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blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ HAUNTED ❞ + XAVIER THORPE !

+. CWs —» f!reader, switch!reader, outcast!reader, fluff, she/her pronouns, mutual pining, sexual tension, family drama, flirting, manipulation, mentions of abuse, blood, wounds & therapy, flashbacks in italics, supernatural themes ; explicit smut, s & d dynamics, bottom-dom!xavier, cowgirl position; word count-3.5k

+. PRECIS —» Xavier Thorpe has finally found the girl of his dreams after being haunted by her.

+. NOTES —» this is for my beloved sister @zoraedits ’s brainrot contribution.she won't stop making edits on him. && I'm tagging @orchid3a cuz i luv u

you can browse more of my works here. || also available in AO(III). reblogs and comments are very much appreciated.

feel free to send in thirsts and suggestions for this show, Wednesday. This is my first time writing for shows like this; my main fandom spectrum is animanga but I do hope this was a good read for ya’all as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3.

The table calendar was full of red inks all over, dirt sedimented on the sketchbook, and the pencils laid in the case in absolute solitude. Xavier looked at the calendar kept on his desk near his bed in all despondency and a heavy sigh escaped from his lips. It has been days since he stepped into his studio, have not touched his art accessories for almost a month. One thing was for sure, he was plagued by visions in his dreams but this time it was nothing demising.

This time his sketchbooks were not filled by a monster, this time he was not afraid to draw rather he was drawn to it; part of him was stoked while sketching while a part of him was reluctant to draw the whole picture. He had spent countless sleepless nights before, not resorting to sleeping as he was threatened by nightmares. And now his sleep was peaceful as if entering into the realm of dreamland.

Xavier was sure that his mind was captured by a girl who came to visit him in his sleep, never showing her face, only showing herself in bits and pieces. He had spent his childhood receiving showers of praise for his talent for drawing but the origin was never happy. Of course, he enjoyed it and liked to show off his talent for art but secretly he wished his power would vanish into oblivion, for it was never pleasant.

People say that the art of someone reflects one’s persona, one’s raw feelings but Xavier always begged to differ since those memories, those incidents were never his. There always had been a wave of remorse that washed over him after he stepped out of his art studio since the praises he received never belonged to him.

Many were astoundingly taken aback by his knack for drawing and suggested he pursue art, to be a renowned artist but he knew he would lose all the glory once he stopped having those dreams. Moreover, he did not always have such dreams so the possibility of waking up one day and being unable to paint and as a result, staring at a blank canvas scared him to death. Heck! He even considered going to Doctor Kinbott so that his sanity would not be hanging by thread.

For the last couple of weeks, he has been dreaming of odd landscapes. Xavier had never seen them in his life yet he saw how the dusky crimson hue smothered the snowy mountain ranges, how the clouds gathered before the arrival of a rainstorm, how the birds sang songs and all the owes and pangs of nature. One thing he could conclude from those dreams was that whoever it belonged to was a chaser of freedom, that is, was a soarer of the sky.

Xavier had not told anyone about his dreams, nor put them on paper to ease his mind. What would he tell? What would he draw? Last night was particularly odd concerning the regular pattern of his dreams. He dreamt of falling from a high cliff into the water and a broken wing. When he woke up, he was all soaked, even his bed, and his olfactory senses did not miss the subtle scent of stagnant water. He was breathing rashly as if he was the one who drowned as if he was the one to fall.

He closed his eyes and tried to recapitulate his dream, searching for a mark, searching for a recognizable feature, searching for something, anything, anything at all. His desperation knew no bounds when left his dorm and rushed into his studio in the middle of the night since somewhere at the corner of his hopeless heart he knew he found one, a ray of hope.

A lot of crumbled papers surrounded Xavier as he tried accumulating the pieces from his puzzled mind. Around two o’clock he left his studio on his bicycle, the paper where he drew tucked in his pocket. He was sure he had witnessed the scenery before unlike the others. When he finally reached the top of the highland, he witnessed the view from his most recent dream.

The only thing that engulfed his presence was the sound of the waterfall echoing through the woods. He noticed a pond nearby and an adjacent high plateau near it. It was higher from where he was standing. After looking around for a few minutes he figured that there was no way to go there unless one swam through the stream or flew toward it.

On his way back, he felt happy, he felt sane. At least he had proof of the existence of a creature that haunted him, even in his wake. Xavier showered before going to bed just to clear his head before a good night's sleep. He kept a white feather as a bookmark in his sketch pad while a smile smothered his face. He was right. He was haunted by a fairy-like creature.

“Two cappuccinos”, Xavier mumbled as he went back to the counter at Weathervane. It was another event where all the students of Nevermore set foot into the world of normies to carry on the ties between two polar opposite worlds. But no matter how much one tried, the other always tried to retaliate. Their relationship was always on a tightrope, it could snap at any moment. And it certainly did.

“And you did not bother to tell me about this. . .”, Principal Weems trailed off as she left her seat, walked past her desk, and inclined against it, “until everyone in town became aware of it.”

“I thought I was going to be called insane or bullied. Last time I told something about my dreams, I found myself behind the bars.”, he responded, keeping his eye on the ground. Principal Weems exhaled grudgingly. She had no grounds to punish this boy since he was not entirely wrong. Hence, Xavier was dismissed with mere detention.

Xavier was forbidden from the school campus for a week. Everyone felt sorry for him, in his situation but secretly he could not be happier because he had all the time to draw, sketch, paint and think — and it was all about her, y/n.

That day at the café, Xavier was the sole witness of a crime. It happened so quickly, so fast that all she could do was succumb to her fate. A man was standing near the corner of the kitchen with his back facing Xavier. Xavier was not supposed to be here but he had to fetch some ingredients for making pastries and cupcakes.

As the man turned around, Xavier saw a bloodied butcher's knife in his hand. Near his feet lay a girl with a bloodied back the blood quickly spread all over her blouse. She stood motionless, like a statue. The eye contact was merely for two seconds and he immediately smashed the sugar jar on his head, distracting him, to tackle her out of the way.

The other townies turned up for help. Not all people in the world came to be cruel and heartless. All Xavier did was contact Principal Weems so that she could swiftly take care of this matter, which she had to otherwise the reputation of the Nevermore Academy would be in danger. The girl was taken to a nearby hospital.

Y/n L/n was her name. After the untimely death of her parents, she was raised by her uncle, by a normal family. Naturally, when she began to bloom, she was forced to be normal. One would think she tried to run, tried to hide or fight but Alas! none was the case for this matter. She felt indebted to her uncle and his family, for taking care of her, aiding her upbringing, fulfilling the role of parents, and hence helping her to be normal. But Xavier's presence on that day turned her life upside down. She was now a student at Nevermore Academy, funded by Principal Weems’ study forum.

After you recovered within a week, the first thing that dawned on you was to meet him, Xavier, the ‘ hero ’ of your life. You knocked on the door of his studio and waited for a while. There was no answer for a few minutes and when you finally made up your mind to leave, Xavier showed up. He was in his casuals with a teeth-flashing grin on his face.

“How’re you, y/n? The last time I saw you, you were in a hospital bed and now you’re here. in front of me.”, Xavier danced on his toes as he walked into his studio. You followed him and the moment you stepped into his studio you were taken all in awe. The room was filled with artboards, canvases, and sketch supplies, and everything reflected you. Indeed, y/n did not come here to be thankful for what he did since she was not. She was not happy with how her life seemed so devoid of any family. Her uncle was the last of her family and now he is gone. All because of him, Xavier.

“You look better than the last time I saw you.”, Xavier added as he felt the silence between the two of you deafening. You swallowed hard as he tried to ease the tense ambiance thinking how rude of him to remind you of the very wound he was responsible for. There was a desk with a closed sketch pad that caught your attention.

“Your drawings are very beautiful.”, you pitched in opening it and your heart dropped at the sight of your feather that was kept safely in between those rusty pages. A short gasp escaped your lips as the whirlwind of your life hit you.

Xavier was standing behind you, close to your shivering body. “They are all about you.”, a low whisper before he extended his hand to remove the veil from the canvas. The cloth dropped at your feet revealing every bit of dreary in you that you always wanted to hide. You hated how he could see through your pangs and pathos, you hated how he could and would have eradicated all of it, even if it meant being burnt by it. You swiftly tackled out of his towering frame, feeling naked even though you were more dressed than him.

“Stay away from me. You shouldn’t come near me.”, Surprise took Xavier in all proportions. His eyebrows became congested as you continued. “I’m grateful that you saved me but do not do that again, ever.” With that, you walked out of his studio but a firm grip on your wrist kept you from running away anymore.

“Listen, I’m being haunted by you, your pain, your emotions, and everything you feel for the past few months, and all you could say to me was to stay away from you… not even a proper thank you.”, His breath hit your lips as he drew in a sharp breath before his amber eyes landed on you, your shaky lips and pale eyes.

Embarrassment rushed into your cheeks and you pushed him lightly uttering, “Stay away” with a little glare to ward him off but when you vanished out of his sight he was not dejected, not at all. Sure, he was conflicted but the way you told him to stay away whereas your body spoke otherwise made him relish the chase that has haunted him for months now.

They say one can only save people only if one wants to be saved. You neither needed help nor saving but you could see why Xavier begged to differ, wanted to be the odd one out, and craved the crown from saving you from your only family. You always had been a rebel since your childhood, going against the flow of the stream. Somewhere in the corner of your heart, you knew you were different, you would be different.

It was the end of June when you first felt your body ache, back arch, muscles cramping excruciatingly as if someone was poking needles in your skin. Your arms clung to your body as your back bled for the first time. The wailing of such lethal agony submerged amidst the sound of rain as two enormous wings grew with lustrous hues of carmine and amber. Your breathing became regular again, your body stopped hurting as the wings flapped open involuntarily. Every mark, scar, and wound on your body since you were a child began to heal, all by themselves.

Everyone rejoiced when you went through the family ritual and stood in front of your clan as the last phoenix of your bloodline. It was a miracle that a phoenix had been born in the bloodline but just like with blessings it came with a massive price. You were a healer and a destroyer at the same time. Somewhere something has to die to keep you alive, again and again. Every time you were wounded or hurt, your mother had to lose some of her life until she became lifeless, forever. But the family oracle told your father that it is a part of the process, part of a phoenix's journey that every one of their loved ones had to sacrifice in one way or another.

Your father just had a miraculous idea to save you and himself from the bottomless pit of despondency and mutual hatred lurking in his heart because of you. He volunteered to sacrifice himself even if that was against his will. The oracle seemed to be unsure about the idea, saying that the cycle might shorten but not cease. But your father was right, the cycle did cease and you became aware of it when your uncle tried to chop off your wings, uprooting the evil once and for all, and no one in your family was harmed. Still, unfortunately, you were under the radar of an outcast, Xavier Thorpe. ‘What would happen if someone not from your bloodline were to sacrifice? What would happen to your mate if they were not an outcast? What would. . . thoughts would not cease to bombard your mind until a knock disrupted your trail of thoughts.

You lifted your eyes for a glance only to find Xavier inclining against the bookshelf with a saccharine smile on his face. Your stomach turned at the sight of him. ‘How can a person be so forgiving?’ but it seems that he is rather forgetful than forgiving. He picked up a random book from the shelf and sat in front of you.

“You’re hurt. . .”, you murmured to which he responded, “more than you think . . .” while turning the pages of the book and occasionally stealing glances from you. You rolled your eyes and leaned towards the table eyeing his hands that had a lot of scratches. It was probably from a silly fight with other boys, maybe the normies; for him, it was just a scratch yet for you it was an opportunity to apologize for the other day.

“Give me your hand.” As you extended yours, Xavier's reflexively recoiled under the desk. “I’ve no intention of harming you.”, you uttered touching the palm of his other hand that was still on the desk. “Besides, I’m just clearing my debts.”

“Um-hm.”

You inhaled sharply before you flapped those lustrous enormous wings to heal with him, his wounds. Your wings glowed for almost a minute and the hand that was hurt was healed which he was hiding under the desk. It is impressive how Xavier hurt the very hand that can create masterpieces. What a clutz! He interlaces his fingers with yours as he murmured, “A touch . . . is all you need.”

You begrudgingly pulled your hand away standing up and yelling whisperingly, “stop it. stop this. . . and don’t come near me.” With that, you grabbed your book and went towards the exit of the library. Xavier sat like a child who would mourn for the broken toy rather than demand anew.

“Wait.”, Xavier followed you. He kept yelling in the middle of the corridor, “Y/n. wait.”

“Your wings.”, you finally turned your head but not without letting out a sigh of annoyance. “You’re hurt. . .bleeding” and that is when fear crawled underneath the skin.

“I never bleed.”, you retorted.

“And, I never lie.”

If it were someone else, you would have shooed them away. But this was Xavier, who saved you from an inevitable, to whom you owed nothing but the truth. Even though you tried to heal yourself you could not, perhaps because you healed someone and that too for the first time.

Xavier might be persistent but he was not dull. It didn't take him long to connect the dots and hence you had to do the very thing you wanted to avert from the first place. His room was not tidy but not neat and clean either. With Rowan gone he has the room all to himself. You wanted to go to the infirmary, but there wasn't anyone available. Besides, with all the mess you are in you didn't want to risk it.

“I promise I'll behave.”, he said, swinging his hands up in the air in a form of surrender. That made you smile a little as you turned around so that he could tend to the wound. He unzipped your dress and carefully tucked it along your waistline without harming the feathers. Even though you had your camisole on, you still felt naked. His fingers brushed against your skin. It was ice cold. You had to hold your breath as he dressed the wound.

Xavier noticed how your shoulder blades had been marked. He grazed his fingers over the part from where your wings grew that made you instantly shriek and move away from him.

“Are you done?”, you asked, surprise and embarrassment coursing through your skin. Your upper body was barely clad, nothing but an unhooked bra.

“No.”, and within a blink, his lips were already on yours. You could taste the longing and desperation with each suck. Your hands curled around his nape as his hands got rid of the minimal clothing from your upper body. “First time?”, he asked as he moved away leaving you breathless yet craving for more.

“Why? You care?”, you blurted out stepping out of your dress. Xavier eyed you from up and down. You did not flinch but rather smiled as you noticed his astonished face. You had nothing on but just the underwear.

“I do.”, one of his eyebrows jumped as he knelt near you. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”, he murmured grabbing your calf muscles and kissing your femininity over the cloth. He took a glance before tucking the hem of the panty in between his fingers and undid it. Your hand reflexively went over his head as he kissed your entrance, lapping over your pussy lips that made you suck in a sharp breath. He sucked on your skin, followed by a feeble bite into your inner thighs.

“AH!”, you winced pausing his ministrations. “Don’t you taste divine?”, he whispered kissing your lips, wetting them with the blend of his saliva and your slick. He was too dressed. You cocked an eyebrow at him and he took the hint. You co-operated as he became almost naked, and was back up even though you wanted him to continue.

“You won’t hurt me. worry for yourself.”, you said as you felt his hands palming your cheeks a little too long than they should. His hands traveled back to your entrance and you moaned under his slight touch.

“What? Never played with yourself?”, he added that surely turning the cogs in your head. You pushed him onto the bed, sitting on him struggling to take his cock in and he was not even helping. All he did was watch you let out whimpers of frustration as you lazily glided on his cock. He rested himself on his elbows saying, “Look at me.” And as you did, his fingers dig into your plush ass cheeks slowly adjusting you at a proper angle and stretching you. You kissed him so break the eye contact that made you feel naked, even though you were. Both of you jolted as you could feel his cock inside you.

