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comfortless · 3 months

Note

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same— clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction

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miyaur · 10 months

Text

"little things they do that let you know they're saying ily" ♡

synopsis. scenarios or headcannons of mine about what they do to say ily, or u can see this as relationship hcs smh smh

warnings. none, other than kissing (ew)

author's note. im alive?!?! and posting?!?! woahh (send requests plss), yes i wrote everyone their own little paragraph. HELP ME THIS ALSO LOOKS LIKE THEIR LOVE LANGUAGES :( (it is basically)

pairings: most hsr characters x gn!reader (seperately:p, except bailu, hook, clara, yukong, and yanqing because i got lazy ><)

arlan acts out his love by his actions. constantly mentions and talks about that one quote that 'actions are louder than words.' and so they are! he always tries to yk, make you remember you feel loved. would like to just bring you around with him, or even vice versa, like i said before he doesn't seem too sociable, and usually just talking to people other than asta for business purposes, yet that differs when you help introduce him to other people.

tbh he'd probably like dates at home more than going out. like cuddling by the fireplace, just both of you covered in a blanket together cuddling near the warm fireplace like damn!

asta, oh this sweetheart!! she'd try to tell you with her words, all the time, that you are what she loves so much, and dearly!! the words 'i love you' are always constantly being said to you! and honestly she's just the kind of person to hold your hands, and put it on her chest, and tell you that she loves you to the moon and back. she just wants you to always know the way she loves you, is unlimited, and never ending. she wants you to always know that.

cmon, she would obviously stargaze with you for dates.. every weekend you both go out. to stargaze.

blade shows his love with his actions, i know he can't communicate that well with you, thinks its even luck finally on his side that you got with him, that you liked him back. that you loved him? just.. wow. you know? anyways, i just see him being the type to pull you in a little closer when his arm is around your waist, and you say something he agrees with! he's very touch starved, but that doesn't mean he can't be the one initiating the cuddles and shit!!!

just prefers dates at home, likes it when it's only the both of you that see each other in that moment. just likes it better yk?

bronya is the kind of woman to show it through gifts, and her words of praise? maybe an honest mix of everything? she's just really new to all of this so.. maybe just tries to give you everything she can. even if she doesn't always has time, she'll always be calling, texting, and sending gifts to you, even if you both are planets apart, she'll be constantly making sure you're okay with video calls and etc. besides, she's gonna miss you too much if she doesn't!

"hey hon.. it's like 2am.. is something up? anything bad that happened?" you asked bronya, as you look outside your window to see a dark sky, the moon covered by clouds. "i-- i'm sorry.. i just called to hear your voice. nothing bad happened.. i just really missed you." she says, while rubbing the back of her neck. "oh.. okay."

dan heng just that guy to be always giving his time to you. as much as he can, he'll bring you wherever he goes. as long as you want to too, but he always hopes that you do want too, because he isn't always gonna be on his phone to call or text you. so he thought it'd be easier to just bring you with him. and he'd put his life on the line just to protect you, so basically thinks you'll be fine travelling with him. but even if you don't wanna, he doesn't mind just waiting on the astral express with you and himeko..

similar to march 7th, he'd fill jars of little strips of paper of just compliments he's used on you before, or even square-ish paper filled with little doodles of you, or the both of you

fu xuan wants to show you she loves you with gifts, and her words. she speaks really fancy so she's gonna be using big words to describe how she loves you. or how exquisite you are. or how graceful you are when you fend off enemies. she thinks you're perfect, and deserving of the world. and she'll try her best to give 'the world' to you. honestly just seems like the type to whisper corny shit while you're sleeping. like 'i can't believe you're mine, and in my arms out of so many.'

would also stargaze, knows exactly when meteor showers will be, she's very factual when she talks about shooting stars, or meteors that pass by that look like shooting stars. she'll be busy ranting about how people think meteors that pass by are shooting stars, because no it isn't-- why does she feel soft lips on hers..? oh! you shut her up.. with a.. kiss.. now you got her cheeks red.

gepard likes to gift you little trinkets he finds around belobog or whatever planet. but he also would wanna gift his time as his best present to you. probably sets up the most romantic dates ever, with the help of serval of course! always asks big sis serval if this is good enough for you, or if you'll like this and that. seeing her little brother so in love makes her laugh a little too, but she's always more than happy to help.

tries to learn how march 7th did those little paper stars she gave to serval, has asked millions of times, so you decide to help him with the paper stars, not knowing he was learning for you..

herta.. would literally give you the world. but in all honesty she'd give words of praise, and i mean genuine words of praise. receiving real praise from THE herta?! and being her lover?! wow!! she doesn't really know what it means to love, and you probably would be her first, yet, she feels like you both have been in a relationship since forever. it kind of shocks her, sure she's seen, heck she's probably studied relationship for you to be with her! and it's nothing what she thought it'd be, never really.. prepared for the whole.. 'butterflies in your stomach' feeling..? the little warm tingly feeling, it really shocks her, but.. i guess in a good way.

would play cards against you, even thought she could very easily win against you, she doesn't, she lets you win most of the time, because she loves your expression when you win against her <3

himekooo!! oh himekoo <33 such a sweetheart!! i just know she's very good with her words! uses that to her advantage. takes every chance she can to fluster you! thinks whenever you cover your face with the palms of your hands all cuz she said a corny pickup line to you, she's in love with that!! she's all for it actually! lives for you being all flustered. she also remembers little things about you, little and big details. knows how you like your coffee, or if you like stuff like soda, etc.!!! it's just basic knowledge to her, like also what you're allergic to.

as soon as you come home, tea is ready for you, the bed is made, your favorite movie is on, fresh roses are in the pretty vase she gifted you before you both started dating. she just knows how you like everything, and is waiting for you with your favorite snack. ahh

jing yuan?? hmm.. i kind of see him as a mix of everything, like he'd give gifts very often, and his attention will be on you 24/7 too. and if you tell me and say he wouldn't be so smooth with his words.. like come on. there's so much i wanna say abt this cutie patootie. but yk.. if your gaze seems to last too long on a certain item while you both are walking around thoughh.. just know you'll be getting it that night later on, or even right now! and is another flirty sweetheart who lives for his s/o being flustered as hell!! that's srsly all i can say ykyk?!!?

"but i just need to finish this one stack of paperwork and i'll be free the rest of the week!--" you exclaim as jing yuan protests silently by carrying you up the stairs to your shared bedroom bridal style. "but i need you to cuddle me tonight though, besides, it is due in 2 weeks! just 1 break honey.." he says placing you down onto the bed, "fine fine.." you say as jing yuan jumps into bed onto your chest

kafka is another sweetie pie who's real flirty1!1!!!! and live laugh loves physical touch like ngl she always will be having her arm around your waist whenever she can! pickup line nerd, like i just know she knows every corny pickup line in existence. and lives for your flustered expression too! and would definitely shower you in kisses when she has the time!! 'oh honey.. you know i had such a day at workk..' she knows all the gossip, and will tell you. anyways! such a dear lover, wants to be with you 24/7, but not according to elio's script, she can't always be there with her baby..

"honey honey-- one more! one more! do you have a map?" kafka asks laughingly and she cuddles closer to you, phone in hand. "no i do not." a serious tone decorated in your voice, "because i got lost in your eyes!" your girlfriend laughs even harder, as you sigh, won't this be a long night.

luka bby<33!! such a romantic sweetheart tbh... literally would love to drown you in praise. like it's just a telepathic feeling. probably likes skin-to-skin contact, both romantically, and sexually. like it's something he's so into bro i swear, and i kind of feel like or think that he never really gets a lot of hugs cuz of his arm, and ppl think his embrace would be like cold metal or whatever, AND THE HELL NO IT IS NOT?!?!? like please please please keep giving him cuddles, hugs, anything, keep loving him, tell him his hugs are so warm n stuff!!

outdoor dates!! big yes for him!! and as long as you wanna indulge into the mountains with him, he definitely will bring you to amazing places!

oh... luocha.. hahhahaaksdskdj.. this man is soo SMOOTHHHH WITH HIS WORDSSSS!!! such a physical man too sorry not sorry, such a sweetie pie hahaha...... sorry back to srs writing, he's very much a mix of everything, he could get gifts so extraordinary, like a bouquet of flowers of a species of flower that barely grows anymore, or even not in season that month. he gives the best cuddles ever, and his kisses are just so.. enticing!?!?! like very often as soon as he comes back from them long ahh expeditions, soft makeout sessions are a need for him.

yes yes yes. museum dates. or dates where he knows where your favorite flowers grow or even planting a garden together, but even if you don't like flowers, or are allergic, don't worry! an ordinary picnic with his favorite plant surrounding the place is quite alright!

march 7th!! she definitely has a fun way with her words! in a good way of course! and absolutely loves hugs, and hugging you. definitely loves cuddles too, physical touch is definitely one of her love languages. she just wants to compliment you while she gets to have you in her arms like damn <33?!?! she's just so in love with it, everything about you. almost losing the words to describe you, whether or not

march just that kind of lover to fill 2, 3, 4, and even 10 jars filled with paper stars of your favorite color!

natasha.. she's like the mommy to mommy issues idk.. oh but very loving i swear on my life. like if you tell me she wouldn't just loves to always have her arms around you, or her hand cupping your cheek to kiss you. very poetic, and romantic babe bro i swear, she the type to make a full on candlelit dinner for you, petals surrounding the path on the way to the dinnertable, she's a good cook promise!!

likes to just put your hair behind your ear whenever there's a stray strand on your face. like you both just in silence, while you look at something else, and she's just busy admiring you

pela omg such a cutie!?!?! probably so touch-starved too.. but she gives little gifts and her time as her way to love! really wants to give you the world, forehead kisses with her are very common, she loves to kiss you tbh! but her neck is very sensitive, give it a little kiss and she'll be as red as a tomato.

would definitely ask to draw portraits of each other, like both of you drawing or painting each other's faces on canvases! whether or not you're good at drawing, she doesn't care, just wants to laugh off the terrible art you both do <3

qingque!!!! honestly is also a touch-starved honey, like she doesn't show it off a lot, but she really needs just a hug. and also! likes to give gifts! probably very good at gifts! very creative with them! like even the box she wraps it in is so silly. oh but she likes to give you little pecks on the cheek ong!!

please. please. buy face paint and paint each other's face, like i just know she would love to do that with you!!!

