, if she ever allowed me the honour!”

A harsh clearing of Yunho’s throat manages to draw them all back to the reality before them. Though, a few, like Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, San, and Jongho, cannot help the way their lips curl in jealousy.

On the other hand, Wooyoung’s shoulders begin to shake with pleased laughter.

Almost immediately, Jongho smacks the elder quite pointedly upside his head. “Do you ever not think about sex?”

“When I’m thinking about poisons and dance.” Wooyoung replies, rubbing at the back of his head. Then, a loving smile is pulling at his lips, the hint of a mischievous glint in his eyes, “or, My Angel.”

The way their gazes all flash as a specific thought crosses Wooyoung’s mind has them all turning towards him with pointed glares.

“Have you no shame?” Yeosang’s lips curl back over his teeth, bared in a snarl.

“Oh, like you are any different.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes.

“At least some of us have subtlety,” Jongho crosses his arms over his chest, still glaring at the male beside him.

“Let him be,” Hongjoong chuckles, already beginning to follow the same path you took down the hallway towards your room with San in tow. “We all have our own fantasies we enjoy indulging in. Especially when it comes to her.”

“Yeah, and you’re the worse one.” Mingi snorts, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I never said I wasn’t,” Hongjoong shoots a knowing grin over his shoulder, eyes dark as he looks them all over. “We have some busy days ahead of us. Get some rest, her real training starts tomorrow.”

Despite no longer being in the foyer, Hongjoong can just tell that all the males have nodded their understanding. He can still sense San following right behind him as they both step into your room, already seeing Kuroo curled up on your bed. They both wait patiently for you to finish your nightly routine, seeing you walk out of the bathroom soon after in a fresh pair of pyjamas.

“Are you alright, My Love?” Hongjoong sits on the end of your bed, head briefly looking up from the way his hand gently strokes over Kuroo’s fur.

“Malik didn’t hurt you, did he, Baby?” San rests casually against one of the pillars of your room, arms crossed in front of his chest. Worry is clear in both his tone and on his features, but he makes no move to join you yet. He simply does not want to overwhelm you.

“Not at all,” you shake your head, moving over to pull your sheets back so you can slip into bed. “Hwa made sure nothing happened to me. Like he always does.”

The way you smile softly as you tuck yourself beneath the covers has their hearts warming.

“How are you feeling?” San pushes himself off of your pillar to come sit beside you on the bed, watching as you rest yourself against your pillows.

It’s become almost routine for one of them to ask you this, once when you get up in the morning, and once when you settle into bed for the evening. A fact that comforts you more than you ever realized that it would. The fact that they care, and they continue to not only prove, but demonstrate how they care for you, has helped you in more ways than you could have ever imagined. You seriously do not know what you would do without them.

“Every day it’s always a little bit better,” you reply, nothing but honesty in your tone as you meet his gaze. You reach out to take his hand in yours, of which he gladly obliges. “I have you all to thank for that.”

Hongjoong shifts slightly, angling his body more towards you as he smiles. “We’re glad to hear that, My Love.”

“We will always be here for you,” San adds, gently brushing his one hand over your own.

Your heart swells, warmth flooding your veins.

“I fear to imagine what the state of my mind would have been like were you all unable to pull me out of that darkness once more.” Tenderly, you brush against that yellow string inside of your mind, sending your thoughts and feelings of both love and gratitude his way. Yunho immediately brushes back.

“We would never leave you to suffer such thoughts alone.” San squeezes your hand.

You squeeze back, smiling sleepily before a small yawn is escaping you.

“We’ll let you sleep,” Hongjoong briefly locks gazes with San before they’re both standing back to their feet. “Goodnight, My Love.”

A soft whine escapes you, and you tug San’s arm slightly back towards you. “You both don’t have to leave, you know.”

“We know,” Hongjoong smiles softly down at you as he moves in beside you. Carefully, he leans in to place a kiss upon your forehead. “San can stay with you tonight, My Love. I’ve got a few things I need to attend to.”

“Alright,” you hum, noticing how San’s eyes being to shine at the prospect of being the only one to stay with you overnight. “Be safe, Joongie.”

The way you reach out to quickly snatch his hand and place a kiss onto the back of it has his smile stretching wider across his features.

He hums lowly, heart swelling with warmth in his chest. “I always am, My Love.”

Giving his hand a light squeeze, you let go. Your eyes follow Hongjoong as he slowly walks out of your room, shutting the door until it rests open only by a crack as he does so.

“Give me a second, Baby, and I’ll be right back,” this time, it’s San who leans in to place a tender kiss upon your forehead before disappearing into thin air. A few seconds later, he reappears in some sweats, ready for bed. “Miss me?”

“Always.” You grin, sliding down beneath the covers before opening them up for him to join you.

He mirrors your grin, crawling in beside you and immediately wrapping you in his arms. The blissful sigh he lets out as he feels you curl into him is nothing new. His grip tightens around your waist as your head settles over his chest, resting directly over his beating heart. The way he knows that you can hear his heart racing, just like it always does whenever he holds you, has a content rumble building within.