His hands clamped around your waist as you bobbed on him, with greater force and broader strokes but slow. With each sloppy hit you felt his cock twitch inside you; your hands desperately roamed all over your body, heat bubbling as you could feel your body tensing, picking up the pace he was setting you in, and the orgasm lurking underneath. You can tell; a few more strokes and you would cum so easily.

He can feel it too. Xavier winced as he felt you clenching around his cock. His legs folded to support your back while your hands flew to his shoulder blades, his knuckles turning white, his grip growing stronger around your waist and you came right away, back arching and your wings flapping open involuntarily, eyes rolling white relishing the high as your thighs squeezed in.

With your breathing rash and heavy, you felt all mushy in the head and so was he. Xavier could have sworn that he has not seen anything more beautiful than this, than you sitting on him with his cock buried inside you; your skin glistening in sweat with your gorgeous wings at the display.

As soon as Xavier’s breath relaxed a bit he pulled you into his embrace for a kiss. He could not help it, you were too beautiful to look at. Besides, he was not done, not yet.

—

by @blueparadis

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hon3yteddy · 1 year

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꒰ nct dream + intimate moments i want to experience 🍞 ꒱

synopsis: tbh idk but there thing i'd generally kill to experience (this is not a joke), and add some arson too if i get to do them with dream genre(s): established relationship, romance, tooth rotting fluff warning(s): mix use of tenses, severe symptoms of delusions and signs of parasocial relationship, not reread at all !!! author's note: hanging out with newjeans at the psych ward

#𝟎𝟐𝟎𝟖 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐄 . . .

― kind of cliché a cheesy... but slow dancing! mark's one of us - a hopeless romantic so he'd definitely be a sucker for a slow dance under the dim lights of your shared apartment. he'd perfectly time his movements after instantly recognising your favourite slow song (i recommend any song by laufey) drift from the kitchen as you prepare your dinner for the evening. he's heard the song too many times to count but mark never minded. he loved that about you - the little things, the big things, and everything in between.

just before the chorus, he'd slip behind you, guiding your hands with his own to carefully drop whatever you were holding, and clumsily twirl you round to face him. i can feel it in my bones that the man would do those knew weakening, borderline giggle, chuckle of his and gently pull your hand for a light kiss against the skin of your knuckles. you would find yourself resting one hand on his shoulder and the other being embraced tightly by his. mark always loves how close you feel when you're like this.

he would give you that look, the look you've seen a hundred times. it's the same one he gave you before he kissed you for the first time, the same one he wore when he finally got the guts to ask you on a date, that look so beautiful and real that your too much in a daze to notice him slip an arm around your waist. together you slowly sway to the beat of the song, forgetting the past and ignoring the future.

he holds you close, maybe too close even. yet none of that mattered. all that did was the way he was whisking you across the room, embracing you tight. feathered kisses, words of worship, lovesick eyes - truly a night to remember.

♡: mark, the foods going to burn... mk: guess so. but i'll eat anything made by you, burnt or not. ♡: the food is definitely burning right now!

#𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟑 𝐇𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍 . . .

― renjun is a true artist and what is one of the most popular forms of art? paintings. he adores painting you, a truly enjoyable pastime. countless of times would you catch him sketching you, entrapping every detail of your soul onto a canvas or simply just the ripped page of a battered notebook. you have always been curious about his hobby so every now and then you'd have the honour of spending the hour painting with renjun.

there's something so dear about painting with someone you love. maybe it's the serenity, or the way the soul becomes so vulnerable yet so free on the canvas. whatever it was, things always felt so different when it would be the two of you.

evenings were always the time for such dates and soon enough the both of you would have long ago abandoned the canvases. it all had started when you had gotten frustrated with your piece of the day, for it could never compare to renjun's. so frustration took over, and you had painted a sad face on side of his face so very careful to not poke him in the eye. your shaky attempt at frown reminded you of the earlier days where it was socially acceptable to paint on one’s face and so you didn’t stop.

you enjoyed it and he could tell as he too abandoned his own piece to paint on you. the way he carefully held your giggling bod still and swirled his brush against your exposed skin from the blush of your cheeks, to the dent of your collarbones. you always found renjun prettier when he was focused and now he was focused on every part of you, adorning you with works of his own. yet none of his paintings could ever compete with the beauty of you.

♡: you always make me look so beautiful, renjun. rj: you just simply are, that's all.

#𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟒 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐎 . . .

― jeno is a man sent from the heavens, carved by zeus himself and blesses the undeserving earth with his presence. basically, he's a sweet man with big, beefy arms you kinda just want to chomp and snuggle against. (the indescribable things i'd do to be embraced by the lee jeno can not be said aloud.)

cuddling is a simplistic show of affection and jeno must be the best person to hug in the whole world. a true safe place in this cruel world where you can finally let yourself be vulnerable and receive the love you oh so needed.

jeno loves hugging you. if it's after work, after a hard day, on the sofa, out of the blue, the man would be at your beck and cal. sometimes you didn't need to ask. he'd would be right there each and every time and he would love every hug he got to share with you. the thought of simply hugging you is everything to this lovesick puppy.

the hugs he loves the most are the ones you just needed the most. the ones where there was no need for an exchange of words or questioning eyes, just open arms. there was no other soul on this very earth who could make you feel so loved yet so weak in his arms that you could swear you could break, and sometimes you did. but he was there, and that's all you needed.

there's something so intense between each hug - tight embraces, soft hums, tender kisses, and the alignment of both your hearts. with each hug, jeno told you he loved you without the need for a single word.

jn: … (i love you) ♡: … (i love you too)

#𝟎𝟔𝟎𝟔 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 . . .

― now it's no surprise to us when i say haechan adores physical touch. he honestly invented the love language itself. so of course, the dude is very much in love with you and the act of kissing you. every chance he got, he kissed you every time. but if there was one thing haechan loves more than kissing you, it's you kissing him.

imagine just kissing every inch of this man who deserves all the love in the world! he loves it when you kiss his moles with whispered words of praise in between. he never lets you miss one and always points out one just to get another kiss.

he's a giggling mess and you are too. hiding underneath the bed covers, tracing your hands against his bare skin, enjoying the way he writhes in anticipation for your next kiss. it's a game you both enjoy too much.

don't worry, you always get your fair share of kisses. he loves kissing the details of your skin and he loves even more the reaction he earns with each one (cocky dude). there isn't a single part of you he dislikes. oh, and if you too are blessed with moles of your own, he'll find each and every one to give a tickling kiss. sometimes he'll call them stars, sometimes its the cute dots of ladybugs - every single blemish, scar and mole would be loved, for haechan is just utterly in love with your very being down to the last detail.

hc: you know moles are where your lover kissed you in your past life? ♡: really? you must have given me these then. hc: and in your next life, you’ll have so many more for me to kiss…

#𝟏𝟑𝟎𝟖 𝐍𝐀 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍 . . .

― bubble baths. i can't explain it easily, but there's something so romantic about bubble baths. jaemin isn't necessarily joining you, but if wants to, he can hop in my imagine bath tub. he's actually the one preparing them for you. he'll always want his lover to feel a tease, he could never let you drown yourself in stress.

every now and then he would prepare the perfect bubble bath, filling the tub with hot water, scented ointments, expensive soap and even a dash of petals. you can tell he enjoys doing it too as he'll usually greeted by the man himself at the door, wearing the proudest smile. he doesn't hesitate in sweeping you off your feet, always nagging for you to relax while he takes care of everything else.

he always prepares a lot, paying attention to every detail he knows you'll love. your favourite song plays, a calming scent drift from the candles he's lit, there'll always be a glass of your favourite drink by your side and your favourite pjs hang against the door for you to slip in after.

as you lay in the bath, wading your hands against the water that’s just right, you sometimes feel shy under jaemin’s attentive and kind gaze. You may even complain about it all being too much but he’s quick to hush you with a kiss. jaemin just wants you to enjoy the serenity every now and then, he can’t handle seeing the one he loves struggling. he enjoys spoiling you and he loves seeing your tense body finally give up and melt. this week he’ll read you a book as he sits beside the bathtub, not caring if you splash a little water onto him. the next he’ll let you enjoy a movie, and the one after, he’ll bring you a meal for you to enjoy whether that be a fast food burger or home cooked pasta. chivalry could never be dead with jaemin around.

jm: it's time you to take a break! ♡: you already did this for me like last week! jm: it's not illegal for you to take regular breaks, okay?

#𝟐𝟐𝟏𝟏 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐄 . . .

― you know that genre of romance scenes where the main couple help the other put on a necklace, fix a tie, button up their shirt, brush their hair etc, that - all of that. the simplicity of getting ready with a lover is so dreamy and chenle is indeed the man of everyone's dream.

the intensity shared between the two of you is unmatched. the bliss silence, hesitant touches, enchanted eye contact... gosh i'm blushing. when he stands behind you, letting his fingers graze the back of your neck to clasp the new necklace he's bought you. a compliment leaves his lips to touch upon the shell of your ear. he never dares to hide from your watchful eyes in the reflection and neither do you.

chenle lets his fingers glide down you bare back to zip the material of your outfit together. he holds you still while his hand painstakingly slowly moves up your spine for him to stop with a soft “all done”, enamoured by you and only you. and when he places you in front of the vanity mirror, threading his fingers through your hair, taking his time in watching, no, worshipping your very being in a blissful silence

the tension would almost be too much to bear. the way he gazes down at you while your busy fixing the tie he has clearly messed up on purpose. he always catches himself enjoying it all too much. something about the close proximity, focused eyes and building tension that's got his knees on the verge of buckling. just every moment chenlesees you, he swears he's fallen in love with you all over again.

cl: so b- ♡: you're going to call me beautiful again, aren't you?

#𝟎𝟓𝟎𝟐 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 . . .

― now me and mr park jisung don't have a lot in common, but we do share the epitome of being awkward (he just pulls it off better than me. so it's fair to say that hand holding would get jisung weak in the knees. he's just a tall grown man with the soul of a little child and who's hopelessly in love with you.

and i must say, jisung has got the prettiest hands i've ever seen, no wonder you can't hold yourself back from slipping your hands into his. it makes him jump every time but he'd hold hands with you forever if he could.

it begins with the two of you walking side by side and a noticeable brush of hands. then a classic pinkie lock comes into play and jisung is in a mess already. and finally you'll intertwine your fingers with his once again. it's shock to his poor heart every time it occurs. he'd never let his eyes meet your face, he's far to weak to look at your beautiful face. he would simply falter and break under your loving gaze.

hand holding is a timeless classic move that is every loner's dream. does jisung wish he could experience the sensation of holding hands with you for the first time? very much so!

♡: you're adorable, jisung. js: … (internal monologue about how much he's in love with you)

january 2023 © hon3yteddy

1K notes · View notes

rainstops · 5 months

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found colors for unspoken feelings

childe x gn!artist!reader warnings: fights, scars, small mentions of blood

summary: childe got into a fight with you over something you loved doing. he immediately regret the words he said, but even worse than that, he brought back an old habit of yours which he fought so hard to get rid off

a/n: eurgh this took me so long for no reason...

wc: 2.9k

you had these scars on your hands, and you hated them. no one knew where they came from except for your boyfriend, childe. he has caressed your hands so many times, and told you before, that he doesn't mind the crescent shaped marks on your hand.

he knew you used to press your nails into your palm so hard, that they started to bleed. you’re an artist, and always wanted to do something with your talent, yet your parents were more than just unsupportive of your dreams. they started suggesting that you put your free time in something other than your ‘little doodles’.

yet their words grew harsher and harsher over the years you lived.

whenever you were once again told that you're useless, and that your paintings don't look any different from those compared to a five year old, your hands would start bleeding again.

maybe you would've given it all up, if it wasn't for your, at that time, friend childe. he was your rock, your support in all of this.

how many times had you texted him late in the evening and asked him if you could stay over at his place? how many times had he cleaned out the wounds on your palms?

He helped you move out of your parents house, into your current shared apartment, and helped you be comfortable drawing again.

yet even with all of his support, you grew protective of your work. you barely told anyone about what you did, and was afraid of taking criticism.

one person you were not afraid of though. you were never too afraid to ask childe for his opinion on your recent piece. you were never too afraid to turn around the canvas, and show him what you had done with your time.

and everytime again, he was proud of you. he peppered your face with kisses, and told you what he especially liked.

and over the years, even your so much hated scars started to fade.

apparently his job has started to take a lot more from his energy though.

he never said that, but you just assume that that is the reason for his lack of response to your proudly painted canvas.

nowadays you never got more from him, other than a simple ‘i like it’, or even just a hum of approval.

and it got you thinking, if you would stop showing him what you had done, would he care enough to ask?

so that's what you did.

the next day when he came home from work, you didn't ask if you could show him what you had painted. you simply greeted him with a warm dinner, and a kiss on the lips. you hadn't mentioned your art for the whole day.

but still, while lying in bed, your thoughts told you that he was probably just exhausted, and that he might have forgotten, but tomorrow he will surely ask you about it!

he never asked you about anything.

was he really that forgetful? a week had passed, and you just wanted to show him one piece, that took you significantly long.

“babe, i have something to show you!”, the excitement not fading even though childe had forgotten what you spent the majority of your time with.

“sure what is it?”, your boyfriend didn't even look up from his dinner, but that was okay! he was probably just really hungry.

“i’ll get it!”

you quickly ran to your room, and grabbed the beautifully painted canvas.

yet childes reaction was as little as the hope you had left for any sign that you two were not drifting apart.

“oh, that's cool babe”

thats cool?

you felt your heart clench, when you realized that's all he had to say. still, you weren't ready to give up yet.

“what do you like about it?”, what were you even trying.

childe took another look at the painting, and then at you.

“i don't know, it looks pretty though”, you quietly looked away.

“okay, thanks for your feedback, I’ll be heading to sleep now”, you smiled, but the hole in your heart was growing by the second. “alright good night babe”

the bed felt cold. you hugged your own body, trying to keep yourself warm, yet the cold sheets you were lying between made you shiver.

you could no longer blame childes dismissive act on his work, and him being so exhausted. what could have changed your boyfriend so much, that he was no longer the person that made you feel so safe? a tear rolled down your cheek, onto your pillow.

when you woke up that morning, childe was not there. you assumed he must have headed to work earlier than usually.

you forced yourself out of bed, ignoring how heavy your body felt on your legs. that was when a specific thought came to mind. maybe you should start showing your boyfriend your drawings without him having to ask. and maybe, just maybe, he would start being excited to see them again.

you don't remember what made you come to this conclusion. maybe desperation for the love you used to feel everyday, which had now left your life as quick as it had appeared.

so that's what you did. everyday you had proudly presented your boyfriend your drawings which you had put minute after minute and hour after hour of your days into. longing for his love and attention back you were ready to do anything.

probably if you had told anyone how you felt, and what you were doing, they would have called you desperate.

but no one could expect from you to give up the love that had saved you over and over again. no one could expect that you would give up the only person who was there for you in your hardest and happiest times.

so youre not giving up yet.

even though childes lack of enthusiasm remained the same, you were glad he was at least not shaming you for your hobby like your parents used to. you don't know how you would react if he were to act that way, but it was childe you were talking about.

you were convinced he could never even act that way.

but how long could you still continue this? everyday where you presented your work to him, and he would just react with a disinterested ‘nice’, felt like a weakening punch in the gut.

this wasn’t working. maybe you should just talk to him about his lack of a reaction to your hobby and your work. the work which he used to love so much.

so maybe that was the right thing to do.

when he came home from that specific day at work, you had shown him a drawing which was especially big. you had put so much work into it, you barely took a break the whole day to make sure it was finished before he came home.

maybe you were going to get a bigger reaction out of him this time.