sampo is a flirty jerk i swear. he flirts with you for the sake of seeing your pretty face getting flustered. and lives and breathes for pickup lines, they're either real creative, or them generic, CORNY ahh ones. loves giving you gifts, but he has.. maybe.. stole some of them.. JUST SOME OKAY!! oh but he can cook, like i think he can cook pretty well for himself! and can bake exquisitely, uses this talent when he needs a get-out-of-jail card, aka when he owes someone a favor.

just go bake with him honestly, like just a date at home where you two bake silly little cupcakes for each other, and decorate it with goofy candy.

like i've said on here before, seele would always use her words to let you remember that you're worth something to her. and worth a lot. you place a high value in her life, and she'd die a million times if it meant you wouldn't get hurt by anyone, not even a scar. she's a bit touch-starved, yes sure, she'll be a bit shy at first, but at some point, she will initiate the cuddling<3

i feel like belobog would have many festivals now that the underworld and the overworld are together as one now, and seele would always know exactly when all these festivals would be, and it always means the world to her when you tell her yes to go with her as her date, whenever you say yes, it reminds her of when you first said yes to being her s/o<3

AAAA SERVAL!!! she's so sweetheart real!! i just know she has her own skincare routine and would so do it on you too. she likes spending time with you as her way of saying i love you!! 24/7 sleep back hugs when you cook or bake!! she's an avid lover of skin-to-skin contact i promise! physical touch is another way she tries to kiss your scars better for you<33

i just know she holds both your hands when you both kiss, whether it'd be on your temple, your nose, your cheeks, or your lips, she always ends up holding both your palms or her hand on your cheek <33

silver wolf loves you as much as she loves her games, so she would always spend time with you in the arcade, everywhere she can bring you with her!! likes your hugs, but not when other people hug her, cuz why would she want others' hug when she can have yours, and only yours.

lets you win on purpose when you guys 1v1 each other in games, because she loves whenever your face starts to glow with happiness for winning against her

sushang likes to spend time with you too! she drags you to every end of the xianzhou luofu just to find all the good food at the food stalls!! knows almost all the kids that roam around the plaza tho, and both of you play with them by running around playing games like hide-n-seek! she likes to think that time is precious, and if she spends it on you, that means you're precious :0

would so make you buy a face painting kit and gather all the kids at the plaza to make them animals (as in painting their faces with their fave animal)

tingyun spends time with you, and sometimes even brings you along when she has work! besides yukong doesn't mind~ and of course, this wouldn't be a tingyun post of mine without me saying she would tease, and would love when you get flustered from her silly words!!!! and would love physical touch ngl?!?! like falls in love all over again when you cuddle her, now you get to see her red!

just always gets so flushed in the face whenever you both share a bed, specially when your relationship first started, and being a few months in, you both are stuck in a clichè romantical trope of sharing a bed, yeah she was joking about it in the start but-- she never thought it'd actually.. happen!!

stelle would like to bring you out on every trailblaze mission she's on, and would tell you how beautiful, or how amazing, and genuine you are for years, on end. just if that's something you're comfortable with, i know that something mutual between the two trailblazing twins, is that they're always asking if you're okay with anything that concerns you. wishes she could keep you in her arms forever though<3

she will take pictures through march's camera, or even her own phone very often, so she would always show you old photos of you, and i think stelle is a very good photographer, no bad photo in sight, it makes everyone she takes pictures of a literal photogenic model, looking at old photos is what really comforts her when you aren't with her <3

caelus <33 quite similar to his somewhat twin, if he can, he will bring you to all the planets he's gotta trailblaze, he can go on for centuries just talking about how cute you are, literally gets so caught off-guard when you start to get flustered from his words alone, and to be fair he would lowkey use very.. big words. not like the ones fu xuan does, but only uses them when he talks about you, like he'll go 'oh.. you are such a pulchritudinous person, you know?'

unlike stelle.. when he pictures anyone, its all bad photos. like most of his photos on his phone, it's all such bad pictures help me.. shows them off to everyone with a very loud laugh too cuz why not ?!?!?!!?! looking at old photos is also what he'd do with you, making you laugh is also his objective while at it, so doesn't show the ones he has of you. actually the ones he has of you are the only good ones!!

welt yang is a man of taste, and divine bro, he is such a romantic. is a definite mix of everything. like he'd be so good with his words, while he has good hand placement and stuff, then again his gifts are so well-thought of. but what about the way he hopes you crave his touch as much as he crave yours?

i think im about to blow guys

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teyamsatan · 11 months

Text

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕀𝕀: 𝕀 𝔸𝕞 𝕃𝕠𝕤𝕥, 𝔹𝕦𝕥 ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕀𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: in order to fulfil your revenge plans on Neteyam, you have to give up a lot of your life, including a future with a man who loves you dearly.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, angst (@lanasblood trying to be better about this), smut (fingering, orgasm denial), strong language, neteyam and reader being horrible to each other lol

wc: 6.5k words

a/n: things are starting to get spicy besties 😌 i have to admit, although i am a lot more comfortable with friends-to-lovers, or more angsty tropes, i adore writing the sexual tension that comes with e2l and i hope i did it justice and you enjoy this chapter. i can't wait to hear your thoughts, bbs and thank you again for all the love and support on this series xx (thank you very much also to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)

this is only half proof-read, so if you see any mistakes no you don't

na'vi compendium: yawne - beloved, Tsakarem - Tsa'hik in training, tìlor - beauty, txepvi - spark

: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)

In a perfect world, I'd kill to love you the loudest But all I do is live to hurt you soundless Say you see I'm lying, babe, and let this go I can never promise you tomorrow

The departing footsteps echoed through the forest as O'ì'en left you all alone, with a broken heart and the man that broke it, and the feeling left you empty, the hurt of what transpired, of what he did, what you did, how with each passing blow to each other’s lives, this was no longer just a petty rivalry but felt like so much more, like too much more. You threatened him, you spit all sorts of petty warnings about hell and burning - and in the heat of the moment, that sounded cool, and doable. Not anymore, as you stood motionless in the clearing and realised that Neteyam still had so much power over you, that his grasp on your life and on your heart was so tight, tighter than anyone else’s, tight enough to bruise and crush it with a tug of his fisted fingers. You removed yourself from his grasp like his touch burned you, which it felt like it did, and put distance in between your bodies, so that you could see him, so that you could clear your mind, so that his presence wouldn’t have the effect on you it always did, that you were sure was just your body recoiling in hatred, that always manifested itself in goosebumps and shivers down your spine.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” The tears stung as you willed them back into your tear ducts. It’s been 7 years since Neteyam has seen you cry, and you’ll be damned if that would ever change, and especially right now, as you watched the smirk grow with every departing step, with every erratic blink of your eyes, as you tried to stop them from falling down your face, as he knew he got to you, that he made you pay for the words you uttered to him before.

“Oh, yawne. One day you’ll learn to not punch above your weight, and I guess since no one else is willing to, it falls onto me to teach you.” He walks slow, purposeful steps as he nears you once more, and his eyes boring into you, filled with intensity and a feeling you couldn’t quite place, that didn’t quite match the arrogance staining his lips like poison, stilled you in your spot, until he was so close, you could feel his warm breath and musky scent, until your heart boomed painfully in your chest, echoing loudly in your ears, marginally drowning out his next words.

“Did you really think you could threaten me and everything I’ve worked for, my relationship and the rest of my life, without any repercussions, huh? Did you really think I would go down without a fight?”

His hand raised and reached to push some unruly strands of hair out of your face, and you couldn’t look away from the soft glimmer in his eyes, that was so at odds with the rest of his face, you wondered if he even knew it was there. You wondered if he knew what it signified, because you didn’t. And despite your best efforts otherwise, you couldn’t deny the curiosity that deluged you, to try and find out.

The hint in his molten golden orbs dissipated as quickly as it appeared, and so did any middling emotion that tried you, as you once more found yourself reaching for your knife and unsheathing it, holding it in between both your hands, aiming for a shoulder… or a neck, and with a feral growl, you pushed your entire forced into the blow, and yelped in pain as one of his hands wrapped around both your wrists and twisted until the knife dropped pitifully on the ground with a loud clink. Tears threatened you once more at how futile the effort had been, how easy for him to overpower you like you were nothing more than a child, or a doll. He pinned your hands above your head and pushed you until your back collided with the bark of a tree and you felt the wind getting knocked out of your lungs at the contact.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk… why must you always resort to violence… yawne?” Your eyes widened as the hand that wasn’t holding you ghosted over your cheeks, tracing the air right above your lips with his thumb, and you were struggling, yet again, with the feelings that were plaguing you, that made burning appear everywhere his fingers were, burning the travelled down your body until they reached your core, that throbbed and clenched, that desperately asked you for something you would never, ever give it. After exploring your face, and tracing your jaw, his fingers finally settled on your chin, pushing it gently until your face angled upwards to meet his and no further breath could inch its way down your airways at the sight of him, at the way he looked at you, at the way it made you feel.

“You told me that you won’t mind burning in Hell as long as I burn with you. Well…” he broke eye contact to look around him at the forest surrounding you both. “Do you hear that, yawne? Fire is catching. And looks like we’re going to get to burn together after all.”

“Let me go. I told you what would happen if you ever touched me again.” His smirk never faltered, but only deepened as his eyes trailed over your body, settling on your lower abdomen.

“Mmm, yawne. I’m not sure you mean that.” It was your turn to reciprocate his guise, no ounce of shame or hesitation on your face.

“Let me go and you’ll find out whether I mean it or not.” his eyes widened, if only for a split second, and you felt like you imagined his grip on you loosening, or the fleeting sight of goosebumps peppered on his chest and neck, where your warm breath touched him.

“Are you really going to miss your chance to find lover boy and apologise like the good girl you like people to think you are?”

Your eyes lost momentary focus as he spoke. His words, although as cruel as usual, made guilt peak its ugly head over the thin-veiled curtain it was hiding behind, and you knew he was right. This was irrelevant. This whole fandangle of aggression and snarky remarks you always engaged in was not what should be occupying your brain, it wasn’t what mattered. O'ì'en mattered. Fixing Neteyam’s damage… and your own - that’s the only thing that mattered right now.

“Funny how quickly you seem to have forgotten about the one you supposedly love so much when I have your hands pinned above your head, isn’t it… yawne.”

His hands trailed over your arm as if on accident as he let you go and you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at his words, at his effect on you, at how hard you were fighting your own body and mind as they were struggling to regain composure from his touch, and his voice, and his presence.

Hate. That’s all it was. It consumed you, and you wish it didn’t, but at the end of the day, it was still just harmless, bona fide, unadulterated hate. You ignored the way your cheeks caught fire and burned beneath your skin as you ran towards the village, towards where you assumed O’i’en was headed, without sparing your biggest, your only enemy a second glance.