“I love you, Baby,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut as he places a tender kiss onto the top of your head.

“I love you, Sannie,” your eyelids flutter shut, absolutely revelling in this moment here with him.

You feel comforted, and safe. You are loved. Nothing will hurt you anymore, not with your Kings around to protect you. Not with how they’re also teaching you how to defend yourself. A fact of which still warms your very soul the more you think about it.

They will be with you every step of the way, supporting and encouraging you in ways in which you’ve only ever dreamed someone would. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

A muffled, albeit pointed mewl reaches your ears, and you cannot help but chuckle.

“Yes, yes,” you shift slightly to look at that little black ball of fluff curled up near the end of your bed. “I love you, too, my Little Doritos.”

A happy chirp is all your get in response, San chuckling right along with you as you all finally settle down to sleep.

It only takes you about ten minutes to be succumbing to the realm of unconsciousness for the evening. Yet, as soon as you do, San cannot help but to marvel at the peaceful way you rest against him like always.

Every night feels like a new adventure, even if all he does is hold you in his arms. Each time is like the first, the tingling that creeps into his body setting his soul alight with the flames of his passion once more. He cannot help the way love floods his veins as he gaze upon your sleeping form within his arms, your hearts beating as one just as they’re always meant to be.

Your love is like a blessing he never knew he could ever be granted, surrounding him in a warmth unlike anything he’s ever felt before. The best part is, you’ve only just begun. There are still plenty of years to come, and your bonds with them will only become that much more stronger. A fact which could not make him any happier than he is in this very moment here in time.

“I love you so fucking much, My Queen,” he whispers, grip tightening ever so slightly around you once again as a content rumble escapes his chest. “Always and forever.”

Allowing his own eyes to flutter shut, San relaxes further into the comfort of your embrace. A moment later, and he succumbs to his own darkness, chest rising and falling in time with your own.

Meanwhile, both Hongjoong and Seonghwa observe the wreckage of the car crash from just inside their domain. The barrier still stands strong, nothing out of the ordinary that they can sense either attempting to alter the wards, or break past them. A fact which only offers them the slightest bit of relief given the circumstances of the evening.

“He came out of nowhere,” Seonghwa recounts. “Didn’t even sense him until he was already standing across from us.”

“He’s gotten stronger, that much is for sure.” Hongjoong frowns, crouching down in front of that little cactus for the moment.

“So have we,” Yunho appears beside the two other males, taking in the scene of the crash once more.

“That’s for sure,” Seonghwa huffs in agreement, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s only been a month, yet, so has she.” Hongjoong adds, much to the other two’s delight.

“Jongho and San will begin her physical combat training tomorrow.” Yunho says, watching as both Hongjoong and Seonghwa inspect the smashed vehicle before them. With a wave of the eldest’s hand, the wreckage disappears, leaving nothing but the cracked earth beneath their feet. “She knows basic self-defence right now, but she’ll finally be able to stand on her own in a fight.”

“Once she has a handle on hand-to-hand combat, we can start training her on weapons.” Seonghwa replies, an eager gleam in his eyes as he pictures you holding any one of his swords like he’s so often dreamed.

“Wooyoung’s still upset we wouldn’t let him start her training on poisons right away.” Yunho grins, amusement dancing in his eyes as the three of them work on adding more range to their sensory wards.

If Malik so much as gets near their domain again, they’ll know.

“We all agreed to begin her training at the same time.” Hongjoong hums, eyes scanning the horizon for anything out of the ordinary. Once he finds none, he stands back to his feet. “Poison is another type of weapon. It’s no different than ours.”

“She hasn’t said much, but I can just tell she’s been strengthening her mind on her own.” Yunho’s voice draws the two other’s attention to him once more.

“How so?” Seonghwa inquires, a quirk to his brow.

“Remember how I was able to still catch glimpses of her thoughts through her void before?” His tone is level, shoving his hands casually into his pockets as both males nod in acknowledgement. “I can’t get through anymore.”

“She’s able to block you out completely?” Seonghwa asks, incredulously.

“I doubt she would be able to stop any one of us if we truly tried to break in right now,” Yunho goes on to say. “But, yes. Her void may not be complete, but it’s a lot stronger than it was. She’s getting to a point where she can begin keeping it up while she sleeps. With a bit more training, she should never incur the same mental devastations again.”

Two low growls sound from both Hongjoong and Seonghwa in response.

“We will never let anything like that happen to her again.” Seonghwa’s eyes flash, mirrored by his two other brothers standing before him.

“Never.” Hongjoong agrees, voice low and deadly. “Malik has another thing coming to him if he or Dimitri think that they have any chance at taking one of us down. Her included.”

“Our beloved is strong.” Yunho nods. “Perhaps stronger than anyone, even herself, realizes.”

Again, two low growls, this time of agreement, reach his ears.

“We should get back soon,” Hongjoong says, wiping off the front of his jeans. “Inform the others of what’s going on.”