“looks great babe”

he didn’t even look at it.

what were you doing wrong?

“childe, you didn’t even look at it”, maybe you really needed to talk to him.

“huh?”, seriously? did he even care? has he never even listened to you?

“childe you don’t even care about my drawings like you used to, do you?”, suddenly he got up from his chair. and you put down your drawing, leaning it against the wall.

childe rubbed his face. “you know [name], I’m really tired, can we discuss this some other time?”, you had told yourself for so long that he was just tired, but was that even true?

“childe you’ve been tired for months now. don’t get me wrong, i cant even begin to imagine how exhausting your job must be, but I don’t even really feel like you acknowledge me, other than eating the food i cook for you”

you had to try really hard for this to not turn into an argument. emphasis on tried, because childe was not willing to listen to you. it felt like he was never going to be listening to you, and you needed to get that out of your system. maybe this wouldn't be the best time to tell him, but was it ever going to be the best time?

“i understand that you might be tired, but just tell me what happened? why are you being like this?”, your tone remained calm, yet your muscles tensed up.

“all i am asking of you is the attention that you used to give me. i understand that you can be tired when coming home from work, that's not something i'm denying, but-”

“look, [name], do you really want to know?”, his tone was a lot harsher than yours, and it made a shiver travel up your spine.

you took a second, but nodded and gave him a hum.

“you know that while i am going out to work, and let you stay here all day, all you do is paint and draw. you know that there are so many things that you could spend your time with, but instead you waste your day just holding a paintbrush all day”, childe words were absolutely taking you apart. wether that was his intention or not, that's what he had achieved.

when you two first moved into the apartment, you had told him that you would go find a job, but he insisted that you should stay home. if he had anything to say, or if he had wished for you to get a job, he could have said so, couldn't he?

“childe if you had wanted me to get a job, you could have said so. i would have started looking for someth-”

“you're missing the point! i am saying that you keep wasting all your time, and then expect me to praise you for it! your stupid drawings are just a huge waste of your days! every single day i come home and you remind me of how much you waste your time! do you seriously think that i could be proud of you for that?!”

maybe trying to confront him today wasn't such a good idea, yet this felt like it was a really long time coming.

when you blinked, you found little tears collected in the corners of your eyes. yet even when they fell childe didn't notice. he kept ranting on and on about things he had already said.

while he kept talking and talking, your nails had found your palms once again. an old habit you had wished to finally be rid off.

the memories came flooding back of your parents shouting at you for the same thing, your boyfriend was shouting at you right now. the same boyfriend that first safed you of the mental torture your parents put you through. the same boyfriend who would cut your nails for you, so the wounds wouldn't be so bad. the same boyfriend who had praised you for your talent.

the stupid thing about this was that childe isn't actually mad about you wasting your day. he wasn't even able to put an exact finger on it. you could blame it on him being exhausted from work, and needing to take out his exhaustion somewhere, or maybe he was mad about not spending enough time with you. maybe he was mad at himself for not giving you enough attention, but the hurtful things have been said, and there was nothing he could do to take them back.

when childe finally looked at you after ranting for a good minute, his heart dropped to his stomach and maybe even further.

there you were standing, sniffling, looking down at your feet while your nails were digging into the soft flesh of your palms. your face was wet from your tears, and your hand only reached up to wipe them away, and then to return into a tight fist.

“i understand, I hic i will draw less, and find better things to do”

childe often found himself wishing to be able to turn back the time, but never had he prayed so hard for being able to take back his words.

“w-wait, [name] i-”, childe felt like all the words and apologies he could have given you were knocked out of his brain in an instant, and he panicked when you wanted to walk past him to leave the room.

although the worst thing was that you were pressing your nails so hard into your palms again, to a point where you were bleeding from the amount of pressure you were releasing. childe felt as if he had been punched into the stomach. the habit of yours that he was fighting so hard to get rid off, had returned. it had returned because of him.

“[name] please i don't know why i said that, i was just- maybe i was just tired from work, although i cant blame it on that-”, childe frantically took your hands into his, yet your nails already had your blood on them.

childe felt like a world in front of his eyes fell apart. the bad habit of yours that he tried fighting for so long, was close to returning. he was the one who tore your scars back open, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“[name], [name] please- I didnt mean to say these things, please”, all childe could do was beg and repeat your name over and over as he felt his eyes water.

he frantically held your hands, and let you to a chair, to sit down. tears were still repeatedly staining your face, and childe had rushed off to get some bandages for your hands.

childe rushed back and almost fell down onto his knees in front of you.

“please just let me-”, childe proceeded to clean your wounds a little, and then bandage up your hand. while he was handling your hand, you didnt move or talk one bit. other than quiet sniffles, you just let childe do what he needed to do. in the mean time, your head hung low and your eyes havent stopped staring at that one spot on your leg.

you didnt know how to feel. how could you? the one person you believed you could turn to, whenever your parents were rude to you, has done the same thing you were so afraid of happening again. and why? because of stress at work? because he had a bad day?

“[name] i know youre mad, just please- please say anything”, childe pleaded with you.

“I’m not mad”, you replied and your voice broke. you werent even sure if that was true. you were more hurt than angry, but then again you were also just confused.

“its late… can i go to bed?”, why were you asking him?

“of course- anything you want, I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight”, you were both crying and overwhelmed by emotions.

you nodded and headed up the stairs to the room you and childe usually shared. a million thoughts flooded your mind, but for some reason your chest felt so empty.

the person you usually relied on when you felt this way, was now the cause of your feelings. who were you supposed to turn to?

then another thought filled your head. what if your parents were right all along? maybe you should have done anything else but waste your life painting stupid pictures.

you cried yourself to sleep that night.

and even after you woke up, you could feel the daggers that were sent through your heart.

you opened the door to your room. “childe?”, you called out, your voice being utterly shaky.

was he at work?

when you opened the door to your art room, you didnt expect childe to be sitting in the middle of your paintings. you couldnt read the expression which was resting on hsi face.

what childe hadnt realized was that these paintings were small pieces of your soul. every single one of the paintings were thoughts and feelings that you couldnt find the words for, so instead you found the colors for your unspoken feelings. childe has never wished for anything as much as he has wished that he paid more attention to you.

“childe…?”, your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and his head shot towards the door.

“oh- sorry i was just… well uh, do you need anything?”, childe stammered, getting up from his sitting position.

“i was just looking for you… why are you here?”, your voice remained quiet and shaky.

“i was just… looking at all your work that i had missed… and all the time… well uh- if you want me to leave ill go-”

“its… its okay i just wanted to see where you were” with those words you turned around, about to leave the room.

“wait-! [name] I… I’m sorry, I dont know what to say to let you know how bad i feel-”

“childe i know”, his face was met with the sight of a sad smile on your face.

“w-what can i do to make you feel better? I’ll do anything- please”

“I dont know, honestly…”, a shaky sigh escaped your lungs.

“please… know that i love you [name], more than anything”

“i… love you too”

part 2? reblogs are appreciated!

#rainstops #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin #childe x reader #genshin childe #tartaglia #childe tartagalia #tartaglia x reader

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bettyfrommars · 10 months

Text

I'm on Fire

Part 13: This Heart is Haunted

18+Only, mature content, angst, reader is being stalked, mention of physical & emotional abuse, biker MC, unprotected sex, sex with someone other than reader, exes are everywhere, mention of battling cancer, home invasion, tarot reading, spiritual guidance, mention of a gun, mention of taking someone's life, hurt & comfort. wc: 8.6k

Masterlist Playlist

Summary: Reader and Eddie are very much in love as the world piles on again. Both of their exes are in town, and Craig leaves a disturbing calling card to let reader know he is watching. Steve is properly introduced to Charlene in more ways than one, Astrid tries to protect Steve in the best way she knows how, and we get a peek into what Wayne "Uncle" Munson is thinking

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"Wendy let me in, I wanna be your friend I want to guard your dreams and visions Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims And strap your hands across my engines."

Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen

I'm on Fire Part 13: This Heart is Haunted

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John Gregson sent you a generous down payment for his commissioned painting, and most of it went right to the art store with you to by a roll of canvas, new paints, and brushes. Eddie went with you, and insisted on driving your car, but not before he had to adjust the driver’s seat all the way back so that he wasn’t eating his knees. He found a paint-by-numbers color pack of a dragon for Oliver, and crept up behind you, pretending to be someone else.

“Excuse me, miss? You are so fine,” he whispered in the sketchbook aisle. “Are you single, by chance?”

You checked to each side of you, feigning to look for him. “There’s this one guy I fuck from time to time, but it’s not serious.”

“Oh, is that right?” Eddie tickled your ribs, and then picked you up off your feet, munching down on the side of your neck with his teeth. “You better take it back.”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” you wiggled free with a laugh that seemed to echo off of the store walls, shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

Eddie wouldn’t let you carry anything on the way out to the car, and you did not miss some of the feminism that left your body in that moment as he held one of the bags in his teeth. The canvas roll was almost too long for the back seat, and you had a moment of panic, but then Eddie figured it out, clapping for himself after and taking a small bow.

The big, scary biker with the tattooed hands and the War Machine insignia kindly reminded you to fasten your seat belt, just as he clicked on his own and slipped his sunglasses on.

“I don’t know, Munson,” you grinned into the sun as he backed out of the parking space. “You’ve been such a help today, there might be some roadhead on the menu.”

He slammed the brakes and snapped his head to look at you, his hair flying, making you get the giggles. “See, now you’ll have to forget I said anything. I want it to be a surprise.”

He continued backing out, checking over his shoulder. “Surprise roadhead could kill a man, baby. You gotta give me some warning.”

So far, it had been the most chill day since before you’d been fired. You were sinking into the routine of “normal” couples, doing mundane chores together, holding hands in public, being sickeningly, adoringly head over heels for each other. And it felt really good. So good, in fact, you could almost forget for a second about all of the shit that had gone wrong, and could possibly go wrong.

Much earlier that morning as you lay curled up naked next to him in bed with your leg over him and your head on his chest, listening to a song by Mother Love Bone pour out softly from the stereo in Eddie’s apartment, he asked what you were thinking.

You’d been quiet for a while, zoning out, touching your fingertips to his as he spread them out to meet yours across the menacing bat tattoo on his chest.

“It’s silly,” you mumbled, kissing his shoulder with the side of your mouth. The morning was warm with a soft breeze blowing one of the long, blue curtains out into the room, and above the sound of the music came the rumble of motorcycles rolling into the compound, and electric drill firing in the garage across the way.

“Still,” he rested his head on yours. “I want to hear it. I want to know what goes on in that quirky brain of yours.”

As comfortable as you were with Eddie at that point, you were shy about admitting some of your deep-seated insecurities. What if you spoke them out loud and they came true? What if you started to let him know what went on in your “quirky”, anxiety riddled brain, and it scared him off?

You decided to take a chance, burying your face a bit more in the indentation of his armpit. “In the past, whenever I've felt genuine happiness, or everything seemed to be going really well, that’s always when everything would go to shit. So, I have this fear that—”

“---that you’re going to lose me?” Eddie interrupted softly, sliding his fingers down to intertwine with yours.

“Well, yeah,” you admitted. “Exactly that. Losing you, or something happening to Katie or Steve’s family. Anyone I care about.”

“The same shit happens to me in my head,” he promised. “It almost won’t let me enjoy whatever good thing is happening because I’m already thinking about how it could get fucked up. I’m always anticipating the next bad thing.”

“We are a sad pair,” you snorted a laugh.

“Hey, really though, listen to me,” he squeezed you tighter. “You’re not going to lose me, baby, fuck that. As long as we tell each other what is going on and we don’t have any secrets, no one can fuck with us. I won’t let anyone fuck with us.”

You propped up on your forearm to meet his eyes; they were bright brown and earnest. You swept his bangs to the side with your fingertips. “Well, that’s good to know because I don’t think I’d survive this level of heartbreak.”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” Eddie searched your face, running his knuckle down your cheek. “And if you break mine, I’ll probably sulk around for the rest of my life, just a shell of a man, playing songs on the street corner for loose change.”

You chuckled and scooted closer to kiss his mouth. “What are the deal breakers for you in a relationship? Something you could never forgive?”

He squinted curiously at you. “Are you trying to walk that line, sweetheart?”

“No,” you bit your lip through a smile, but then dropped your head back to the warm skin of his shoulder. “My deal breaker is cheating. I can forgive a lot of things, but never that.”

Eddie took a big inhale, thinking about this, but then he swallowed hard. “Just the thought of another man touching you, past or present, makes me see red, baby.”

There was a tension in the air as Eddie considered the crushing weight of said betrayal, and you bit at a piece of skin on your thumb, thinking about the complex inner workings of Eddie Munson.

To break the heavy silence, you started crawling on top of him, kissing his neck, working your core against his stiff morning wood. Eddie held your face and sucked at your bottom lip, running his tongue along the soft skin there, while you pressed the slick of your slit on his cock, arousal already evident.

“Would you really kill someone for me, baby?” You breathed, reminded of how he said he would kill or die for you.

“Without question,” he hissed at your wetness, reaching down to line the tip of his cock up with your entrance.

You sank down quickly, needing all of him with fluttering urgency. “When I think of someone, I will let you know,” you hushed. He cursed into your mouth and spanked your ass as you rode him, knowing that this was the only cock you would have inside of you for the rest of your life, and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Back in the sunny parking lot outside of the art supply store, Eddie continued on behind the wheel, pausing for a group of people as they strolled into he store, hand on your leg, squeezing your knee as he waited. He angled the car down in front of a clothing store, on his way to exit onto the street, and had to wait for a couple more people to cross.

You weren’t paying attention, too absorbed at the time pawing through the bag of goodies in your lap, fingering the new pastels and linseed oil with glee. But Eddie’s fingers dug into your leg and gripped there in a way that made you glance over at him.

Waiting at the crosswalk, Eddie’s skin drained of color as he watched the people pass in front of the car. You followed his attention: there was an older woman, perhaps 50, two younger girls maybe ages 7 or 8, a pretty blonde girl around 30, and a woman who could have been a supermodel with long, auburn hair, a short denim skirt, and a dragon tattoo on her thigh.

Your attention rose to Eddie and his nostrils flared, blinking a few times, teeth grinding.

For whatever reason, the tension made you nervous. “Baby, what is it? What’s wrong? Do you know them?”

Eddie swallowed, patting your leg a few times, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes. “It’s nothing sweetheart. I just remembered something I had to do later on, that’s all.”

Not even a full day had passed since you’d both agreed to never to keep anything from each other, and there he was, lying already. He knew that you could tell he was withholding something, which made it even worse. His hope at the time was, if he ignored it, maybe it would go away.

Somehow, Melanie coming into town had almost slipped his mind, until he saw her there with his very own eyes walking with Chrissy, her mom, and her twin daughters. She looked different, but also exactly the same. The difference was that he no longer found her attractive; she might as well of had rotting flesh rolling off her bones for how repulsed he was to see her there in the street. He wasn’t afraid to tell you, he just didn’t want it to be real, he wanted to ignore her until she left town, and you could live in the bliss of never being able to put a face to her.

First of all, Eddie was a horrible liar. It was not hard for you to put the pieces together and realize that he did know one of the women in that group, if not all of them. But, you took one last look at his profile, told him you loved him, and decided to let it go. For now.