'Cause I have yet to learn how not to be his This city will surely burn if we keep this as it is

You spent hours searching for him, but despite trying every place you knew he liked to frequent, all efforts proved futile. You knew he wouldn’t want to be found, but still, you held a glimmer of hope in your heart that at least subconsciously, he’d want you to find him, to allow him to explain what was mostly inexplainable and inexcusable - you couldn’t blame him for proving you wrong.

Eventually, as eclipse was nearing with each passing moment, defeated and regretful, you went to the nearby river, that was almost deserted due to the approaching evening, that you hoped would bring you some answers, or some solace… some strength. What were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to listen to Eywa, and your own heart telling you to go for this mateship that you knew was wrong, but felt drawn towards, for your own twisted, sadistic reasons? Or should you listen to your mind who told you to fight for what you knew would be a comfortable, healthy future, one that didn’t particularly enthral you, but hoped you could aspire to and embrace in time, with the insight that came with getting older? As always, the war between your mind and heart led to a painful impasse where both of them were bloodied and injured, but no discernible winners were left to claim victory on the choice, or on all the questions that plagued you.

You recognised Jake’s steps and his scent as he approached you, and you sighed. You were not in the mood for a lecture. Sure enough, he sat next to you, looking at the waterfall falling violently into the otherwise peaceful river, that rippled and bruised at the contact. It was funny to you now, sitting here, how that was a perfect metaphor for your relationship with Neteyam, how in his presence, you were just a river, and he was a force of nature, there to disturb and perturb, there to change you, so aggressive and formidable, and so strangely necessary. You were sad at how much his presence in your life mattered, how you knew that despite all the hurt and the pain, you owed him so much of who you were, so much of where you were. Because he pushed you every day, to be better, to strive for more, to want to be more like him in some ways, less like him in others - a better daughter, a better friend, a better sibling, a better soldier, a better warrior, a better clan member.

“Hey, kid. What are you doing here, eclipse will be upon us soon. You know the rules.”

“I know the rules, Jake. And with all due respect, right now, I really couldn’t care less about them.”

You turned to him and noted his expression melting from one of annoyance, raised eyebrow and an open mouth, ready to chastise you for your insubordination and recalcitrance, into a soft and pitying one, as he took in your tear-stained face and trembling lips. You never cried, not in front of anyone who mattered, so the fact that here you stood, so obviously distressed, concerned Jake more than he could say out loud.

“What’s wrong, baby girl? What happened?”

“I… I need to find O'ì'en… I’ve been looking for hours, but I can’t find him. Have you seen him anywhere?” Your sniffles and a hoarse, broken voice were more than enough to bring a grimace to the Olo’eyktan’s face.

“Oh, honey…” his arms circled your much smaller body and he squeezed, the much needed hug warm and very welcome. Your hand tightened around his forearm, and you started sobbing silently as he held you. You’ve always been immensely grateful for the Sullys and their patriarch, but especially so in moments like this, when his paternal instincts kicked in, a role he was much better at than he ever gave himself credit for.

“I ruined it… I ruined everything. I should have told him, I should have been honest with him. I should have come to you and asked you to free me of this responsibility that I never wanted to shoulder in the first place.”

“You can still ask, kid. We would never force you into something you genuinely aren’t comfortable with, and you should know that. In fact, you do know that. But you didn’t come. Why?”

You had no answer to that, because truthfully, you didn’t know. Getting revenge on Neteyam wasn’t a good enough answer, and more and more, you realised that - and you knew Jake would challenge you on it as soon as the words came out of your mouth. Getting revenge isn’t a good enough reason to sacrifice your own happiness, and liberty, your future as a warrior and your future with the man you wanted to want so badly. It wasn’t a good enough reason because it wasn’t the reason - not the only reason, not the full reason, but that was something you couldn't think about, you couldn't even fathom, not yet, so you didn't.

At your lack of response, Jake sighed and looked contemplatively at the river being perturbed by the waterfall crashing on it, at the way the water rippled and undulated, at the way the bioluminescent glow of the underwater plankton, that was visible now that eclipse settled over the land, warped under its force.

“Did I ever tell you I had this girlfriend back on Earth? This was when I was young, about your age.” You shook your head softly, not looking at him, still focused and mesmerised by the same view he was studying.

“She was amazing. So kind, and sweet, and beautiful… and good. Too good for me. And I loved her. She was the first girl I looked at and thought that maybe, just maybe, she would be the one. I used to pick her up after her classes were over and we would just drive in my car, just down the coast, in Anaheim at sundown, and I remember feeling so happy, thinking that I would feel this way the rest of my life.”

You thought about that, and about your boyfriend, who very much seemed like what Jake was describing, who brought you comfort and safety. You thought about walking with him in this place Jake called Anaheim, in a heavenly place away from hurt and pain, away from mistakes and fears, just two people who loved each other, who wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. You felt grief envelop you when the face that appeared in your visions wasn’t the one you wanted to see, the one you hoped you’d see, the one you needed to see. You hated your brain and your heart for not allowing you to commit to him the way you knew you should, in the way that would ensure you a future of happiness and peace, a love worth harbouring, a pure and kind love, just like the one Jake described.

“What happened? Between… you and her, I mean?” Jake shrugged, a small, content smile on his face.

“It just didn’t work out. I joined the military, she continued her studies. We would have never worked. I wasn’t good enough for her, and she deserved someone who could love her the way she was meant be loved. Anaheim is still a beautiful memory to me, and I’ll always cherish it, but it made way for something much, much better. For both of us.

I think sometimes we hold on to things we think we need, we want to want, but these things pertain to a version of ourselves that isn’t fully authentic. I think it’s easy to pretend when we’re with certain people that life is one way, that we could fit in it, in this world we’ve created in our heads, in the world that they inspire, but the sooner we accept the realities of our circumstances, of who we are and where we truly belong, the more time we have to enjoy life for how it’s meant to be lived: fully, wildly, being wholly ourselves.”

He stood up and headed back towards the village, not before giving you an affectionate pat on the head and a squeeze of your shoulders. His last words echoed in your ears long after he departed, leaving you with so much to think about, and so much pain at knowing he was right, and that soon, you’d have to break a heart and learn to mend your own.

“You can still ask, kid. I just think, deep down, Anaheim isn’t for you… just like it wasn’t for me.”

But I'd give anything to stop time And drive around Anaheim at sun down And teach my mind to put you first

It took the whole night, but you eventually found him, after a painful conversation with his mother, at a different river he used to love coming to as a little kid with his father, one much further away from the village. He was sitting on the river bank, lost in thought, his feet dangling mindlessly in the water that rushed downstream, agitated and tumultuous, much like your mind. You sighed deeply, trying your hardest to build up the courage for the most difficult conversation you’ve ever had, one in which you knew the end result was a broken heart, one that you caused, that you never meant to, that you would never want. You knew what it was like to be broken-hearted, sad and unmoored from the reality you’ve built up in your mind, from your hopes and dreams, from the future you were promised and now will never have again. But after the conversation with Jake, you knew it was the right thing to do. You loved O'ì'en, you truly did, just not enough to ever give him everything he needed and deserved, not for the rest of your life. You had darkness in you he would never be skilled enough to wander through, to bring light into, and you would never want him to try, not when it would dim his own light, that deserved to be nourished and heightened by someone, who much like him, was good and pure, and better than you’d ever be.

“O'ì'en…”

He wasn’t startled by your presence. His gaze didn’t shift from where it was intently fixed, and you knew you shouldn’t expect that it did. You wouldn’t want to look at yourself, either.

“You know, I watched for so long the interactions between you and Neteyam, and they always made me sad and uncomfortable. The hatred that I could not understand, that seemed to occupy so much of your time and space in both your minds, that consumed you both. I watched it, and I wanted to say something, but I never thought it was my place. It hurt me, seeing you suffer at his hands, and hurt me that you always reciprocated, that you never took the high road, that you always felt the need to one-up him, to give as good as you got. It was so toxic and unhealthy, and I hoped in time, you’d move away from it. I hoped I could help you. But now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, not anymore. And I don’t know if I want to.”

Tears rolled down your face with every word uttered, with every sentence that cut deeper and deeper in you, until you were bleeding and bruised, until it all hurt, being here, seeing him, hearing him, the past and the future, the present and your actions, and Neteyam’s actions, and everything that lead to this moment. It was so much easier to get your heart broken, you realise faintly, than to break a heart. Heartbroken, you could pity yourself, victimise yourself, tell yourself and the world that it’s not you, but the other person, the one who instigated it. You can sleep at night knowing you were wronged, that if it wasn’t for the pain that someone else caused you, things would be different, easier. There was nothing easy about watching a good person suffer and knowing you caused it, and you wondered how you were ever going to fall asleep again, how were you going to be able to live with yourself.

“I didn’t choose this, O'ì'en… any of this. I need you to know this. Mo’at asked us to come to her as a matter of urgency the other day, she told us that Eywa gave her a sign, showed her a vision, and that by her will, Neteyam and I will have to become a mated-pair.” You felt bad about leaving out certain… extenuating circumstances, but you realise that sometimes, certain things are better left unsaid and once some words are uttered, some actions taken, they can’t be recalled, they can’t be reversed, they won’t dematerialise - their echoes will forever ring through time, leaving damage and hurt in their wake, and you didn’t want that - not for him.

“Have you told her you don’t want to? Have you gone to the Tsa’hik, or the Olo’eyktan, or the Tsakarem and talked to them, told them you are in love with someone else, that you made up your mind? Did you fight for us at any point? For me?”

Your eyes widened at his words, that had an edge to them you’ve never observed in him before, that you didn’t even realise he was truly capable of. The words stung needles on your skin and in your eyes, that had prickling tears still falling uninterrupted, like summer rain, soaking your heart and soul that hurt because you knew that you couldn’t give him an answer that would satisfy him… you couldn’t give him an answer at all.

“They look at you like you’re their daughter. They would listen to you if you asked. But you didn’t, did you?”

“I once overheard Lo’ak talk about you and Neteyam to his human friend. He was concerned about you. About both of you. But aside from that, he talked about you two like you were an inevitability. About passion that ran so deep there was no way only hatred fuelled it. That there must be something underneath it all. I heard this and it made me angry at the time… I thought that he was unreasonable and out of line. Naively, I took your affection at face value and never looked beyond. Until now, that is. When I realised that in our time together, all the time we shared, all the moments that were sweet and innocent and everything I’ve ever wanted, you’ve never once shared even a fraction of that passion for me.”