“We also should talk to Wyno again,” Seonghwa agrees. “We need a definitive answer on whether or not the dragons will support us in a fight. If it comes down to it.”

“We also need to confirm the gorgons, but I have a feeling once The Three Sisters agree, they should follow behind shortly.” Hongjoong states, the three of them transporting themselves back home and immediately into the dining room where the rest of their brothers wait. All, except for San.

“I’m not flirting with them just to get them in our good graces.” Seonghwa crosses his arms over his chest.

“What? Don’t want a chance to make Our Beloved jealous?” Mingi quirks a brow teasingly.

“I don’t think blatantly flirting with people she knows has had sex with him multiple times before is going to make her jealous.” Yeosang replies, somewhat bluntly. “Given everything she’s told us about her past relationships, and how unstable hers and Hwa’s can be, it might have the complete opposite of the desired effect.”

“At least someone understands- hey!” Seonghwa protests, pursing his lips as he notices Yeosang simply shrug his shoulders in response.

“You won’t be able to prevent them from flirting with you, but I think it would mean more to her if you shut that shit down from the start.” Jongho mentions casually, sitting in one of the chairs after pulling it out from the table. “She spoke to us about loyalty, it’s time we proved to her ours. Especially now when it really counts.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Yunho grins, leaning against one of the side walls.

“It’s what I planned to do, anyways,” Seonghwa nods in confirmation. “Besides, we won’t be the only two there.”

“Yeah, if they get too flirty, I can just annoy them like always,” Wooyoung grins, a spark lighting behind his eyes.

“You annoy them by simply being in their presence,” Mingi laughs, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in amusement.

“Exactly,” Wooyoung tilts his head in response, that knowing gleam still shining behind his eyes.

If they try anything, you can always remind them about my threat to pluck their feathers out of their wings one by one. San chimes in, earning him laughs from both Mingi and Wooyoung.

“I will never forget their faces when you told them that for the first time,” Yunho shakes his head.

What? They kept ‘accidentally’ brushing me with their plumage. I got fed up. Even though they cannot see him, they can hear the shrug in San’s voice.

“Well, I was planning to send only Hwa, Yeosang, and Yunho to deal with them.” Hongjoong replies. “Along with Our Love. If she’s to be Our Queen, she needs to acquaint herself with as many of our allies as she can.”

“So, I can’t annoy them just by showing face?” Wooyoung pouts dramatically, pulling out a chair rather loudly and plopping himself into it in the next second.

“Just because you won’t be there to start, doesn’t mean you can’t still just show up.” Jongho hums, shooting his brother a knowing look.

Wooyoung grins back.

“You, San, and Mingi will deal with the gorgons when the time is right.” Hongjoong continues. “We don’t need another incident of Jongho scalping their leader again.”

“They stayed in line after I did.” He raises a hand as if to say ‘what about it?’. “Also, caused them to instate a much better, and more cooperative leader.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Mingi nods, recalling the first, and only assassination attempt that the previous gorgon leader had ever tried to pull against them.

“Our main problem is the sirens, the witches and warlocks under Dimitri’s control, and those fucking hunters of his.” Seonghwa sighs, rather exasperatedly.

“Perhaps we should take another attempt at seeing what Mina knows.” Hongjoong turns towards Yunho, noticing his brothers all do the same.

“It might be possible to untangle more of that jumbled mess in her mind now that Miyeon is dead.” Yunho nods, bringing a hand up to his chin as he mulls everything over. “It’s still a bit too early to tell, though.”

“There’s always a loophole to everything,” Yeosang comments, picking at his nails on his right hand.

You don’t think that we might be able to help you untangle those locked memories, do you? San asks, his question directed towards Yunho.

“You can try, but I’m not too sure,” Yunho frowns slightly. “If too many of us get involved, it might make it worse. I don’t know what other sorts of precautions were put in place, and the last thing we need is to accidentally shred right through her mind.”

“We’ll help in any ways that we can,” Hongjoong confirms. “Even if that means we let you handle this by yourself.”

“We’ll figure it out eventually,” Mingi hums his agreement. “Right now, let’s focus on training our girl, and the meeting we have scheduled with the harpies at the end of the week.”

Sounds of agreement echo around the room from all of them as both Jongho and Wooyoung stand back to their feet. A moment later, and they’ve all either transported themselves out of the room, or simply exited through the door. It is quite late, and many of them have had a long day.

Still, they cannot help the slight worry that tugs at their minds at knowing that Malik has finally decided to begin making his move. It only took a month after Miyeon’s death to do so, but the fact that he’s decided to show his face now does not bring any of them comfort. He wasn’t their head general for nothing, and whatever he has planned will not easily be foiled.

Yet, tomorrow is a new day. Malik may have a plan, but they have many countermeasures and strategies of their own. This bastard will not take them down so easily, nor will they simply just give up the fight. Not when it concerns you. Not when your safety is at risk.

You are far too important for that; they cannot, they will not lose you.

Not now. Not ever.

With everything that they are, no matter the outcome, they will protect you. They will not hesitate to lay down their lives for you, even if it’s the last thing that they ever do.

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