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A few days earlier, after the incident with Inky, Steve rolled up to the house at dawn to find Robin waiting up at the kitchen table. She was having a cigarette with her coffee, and Robin never smoked. He watched her bite into her thumbnail, chew it off, and then spit it on the floor as he stepped into the room.

“What’s up?” Steve shut the sliding door behind him and locked it. “Where’s Oliver?”

Robin put her finger to her lips to ask him to ask him to keep it down. She saw how he was favoring his freshly bandaged hand, but chose not to ask questions. “Katie is asleep,” she flicked the end of her cig over the ashtray. “Oliver spent the night with Wayne.”

Cautiously, Steve clapped down into the seat across from her, wallet chain hitting first, motioning for her to slide the pack of bargain basement knockoff cigarettes over. He had his own lighter, but she shot the box of matches over to him as well. Striking the match to light his smoke, Steve bucked his chin at the manila envelope she had next to her. “What’s in there?”

Robin brushed her hair off of her face and hunched forward. “Oh it’s just a little something. Might cheer you up.”

She pushed the envelope toward him with the pads of her fingers, both sets of eyes on it as it traveled across the faux wood surface. Now Steve knew exactly what it was when he saw the label on the front but even then, he was riddled with confusion.

“How did you--?”

A part of Steve knew, even though there’s no way he could’ve had any idea where Robin went that night or what she’d said to Tina to get her to sign her rights to Oliver away. Or the gun she’d pointed loaded and proud, letting them know there were only two ways the night could end, and both involved her walking away with those signatures. The saddest part was how quickly Tina had agreed to take the money in exchange for Oliver; there hadn’t even been a glimmer of internal struggle. Robin told herself it was for the best though, and once Oliver was old enough to ask questions, he would never know about that night, or how quickly he’d been given up.

Now, they really were broke, even more than before, and without any safety net to fall back on. But, no one would ever show up and try to take their son away again without facing legal ramifications, and Robin might’ve also let her know that she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in her throat if she ever tried to get sneaky. “If you take Oliver, Steve and I will have nothing to lose. You know what they say about not wanting to fuck with someone who has nothing to lose.”

Steve peeked inside, exhaling a long, hot breath. After sucking on his lip for a few seconds, he raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “You’re telling me you got her to sign these and you got them notarized?”

“Katie,” Robin squinted and took another drag. The sleeve of her flannel fell down to expose the vine of an ivy tattoo on her forearm.

“She’s a notary? No shit?” he said the last part under his breath, chuckling a bit to himself.

Katie’s old job status as a notary public was a small detail that Robin had been fascinated to discover. Meeting up at a seedy motel in the middle of the night in her pajamas did not put Katie in a particularly compliant mood, but she offered her official services without too much of a fight. In fact, she had to admit later how much it had turned her on to find her girlfriend holding two people at gunpoint like that. It made her feel like she was in an episode of 21 Jump Street.

Steve rubbed one eye with the palm of his hand. The other hand, the one Astrid had cleaned and put a fresh bandage on for good measure, had just been used as a deadly weapon and pummeled a guy to the brink of death just the day before. He’d do it again in a heartbeat because no one threatened his family and got away with it. “Jesus, fuck, Rob. You know I love you, right?”

“Oh, you better,” she snorted a laugh, and then, softly,“I’d do anything for Ollie. And you. You know this,” and then she smashed the cigarette out in the ashtray. She couldn’t look him in the eye for fear the floodgates would open.

A sob hitched in his chest and he had to clear his throat. He really was on some real emotional bullshit lately and he made a fist with his good hand and banged it on the table, trying to collect himself. “Ditto.”

Robin got up and stretched her arms back with a yawn. “I’m going back to bed for an hour. You at the shop this afternoon?”

“Until late, yeah,” Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of the envelope. “I’m working on that chest piece for Thor.” Thor was one of the other Coffin Kings, a huge, beastly blonde dude with a long, braided beard.

Robin braced her hands on the back of the chair. “You thought anymore about going to Scott’s wedding this weekend?”

“Scott, you mean Daphne’s Scott?” Steve shook his head. “I haven’t thought about it at all, actually. There’s no way I’m going to that.”

Steve had only met Scott once at one of their barbecues, and Daphne knew Robin because her daughter and Oliver were the same age, but the last place Steve wanted to be stuck at was a wedding for two people he barely knew, or any wedding at all for that matter.

“You sure?” Robin craned her neck. “There’s going to be an open bar at the reception.”

“Nah, I got a thing on Saturday,” Steve waved his hand. “Take Katie, why don’t you?”

“I’ll think about it,” Robin worked her neck from side to side. “What do you have on Saturday?”

For some reason, a voice inside of Steve whispered that he should keep his plans vague. “Body guard gig,” he offered in a bored tone. He didn’t have to ask to know that Robin must’ve had to have paid off Tina somehow, and now they’d need some extra cash more than ever. What he wanted to do was change the subject. “Any word from Susie or Dustin?”

“Now that you mention it,” Robin scratched her cheek. “She’s due any day now and no, I haven’t heard a word. I should’ve checked in, I’ve just been out of my mind lately.”

“Dustin knows we’re in the thick of it,” Steve assured her. “We’re the first ones on the call list when she does go into labor, but I’ll give him a ring this afternoon to say hey.” He yawned, blinking his tired eyes a few times. “Should I take Ollie to the shop with me?”

“No, after Wayne drops him off, I got him,” Robin stole a curious look at Steve, knowing full well that there was something he wasn’t telling her. She was too exhausted in that moment to ask any questions as she turned to head down the hall. “Take a shower, dingus. You look like death warmed over.”

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Wayne always kept his shotgun up high in a locked closet whenever the kid came to stay, but when he returned from dropping Ollie off with his parents, he stood there at the open closet looking around for a minute. He fingered through the flannels and old jackets, skidding the wire hangers along the wooden dowel, until he found the frayed denim edge he was looking for. He yanked back the line of clothes so he could pull the article of clothing out and take a look at it.

It was his original denim with the sleeves cut off, known as a cut, or Kutte, with the Coffin Kings MC insignia on the back. The matching insignia among club members were all “cut” from the same cloth. He held it up and wiped his hand down it a few times, as if to dust it off, looking over the worn and road weary patches, including the one with his nickname “Uncle” over the pocket, because he’d been an honorary uncle to so many, including Steve and Astrid.

He took it over to the mirror on the back wall of his bedroom, set the hanger on the chair and pulled the denim on over his white tee, adjusting the collar, working his shoulders through. Chemo had taken a lot of his size, and so it hung a bit loose, but the shoulder muscles were still there, and he flexed his hands, knowing they could still deftly maneuver a blade or a gun, just like the old days.

Sticking out of the side of the mirror was was a black and white photo that had been bent in half and wrinkled over time. A photo of a much younger Wayne, Astrid’s mother Evelyn with her jet black hair over her shoulder in a braid, and Steve and Eddie as little kids; not much older than Oliver. The boys wanted to be a part of the life so bad, even then, that Evie made them their own vests, complete with Munson and Harrington patches and the Coffin Kings skull on the back. Evie had her hand on Wayne’s chest in the photo, gazing up at him, and Wayne’s arm was around her shoulders, but his eyes were on Steve, his mouth open about to say something. Steve was making a face, his mouth in a grimace to expose two missing front teeth, both of his arms up, flexing to pretend he had muscles. Eddie was more stoic, his expression set without emotion as he stared into the camera, hands in fists at his sides, feet braced wide. Off to the side was young Astrid. She was a few years older than the boys, but still a baby. Wayne remembered she didn’t want to be in the photo, but Steve started acting out to get her to come over, and there she was, face slightly blurred as she tried to move away, but a smile on her face nonetheless.

Wayne met his eyes in the mirror; windows to a soul that was familiar but set in a face he no longer recognized. He thought about his panhead motorcycle collecting dust at the storage unit across town. He thought about how badly he wanted to protect Oliver from the horrors of this world, from the MC life. The boy liked to paint and draw and bake things, and Wayne didn’t understand that either, but he didn’t see the lust for danger in his eyes like he had with Steve and Eddie; Steve, especially. Like he wanted to turn the world on its head and dump it out to see how it worked. Maybe he had the love of a good mom for that, the kind of mom that stuck around. He thought about all of the things this disease had already taken from him, but it wouldn’t take this. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

-----------

You’d stayed at Eddie’s for the past two nights in a row, and even though he would have you there with him every night if he had his way, you needed to set up your art room and take advantage of one of your afternoon off to work on John’s commission before you went back to the Hammer. You needed to stretch and frame the large canvas first, a meticulous process that took place in the garage, and then put up painters plastic around the art room so you wouldn’t flick paint around on the walls of the rental.

Eddie had brought you to work and picked you up the night before, and he took you home that next day in the tow truck so he could head to a job after. He popped in at the diner on the way to grab two coffee’s to go in tall white, Styrofoam cups. The older, married waitress there named Donna had a crush on both him and Wayne, and always gave him free stuff, for which they tipped handsomely. He came out of the diner holding the two cups up, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Things with Donna and I are getting serious, just so you know,” Eddie climbed up into the cab and passed your coffee to you, and then leaned over for a kiss once he was behind the wheel. “Black with two sugars for my lady.”

“Well, I don’t blame her one bit,” you clicked your tongue, leaning over to smell the fresh brew through the mouth opening in the lid and feel the steam on your skin, snuggling down into one of Eddie’s hooded sweatshirts. “Now I need to find an older, married boyfriend, and we’ll be even.”

What was meant to be a joke hit a little different because of the whole John Gregson situation, but Eddie snorted a chuckle as he put his cup in the holder on the dash. “You’re gonna turn me into a homicidal maniac if you’re not careful, sweetheart.”

As he got back on the main road toward your place, a glimmer caught your eye. The guitar pic on the ball chain hanging from the rear view mirror had always been there, but now there was a little, silver worry ring on the chain too, hanging flush with the red pick. It was the worry ring you usually wore on your thumb that you’d thought you had lost weeks ago. You reached up to take a better look and make sure.

“Baby, what is my ring doing here?”

Eddie took a wide turn, sucking his cheek, realizing he was properly caught red handed. “You left it on the nightstand that first time you came over,” he answered.

Your mouth fell open to goad him. “Why didn’t you tell me you found it?”

Eddie’s eyes found the ring in question where it swayed with the movement of he vehicle. “I don’t know, I think I meant to, but then I kinda liked having it in here with me. Whenever I look at it, I think about you. Something stupid like that.”

Your heart rushed, sending waves of heat through your veins. You were staring at his profile now, unable to look away, absolutely, wholly filled to the brim with love for this man.

“You really got it bad for me, don’t cha Munson?”

He offered a small nod and a shrug, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

--------------

It was almost 9am by the time Eddie dropped you off at the duplex. Katie was already at the school, and your orange tabby cat Charlie was in a mood, so you sat on the couch with him for a bit while you finished your coffee. Although Charlie loved affection, he was normally such a chill dude, but that morning he didn’t want to leave your side even after you put his favorite gravy bits breakfast in his food dish. You had been gone for a couple nights in a row, but you always came by during the day to check on him, so it wasn’t as if he’ been abandoned. It was almost as if he was trying to tell you something.

You stroked his ears back and kissed the top of his head. “Tell me, my boy, what’s on your mind?” But he only meowed, nuzzling closer, massaging his claws into your leg.

You ate some granola and dropped your bag on the floor at the end of your bed without turning the light on, heading straight into the bathroom for a much needed shower. You let the water get as hot as you could handle it, noticing the bruises on your hips for the first time from the way Eddie man-handled you during sex. You smiled against the stream of water at the memory.

Charlie was sitting on the sink with his tail curled around his feet when you opened the shower curtain, staring you down. “Close your eyes,” you told the cat as you clutched in the air for the green bath towel that was hooked over the metal dowel.

At least, you thought it was hanging there, but now you were grabbing at air because it was on the floor. You wiped water from your eyes and snapped another look at Charlie before you bent down to pick it up. “Did you do this?”

You were mumbling to yourself, wrapping the towel around your body and stepped out onto the mat. You remembered closing the bathroom door, but now it was open and you imagined that Charlie had pushed it open with his brute strength. You paused to put some moisturizer on your face, and then turned to open the door the rest of the way and face the bed, and that was when you realized there was something terribly wrong.

The bed was made; everything neatly tucked, comforter folded back at an angle, as an invitation. Had it been that way before you went into the shower? You wouldn’t know because you hadn’t turned the light on to look. The pile of clean laundry you’d thrown on the messy bed just the day before were nowhere to be found. You weren’t freaking out yet, not when you knew that Katie went into turbo cleaning fits when she was stressed, and there had been a lot going on with Robin lately. But it wasn’t like her to come into your space while you were gone and mess with your things.

A fear began to bubble inside of you as you clutched the towel tighter around your body, senses heightened as you inched over to check down the hall and in the closet. You were starting to feel so afraid that your hands got cold as shock began to set in preemptively.

With trembling fingers, you took hold of the wood knob and pulled open the top drawer of your dresser, only to jump back, covering your mouth to try and trap the scream that erupted.

Your underwear and socks were neatly folded into color coded rows. You yanked out the drawer under that and the next, only to find the same symmetry of tediously folded clothing. The second drawer fell all the way out and crashed to the carpet. In a frenzy, you dove forward and started scooping all of the clothing out of the drawers, yanking them all to the floor, making them a mess, throwing them around the room, tears running hot down your cheeks. You didn’t stop until the bottom drawer was empty; the drawer that had a few pieces of lingerie and silky pajama sets, all of it had been sorted and folded in the exact same way.

You covered your nose and mouth with your hands and sat down on the bed, taking sharp inhales, adrenaline preparing you for some kind of fight, flight, or fawn: whichever would keep you from eminent danger. There was and ocean in your ears.

You did not do this.

Katie would not do this.

The only person in the world who would ever do this

was your maniacal, neat freak ex fiance Craig.

Now you could hear a footstep creak on the wood planks in the hall just outside your bedroom and from behind you on the bed, Charlie hissed.

------------

Eddie didn’t have to take the long way back by your street with the old Chrysler on the back of the tow, but he did anyway, just because he liked being in your vicinity. Much like the “old days” when he would ride by your work, back when he thought you wouldn’t give him the time of day.

As he turned onto the street, he could see the front of your duplex on the corner, but his smile faded when he saw the front door was open. Not open just a crack, but open all the way, exposing the interior or the house, and you didn’t have a screen door, so he wouldn’t imagine you’d leave it that way on purpose. What if your cat got loose? He took a sharper turn than he should have to line the truck and pull along the opposite side of the street to park it, doing his best not to crush your neighbors garbage can, all the while keeping his eyes on the entrance, thinking maybe you’d appear and there would be some explanation.

He paused before crossing the street as a guy in a hunter green utility vehicle inched its way to the stop sign. The driver stared Eddie down as he went at a crawl, and Eddie was taken aback to be aggressively eyeballed by a stranger, but he returned the heated glare, bucking his chin. “Fuck’s your problem, man?” Eddied shouted, shrugging his hands in the air. The guy gave an open mouth smile, and made a motion of dragging his fingers across his throat, just before he stomped on the gas and flew through the stop sign, taking a right. Normally, Eddie would’ve taken more notice of the details of the license plate and whatnot, but his attention quickly returned to your open door, taking long strides to the opposite sidewalk.

Eddie looked around before he stepped inside, hand on the hilt of his knife. “Baby? Are you in here?” He asked it softly so it wouldn’t scare you. “It’s Eddie. Your door is wide open.”