“O'ì'en, no…”

“I think, deep down, you don’t want to get out of this because it’s finally a way to bridge the gap that has existed between you and Neteyam for so long, a gap you secretly wished had never existed. I think you’ve been in love with him since you were children, and this was the perfect opportunity to change a path you thought was set in stone before. I think he’s in love with you, too. But both of you are too mean, too stubborn with each other to see past your differences. To talk.”

“You’re wrong.” The temper was rising in your chest as his head continued shaking, denying your statement, as his words were processing in your mind, the unbelievable, insane, unreasonable words that you couldn’t believe were being uttered right before you, not by him. You wanted to scream at him, to shout and tell him that it’s all wrong, all of this, everything is all wrong. That the passion he’s talking about is just intense dislike that was so grand, so overpowering, it couldn’t be contained inside your body, nor inside his. That you were not in love with Neteyam - you hated Neteyam. With every fibre of your being, you loathed the man that hurt you so deeply, so intimately, for so long, that forsook the past you shared and the memories you made and what you meant to him, or what he meant to you.

You wanted to tell him that he’s delusional in ever thinking that man could ever be in love with you, when all he did was find new ways to torture you, to belittle you, to make you feel lesser than him, lesser than anyone he knew. How could that ever be love? How could that ever work? This was love. What you had with O'ì'en. Pure and good and kind and easy. Love wasn’t supposed to hurt, right? Love was supposed to feel natural, like coming home after a long, exhausting day, it wasn’t supposed to be what made the day long and exhausting in the first place. He was so wrong.

But you didn’t find it in you to argue with him. Not with him. Someone else will have to bear the consequences of your repressed anger, but not O'ì'en, because he deserves better than what he got, and what you gave, and in truth.. none of this mattered anyway. Arguing would make no difference in this doomed relationship, so you calmed yourself for the time being and spoke in as even of a tone you could manage.

“O'ì'en… I think you’re wrong. But, it doesn’t matter. You’re right that I didn’t talk to Mo’at, and that I should have. Regardless of the circumstances that led to this, I am so sorry. I will forever be sorry for the way you found out, for the way this came to be. I’m so sorry you had to be collateral damage in a war that is only mine to bear. I had a whole plan about how to tell you, I had so many things I wanted to say to you. That I’m grateful to you, and that I love you. That I’m sorry it wasn’t the way that you deserve to be loved, but I do love you. That I will never forget you, and your affection that shone so brightly over me, that was a safe haven from the bad storms I’ve had to weather for so long. That I’ll be sorry every day that I wasn’t good enough for you, but am relieved by the notion that one day, you’ll find someone so much better than me, someone who will be able to give you everything you deserve and then some, and I’m relieved in knowing you will be thankful to have been rid of me.”

You decided this would have to be enough for now. One day, maybe you’ll be able to face him again. One day, maybe he’ll even be able to spare you a glance, or a smile. But not today.

“I hope you forgive me one day.”

“Me, too.”

But I'd give anything to stop time, commit to you and not crimes Against your truth and lose sight of every divide threatening to undo this story But baby, I'm so sorry, I don't think that I'll ever memorise this route

It was a long way back to the village, and with every step taken and every moment passed, the anger that you tried to stifle for his sake came back ten fold - the tiring days of fighting, of crying, of suffering, of uncertainty and rampant emotions all building up within you, all coming to a calamitous zenith that threatened to spill all around you, that begged and urged for revenge, for payback on the man that caused it all, the man that was at the centre of all your life’s woes.

He ruined your relationship? Well… let’s see how he’ll like a taste of his own medicine. You knew exactly where you’ll find him, because you knew he’d be in the place he knew he could pester you the most, in a place that’s supposed to be yours, that he tainted over and over, that you will make sure to conquer back from him, the way you eventually would all of the pieces of yourselves he’s taken from you through time.

Your tent was quiet and untouched, unlike the little nook behind it, that was completely segregated from the rest of the clan, an oasis of secrecy and privacy in an otherwise bustling environment. A place that should be yours alone, but now hid two Na’vi, one of them mewling softly at the actions of the other. Neteyam was focused on his mate’s neck, their make-out session so intense, they didn’t even notice you until it was too late, until you stood behind them, until your presence was announced by a deep sigh and a disappointed click of your tongue.

“Oh, how disappointing.”

The girl let out a distressed yelp at your voice and pushed Neteyam off of her, eliciting a deep growl from the man that was less than impressed by the interruption.

“Am I interrupting?”

You saw Neteyam’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, at the way he knew what was coming. You laughed at his expression. What did he think was going to happen after what he’s done? What did he think you were going to do finding them here? The evil smirk that possessed you reminded you of his, and you wondered if this is how panicked you looked, too, when you saw him approaching you and O'ì'en.

“You know, if you’re going to continue going against the Olo’eyktan and the Tsa’hik’s wishes and cheat on your mate, I wouldn’t do it… you know, right outside of her tent.”

“WHAT?!” The high-pitched screech nearly deafened you, but you didn’t let it show. Instead you just watched as Neteyam scrambled to get himself out of the eye of the storm threatening to tear him apart.

“Tìlor, I -“

“Ah, your boyfriend didn’t tell you?” Your smile was sickeningly sweet as you approached the couple, stopping right next to Neteyam, placing a hand on his arm, tracing the protruding veins that made saliva pool in your mouth, and you bit back a laugh at the girl’s rabid look, that looked a lot like she was going to pounce on you at any given moment - you hoped she did. Nothing would make you happier than to have an excuse to rearrange her braids. This girl that always looked down on you, that looked at you like you were an outsider or a freak, that never even tried to mask her jealousy, her disdain, her fear at the fact the Sullys preferred you, and always will.

“I will be your Tsa’hik soon. Isn’t that right… yawne?”

“So unless you want me to go and tell the clan leaders… and your mother… and your father, and everyone who matters that you’ve been fucking someone else’s mate and watch as little by little, your entire world falls apart around you, I suggest you realise this man right here, he’s not worth it. Not worth all the drama, not worth all the fuss. Just go, and find yourself a single mate, and give thanks to Eywa she’s rid you of him, cause damn, I know I wish I could be.”

The hatred in her eyes was slowly replaced with fear and embarrassment, and for a second, just a second - you felt bad for her. Because no matter how badly she’s treated you, how she’s adopted Neteyam’s behaviour as her own with no reason or rhyme, much like O'ì'en, she was also just another collateral victim in a war that kept claiming lives and hearts, and you wondered where, if at all, the line would be drawn, when, if ever, would enough be enough?

You watched as she scrambled to fasten her top around her neck properly and without another word, she was gone, leaving just you and Neteyam alone, with enough tension in the air around you to suffocate you, to feel like smoke from a fire so grand, you didn't know if weren’t skilled enough to put out.

'Cause I have yet to know how to be mine You can try to unearth this soul I swear you'll hate what you find

“Why?”

“You’re making out with someone behind my tent, knowing that would piss me off, after what you did yesterday, and you have the nerve to ask me why?” you threw your head back and laughed at the outrageousness of the question. Neteyam wasn’t stupid - far from it. He was also not naive, or oblivious, or harebrained. The question had no business coming out of his mouth, but yet it did. You didn't have time to ponder the reasons why.

“You see, Neteyam, I think you came here because you knew I’d come. Because you secretly wanted me to. Because you know deep down that this girl has nothing to offer you, and you just needed an easy way out to rid yourself of her, and you needed me to do your dirty work for you again. Well, you’re welcome, Neteyam. What the fuck would you ever do without me, huh?”

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite. All the theatricals of being heartbroken over what I did to O'ì'en and then you do the exact same thing to someone else, someone innocent.”

“Innocent, ha! You think I give a shit about your little girlfriend’s feelings, when you treated O'ì'en the way you did? He didn’t deserve this, Neteyam. Any of this. He’s good man, he respects you, and looks up to you. He -“

“He should have known better than to associate himself with you.” His bared fangs didn’t do as much to scare you, not nearly as much as his proximity to you did, at the way his eyes stared daggers at your face, that even in the heat of the moment, at the peak of anger and hatred, couldn’t help settle on your parted, wet lips. “He should have known better and realise that all you bring in people’s life is disappointment and pain. He also should have known better and realise you didn’t love him. That you never will. That you might try to act like it and convince yourself, but someone like him would never, ever satisfy you.”

“And who the fuck would satisfy me, Neteyam? You? That’s rich. I bet your poor little girlfriend’s happy she’s rid of you. Bet you haven’t made her cum once. Too busy thinking of training and ruining my life, too busy thinking about how great you think you are to make room for anyone else in there.” You poked him in the chest with your index finger, right over his heart. Your touch lingered on his body, somehow unable to bring yourself to stop, half in awe at the way his heart was racing, at the way yours beat almost in sync with his, at the way you tried to convince yourself it’s because of the anger you were feeling, and no other reason.

“Yeah? Is that what you think?”

And there he was again, once more grabbing you by your throat, and you wanted to object, and fight him, but you didn’t - you couldn’t -, not as you felt throbbing deep within you at the action, not as you had to push your thighs together to accommodate for the increasingly uncomfortable sensation, not as your loincloth was becoming more and more damp by the second. And you remember your words, and remember that you told him that if he ever touched you again, you’ll make him pay for it, but right now, in this moment, you couldn’t find it in you to speak a word, as the intensity of his gaze knocked the air out of your lungs and his fingers squeezed just enough so no more could get back in you. Your back scratched painfully against a tree as he pushed you into it, and you couldn’t help a small moan as his other hand pushed your loincloth to the side, brushing over your folds that were now sopping and swollen. He let out a soft chuckle as he felt you.

“If that’s what you really thought, you wouldn’t be dripping on my fingers right now, tsxepvi.”

Slowly, deliberately, he started exploring your heat, thumb ghosting over your clit as he watched you squirm under his touch, struggling between what you knew you should do, between your conscious mind telling you you were going to pay for this in tears and heartache, and your subconscious mind screaming to let go, to embrace the overbearing desire to give in to him, as you did in the dreams you convinced yourself in time were nightmares, but knew more and more each day that it was just another lie you told yourself to keep going.

One side of you won by a landslide, as he gently pushed two fingers in you, as he started increasing the pressure with which he was massaging your clit, and it felt so good, too good, better than anything you’ve ever felt before. You tried to contain the sounds coming through gritted teeth with all your might, knowing what he was doing, knowing giving him any indication of the pleasure he was giving you would mean another thing you’d have to pay for later, knowing you couldn’t allow him to enjoy this, you couldn’t possibly give him the satisfaction of knowing he could do this to you, but you couldn’t stop, not when his fingers curled in you and found the spongy part that made you see glimmering, blinding lights and his thumb circled your needy bud in the perfect way to heighten the sensations running through you, electrifying your every nerve. The moans turn into mewls as he increases the pressure and his pace, and you felt the pleasure in you reach a high that you were ready to ride out, your orgasm so close you could practically taste it, and you’re barely able to think about how fucking quick it was, how it took no time at all for him to get you there, how skilled his fingers, as they worked his ministrations on you. You had no will to think about what the fuck was happening, how weird it was, how the man you’ve hated for so long is doing this to you, before the feeling got too overwhelming to be contained anymore.

“Fuck, i’m gonna -“

“That’s right, tsxepvi. I can feel you squeezing my fingers. You want to come for me?”

“Argh, I-“

The moan you let you wasn’t of pleasure, it was of deep, throbbing pain as the emptiness overtook you, as soon as he removed his fingers.

He smirked, an evil smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as his fingers found his lips and he sucked on them, his tongue swirling in between them, licking every single drop.

“You taste fucking amazing, tsxepvi. Maybe next time, if you apologise and behave, you’ll actually get to cum.”

And with that, he was gone, living you an empty, horrified mess, as the high came crashing down violently and the consequences of the last few minutes replaced it to lead you in a spiral of mixed thoughts and feelings, each one more terrifying than the last.

'Cause I am lost, but not in you Yes, I am lost, but not in you

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif@randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495@aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak @sweetbread-m @eqgroil @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @juneonhoth @yagirlheree @jackiehollanderr @legendarynoodlebowl @iameatingmyhair @justasimps-blog

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lorkai · 11 months

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.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Request: Can you make the brothers and the dateables react to MC that has family issues? I had a really bad family issues and I want a little comfort

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: This is really delayed but I hope you enjoy this if you're still around, anon. Ily /p and stay strong!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warning: family issues, toxic family, very implied usage of force in belphies part, lots of comfort, possible ooc brothers, I proofread this just one time.

You never talk about your parents and/or siblings. So Lucifer doesn't think he has the right to inquire about your life before being selected as an exchange student. But that's not to say that after you and him become close, he doesn't feel curious about your childhood memories or your life in general. He might seem like he doesn't care about these things, but Lucifer would love to know more about you and what you liked as a kid, what you did, your little adventures and such.

Sometimes he imagines younger you running through the halls of your house or singing your favorite song and he smiles fondly at the image he imagined. It's just too cute. But if by chance he finds out or you tell him that you don't have a good relationship with your family and that they were toxic/controlling in some way, know that he will be welcoming you into his family with open arms.

You're a human dear to him and his brothers, so he won't tolerate anyone treating you badly. Still, unbeknownst to you, he's probably going to put a little curse on your family members. A small price for the pain they caused you.

And of course he will comfort you the way you want to be comforted, with sweet words, with tight hugs or just being there to listen to you talk about the situations you went through with your family. And as he comforts you Lucifer thinks about how he longs to ascend to the human world and confront your family, maybe he will when you sleep.

And he will understand perfectly well if you don't want to go home after the exchange program ends. And since you can't stay indefinitely in Devildom, Lucifer (and his brothers who probably snuck in after you two) insist on going with you to the human realm to help you choose a new house to live in, in another state, in another country if you want and he will pay for everything. All for you, MC, so don't hesitate to summon or call him whenever you want company.

⠀⠀⠀⠀

Mammon always asks you to tell him about your childhood, what your family members are like and things like that. He just wants to know more about you since you're someone he loves dearly (platonically or romantically, it's up to you). He might be a little slow and don't realize that you're uncomfortable with his questions or that you're showing signs of growing up in an unstable household, so forgive him for that.

But when you tell him about the bad family relationship you have? He wants to scream about how these humans don't deserve you and that they should rethink their ways and that it's not your fault, but he puts all that aside to give you a big hug and whisper encouragement and praise in your ear. If your family doesn't love you, Mammon wants you to know that he and his family will love you wholeheartedly. They'll love you so much you'll want to run away from them, Mammon can promise you that.

He'll probably work double time to help Lucifer pay for and furnish your new home, that is, if he can't talk you out of leaving Devildom. But don't worry, he's always looking for a reason to visit you in the human world, mostly sending you videos and memes while you're away again to make you laugh. And sometimes sending silly texts at dawn saying how lucky he is to have you around. You're so unique, so genuine and cool, and he loves you and he is always willing to hear you venting about what you went through with your family.

⠀⠀⠀⠀

Levi knows the first signs that something is wrong and he can see it from afar. The avatar of envy has probably already seen this in some form of media, so he doesn't ask you about what your life was like before you came to Devildom or about your family. Instead, Levi focuses on making you have good memories with him and his brothers, hoping that will be enough to give you amazing memories and that his efforts will be enough to make you happy.

Still, if you want to talk to him about your family members or something reminds you of a bad experience with them and you need to vent, Levi will be there to listen to you and will let you hide in his room until you feel better. He won't ask you anything for fear of making you feel worse, but he will definitely hold your hand while some sappy anime is on tv.

Just like Mammon, he'll love that you stay here in Devildom instead of going back to the human world, where you'll be alone. It's much better to stay with him and his brothers, but he will respect your wishes and send you multiple messages every day.

"You're strong, Mc!" Levi tells you every time you tell him about his experiences. And it's the purest of truths, even with all the past diversities you've become a strong and kind person. And he wants you to know it and be proud of it.

⠀⠀

Satan, like Levi, can see how uncomfortable you are when Mammon asks you about your life before Devildom and he deduces that maybe it wasn't a pleasant life, so he always changes the subject so you don't feel pressured to answer. And the neutral look you give him is enough for him to know that maybe his assumptions are correct and that if you familiars weren't downright terrible they weren't good. Honestly Satan tests the waters a bit before asking you questions directly, he doesn't want to trigger any bad memories in you.

A fury quickly rises inside him when you finally tell him everything that happened, but he reminds you that your feelings are valid and that nothing was your fault, leaving you to lay your head on his shoulder as one of his arms wraps around your waist and Satan hums to make you relax. You don't have a good relationship with your family and he can understand you a little, after his birth he also didn't have a good relationship with his brothers but only because of his anger. And Satan is willing to make you create good memories with him and your brothers.

Secretly he, Lucifer and Belphie are plotting something against your family members, just a lesson for them to learn to be more decent humans. And even if they learn that lesson, Satan is still hesitant to let you near them and he doesn't forgive them easily, he prefers you to stay there with him and your brothers who love you very much.

⠀⠀⠀

Contrary to what people might think, Asmo can be quite observant. And although he really wants to know what you were like as a child, see your childhood photos and listen to children's stories, he prioritizes your happiness much more. So he prefers to know the things you like, the things that make you happy so he can comfort you when his brothers go a little overboard with their questions. Asmo also likes to monopolize you a little mainly to do your skincare and paint your nails, this symbolizes that you are a member of his family, after all Asmo paints his brothers nails.

He has an intuition that things are worse than he realizes when you sit in his room after a nightmare and don't communicate with anyone. Ever so affectionate, Asmo hugs you and pulls you into his lap, whispering praise and words of encouragement as you mutters the memories that haunt you to him. Oh honey, you have a terrible family and Asmo is more than happy to welcome you into his family.

If you're not staying in Devildom, Asmo wants to be in charge of decorating your new home. He knows you well enough to know what you like and what you don't, so he's confident that together you'll do a great job. But be careful, he might end up not letting go when it's time to leave, he can't stop himself he loves you so much he could devour you here and now hehe <3

⠀⠀⠀

Beel, oh dear Beel who prioritizes family a lot, doesn't seem to be able to process that some humans are mean to their loved ones on purpose. Maybe they like to see the tears and all the sadness and misery they can create, all the conflicted feelings and mental health impacts you honestly don't know and don't want to know. And while he doesn't question why you don't talk about your family, he also feels curious about your life and relatives.

And his eyes light up at any mention of your childhood, especially if you're telling silly things you did as a kid, he loves listening to you and could listen to you for a million years.

But when do you finally tell him about the terrible relationship you have with your family? My boy here is practically adopting you into his family without consulting anyone, nuh-uh, you're not going back to the human world and keep living with people that bad. At least, not if he can stop it. And believe me, he's more than happy to give Diavolo a piece of his mind once the exchange program is over.

Beel takes you everywhere to have dinner with him and his brothers in order to create good memories that are able to replace the painful memories of your life with those people. He's also the one who suggests you see a psychologist if you feel comfortable with it, after all he loves you and wants you to take care of your mental health, even if you think the situation isn't that bad after all. Again, if you feel comfortable of course, otherwise he can lend you an ear and give you advice for your fears and concerns.

He is much more open with how important you are and he will continue to express it through words and actions if you let him. You are family now and he will treat you with as much care and affection as he treats his brothers.

⠀⠀⠀

Belphie is furious. You're the best human he's ever known, a hardworking, kindhearted human who makes him laugh with your incomparable sarcasm and bad jokes, he could cradle you in a blanket like a burrito and look at you for hours without getting tired. You are precious like that. His suspicions begin when he often notices how you dream of the same people but in different and increasingly violent contexts, and in one of these dreams you scream "Mom, Dad, stop" over and over again. So yes, he knows from the beginning how bad your family is, but he doesn't know how to broach this topic without you freezing in fear.

So he does what he does best. Every night he gives you the best dreams and removes those people from them so you can have a good night's sleep. In return, your family gets the worst dreams of their lives and no matter what doctor they visit or what medicine they take nothing seems able to make these nightmares stop. It's little compared to the pain they caused you. And every morning if the topic of your family comes up, Belphie finds a way to change the subject, usually by making up some story about Mammon.

But if you feel comfortable telling him about your family, he will comfort you as best he can, holding you in his arms and paying attention to every detail. He's not good with advice so he'll be quiet the entire time, muttering occasionally to let you know he still hears you. He can hold your hand if you get too anxious about a specific memory.

Although he wishes it's still not possible for a human to live in Devildom, so he knows you're going to have to go back to the human world at some point and he was the person who had the idea to buy you a house somewhere. The house is big enough for you to live comfortably and he and his brothers can help you with everything you need, it's the least they can do to repay everything you need.

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lucienarcheron · 2 months

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Spirit Meets the Bones - III

Genre: Angst/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse.

biggest shoutout to @abruisedmuse ♥️ for keeping me sane while writing! ily.

Find it all here.

Eris immediately knew he had made a mistake when he stood behind her, his hands inches away from her hair. He had been itching to touch her, especially when she kept getting angry with him. He could almost see her driving his own dagger into his throat and in a way his mother would be very concerned, it thrilled him.