His ears followed the sound of things being tossed around, and something heavy hitting the ground with a wooden crack. But then you screamed and his heart tightened as he bolted down the hall.

“Baby?” He entered your bedroom to find all of your dressers drawers open, and two on the ground, clothes scattered everywhere. You jumped when you saw him, scrambling back with a shriek, clutching a towel to the front of your body so that you wouldn’t be exposed.

You were afraid of him, or whoever you thought he was. Cheeks wet with tears, eyes wild like a feral animal caught in a trap. You backed all the way to the wall with your hand out, palm up, before you realized who it was.

“Eddie?” Relief flooded through you, and you dropped the towel, stark naked, to run into his arms, a sob choking in your throat. The feel of his denim and cool of his belt bucket against your skin helped to soothe your nerves, taking a deep inhale of the woodsy spice scent of his aftershave.

Eddie’s mind was reeling as he held you tight; one hand cupped behind your neck and the other at your back rubbing in slow circles. “It’s me, baby. It’s just me.”

You blinked hard, wishing he’d never had to see you like this, wishing you’d never have to tell him about Craig and why you were so afraid of him. You had no proof that your ex had actually been in your house, but also---you had all the proof you needed. This kind of sick fuck head game was right up Craig’s alley. But how had he found you? How would you ever get rid of him now? You didn’t want Eddie to have to get involved with this mess. Sure, Eddie was tough, but Craig was certifiable, and you were well aware that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you in his life.

You buried your face in Eddie’s chest and wrapped your arms as tight as possible, wishing you could both run away and disappear and not have to deal with any of this.

“Talk to me, baby,” Eddie said in a lower octave than normal, his blood boiling. “Who did this to you?”

-----------

That afternoon on Friday, Steve went to meet the woman he’d be doing security for the next day. He gave a low whistle as he rolled up to the main gates, “holy shit,” he mumbled, pinching a smoke between his lips, lighting it while his bike idled and he pushed the buzzer to announce himself. He combed his fingers through his hair as he rode in over a blood stain that was embedded in the cement, shooting a look to the 10 car garage, wondering what kind of beauties were in there and hoping he’d get to drive one.

“Be careful,” Astrid had warned a few nights ago when he stayed at her place. She shuffled her Tarot deck and did a quick reading for him. She tapped her finger on one of the cards. “I don’t like the look of this. I think someone with a dark heart has their evil eye on you.” Without looking up at him, she continued. “I need to do a protection spell before you go.”

“Does that protection spell include you riding my face?” Steve scooted his chair forward, lunging to kiss her temple, but she shrugged him off, trying to concentrate.

Her eyes were sweeping over the cards she’d just pulled for him with a tense bundle of lines between her thick, dark eyebrows. “I’m serious Steve. It’s someone with power who wants to own you, and I think the offer will be very tempting. Think Satan in a Sunday hat.”

She pulled two more cards. Her eyes flicked from Steve to the table several times. “Are you going to some kind of formal event this weekend?”

Steve winced. “Not if I can help it, why?”

This gift that Astrid had was much deeper than deciphering the magic in a deck; she had always been able to see beyond the veil of the known world. It was her gift that kept her lonely, and more often than not, she saw it as a curse.

She sat back in her seat to look the cards over again for an unnerving amount of time. Her intuition was foggy, and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what would go wrong yet, but there were multiple threats on the horizon and her gut told her it was time to circle the wagons.

Steve’s tongue flicked out to lick the corner of his mouth. “Don’t leave me hangin’ here, darlin’. Do I get kidnapped by a bunch of circus clowns, or what?”

Her eyes locked onto his, letting him know she was serious. “Watch your back this weekend, Stevie.”

He took her hand. “Don’t I always, sweetheart?”

He thought about Astrid’s words as he wound the bike around to park at the front door, exhaling smoke as he flicked the cigarette to the side. He slid his sunglasses up on top of his head, taking in the expanse of the entryway, heavy boots plodding up the steps. At his wrist on a thin leather band was the tiny charm and gemstone Astrid had made him wear after she dowsed him in sage smoke and said a bunch of words he didn’t understand.

Charlene greeted him in nothing but the tiniest of bikinis, a straw sun hat, and a blue and red kimono, and Steve couldn’t help but adjust himself in his jeans at the way her breasts were almost spilling out of the tiny yellow top.

She offered him a drink out by the pool under one of the umbrellas, and Steve accepted a beer.

“I should thank you again for bailing me out,” Steve took a drink, glad that his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses because he couldn’t’ take them off her heaving rack; the way the sweat trickled down her tan cleavage. A pool boy in tight, cut off jean shorts was cleaning debris from the surface of the crystal clear pool with a net at the end of a long handle.

“Anytime,” Charlene was so very charming when she wanted to be. “A friend of Eddie’s is a friend of mine.”

Steve took a generous gulp and put his forearms on the table. “Yeah? You know my buddy Eddie?”

Charlene flipped her blonde hair off of her shoulder. “Has he never mentioned me? We go way back.”

“Never,” Steve said without hesitation, making Charlene frown. “Not that I remember anyway. But Eddie and I don’t talk as much anymore. We’ve been too fucking busy.”

That seemed to lighten her expression, but the thought did occur to Steve to wonder how Eddie got word to her that he was in jail? He was pretty sure he didn’t even know about what happened until the next day. But, fuck it. Who cares how she found out? He just wanted to get this bodyguard gig over with and get his cash.

They agreed on a price for an evening of Steve’s services, and then Charlene led him inside to guide him up the big, lavish staircase to a guest bedroom where she had a gray and white suit waiting for him. She unzipped the black Armani sleeve it was in and Steve gulped. His mind immediately raced thinking about how much he could pawn it for on Sunday if she let him keep it.

“My cousin is getting married tomorrow,” she perched at the end of the floral bedspread, watching him pick the suit up to admire it. “I guessed at your size, but I can have a tailor meet us here before we leave if it needs fixing.”

Sure, Steve had been a bouncer forever, and had worked as an extra bodyguard a few times for visiting celebrities, but a personal bodyguard and escort for a woman like Charlene? Never. He wasn’t even sure why she needed protection for a wedding; looking down at the suit, he felt more like a gigolo than hired muscle.

“Nah, I’m sure it’s perfect,” and then he eyeballed the wedding photo on the vanity of a much younger Charlene with some other dude. “Where is your husband these days? Why can’t he take you?”

Charlene stretched back so that she was spread out on the bed, the nipple of one breast poking out from under the thin material. Her body was toned and supple and not at all what he expected a woman in her mid 40’s to look like. “My husband leaves town a lot for work. He doesn’t ask what I do, and I don’t ask what he does.”

“Fair enough,” Steve flicked his tongue over his gold tooth, watching the way she arched her back, exposing herself to him, making him palm his erection through his denim.

“For instance,” Charlene reached behind her neck to undo the tie for her bikini top, pulling it down, letting him see the expensive titties in all their glory. “He left yesterday and won’t be home until next week.”

So, of course Steve fucked her. He came between her tits and gave her a pearl necklace made of his cum, liking the way it dripped down her throat. He fucked her ass because she begged him to, using only spit for lube, her face pressed into the mattress, until she came, and then Steve milked a few more bursts of cum onto her backside with a grunt.

He liked getting paid and getting laid at the same time. He felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for a perfect situation like this to fall into his lap.

---------

Eddie paced at the doorway, flexing his hands into fists, “so this Craig fucker came here to what? Terrorize you? Try and get you back? I will put a bullet in his skull.”

You gave Eddie the cliff notes version of your relationship with Craig while you got dressed. How you thought he was fun and charming at first, but once you moved in with him, things got scary. He wouldn’t let you talk to your friends or go anywhere without him. When you first got the courage to leave, he broke into the house you were staying at in the middle of the night and put a knife to your throat. He’d been honorably discharged from the military and used his connections in the police force to bypass the protection order you filed on him. He was emotionally and physically abusive and stalked you for two years before you were able to make it to Hawkins without much more than the clothes on your back, and Eddie was reeling with how bad he wanted to get his hands on this guy. It made him want to start going up and down every street looking for him, which was not totally out of the question.

He had to go outside on the back patio for a smoke and you followed him. You sat down in one of the camp chairs on the concrete slab facing a patch of lawn that was maintained by the owner of the duplex, but Eddie stayed on his feet. You watched the muscles in his jaw flex as he frowned into his cigarette, his thoughts going to dark and dangerous places.

From what you told him about what the guy looked like and the description of his car, that was the dude who had stared Eddie down earlier. He didn’t want to alarm you anymore than you already were by telling you that he saw him, that the fucker had probably been in your house while you were taking a shower. He couldn’t have you staying at the duplex anymore until he could make sure that creep was long gone, and by long gone, he meant he was ready to put him in the dirt. If anyone could find him, Eddie could. He had family of the Kings who worked at police dispatch, and he had eyes all over town, from other tow truck drivers to every member of several MC’s. If this guy thought he was so sneaky, Eddie could do him one better.

Eddie was in a bad mood, cracking his knuckles, thinking about how much he would enjoy hurting this guy, when he heard a sniffle and realized you were crying.

“Hey, hey,” he snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray Katie had there for the smoking she did when she was buzzed, and got down on his knees in front of you. He wiped a single tear off your cheek with his thumb, holding your jaw with gentle force so you would look at him. “This guy, he’s not gonna get near you again, alright? You’re gonna stay with me until I know you’re safe.” He cupped his hand around your neck and pulled your forehead to his. “Hey, I love you. You trust me when I say I’ll protect you, right?”

“It’s not that,” your eyes went to the Munson’s Garage patch on the front of his light blue work shirt. You kept your forehead pressed to his because you couldn’t look him in the eye. “Craig is dangerous, baby. I mean, he’s really crazy. I don’t want you getting hurt or---”

Eddie sat back on his heels, tilting his head to meet you eyes. “And you don’t think I’m crazy? Baby. I know you get the fluffy side of Eddie but I can do dangerous and crazy with the best of them. Okay? That’s all I’ve ever done. No one is going to fuck with my girl.”

His chocolate eyes searched you, needing to know that you believed you were safe.

You gnawed at your lip, eyes dewy and bloodshot. “I just wish this wasn’t happening,” you dropped your head again, mouth jerking down with impending sobs. “I wish we could run away.”

“Sorry baby but, fuck that,” Eddie stood. “You had to run from this guy once, he’s not gonna get the satisfaction of scaring you off this time. You’ve got me now.”

He squatted again, motioning for you to give him your hand and then he held it tight, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “And Steve and Robin and Wayne, and the whole Coffin Kings MC, baby. I want you to trust me. This fucker will be sorry he ever stepped foot in Hawkins.”

You slotted your hands on either side of his neck at his jawline, pulling him in, and the salt of your tears mingled in the kiss, your mouth opening wide to take him deeper. Unexpected moans of desperation escaped both of you, hands greedy for purchase on each other’s parts. You made it back inside the house just in time for Eddie to dive his hand down the waistband of your shorts.

“You’re mine,” he breathed, fucking two fingers up inside you, stifling your cry of pleasure with his mouth.

You scrambled to undo his jeans, pushing them down his hips. “I need you so bad, baby. Fuck me.”

There was no time to make it to the bedroom, you broke the kiss only long enough to bend over the kitchen island, shorts down, arching your ass up. Eddie swiped his cock along your glistening core only once before burying it inside of you groaning at the sensation. “Holy fuck, I love you,” Eddie murmured, proceeding to fuck his entire length inside, pulling your slit apart with his thumbs so that he could watch himself enter you.

You bucked back against him, meeting his urgency, biting your lip through hungry whimpers. Eddie shoveled his hand around the front of your throat and pulled you back, choking you with soft pressure while he other hand braced at your hip and he fucked you hard. He preferred to look at you when he was about to cum, but the two of you were frantic, and he was already close. Clinging to the counter, the wet slapping sounds of Eddie stretching you out were about to throw you over the edge. His hand moved from your throat to your mouth, dipping inside for you to suck them.

Eddie’s hips locked onto you as he came, and the sensation made your walls flutter, gripping him in a way that extended his orgasm, cursing, both of you crying out, able to forget about the worries of the world if only for those precious moments as you rode the high.

---------

At a decent chain Motel by a truck stop near the highway, Craig Ludlow paid for a week in advance and sat in the dark puffing a cigar by the window with the curtain tightly closed. An episode of The Twilight Zone was on the TV, and it was the only light but for the golden glow from the bathroom in the hall. On the table next to him was a razor blade on a mirror with white powder residue, a shot glass empty of its Jim Beam, and a handgun.

There had been an ugly landscape painting on the opposite wall, but he took it down to make room for his work. There was a big cork board there now, a place for all of the information he had on you and your little biker friends. Steve’s mugshot was up there, along with one of Eddie from 10 years earlier. Information on Wayne, Katie, the Velvet Hammer, every person or place you’d touched since you’d been to town. Somehow you’d slipped through his fingertips, and oh god, how he had missed you. Being a part of your life and knowing what you were up to was a part of who he was now, and he’d been feeling lost without it.

He planned use his connections to get in with Chief Hopper and make sure your new biker boyfriend had the law down his throat around every turn. Why was it so much to ask for you to let him love you? Your house was a mess, your bed not even made. Nothing in your drawers had been folded. It was obvious that you needed him and missed him and just didn’t know how to ask. You had always been such a prideful, silly goose.

A girl named Shari was working the night shift at the motel when she noticed, not for the first time, how odd the guy who checked into room 11 was. Shari happened to be the old lady of a Coffin Kings member named Jester, and she would tell him all about it, including the make and color of the SUV he drove, over the phone when he called to check up on her that evening. Coincidentally, War Machine had just let everyone know to keep an eye out for a creep of the same description who was stalking his girl. Jester headed over to make sure Shari was okay and waited in the shadows near the truck stop on his chopper, watching the lights from the TV flicker in room 11, keeping an eye on this guy so he could follow if he took off. Keeping him in his crosshairs to see if he should take care of this guy himself before he passed the word on to Eddie.

PART 14

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petrawood · 12 days

Text

I keep thinking about the Jonathan Harker Time Loop and how most posts are about the poor guy having flashbacks or trying to somehow sidestep The Horrors. You know, all reflection about how we see him.

But listen.

How about how HE sees US?

Imagine you are Jonathan Harker, and you are leaving for a work trip. You haven't really travelled much, and you are very excited, so you do research about that fascinating country called Transylvania, you write down your train schedules, the names of the cities you pass by, the recipes you find interesting or unfamiliar. You really want to remember everything, after all, you know you are going to spend some time away and you are sure Mina would love all the details of this little adventure! You are going to miss her so much, so making sure that everything is accurate so you can later faithfully recreate your journey makes you feel closer to her.

You could do without those weird dreams, though.

Moreover, since the beginning of your travels you have kept meeting more and more people.

They strike you as strange.

Most of them greet you as if you were old friends, clapping you in the back and talking about how happy it made them to receive the letter about your upcoming job trip, which you find mildly confusing, and the familiarity that they spark on the depths of your mind somewhat soothing.

Others smile at you and wish you fast and happy travels, something mournful gleaming in the depths of their eyes, and you feel like they are not really looking at you, but at some other man standing right behind you.

"Maybe this time it will go well, right?"

And you have nothing to say about that.

Some people you can tell recognize you, but don't really come near. They seem hesitant, and not as overtly familiar as the previous groups of people, acting instead in a manner more fitting to strangers. They follow you at a distance, looking torn between curiosity and dread, and you can tell that this is their fist time making this journey as well.