He'd always known whoever he'd marry would be his father’s choice and naturally, had expected a snake of a wife, one that wanted his power and influence. He hadn’t expected to find one that mirrored his own survival instinct.

“May I?” he finally asked quietly and again, the air between them seemed to go taut. He watched Iris swallow through the mirror, saw her eyes dip for a moment to the dagger in her hand before looking up back at him, and then she nodded.

Eris paused, even with her permission. Touching her hair seemed to feel too intimate for them. Just being in the same room like this seemed too intimate and Eris had barely touched her.

Hesitantly, and much more gently than Iris seemed to anticipate, he began pulling out the pins that had been out of her reach and placed them on the vanity in front of her.

Typically...typically his hand was fisted in a female’s hair. To be pulled. Yanked. Rarely, if ever, had he touched gently, and it slightly unnerved him to feel so starved that he was reduced to touching her hair so tenderly like an absolute idiot.

“A question for a question.” she said, breaking the silence, and his lip quirked.

“A question for a question.”

“You said you were ordered to get married…” Iris began, and Eris’s fingers halted for a fleeting second before continuing. “Why couldn’t you choose your bride? Or say no?”

Eris hummed softly. How was one to describe the tyrant of a father he had? The one person he fantasized about murdering each day?

“My father...runs a very tight ruling in our court and household. As I’m sure you’ve heard,” he said quietly, his eyes solely focused on each hair strand that fell loose. “You do as you are told unless you can convince him otherwise. My reasons weren’t convincing enough. I’ve only ever disobeyed my father once and paid dearly for it.”

“What did you disobey him about?” she asked, and Eris tried not to pause again, his eyes hyper-focused on the slight pout in her frown, her furrowed eyebrows.

“Ah, ah. My question now.” he replied, tugging on a loose strand of hair gently, and chuckled when Iris scowled. She gestured with her hand for him to continue.

“How did you learn to defend yourself?”

She was quiet for a moment and Eris watched her in the mirror with curiosity. “I used to sneak in and watch my father’s guard train. I’d wait until my father was out on business and then practice.”

“By yourself?”

“...With a friend.”

“Oh?”

Iris rolled her eyes though her cheeks had colored slightly. “I exchanged a few kisses and touches for a sparring partner. It helped me.”

Eris felt heat coil in the pit of his stomach, a flicker of simmering anger he had no business feeling. “Did he...take advantage of you?”

Iris quirked her brow. “That’s three questions to my one.”

“But did he?”

“Why do you care?”

Indeed. Why did he care? It wasn’t as though he could do anything about it now if the male had taken advantage of her.

But then Mor flashed in his mind and Eris frowned. He had paid dearly for pretending he hadn’t cared about her in that moment of weakness. This, here, shouldn’t matter to him. Yet, he asked once more.

“Did he?”

Pursing her lips, Iris sighed. “No. I enjoyed the attention and allowed it. We didn’t get too far anyway. My father found out and banished him then beat me.” she explained, and Eris could see right through the nonchalant shrug she gave. “I wasn’t allowed to shame him by fucking the middle class. I was being saved for a prince.”

She gave him a sarcastic smile here and Eris tried not to smirk. “Thank you, wife. I’ll gladly take the burden of your maidenhood off your hands as soon as we get you out of this dress.”

“Please go toss yourself out of the highest window.”

“I can’t. I must insist on only dying by your hands.”

“Then death is near, husband.”

Eris chuckled, fingers stilling again as he pulled the last pin, watching as her hair cascaded down her back, desperately trying not to think about the feel of it between his fingers. “I’d believe you except you still need help with your dress.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Once you’re dead, I’ll just tear it off, it’s fine.” she replied, watching his hands still inches away from her hair. “I’ll be a widow. They’ll think I ripped it apart in my grief.”

“Not that I ravished you and then died of bliss?”

Shooting him a glare, she held up the dagger. “Answer my questions. You owe me three.”

Eris rolled his eyes but with one final glance at her hair, he moved away, leaning against the vanity and faced her.

“To answer your earlier question, you must have heard about my brother Lucien and his former lover?”

Iris nodded solemnly. Everyone had heard about that. It was one of the many reasons everyone hated Beron.

“Well, I refused to participate and warned Tamlin about Lucien. Naturally, my father did not appreciate the disobedience,” he said, and Iris sat back in her chair, dagger still in hand.

“Is that why he didn’t come to the wedding?”

“My father’s death will be the only reason Lucien would come here willingly,” he replied with a snort, crossing his arms. “He and his mate have invited us over for lunch whenever you’re up for it. You can meet them then.”

“Assuming I don’t slit your throat in your sleep, of course?” she said with a pleasant smile and Eris chuckled.

“Of course.” he replied with a gracious nod of his head. “Now answer my questions, wife. Tell me about your father.” he requested.

Iris pursed her lips, a finger stroking the edge of the blade. “My father...as charming as he claims to be with everyone outside of my household...Lord Aron thrives on control.” she began, running her free hand through her loose hair. “My mother’s death was not in his control. Having me was not in his control.” Iris met his gaze. “When my mother died giving birth...He loved her in his twisted way more than he wanted me so naturally, I was the worst thing that happened to him. Especially when he wanted a son.”

“So, I assume he raised you with all the love he knew your mother would want you to have?” Eris said and the corner of Iris’s mouth curved up at the sarcasm.

“Oh yes.” she said quietly, and her expression tightened. “Your back…?’

Eris waved a hand. “Gifts.”

“But...why?” she asked quietly, her eyes locked on his.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first.”

Eris’s lips went into a thin line and he rubbed a finger to it, debating how honest he should be with her. Judging by the hardened look in her eyes, it felt pointless to deny it.

“They weren’t all meant to be mine, but I got in the way often enough.” he said quietly and at the way her face fell, he knew she was aware of who he meant. He watched her throat bob.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Iris replied and pushed the chair back, standing. “Help me with my dress. I’m tired.”

Eris cocked his head and blinked. “Why?”

“Why what?” she asked wearily, looking over her shoulder at him before facing the mirror and Eris frowned, unsure how to ask her to continue.

Why was he asking? He knew his family was miserable. Her life had clearly been the same. It didn’t help that his mother taking the brunt of his father’s abuse seemed to mirror the fear she likely had for herself with him. His frown deepened and Eris flexed his fingers. All these years with his parents had only solidified his stance to never harm a female. The only black spot on his record was Mor and the real story will always stay between the two of them until Mor decided otherwise.

“Never mind.” he finally said and attempted his previous bravado. “It’s time to unwrap you, wife.”

Iris narrowed her eyes at him through the mirror and slowly held up the dagger again. “One wrong move, Vanserra.”

He chuckled, though it had lost some of its mirth. “I’ll behave.”

With her eyes still locked on his, Iris moved her hair to the side and said nothing, though Eris noticed the tension had returned to her body. He glanced at her for just a brief moment then his gaze fell to her back and the ties holding her dress together. The white gown she wore hugged her figure snuggly — beautifully, and Eris appreciated the chance to admire it again.

Slowly, carefully, his hand found its way to the top and his fingers gently pulled on the knotted ties.

He hesitated then.

Eris knew he shouldn’t be nervous to help her with her dress. He had taken dresses off the bodies of many beautiful females in his life. This should be nothing.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, and he looked up, meeting her eyes briefly before bringing it back to the dress.

“Nothing.” was all he said and focused on the ties. Carefully, he slipped his fingers beneath each ribbon tying the top together, and pulled to loosen them. Eris felt her stiffening as he made contact with her back, a small breath escaping her lips and he froze, meeting her gaze again in the mirror. Iris flushed and Eris’s eyes zeroed in on the bob of her throat. He lifted a brow and spoke softly, “May I continue?”

Iris looked away from him but nodded all the same and it took Eris a moment to tear his gaze from the flush of her cheeks and back to the dress. If this was the only time he was going to touch her for a while...it seemed wise for him to take his time. Wise to drink in the sight of the soft curls of her hair that fell to the side, the exposed long neck. It was the most skin he was seeing of hers and oh...the flush of color against her olive skin ignited a feeling of longing in him.

A longing for something normal.

Leave it to his father to find him a breathtaking wife who wanted nothing to do with him.

Working at an even slower pace, Eris slipped one finger at a time between each ribbon of the corset and pulled gently, Iris backing into him with each tug.

“Don’t yank.” she said, a slight breathlessness to her words as she pulled away slightly, finally letting go of the dagger and bracing her hands on the vanity. “You’ll ruin it.”

“You have no idea how badly I want to, wife.” he replied softly and pulled the last ribbon treacherously slowly. Much to his agonizing dismay, she wasn’t wearing anything under it.

Eris took in the bare skin that the dress exposed, from the top of her back down to the dip and he wondered if she could hear the pounding of his heart, and feel the heat of his gaze on her lovely skin – no scar in sight, unlike his own. Before Eris could stop himself, his fingers traveled down the bareness of her back and a shock zipped through his body.

He heard her gasp and whip around, holding her hands across her chest to keep her dress from slipping and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t.” she whispered to him, but Eris could only stare at her. He stared and slowly leaned in closer, letting his hands settle on the vanity she was leaning against, caged between his arms.

They silently stared at one another, a different kind of tension between them now.

Eris stared, his expression stoic as he drank in every one of her features. The sharp cheekbones, the lovely nose, her parted lips. His eyes fell to the now exposed collarbones and he had to clamp down on the sudden urge to lean in closer and lick them.

His amber eyes found her hazel ones, reading the mistrust in them, the hesitation — but he could only think of one thing to say.

In the softest of murmurs, he spoke, “I don’t think I was given the chance to tell you how beautiful you are, Iris.”

Iris blinked and her flush deepened as she frowned slightly. “Thank you. You can back away now.” she replied and the corner of his mouth quirked up, leaning in even closer.

“But I would prefer not to.” he whispered, and Eris regretted standing there shirtless, positive she could see the goosebumps on his flesh that matched the ones on her skin.

“I don’t really care.” she whispered in return and Eris tilted his head in amusement, the space between their lips even closer.

“But wife?” his voice still soft, barely above a whisper and Iris clenched her jaw, roses blooming on her cheeks.

“What?”

“I would really like to kiss you.” he requested, and was mesmerized watching the changes in her expression. The widening of her eyes in surprise, the attraction she seemed to be fighting, and lastly, when her expression hardened.

“No.”

“No?”

"No.”

Eris hummed in thought, unsure if he could hold back his smirk as she shifted between his arms. “Why?” he asked, the question practically a whine. “We are married after all.”