Then you get to Transylvania, and the entire crowd seems to go mad.

While you had only been meeting people in groups before, now they seem to cover almost every free inch of the country, coming together in thick clusters that somehow never actually seem to encumber your travel. They read what you write over your shoulder, they nod at the scenery and watch all the people getting in and out of your carriage.

They seem to be specially fond of the villagers, in spite of the country people's apparent lack of interest in them, since as far as you have seen the two groups never actually cross words.

In one particularly noteworthy morning you have paprika for breakfast, which is met with great approval by all.

You get closer to Castle Dracula, and the amount of people still increases, although a low number of them appear and disappear just as quickly, checking on you and then departing. They explain that they will come back later, or that they are waiting for someone else, and sometimes you swear you can hear the sound of waves in their steps.

Of the ones that stay, some get close enough to stand with you, while others prefer to stay by themselves, either taking notes on their own journals or -something that baffles you every single time you see it- sitting behind some kind of canvas and mixing colors while they wave away your worries at the bumping of the carriage ruining their work.

And at last, after weeks of travel that somehow only feel like three days, you arrive at Castle Dracula.

You stand before a great door, waiting for great man, while a great multitude surrounds you, all their eyes on you.

You hear steps approaching through the wood, and the very universe around you seems to hold their breath, waiting for the beginning of a path that seems new but well tread, a path that just for that endless second you feel extending behind and in front of you, strengthening and waning, with its first knot waiting at that door.

So the strong wood opens, a Count makes his greeting, and you, together with all the people next and behind you, friends new an old, step through the door.

#dracula daily #dracula #jonathan harker #time loop

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sakkiichi · 8 months

Text

FROM ME TO YOU.

Because good things take time and it’s not too late for happy birthdays.

ft. Albedo x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, birthday special, reader is an amateur painter.

this is just something spontaneous that I came up with… I just… kinda gave free reign to whatever flashed through my mind once I was before the blank document, parting from a very vague idea I had haha.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

Autumn’s cold always arrived early in Dragonspine.

The faraway rays of a molten copper halo fuse with the peaks outlined on the horizon.

Magic is the word you’d use to describe such scenery; seconds that seemed to both be suspended in the helpless passage of time, and slip between your fingers; like golden sand inside an hourglass too small to savor every snapshot brought by the incandescence of crepuscular skies.

On instances like this, you wished your painting skills were better; if only to capture the glow of early dreams threaded through the asters of twilight.

For now, however, this will have to do.

Why did you wait until so late for this, you are unsure.

True, wishing a happy birthday to someone as the clock strikes twelve is not an uncommon occurrence.

And you’re kind of doing just that, more or less.

Except…

Well, it’s usually when the special day starts that calls are made, starlit whispers are uttered between lovers, and secret kisses are exchanged.

So you can’t help but wonder… is it too late?

For this? Or to back out now?

A sigh escapes your chapped lips, into the dimness of dusk, the stillness of frozen peaks, the stars.

Stars.

Your gaze is drawn to the easel you’ve set before you, fingertips delicately trailing over the four-point asteroids decorating a heaven made of brushstrokes.

Gold pinpricks, almost aglow beneath the darkening penombre of sundown, over a backdrop of ultramarines and indigoes, akin to sunlight over the depth of a frozen sea; a mirror image of the sky now hovering over snowy plains.

Looking up, you find a firmament of constellations. Stories, sketched in the silver flames of light years away suns, above an infinity of obscurity.

Those tales, however, had a tendency for lighting up paths that fell victim to the constant fluttering snowflakes.

“Hello, dearest.” A voice, smooth, liquid dawnlight over dewed cecilia petals, greets. “Am I late?”

The sound of crunching snow fills the fire-lit silence, the torches from his camp casting him in tepid hues.

“Albedo!” You call him, turning around.

And when you do, you swear he alone outshines every galaxy you could ever dream of rendering on canvas.

Tendrils of midnight sun and honeycomb seem to meld together in the blonde locks framing the alchemist’s porcelain-like face. Spotless, argent light from distant stars kisses his skin, fading into flecks of sparkling acacia blossoms to halo his gaze.

Summer skies.

That’s the image his eyes always evoked: clear skies, endlessly blue, over meadows to lie on, the low grass soft beneath your forms, as hands entwined and fingers pointed above, determining the shapes of the occasional cottony clouds.

What a paradox, how someone who spent his days surrounded by ice could make sparks ignite in your heart, cheeks heating up like the embers that remained after the coziness of a homey hearth.

“Is there anything you needed my help with, love?” He asks, gloved hand running its thumb over the back of yours.

Your gaze flits from your intertwined hands to his smiling lips, taking in his features in full.

“Not exactly your help.” You offer, your own lips a moon shaped brushstroke of vermillion. “I just… would like you to see something.” Your hand squeezes his, as you swing your linked hands between the both of you. “It’s your special day today, after all, isn’t it?”

Your rhetoric is met by the alchemist’s windened gaze, followed by one of his subtle smiles.

Tugging him along, you guide him to the candle lit spot where your easel is propped up.

Why are you feeling nervous all of a sudden? You internally chide yourself, biting the inside of your cheek.

Relaxing your shoulders, you turn to face your lover, gaze averted when you mumble:

“It’s not much but…” You scuff one of your boots on the dirtied snow. “I just… I remembered your painting, ‘You and I’ and… well… you know… I…” Your lids close, your nose scrunched up in that way he always found utterly endearing. “I wanted to make a painting for you too!” You finally sputter, stepping aside so he can see your masterpiece.

From that moment on, Albedo would forever believe no starry night could ever come close to capture the sheer magic of your art.

Gilded speckles abound in your make-believe heavens, each of them a shade slightly different than the previous one. They rest against a backdrop of cyans, accentuated in baby blue around your handmade constellations, the piece’s finale, a violet horizon. Outlined against it, two figures seem to dance, their happy ending created by them, rather than foretold by the celestial bodies staring in envy at a proximity that doesn’t burn, but warms and completes.

“I know it’s not the best but-“

“It’s perfect.” Is the kreideprinz’s awestruck answer, as his svelte hands hover over the frame. “You’re perfect, [Y/n].” He blurts, still staring at your work.

Then, he meets your eyes again. Your face is in his tender hold, a fleeting frosted kiss landing on your lips.

“I love it.” He assures. ‘I love you.’ His dilated pupils confess.

“‘From me to you’. Its title.” Your hand reaches up, resting on top of his. “You know… I hope you didn’t think I had forgotten about today… I just… kinda wanted this to be your last memory of your day.”

With that, both your gazes fuse in a watercolor of each other’s lips, of the anticipation of feeling them against your own.

“Happy birthday, Bedo.” You utter, before leaning in.

And then, the night, the snow, the starshine, all fade away, in a myriad of rose colored frenzied blazes. Your hands lost in the ash blonde strands at his nape; his, pulling you closer by the waist. Your kiss is a nebula of pulsating light, undimmed by even the most ruthless blizzards, lighting up the ebony of the pines obscuring the moonlight. Frozen air is exhausted in your lungs, but you don’t care right now, not when you’re kissing your prince charming under the lights of an aurora that’s still hours away.

A few moments pass, with the stars orbiting marking the approach of midnight.

A snow-kissed breeze caresses both your faces when you part, causing a shiver to rake through your body.

Your prince’s arms wrap around you.

When you look at him, matching chuckles fill the night air.

Moments like this were worth waiting all day for.

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starry-eyed-wild-child · 2 months

Note

Hi! Could I request an angst oneshot about Kit Walker in Briarcliff please? :)

ahhhh of course honey, kit's an absolute sweetheart and i adore him so much honestly 🧡💛

a/n: so sorry this took so long for me to post lmao, sorry it's so short as well, I don't usually write this little :(

🌻 you said you'd never leave 🌻

kit walker x reader

summary: you meet kit at briarcliff, the two of you fall madly in love with what you think is going to be the fairytale ending you've always dreamed of but life had other plans for you

warnings: mentions of torture at briarcliff but that's about it tbh

i'm free from your spell,

and now that it's all over,

all that I can do is wish you well,

~ 'the thrill is gone by b.b king' ~

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

you were beginning to lose all hope; truly. you never were one to be pessimistic. though more days where you failed to feel the sun on your face again, or the rain kiss your cheeks, you knew your life may have ended then and there. some people just weren't meant to get lucky.

you sat alone. like you always did. you preferred it that way. it seemed as though others in the asylum were scared of you. the rumours that you chopped up your family in the kitchen of your family home spread like wildfire. funny, you pondered. that the atrocities of people in this pit of hell based first impressions of you upon assumptions they convinced themselves was reality. you didn't mind. you never did. not really.

you remember meeting him; the memory exploded in your mind like fireworks, bleeding crepuscular colours over the blank canvas of the dull ache the asylum reduced you to. for the first time in two years, you no longer felt lonesome. the steady aching of your heart longed for him. to touch him. to feel him. to love him. kit walker was undeniably the most beautiful man you'd ever seen. you think, now looking back, that's why it hurt as much as it did.

you remember it well. that incessant song replaying over and over in your mind. though you'd learnt to drown it out. the music was loud but your thoughts were louder. he came and sat across from you. his eyes pouring into yours, the darkened hues warm and inviting. you swore then and there that you'd drown in them and die happy. your heart thudded. loud, beating. had he heard it not? he most definitely did.

"the name's kit." he smiled. his smile, like his gaze, was warm. soft and sweet, too pure for a place like this. his voice dripped like honey, sweetening your mood. you were convinced he'd give you toothaches with a voice like that.

"y/n" your hands stayed placed in your lap, back straight. your eyes fixated on him. the look of innocent adoration ignited the fire crackling deep within kit's stomach. in some way, he felt guilty. he was married.

"i've heard about you." the words flower with ease. you maintained eye contact. you dared not look away; not once. kit shifted in his place across from you, avoiding looking at your eyes. he felt vulnerable. the dullness evident in your irises, broken and bruised. though he dared not ask.

these weren't the first words kit wished to hear. who hadn't heard about him? the grotesque image that had been painted about him sat heavy in his stomach, the nausea swarmed him like waves. though unlike those crashing against shores, these waves are violent. unpleasant.

"funny," kit responded, desperate to shift conversation away from him. "i don't think I've heard about you."

you cocked your head to the side, eyebrow raised in amusement. he's changing the subject. that much you knew. and you let him; he'd open up when he was ready. they always do.

he continued. "i definitely would've remembered if i had."

he smiled.

there it was. that's what got you.

those perfectly crafted lines on his cheeks as he smiled. basking in the pearly whites that he offered you. through the mediocre attempt at flirting you could see it. pain, guilt, innocence. all the emotions you could envision all at once. you understood him. though you needn't want to pry, you couldn't help the subtle curiosity about him that spiked the more you two got to know each other. you relished in those moments. cherished them. and for the first time, you felt hopeful again.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"kiss me." he said it so innocently, looking down at you with heavy lids, sultry and desperate. longing for any human connection he could conjure. kit clawed at your shoulders, caressing your hands with such a delicate touch that would make angels weep with envy. you stared up at him from the place he remained between your legs, tracing his jaw with your finger, moving them to his lips. your heart ached for him, as much he did you.

"we could get caught..." you hesitated. and for the first time, you appeared unsure of yourself. you wanted to, god how you wanted to. you couldn't fathom how desperate you were to feel his body pressed against yours, moulded together in perfect connection.

"i'd get caught a thousand times over if it meant kissing you just once."

you suppose it's what drew you to kit walker. his charismatic smile that had you melting on your own two feet. or perhaps it was the way he cradled you so gently. or even when he told you that he loved you. that when you were both free from this wretched place, he'd marry you and you'd be his and he'd be yours. you never were quite certain.

it was a colder night in november when you realised you loved him.

you guessed it was around six am. you were sat in your cell, consumed by your own thoughts and before you knew it you were being called for breakfast. it was the usual, eggs and a slice of toast. a small portion of berries for after if you were lucky enough. you often refuse it all together, the stale bread leaving an unpleasant aftertaste in your mouth. it was around seven am when you saw him. covered in bruises, bitter red droplets painted his lips. his eyes were dark and heavy, he hadn't slept at all. he offered you a timid smile as he sat across from you.

you'd been here before. you remembered it all too fondly.

"what have they done to you?" your voice was hoarse, like a whisper only kit could hear. your breathing was shaking, and you emitted the breath you were unaware you were holding. he merely sighed in response, looking down at the floor sheepishly, hesitant to meet your concerned stare.

"they caught us..."

it hit you.

he'd taken a beating for you. the scars on his back would be a constant reminder of the brutality he endured. and it was all for you. thirty maybe forty whips and lashes of pain to symbolise the undying love he held for you and you alone. your heart swelled in your chest, the blood pumped like a jolt of electricity igniting the passion deep inside you.

is this what it felt like? to be in love?

"we're gonna get outta here." kit had whispered so gently, like he always did. he embraced you with a strong grip, as though he seldom wished to let you go. you nodded in response. In desperation. wild thoughts ran through your mind, swarming your conscience. you were finally going to get out of here. after all these years. with the man you loved.

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alas, it was true what he had said. he promised freedom. it had been three days, six hours and forty-two minutes exactly since kit had escaped the asylum. three days, six hours and forty-two minutes since he'd left you. alone once more. his vow of freedom had become nothing but a web of broken promises, shattering your heart into grand shards and leaving you lost among the wreckage.

you'll be twenty-one tomorrow. you'll spend it alone. enclosed by these daunting walls, broken by the pain of your first love lost. you dreamt of him that night. those solitude nights spent with nothing but a blank mind became envisions of dark irises and dimpled cheeks. his voice rang like a bell in your ears, you remember it vividly.

"the name's kit."

though you let nothing but a single tear drip slowly down your cheek, watching as the droplet lay to rest on your knuckle.

like said prior, dear reader, some people, perhaps, never were destined to get lucky.

#ahs #ahs asylum #kit walker #kit walker x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader

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changedmyminditsnicehere · 4 months

Text

So here it is! Only many months after my last fic, I am delighted to present, Hob and Dream make bad choices in a back office, the fic. I really hope this will mark the start of me coming back to writing a bit more after a slump! I've got ideas for keeping up this AU if people like, so please do let me know!

=======

Hob didn't normally attend these sorts of events. Scratch that. Hob had never attended one of these events before. It wouldn't even have crossed his mind if Genny hadn't suggested it at the Humanities start-of-term drinks. So what if Genny was a broke history of art student and Hob was a professor? Professor shmessor. As far as his salary was concerned, he certainly wasn't going to turn down the chance at a free glass of wine on a Thursday evening. That said wine had to be drunk in front of some incomprehensible contemporary art while surrounded by the sort of person who was very determined that they alone could comprehend it was a minor issue. Hob drank with Joyce professors, a few neo-expressionists were nothing to him.

With his spirits fortified by that thought, Hob had taken the plunge, looked up the nearest and soonest private art gallery opening in Mayfair, put on a slightly nicer suit than he normally wore and got on the tube. On arrival, Hob had realised the suit was completely unnecessary. Certainly, some of the (older) attendees were decked out in what was clearly thousands of pounds of suit, but the majority of the young crowd looked like they had taken a wrong turn through the zombie apocalypse on their way from whatever trendy bit of North London they emanated from. Ah, youth.

Still, Hob was unlikely to have fit in even if he had attempted to squeeze himself into some drainpipe leather trousers. He wasn't going to complain about seeing them on someone else. As he carefully lifted a glass of wine from the tray of a nearby waiter, nodding gratefully, Hob looked around the white-walled room, eyes passing over canvases and the crowd alike, then stopping. No, he certainly wasn't going to complain about leather trousers on anyone, especially not if some of the attendees could fill them out so well.