Iris met his gaze, her eyes flicking to his lips for a second before she looked at him again. “You’ll only end up wanting more.” she replied quietly.

“And is that so wrong?” he asked, his hand coming up to gently brush her hair behind her ear but froze when she flinched.

His eyes narrowed, his hand midair as Iris flushed, glaring at him.

Firmly, and not breaking his gaze, Iris lowered his hand to his side and held it there. “Don’t.” she repeated, and Eris pursed his lips.

“Are you afraid of me, little gazelle?”

“Trust isn’t so easily earned.”

And the two stared at each other, seizing each other up for what felt like the millionth time that evening. They shared a heated gaze, her hand still on his.

“I’m sure a kiss could persuade you to change your mind.” Eris proposed and leaned even closer to her.

“You seem desperate, husband.” she replied and against every instinct, leaned closer to him as well. “The scent of your lust is filling the room.”

“You should be flattered.”

“I’m disgusted.”

“The flush of your cheeks tells me you’re a liar.”

Iris rolled her eyes and finally shoved him away as Eris chuckled. “I am flushed in anger. Don’t think so highly of yourself. I’ve only known you for a few hours and you’re very annoying.”

“Why thank you, darling wife.” he said, and he only allowed himself a small smile before turning to watch her walking towards the closet. “Do you need additional help?”

“No. I need something to sleep in.” she replied, a hand still holding up her dress, the other opening the closet door.

“Oh, I took the liberty of choosing something for you to sleep in.” Eris said, running a hand through his hair, watching her. “It’s on the bed.”

His lips twitched slightly as Iris’s gaze moved to the bed and she blinked in confusion.

“There’s... nothing there.” she said, squinting at him and Eris waved a hand.

“Nothing will look fantastic on you.”

Her expression flattened and Iris looked to the dagger still on the vanity, far away from her and Eris grinned when she settled on flipping him off with a glare. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I’d much rather fuck you, wife.” he said with a chuckle, and Iris’s glare intensified.

“Keep dreaming, asshole.”

“The tension between us will need an outlet, my dear Iris. Especially if this is our first night together.” Eris said with an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. “I can’t imagine how much worse it’ll get the more we spend time together.”

“There’s nothing to imagine.” she growled. “Except sweet, sweet death.”

“We can fuck this once and get it out of our systems. You can go back to hating me afterward,” he suggested, and Iris only glared at him once more before turning to the closet and rummaging through it. “No sense in denying it, hm?”

It took her a full moment of silence with Eris smirking at her back before Iris closed the closet door, sleeping clothes in hand.

“Running a sword through your body will ease this tension you’re feeling.”

“I’d rather we kissed aggressively.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to make sure you die in the most embarrassing way possible.”

“You mean when you murder me?” Eris said with a smile.

“Yes. When I murder you.” she confirmed.

“You have your work cut out for you then. I’m embarrassed by very little.”

Iris squinted at him then looked down at the clothes in her hand, her fingers rubbing the fabric gently. He watched her look at him, bite her lip, then look away and Eris’s whole body straightened. Slowly, Iris placed the sleeping set she chose for herself on the table closest to her and walked towards him. Eris focused on each step she took and then held his breath when she stopped in front of him.

“Are you sure?” she said softly and very suddenly, she was closer to him than she had been all night, the weight of her body pressing into him.

“Am I sure about what?” he asked quietly, his hands flexing at his sides. Should he touch her? Or would it scare her away? She had said don’t.

“That it would be difficult for me to embarrass you?” she asked, finally letting go of her dress, bringing her hand so her fingers gently grazed his shoulder. Eris’s eyes zeroed in on the dip in her dress that had exposed the top of her cleavage.

“Hm?” he said stupidly, his eyes back on her face to find her smiling coyly at him and Eris blinked, fully aware of what she was doing. Of how her fingers were now slowly trailing down his chest and back up.

“Do you think,” she began and leaned close to his ear, her hand resting over his heart. “It would be embarrassing for you to die while at attention? Just before a release?”

Eris blinked. “What —”

Her hand went up and she flicked him as hard as possible right on the forehead. “Because I will have you so worked up, two seconds away from an orgasm thinking you’ve earned me, then stab you in the heart and leave you to bleed out if you don’t stop making inappropriate jokes. Keep pushing your limits with me, I dare you.”

Eris blinked rapidly, his hand coming up to touch the stinging on his forehead.

“Did you just...flick me? Like a child?”

“Didn’t know if your pretty face could handle a good smack, husband.” Iris replied, flipping him off once more then stomped away from him, grabbed her change of clothes, and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

It took Eris a moment to realize that indeed, he now had a hard-on and a small laugh huffed out of him. Rubbing his forehead, he slowly walked to the bed and sat down, letting out another little laugh.

This whole day had felt like he’d been dunked into a bucket of water repeatedly and then thrown into a pit of darkness. He felt disoriented with how quickly everything had changed and whiplash from his conversation with Iris. He was unclear of where they stood now. Where did he stand with her?

Eris thought back to the feeling of her between his arms, when she was only inches away from kissing him. He thought back to her flushed cheeks, the intake of breath when his hands had touched her back, her glares.

He grinned broadly. Maybe being married wouldn’t be so bad. It was clear she didn’t really hate him. She was more worried for her safety.

His smile immediately dimmed at that, remembering how she flinched when he wanted to touch her hair.

He sighed then quickly stripped the bottoms he was wearing, changing into sleeping pants. Though he typically preferred to sleep in undershorts or completely nude, Eris had a feeling Iris would actually kill him if he wasn’t decent. Just as he finished hanging up his dress clothes, the bathroom door opened and his head snapped to her side, meeting her eyes.

And oh.

She was wearing sleeping pants and a shirt that was twice her size — meant for him.

He raised a brow with a small smile. “Those...are mine, aren’t they?”

Iris blinked at him then shrugged, walking to the vanity and grabbing the dagger. She pointedly ignored him as she walked past him.

“What’s yours is mine, is it not, husband dear?”

Eris smirked. “No lingerie for me then?”

“Knock yourself out if you’d like to wear some.”

“You want to see me in lingerie, wife?”

“I’d much rather die.”

He chuckled and shook his head, watching her make her way to their shared bed, not wanting to think about her in lacy nothings. “Hm. I still think nothing would look best on you.”

Iris pointed the dagger threateningly at him. “My patience with you is wearing thin.”

And just like that, his new wife had climbed into their bed.

It took Eris a few seconds to realize what she was doing as she crawled on the bed, as the first image of her on her knees had taken him down a very indecent road. He could only watch in amused silence as Iris started stacking pillows down the length of the bed between them. Iris only narrowed her eyes at him, as if daring him to laugh before turning to her side and laying down, the dagger sliding underneath her pillow.

As if pillows would stop him if he chose to be a monster.

But he wouldn’t.

Eris frowned as he climbed onto his side of the bed and lay flat on his back, an arm under his head. He let a few moments of silence pass between them before he finally spoke.

“Iris?”

He felt her shuffle and a few seconds passed before she replied.

“Eris.”

“Tomorrow, we both have roles to play,” he began quietly and felt her still. “Everyone will be expecting it.”

“And what roles will that be?”

“You, the shy new wife that had the life fucked out of her and is embarrassed that people know.” he continued, “Me, the sated husband who fucked the life out of you and got what’s mine.”

Iris shot up and glared at him over the pillow barricade. “The conqueror and the conquest, hm?” She spat, repulsed.

Eris sat up with an eye roll. “That’s what they’ll be expecting to see and I for one, live to meet expectations.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Not as disgusting as they’ll be expecting me to be with you.” he said with a scoff. “You’re lucky they stopped checking if couples consummated marriages the morning after.”

Iris frowned and looked away from him, her fingers fiddling with the edge of his shirt that covered her body. “It doesn’t have to be that way and you know it.”

Eris was quiet for a moment. “No, it doesn’t but…it is in our best interest to play by the expectations so that no one looks too closely at us.”

Iris tilted her head, her mouth a thin line. “Your father.”

“And yours.” he said pointedly, and Iris swallowed.

“But...I don’t want to be seen that way. I want to be me.”

“Unless you want them saying I fucked some confidence in you, you can’t change who they want to see overnight.”

“Gods.” she scoffed. “Just taking all the credit for it, aren’t you?”

He gave her a small smile. “I aim to please.”

Iris pursed her lips then scowled, shooting him a look full of disdain. “I could also seem disappointed which will clearly indicate you couldn’t perform, and your little wife was left unsatisfied.”

Eris barked a laugh and lay back down on his back. “Oh wife, you are a funny one.” he said and felt her plop down on her side. “No one will believe that.”

“My disappointment will be authentic enough, no one would doubt it.” She begrudgingly replied.

Eris rolled his eyes. “You really sure you don’t want to just fuck this out? I’m sure we’ll feel better afterward and that way we’ll start off our marriage honestly.”

“One more word on this and you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“I am the firstborn son of a high lord.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“I’d be happy to. Just bend over, wife.”

She only raised her hand to flip him off and Eris chuckled.

He waited a few more minutes in silence, listening to the slight shifting of her feet and the thundering of her heart. Despite her words, she still seemed to be nervous. A part of him couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t want to be married to him either.

He lifted himself on his elbows to peer at her over the pillow barricade between them and found her curled up on her side, her back facing him.

And suddenly he found himself nervous.

“If it wasn’t clear before, I want to make it clear again,” he began, and she turned slightly to meet his eyes over her shoulder. “I have no intentions of hurting you. I don’t want this marriage to be miserable. Even if it’s what everyone’s expecting.”

She looked away from him for a moment then looked back at him once more. “Even with all the things you’ve said earlier?”

“I consider it my civic duty to tease my wife.” he said and felt her eyes roll. “Among other things.”

“Other things?”

“I could also be your friend.” he found himself saying quietly, the tips of his ears heating as Iris flushed and turned away quickly. Eris felt his whole body burst into flame, his face flushing as he slumped back into the mattress, embarrassment coursing through him.

He had threatened her. Tried to kiss her. Clearly would love to fuck her. And then like a complete and utter imbecile tells her he wants to be her friend. He suddenly felt blessed his bride was picked for him instead of attempting to woo anyone. He used to have some game.

Eris only stopped debating whether he should set himself on fire and be done with the misery he was feeling when Iris spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know if I can be your friend.” she said.

Eris paused. “Why not?”

“I’m still fantasizing about choking you.”

“Mm. That’s a shame,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting at the absurd response. “I’m still fantasizing about kissing you.”

A moment of silence passed, and Eris turned his head slightly to find that Iris had sat up, her eyes peeking over the pillow barricade and she quietly said, “A question for a question.”