The figure had his back to Hob. One ebony hand gestured at a large canvas of swirling lines of black and near black and hips cocked at an angle that was doing, just, everything, for said trousers, the figure was clearly mid-sermon on the meaning of the mess to the young woman next to him. She was half to leather-trousers, half to the work, though the amusement twirling around her lips told Hob she was taking neither very seriously. If it was an art nerd's attempt at seduction, it wasn't going well. Hob snorted to himself and raised his glass, taking a sip of commiseration for all those poor undergrads who had ever tried to chat up a woman via metaphysics.

The movement must have caught the woman’s eye. Her gaze flicked in his direction and Hob wasn’t fast enough in raising his eyes from the work of art in leather in front of him to the artworks around him. Brown eyes caught Hob’s and the woman’s amusement sparkled into an outright wicked smirk. Utterly careless that her companion was still mid-homily, the young woman reached out, grabbed him by the arm and dragged them both towards Hob. The crowd, previously stifling, seemed to flow apart like the Red Sea in her path. Hob found himself rooted to the spot as she held eye contact, unable to mingle off into the crowd as he had hoped.

By comparison, her companion had clearly not caught up with their new direction yet. Barely facing the right way, they were following with all the grace and hangdog expressions of a particularly put-upon wolfhound. Yet Hob was hardly going to complain about the opportunity to see said expression. If the view from the back had been good, then oh boy, the front was something else. Pale pale skin, with high cheekbones, wild dark hair and a nose meant for looking down on people, the man was a vision in black and anger. Somehow, Hob knew he was the artist behind the baffling canvases on show tonight. He also knew he really wanted to know what the artist looked like after Hob had licked away the anger currently curling those rose-bud lips.

Unfortunately, imagining licking this beautiful vampire of a man, on his face or elsewhere, was hardly conducive to making the best first impression. As the woman pulled up directly in front of him, smirking delightedly up, Hob floundered desperately for an opening statement that wasn’t going to leave him wearing his drink.

"Hello?" There. That was a good start.

"Hello there yourself. I saw you standing over here admiring my brother's work and I just had to bring him over to say hello." Her brother clearly didn't agree if the way those dark eyes were currently flinting up at Hob was anything to go by. “I’m Morana, this is Dream.” Morana had a beautiful, chocolatey voice which she was absolutely using to encourage Hob into joining her in her mischief.

“Hob, Hob Gadling. It’s lovely to meet you.” Hob congratulated himself for managing a whole sentence and a completely unawkward tip of his wine glass towards the pair. Dream did not seem like he would appreciate the offer of a handshake, even if Hob’s palms hadn’t already felt sweaty enough he was worried about losing grip on his drink.

"It's just so hard to extract Dream from his studio,” Morana declared, a theatricality which could only be achieved by older siblings very much tinging her words. “I think it is important he talk to people who show an interest in his art whenever we manage it, don't you?" She was in no way even attempting to hide her awareness that Hob’s interests might lie elsewhere than Dream’s art, or her apparent delight in the fact. Dream, by comparison, was clearly trying to pretend that he was not party to their conversation at all. Well, Hob thought, two can play at that game.

"Oh, what can I say?" He smirked right back. "I've always found myself partial to the colour black."

"Perfect! Dream's all about black at the moment."

Dream, beautiful creature that he was, was not, it turned out, very good at tuning out inanities when directed at his work. With a derisive snort, he shifted his gaze from the mysteries of the universe to Hob and Morana.

“As I was just telling you, sister, the whole point of these works is that they are not actually black…”

“They are infinite colours, infinite varieties, I know dear brother. I wrote your catalogue essay. How about you explain it all to Hob here?” Her eyes positively gleamed. “I’m sure he’d love to hear all about your work. In fact, why don’t I leave you two to it? I’m going to go see if anyone here might have something more drinkable than this.” With a wave of a warm white wine glass, Morana disappeared smoothly into the crowd.

Hob turned fully to Dream, ready to commence operation seduce-the-moody-goth-artist, despite having absolutely no idea what to say. Luckily, against all his expectations, Dream, appeared to be willing to talk to a complete stranger, if only about his work.

“It is as my sister says. None of the pigments I used in this series are truly black, or anywhere close. If you look carefully, you can see.” Hob feels as faint as a Victorian maiden when Dream actually takes his wrist, long fingers delicately wrapping around his sleeve to pull him closer to the nearest canvas to demonstrate. “This series, this work, is about exploring the depths that can be found everywhere, if only one takes the slightest moment to actually look for them. It is not my fault that people so rarely take that moment to actually look at anything beyond their immediate impression.”

Dream pauses, apparently socially aware enough to realise that a rant about human failings probably isn’t the best way to talk to someone that, for all he knows, could be a paying customer - not that Hob’s suit, or his shoes, make any promises about his ability to buy these works - the ‘price on request’ written on the exhibit list had confirmed that to him. But Hob was enamoured. Up close he can really see what Dream means, can see where the seemingly black canvas actually reveals itself as the deepest blues, purples, even greens glittering across the surface.

“Beautiful” he breathes. “Practically a playground, isn’t it?” He feels Dream freeze, the fingers still (still) clasping his shirt sleeve suddenly tensing, and he curses himself. What a way to stick his foot in it. Well done Hobsie. There’s negging and then there’s telling a man who works as an artist that his life’s work is just playing around. Bollocks.

But Dream, though stiff, doesn’t drop his wrist. If anything, he grips more tightly, fingers edging up, closer to bare skin. His eyes fly from the canvas to meet Hob’s. If Hob had felt like a Victorian maiden before, the sudden realisation that he could absolutely get off just from looking into Dream’s eyes and a touch to his bare wrist finished him off.

“You.” Add Dream’s breathy, breathless voice to the mix and Hob is off to heaven as well. Shame he absolutely wrecked his chance. “You would be the first person to say such a thing about my work.” Oh. Oh. Not a mouth-meet-foot moment. It may in fact precipitate a mouth-meet-something-quite-different moment Hob realised, staring into Dream’s darkening eyes.

“Really?”

“Mmm.” Dream was turned fully to Hob now. Hob realised how close they had become, a private moment in the middle of the ebb and flow of the art crowd in their corner. “People often see what they assume to be true. In me, as well as my art.”

“Too into the tortured artist ideal to see what’s underneath?” Hob quirked an eyebrow.

“Too enamoured of their assumptions to appreciate the potential for… personal enjoyment as well.” Hob had to take a conscious breath and loosen his fingers on his wine glass one by one. He debated just how inappropriate it would be to invite an artist to ditch their own exhibition opening for a shag right now or if he should wait around until the end of the opening, whenever that might be. They always said 9, but Dream’s crowd did not give off the atmosphere of a people who might allow an event to end before 3am.

He was about to open his mouth to make the suggestion anyway when the crowd swelled once more, and Dream stumbled into him. In his loosened grip his wine immediately went everywhere, if everywhere was almost exclusively down his own front. Thank fuck it was white wine. Hob would not have coped with red wine stains on his singular dry-clean only shirt.

“Oh dear.” He was barely surprised at how sorry Dream did not sound. “Let me take you to the office, I am sure there are towels back there. Maybe you can borrow one of my shirts.”

Hob was not convinced that a high end art gallery office space would stock towels, and much less convinced that he would fit into any Dream might wear. He was, however, not going to object as Dream used his grip on his wrist to weave through the crowd, utterly ignoring the various socialites waving tissues in a vain hope to catch the attention of the star artist. Looking past them too, Hob caught sight of Morena. His attempt to convey ‘sorry there’s been an unfortunate accident but I promise I will return your artist shortly and not get up to nefarious things with him in an absolutely not sound-proofed back office’ via eyebrows was swiftly and gleefully undermined by the salute she gave him with, what Hob couldn’t help but notice, was definitely a much nicer glass of wine than any of the other attendees.

He had little time to do much more than salute back before Dream was pushing him through a small door into a surprisingly large office space. As Hob stepped into the space, Dream leant back against the door, pushing it shut. The burble of the crowd through the walls didn’t entirely cover the sound of a lock clicking emphatically into place. “Just in case anyone tries to barge in.” Dream said, looking up at Hob like the picture of innocence through his eyelashes. “You know how people are at these things, always trying to get in places they shouldn’t.” Hob snorted. Dream stepped away from the door, walking towards a kitchenette on the far side of the room.

“And are we somewhere we shouldn’t be? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your adoring public after all.” Dream paused his rummage through the cupboards. From what Hob could see, those things had clearly never stocked anything more than empty coffee mugs and instant powder, and certainly didn’t currently contain anything as useful as a tea towel.

“My sister runs this gallery. She organised this event. She can handle the crowd.” The lack of tea towels was swiftly going down as a problem in Hob’s estimation. The gap between Dream’s shirt and his leather trousers as he reached up into the cupboards however…

“Good to know,” Hob walked to Dream, stopping close enough that he wouldn’t be able to turn without brushing against Hob. “Any luck on the towels?” Dream’s huff is so clearly part amusement, part attraction, Hob can’t help but be flattered. Then Dream turns, carefully sliding his hips against Hob’s crotch and Hob feels his own breath being punched out of his lungs. Dream leans back, head tilted and a challenge clear in his sparkling eyes.

“No luck, tragically. You are going to have to take your shirt off. We can put it on the radiator to dry.”

“And whatever shall I do, while I wait for it to dry? I’m not sure I can pull off the suit jacket without a shirt look. Certainly not as well as you could.” A rosy blush rises to Dream’s cheeks, but his face looks no less hungry.

“Oh, I don’t know, Hob Gadling. I think you could certainly give it a go. You might just become someone’s next muse.”

Hob can’t help it, as he looks at Dream’s smug face, at his beautiful rosy lips twitching like the cat who got the cream. He huffs out a laugh and leans forwards, hands coming to frame Dream’s bony hips and presses his lips to Dream’s.

#dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #My Writing #Artist!au

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youreallyshouldtalkmore · 3 months

Text

Paint Upon the Canvas

A.N: Zhongli x Reader. Could be considered SAGAU, I think.

PS: Lantern Rite was so good this year!! I don't know about you but, I'm satisfied with the Zhongli content we got!

Genshin Impact MasterList

——————

It was a steady pour of rain that fell into Liyue that day.

But you didn’t feel the raindrops that constantly slid off of you nor the cold, wet ground that you sat on as you had buried your head in your arms resting on the lap of the statue of Rex Lapis.

And how could you feel the raindrops with the tears streaming down your face? They seemed heavier than the rain that continued to fall.

You felt nothing right now; You weren’t even sure you weren’t dreaming.

Could you really be in Liyue right now?

The same Liyue that existed only in a game from your world? The same Liyue you would never be able to visit ever again as after a decade the Genshin Impact servers finally shut down?

You would never be able to see the character of Zhongli walking though Liyue ever again. Despite the fact that events with him were a rare treat, you still content yourself with his character in your party. Since almost day one, you had never gotten rid of him. Liyue and Zhongli were your comfort in your world. It was what you looked forward to, to get you through the day-to-day life in your world. Like a solid rock, both Liyue and Zhongli had been there.

But no longer…

Now, they no longer existed…

So where were you?

You couldn’t have been in Liyue.

You woke up in a small cabin, on a deary day. Looking around, there seemed to be sparse furniture. A bamboo table, a chair and the small bed you woke up in. There wasn’t much to see, so you wandered outside, intending to go no further than the overhanging to protect you from the rain.

But all rational thoughts fled when you, when you saw a familiar statue. It couldn’t have been! You had all but ran to it, heedless of the rain. It flitted briefly through your mind that you shouldn’t have been able to reach it, as it was usually situated on top of the Statue of Seven in Dihua Marsh. Yet, here it was sitting on a simple dasis on the ground, well within your reach.

You fell to your knees, daring to place your arms in his lap, your head in your arms as grief overwhelmed you. Perhaps this was nothing but a dream, a gift to allow you to say goodbye, but no words would come.

You couldn’t utter not a word, as silent tears poured down your face.

You knew, at some point, your life in your world would have to continue. You’d have to go back to that world and continue your existence. But for now, you would just sit here. Perhaps it would be a mercy that you would turn to stone as well, fade into nothingness….

“Ah, I finally found you. You’re finally here.”

You barely registered that someone had talked.

It was only when you realized that you weren’t getting rained on anymore, did you slowly lift your head, as great of an effort that took. Your eyes were blurry even as you peeled them open to see exactly who interrupted you. At the moment, you didn’t even care if Millelith decided to punish your actions. Would you be seen as disrespectful, even if you held far more than mere respect for Rex Lapis?

You finally managed to look up and when your gaze cleared, you saw that he was standing over you with an ornate paper umbrella, his amber eyes looking down at you in concern.

Your eyes widen a fraction, as your breath caught.

Now you knew this was a dream…

“Although I don’t mind, if you seek the comfort of a statue of my by-gone era, I think the comfort I could offer now as a living being would be advantageous over mere cold stone. Would you not think so?”

Your eyes were becoming more and more clear the longer you looked up at him. Your brain was refusing to make the connection.

You could only gaze helplessly up at him.

Then after a time, he moved. With his free hand, he reached out and laid it on your head. Even though he was wearing gloves, you felt the warmth of his hand.

Wait, would you be able to feel such warmth in a mere dream?

“Y/N, please don’t be alarmed. I’ve waited a decade to see you like this. This isn’t a dream. You’ve been pulled into Teyvat, into Liyue. I’m here now.” He continued to stoke your head even as he gazed down at you.

“Z…Zhon-gli?” Your voice cracked just above a whisper.

He gave a single nod.

Then you looked back at the statue before turning to look back at him. You repeated this notion a few times.

Never did his hand move from your head.

Finally, you looked back up at him, “H-H-How? This isn’t possible…”

Zhongli gave a small sad smile, “You no longer exist in your world, Y/N. You are now a citizen of this one, and I hope that you make Liyue your home. And if I can be selfish….” He leaned forward, “I hope you can make me your home.”

You weren’t sure what to say, what questions to ask.

Zhongli continued, “Let’s just say, that it seems the Heavenly Principles are susceptible to those from other worlds that have a connection to this one. They use the game in different worlds to find those lost souls. You were one such soul. As such, you were allowed to have your existence move from that world to this one. You no longer need to fear that this is a dream. This is your new reality but do not worry, I shall help you navigate.”

Even without you asking, Zhongli had already answered half the questions you were still trying to find words to ask.

His warm chuckle floated over you, “Come, my dear. Allow us to get out of his rain. We shall go back to that house. I’ll make you some tea, and you can change into warm clothes, hm?”

Zhongli removed his hand, making you lament the loss for only a brief moment before offering his hand to you. You gazed up at him a moment, before looking at his hand. Then gingerly, you placed your hand in his as if he was a mirage that would go up into smoke any minute. But his fingers only closed securely around yours, warming your weary bones already.

“Come…” He murmured.

It seemed you had sat for so long that your legs fell asleep. It took a minute to find them and beginning to stand. But you were still unstable and wavered. You would have sunk down, but Zhongli moved swiftly, wrapping an arm around your wrist, never losing the grip of the umbrella. His other hand wrapped around your frame securing you close to him.

You breathed, your shoulder tucked into his chest. Only when you felt your strength returning somewhat did you dare to glance up.

Amber eyes still watched you.

How long did you stand like this? It was difficult to look away from him. Zhongli pulled you closer to himself, dipping his head lower to kiss your forehead, “It will be alright, my love. I promise you. You will find your footing soon.”

You could sense he wasn’t just talking about your equilibrium at this moment.

“Come…” He maneuvered you back towards the small cabin, even as he kept a firm hold on you.

Even then, you could not help but to look back over your shoulder at the statue. Then you snuck a peek up at the man besides you.

Was this truly Zhongli?

Even if you believe this was real, that Liyue was real, and he was real, were you expected to believe that your single, solidarity wellbeing was of any importance to someone like Zhongli?

How absurd!

This was taking fan fiction too far!

You were busy trying to admonish yourself as you both stepped into the small wooden house. He closed the umbrella, setting it aside. Already, tea was brewing.

When did that happen?

Zhongli turned, picking up a pile of clothes and towel, “Please dry off, my love. Then we may partake of warm tea.”

You gingerly took the clothing which was wrapped in the towel. You glanced up at him, “It seems, I got you wet.”

Zhongli gave a reassuring smile, “Do not concern yourself with such matters. I shall deal with it momentarily.”

————

When you returned from changing your clothes, you saw that Zhongli was dry and was already seated. You stood and watched him a moment, as he picked up the teapot and poured two cups of tea. Each movement was slow and unhurried.

Not a drop spilled.

Only when he returned the teapot to its resting place, did he look up at you with a warm smile, “Please, won’t you join me?”

You moved slowly, taking a seat opposite him. He picked up a teacup and blew on it once, twice before setting it before you, “It’s hot, please be mindful.”

Then he picked up his own teacup and blew once, twice.

It was like watching a painting come to life. Each movement of his enthralled you. It always did. Even if you watched for eternity, you would always find new things to see. Zhongli’s eyes locked with yours after a moment, over the rim of his teacup. Reality returned to you, and you snatched your gaze away from his.

What was wrong with you?

“After you’ve rested, and after the rain pass, we’ll go to Wangshu Inn.”

“....Then?”

“Then, you’ll live life.”

Your eyes jerked up to his as he took a sip of his tea. His amber eyes held yours steadily. You could see he would break no argument on that matter. You ducked your head. Why did warmth flood your senses, and you hadn’t even taken a sip of tea yet?

He continued, “There are a few places we could go. Liyue Harbor would be the first choice, however, I’m concerned that it may overload your mind in its fragile state right now. I also thought of Qiaoying Village in Chenyu Vale. I know you are fond of tea, and it’s a quiet place to rest and recuperate. There is also Quince Village….” He trailed off, looking up at you, who was staring at him.

He spoke again, “Forgive me. I’ve waited a long time for you. While I do feel a sense of impatience having you only an arm’s reach, I know that even a flower takes time to grow. We’ll both nurture the garden and one day, you’ll be a beautiful blooming flower.”

A wet laugh escaped you, “You think so? You seemed to have it all figured out, Zhongli.”

Zhongli nodded once, “Indeed. It is as you have said. I’ve had years to think and plan. So yes, I do have the broad strokes already painted upon the canvas.”

“Don’t be immodest. You have the details worked out as well.”

“Hm. I won’t refute your words, however, you have details to paint upon the canvas we will embark upon as well. We have time to think and discuss where you would like to go, but please, drink your tea before it gets cold. Cold tea does not have the properties your body needs as much as warm tea.”

You reached up and curled your hand around the pretty teacup. It seemed a lot to think about. A lot to consider but perhaps if this Zhongli was real and willing to help you, stay by your side, perhaps, you’d find your way.

You took a sip of tea. One, two, three. You laughed once, sitting down the cup.

Zhongli only raised an elegant eyebrow but did not press in words.

“I was just thinking. I had no thoughts, but somehow Rex Lapis answered my unanswered questions, in the form of Rex Lapis himself.”

Zhongli warm laugh floated in the room, “Hm. So he did. So will you accept the answer given, to these unanswered questions?”

Amber eyes held yours for a time. You felt your breath ceased at the look in his eyes. Even now they were smoldering, burning something fierce within them.

“Yes, I will accept.”

Zhongli smiled then.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact fanfic #zhongli #zhongli x reader

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bangaveragewhitewine · 10 months

Text

Clean Slate

Steve Harrington X Reader

It’s summer in Chicago, 1994. Being single in the city isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You feel less strong single independent woman, and more like the lonely teenager who floated between friend groups. A blind date with a familiar face might just be the clean slate you didn’t know you needed.

Clean Slate playlist

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings/Content: Both you and Steve are in your late-twenties. Some mentions of anxiety and feeling lonely. Other than that, flirting. Steve being dreamy. No use of Y/N and the reader is referenced as a being woman.

Author’s Note: Being in your late twenties sucks, huh? I’m just getting back into writing again, inspired by the amazing authors who have made me fall in love with Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson again and again. I had such fun writing this and fucking around on Canva 💖

Please do not do any AI fuckery with my work or repost on other sites.

(divider by me, that’s why it sucks)

edit: Read Pinch Me a follow up to Clean Slate

This was a bad idea. With every step you took from the subway, your desire to be back on your sofa eating pasta in your pyjamas grew more and more. A blind date? You definitely hadn’t been in your right mind when you agreed to this. Thinking back on it, when had being wine-drunk with your best friend ever cultivated a good decision?

After a steady stream of bad first dates, disappointing situationships and one walking red-flag you had called your boyfriend for eight months, Annie had finally taken pity on you and took charge of setting you up with someone. Over almost room-temperature white wine and an empty pizza box, she had made you pinky-promise to trust her as Mermaids played in the background. She couldn’t stand any longer to see you cry over preppy yuppies and wannabe grungers who only wanted to meet you to hook-up or string you along (alongside several other women who also deserved better). She had seen how deep it cut when you were stood up, left waiting by the phone by some mediocre poser who had already moved on. Slurring her words, Annie had held your tear-stained face and told you that you were wasting the best years of your life on idiots who stamped on your big heart and dimmed your light. Bolstered by her words, and more wine, you ended up dancing and scream-singing in your little studio apartment to a mixtape of songs from your college days and fell asleep on your second-hand sofa with your pinky fingers linked.

A few days later, after the hangover had subsided and you had done your best to forget your tearful confession of just how lonely you felt in the city, Annie called you up to ask if you were free on Friday night. Thinking another girl’s night was on the cards, you said yes.

“Great. I have someone I want you to meet, he works with my brother. Does Hardy’s at 8 work for you?”

The pinky-promise with your best friend since college could categorically not be taken back and so you found yourself reluctantly agreeing. As long as he wasn’t a murderer, or as emotionally unavailable as your last three suitors, how bad could it be?

“Well when you fall in love and have beautiful babies, just remember who set you up, m’kay?” Annie had said when you called her up, considering cancelling. “You’re going!”

After going away to college from your small town upbringing, a move to Chicago was supposed to be the ultimate dream, but inside you still felt like the awkward teenager from Hawkins, Indiana. The outsider at every party, every hang-out at the mall or the arcade. The add-on to every friend group who said ‘you can come with us if you want to’ instead of an actual invitation. When you called your mom on the phone, she insisted that you had it all, that you were a real modern woman. She had been married and was already a mother at your age, and she was proud that you had the opportunity to be the bright independent woman you always wanted to be. It just didn’t seem so shiny now that it was your reality.

With the bar in your sights, you took a deep breath and swiped the tiny beads of sweat that gathered over the bridge of your nose. Summer in the city was heavy with humidity; you could feel the lining of your long slip dress clinging to your thighs, riding up under the delicate black floral. The claw-clip holding up your hair was truly doing the lord's work, keeping your freshly washed blow-dry blind date-ready.

You knew very little about your date - his name was Steve, he was a teacher with great hair. He was going to be wearing a blue shirt and would be on the lookout for the girl with the pink rose embroidered on her bag. Your entire outfit had been put together around the one piece you loved that could be picked out in the Friday night crowd of the bar. Classic first date; Annie was committed to helping you live the rom-com fantasy you deserved.

Des’ree’s words of wisdom, and your best friend’s blunt insistence that you were a hot bitch, echoed in your head as you took a moment to compose yourself and let your hair down over your clammy neck. Inside the bar was barely any cooler as you made your way through the stragglers from after-work drinks mingling with those who were just starting their night out. The desire to go home had never been stronger as you propped yourself by the jukebox and waited, trying not to cringe as you thought about what you looked like to the couples and groups of friends drinking and laughing around you. It felt far too similar to the house parties of your youth. What if he didn’t turn up? Or worse, what if he did and turned on his heel after realising you were his date? What could be best described as an overwhelming feeling of dread crept over you as you fidgeted with the strap of your bag, trying not to look too eager for the mystery that was Steve.

Hearing your name brought you back to reality and out of your doom-spiral. As if. Steve Harrington was making his way over, the crowd parting with ease for him. Surely you had hit your head and this was some sort of dream…

“Hey…” A smile crept onto his face as his eyes darted between you and the beacon that was the rose embroidered on your bag. A city of millions and your blind date was the boy who had defended your honour at the age of five years old after Daniel P. pushed you in the playground; Steve had called him a ‘butthead’ and told Mrs Holland on the other boy.

You hoped that the dim light of the bar hid your pink cheeks as Steve stopped in front of you, looking even more dreamy than he had at junior prom. The blue shirt made him glow golden, fitting just right over the breadth of his shoulders. His hair was coiffed perfectly, defying humidity and gravity and giving him a few more inches of height.

“Steve..” You couldn’t help a shaky laugh as the realisation washed over you both. It was easier to tune out the rest of the bar as he pulled you in for a quick but tight hug. You could have sighed at the feeling of his arms around you; you might have done just that, melted into a puddle of a girl had he not peeled away to get a good look at you. An irritating little pocket of anxiety in your chest could hardly believe he remembered you.

“Nice bag. I think you’re the girl I’ve been looking for.”

You felt like you could swoon. Or moan. Steve Harrington was effortlessly charming, more so than when he reigned in Hawkins High. Losing his crown had humbled him, that and working retail in your dead-end hometown. He looked genuinely pleased to see you, someone familiar in a city of strangers. You feel your teeth sink into the dusty-rose of your lip as you smile.

“Thanks.” You will your voice not to shake as your heart pounds hard. “Annie told me you had great hair. I should’ve known it was going to be you.”

His laugh is soft, but you can still hear it over the music and voices in the bar. With one huge gentle hand on your elbow, he steers you to the bar to order drinks, standing close enough to see the sprinkling of moles and freckles on his neck and cheek and the hair peeking from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. Steve Harrington was a man now, all grown up.

“She did, huh? I think I’ve met her once, I work with her brother,” Steve edges closer so that you could hear him. “How long’ve you been in Chicago?”

“She didn’t even know you were ‘The Hair’.” You smiled and felt the weight of his gaze; you couldn’t ignore the sparkling feeling in your tummy. “Um I left Hawkins in ‘86, went to college in Indy. Moved here in ‘93.” Steve leans in to hear you, nodding as you count up the years in your head. “You’re a teacher? So are you more Scott Clark or Coach Kelly?”

Steve laughs again and shakes his head as he pays for your drinks. “Neither. Maybe a little Clarke, without the sweater vests. I teach third grade so they would definitely roast me if I did.” He runs a hand through his hair, smirking, “But I do coach basketball after school too, you got me.” He spots a seat and steers you to a little high-top table, pulls out the stool for you before sitting opposite, visibly relaxed. There’s something about how you have bypassed the awkward introductions part of the date that makes you feel a little more at ease. But this is Steve Harrington. Any minute now he’ll make a polite excuse to leave after remembering how bookish and weird you were in school.

Except he doesn’t.

“I still can’t believe it’s you. You look great,” he says, not trying to flirt too hard. Steve is looking at you like he’s happy you’re here. Happy you’re his date.

“I can’t believe you remember me. I was.. so boring,” you laugh at your own expense before sipping your drink, looking at the ice clicking against the glass.

“Quiet maybe. Not boring though,” he ducked his head, making you look into his golden brown eyes. “Hey. Clean slate? That’s why we left Hawkins. If you can forget how much of an ass I was in high school, I can forget…” Steve pauses and hums as he thinks back.

Forgettable. Unremarkable. That’s how you felt, blending into the background everywhere you went. You hadn’t been a cheerleader, or even a band-geek. Yeah you went to parties, but usually left early. You didn’t monologue on the lunchroom tables or get detention, and in the one play you auditioned for, they asked you to paint the sets - you couldn’t fade any further into the background if you tried.

And Steve had never been an ass to you; his kingly confidence had burned fast and bright in the school halls until his fall from grace. He had always been polite, kind even; he asked to borrow a pen a few times, scolded Carol Perkins when she pushed past you and made you drop your lunch one time. He did just enough on a group project on Macbeth to keep him on your good side…

“Huh.” Steve frowns, looking a little fond as you snap yourself back to reality. “I can’t remember anything embarrassing about you. All good.”

Your cheeks flamed and you couldn’t stop the nervous giggle that bubbled up from your chest. “Smooth, Harrington. Wow, remind me how you’re single?” He was definitely just being nice. You could remind him about the time you drank way too much peach schnapps and lemonade at Tammy Thompson’s 18th birthday and had to be picked up by your mom, or when you said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’ in ninth grade - both of which still haunted you when you tried to fall asleep. But Steve just grins back at you.

“I mean it! You had that pink scrunchie permanently attached to your body, and a little snort laugh. Totally cute, not embarrassing at all.” He stays smiling as he sips his beer, seeing how you’re stunned that he remembers. Not smug, totally hot and he’s not even trying. You’re aghast.

“You remember my fucking scrunchie…?” “If you tell me you still have it…” “Steve, it’s literally on my bedside table.”

Steve’s laughter makes you join in, snorting involuntarily as your shoulders shake, which just makes him laugh more. It's been a long time since a date made you laugh like this, let alone feel like you’re floating.

When you both settle, Steve reaches over and takes your hand. You remember how you had wondered how holding his hand might feel when you saw him walk Nancy Wheeler to class way back when. It felt better than you ever dreamed it might.

“Hey. Lemme tell you something, when I saw you over there I wanted to come right up and say hi. And then I saw your bag…it made my week.”

Butterflies soar in your belly and you feel your cheeks heat up again. “Steve..”

“But just know, I thought you were cute in school. I just.. had my own shit going on and I was pretty shitty for a few years. So if you can give a reformed asshole a chance, I’d love to hear about how you’ve been, and actually get to know you.”

Steve squeezes your hand as CeCe Peniston sings Finally to the bar. The song totally sinks in now as you squeeze Steve’s hand in return, making him beam a smile your way.

“Okay, Clean slate. But Steve? I totally had a crush on you. Even when you were doing keg stands and goofing around in math.” You make him smile even brighter, even as he shakes his head.

“So cute. Damn, you’re definitely trouble.”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” You raise a brow and sip your drink again, feeling less anxious now. The drink helped, but knowing that you could make an impression on Hawkins High royalty was certainly bolstering.

“One question. Very important.” You straighten up before leaning toward him, almost conspiratorially. You don’t miss how his eyes dip to your lips before meeting your gaze.

“Go for it.” “Are you sure about the sweater vests? I think you could really make them work.”

Now it’s your turn to grin into your glass as Steve throws his head back. “Oh I’m so in trouble with you.”

He lifts his glass, meeting you in the middle to clink it against yours with a signature Steve Harrington wink. Maybe something good could come from a wine-soaked pinky promise.

bonus Steve inspo for the girlies who made it to the end - ily💖

#steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington is a total dreamboat #my fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x f!reader #bangaveragefics

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