Eris sat up on his elbows again. “A question for a question.”

She paused again, seemingly weighing her question then bit her lip. “Will you...would you ever force me? If I didn’t want to?”

“Never.” he immediately responded. “I have no intention of being the monster people seem to think I am.”

He felt her relief sweep through the room and a bitterness curled in his stomach as he dropped back on his back and Iris hid back on her side. Why hadn’t he thought of a moment like this? Where his wife would think he was a piece of shit big enough to torture her in that way?

“What’s your question then?” her voice carried over to him and Eris realized then, that he wanted whatever this was between them to work out.

There was no need for it to be awful. They could make it work…right?

With his gaze locked on the ceiling, he swallowed and then quietly said, “Do you think you would eventually be willing to be my friend?”

And the difference in their questions struck him then. She wanted to feel safe. He wanted a companion. He glared at the ceiling as embarrassment washed over him again, threatening to drown him at how stupidly vulnerable he let himself be with her.

A stranger. Yet, not.

He waited for her to say something and when a few moments passed and she hadn’t, he sighed softly. Eris had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard her mumble a response.

“Maybe.”

He blinked sleepily and lifted himself on his elbows to peer at her over the pillow barricade between them one last time. “Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

Eris lay back and his eyes fell on the ceiling again. The atmosphere was still a little tense, but it had dampened down, not quite as suffocating.

Maybe was good. They’d only know each other for a few hours. Eris found maybe to be very, very reasonable.

“Goodnight, Iris.” he whispered then, hoping the night carried his wishes in the words.

A heartbeat later, the night breeze carried back Iris’s.

“Goodnight, Eris.”

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris x oc #eris vanserra fanfic #acotar fanfiction #gfics #smtb chapters #if you'd like to be tagged or removed pls let me know!#tumblr's tagging system sucks and it doesn't allow me to tag some people :(

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ghost-proofbaby · 6 months

Note

Spooky Requests: Watching Charlie Brown Halloween with either Eddie or Steve...I'm not picky. <3

.... porque no los dos? jk jk but seriously i had fun with this even if we lost the plot a little bit. thank you jo ily very dearly, and apologize for how out of hand this little request got. also, fun fact. i've never seen charlie brown halloween. who's gonna change that this halloween season hmmmm

warnings: none! just lowkey idiots in love, some pining, the usual

pairing: steddie x fem!reader

wc: 9.2k+

“I can’t believe neither of you idiots have ever seen this classic! You both love Halloween.”

Steve Harrington on a mission was a sight to behold. You were impressed, honestly. He had only found out about the crime, as he was calling it, of you and Eddie having never seen It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! that morning. And here he was, not even a full twenty-four hours later, having pulled together an impromptu movie night for the three of you to rectify the atrocities admitted.

“I told you, Stevie,” Eddie lounges on the couch, already comfortable in his sweatpants and Halloween socks you had bought for him last year. One of the seasonal blankets Steve magically had hiding away in his apartment was already draped across his lap as he picked at the small pumpkins decorating the fabric, “I’m more of a horror movie Halloween buff. Gore, ghosts, slashers – the good stuff.”

“Gross,” Steve absent-mindedly calls in response from the kitchen. You’re perched on the arm of the opposite end of the couch from Eddie, scowling as his feet peek out from under the blanket and he wiggles his sock-clad toes at you.

Gross, you mouth in repetition at Eddie, not mocking Steve but instead insulting Eddie’s feet that he happily stretches across what should be yours and Steve’s seats.

He raises his eyebrows as you both hear a cabinet in the kitchen opening loudly. Eddie’s eyes don’t leave your face as he yells over his shoulder, “Everything okay in there, Charlie Brown?”

“Har, har,” Steve sarcastically replies, but only after a slightly concerning, long pause.

“I’m gonna go help him,” you whisper, finally standing and swatting at Eddie’s legs, “And when I get back, I expect my seat to be free of your smelly, sweaty feet.”

“Oh, come on,” Eddie leans his head back in laughter as you walk past him, rolling your eyes, “You know you love the stink, bab-”

He doesn’t get to finish the pet name as you reach out for his sorry excuse of a bun, giving a sharp tug that has him gasping. His hands are quick to wrap around the back of your knees, nearly tripping you. A small dispute begins, all slapping hands with no intention of inflicting real pain as Eddie lifts up properly, grinning brilliantly at the antics.

Steve enters the kitchen doorway at the sound of the rustling to find you with both of Eddie’s wrists clutched between your hands, you leaning down to glare at him as he continues to look up with his boyish smirk. He can smirk all he wants, but it doesn’t distract from the glowing flush of his cheeks, all the awe in his eyes. It’s almost as fruitless to hide as your own secret enjoyment of his pest-like behavior.

“Am I… interrupting something?” Steve awkwardly asks, shifting on his feet.

You open your mouth to say no, absolutely not, but Eddie beats you to the punchline, “Actually, yes. Someone here thinks it’s funny to pull my hair before buying me dinner.”

Sudden shyness, smothering embarrassment, floods your system as you quickly drop Eddie’s wrists. He revels in your reaction, dimples flashing as he reaches out once more to grab onto your thighs.

You’re too quick for him this time. Stepping outside of his reach effortlessly as you try to catch your breath. Damn him.

Eddie Munson is a flirtatious tease. It’s in his blood; he is a pest, he is a flirt, and he is one of two absolute banes of your existence.

The other just happens to still stand shocked in the kitchen doorway.

“Do you need any help with snacks?” you grumble as you quickly shove past Steve and into the kitchen. Your gaze stays down, unable to look at either of the boys in the eyes for a moment as you head straight to where Steve has placed a bowl of popcorn.

Some sort of silent exchange surely must be occurring behind you between them, but you don’t bother with glancing over your shoulder to confirm it.

“Hey,” Steve finally follows behind you, grabbing the bowl of candy to your right, “Is everything alright?”

Yeah, totally alright. Just feel like my heart could burst out of my chest every time the two of you tease me like that. Just hate the way I wish the insinuations held more weight. Just really, really wish I wasn’t so hopelessly infatuated with my two best friends. It’s fine. Just peachy. Totally alright.

You forgo the internal dialogue spilling out into the air between the two of you, only shrugging and saying, “Fine. Why?”

“Just making sure,” Steve plays it off as nonchalant.

Maybe you should have spied on their private interaction. You’d assumed it was just joking glances or further teasing words exchanged, but maybe it had been something more. Something serious – concern for you, possibly.

You really hope you hadn’t hurt Eddie’s feelings with the way you’d escaped the mortifying scene so quickly. It’d put a slight damper on what was clearly just meant to be a nice, comforting night filled to the brim with Halloween nostalgia.

Steve clears his throat as you pick up the popcorn bowl and face him, face contemplative over words not quite forming on his open lips.

“Are you alright?” you question now, brows furrowing and hills of wrinkles forming between them.

He stares directly at them for a second, more careful consideration, before whatever war raging in his mind comes to a standstill, “Can I ask you a question?”

Oh, no. That’s never a good question to hear from one of your guy friends. Even with pining, assumingly unrequited crushes aside.

“Sure,” you try to keep your voice steady, even adding a casual shrug to mask any signs of anxiety creeping in, “Ask away.”

Is he about to ask if I have a crush on Eddie? Would I even admit I have a crush on Eddie? If I admitted to my crush on Eddie, would it be awkward to follow it up with an ‘Oh, but, hey! I also have a crush on you! No biggie!’?

There was a good reason you’d never approached either boy about your feelings. Confusion. All the feelings were a confusing, tangled, head-ache inducing pain to navigate. Easier to swallow them down and lock them tightly in your chest than to rain down devastation on a perfectly good friendship trio.

“Is there…” Steve pauses, licking his lips nervously, moving the bowl of candy from one hand to the other as if trying to procrastinate finishing his question, “Is there something going on between you and Eddie?”

Oh.

Well, it’s certainly not the type of embarrassment you expected.

“What?” you laugh skittishly, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like… are you two dating? Or, I don’t know – is there anything going on there?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Why are you avoiding?”

You both hit a stand-still, staring at each other with wide eyes. Your pupils are blown with fear of the exposure of your best kept secret, or at least half of it, but Steve’s seem to shine with something more. Like he knows something you don’t.

“I’m not avoiding,” you choke out, “Nothing’s happening between us. He’s always a flirt, you know this. Just last week, he was making jokes with you about how you could spit in his m-”

“Don’t remind me,” Steve cuts you off, cringing slightly, “That was gross. He was way too committed to that bit when he started trying to spit in my mouth.”

“You egged him on.”

“He ruined my appetite for a perfectly good strawberry milkshake.”

“You literally egged him on,” you laugh a little, glad for the subject change and that the spotlight was now on Steve, “Kept telling him he wouldn’t. You should know better than that by now.”

Steve only shrugs and begins to walk out of the kitchen, you following right behind.

He can avoid the topic all he wants, just as you tried to pathetically avoid the topic of there being anything between you and Eddie, but it doesn’t erase the fact that you’d never seen Steve Harrington blush before that night.

Maybe he was asking if you two were a thing out of jealousy. And oh, how ironic it would be if you had to sit back and watch Steve grow the balls to do something about his feelings for Eddie before you could. The two men that drove you insane, ending up dating.

The Universe is cruel, but you hope it isn’t that cruel.

“Took you two long enough,” Eddie dramatically sighs when you two re-enter the living room. He’s still splayed out across the couch, feet digging into the cushions as if for emphasis of him ignoring your request, “Thought I was going to starve to death out here.”

“You weren’t going to starve to death,” Steve scoffs. When he slaps Eddie’s shins, the older boy finally moves his legs, sitting up as the blanket falls partially off his lap.

“We can’t know that for sure.”

“I’m very sure you would have survived another five minutes.”

“Five whole minutes?” Eddie gasps, not letting the theatrics drop for one moment, “Jesus Christ, what the Hell were you two doing in there? Sucking each other’s faces off?”

Son of a fucking bitch.

You silently send up a plea to whatever greater power may be controlling the Universe, quietly insisting that both sides of Eddie Munson’s pillow are deathly hot tonight.

Normally, you could handle all the teases, all the innuendos. Hell, you’d even been able to handle a sudden influx of the behavior these last few weeks from both of them. So you can’t quite pinpoint why they all seem to get to you tonight. Maybe it’s the way they seem specifically targeted at only you, none of Eddie’s suggestive comments being spared for Steve tonight. Or maybe, it’s the way both boys seem to lock their gazes on you after each one, waiting patiently as they anticipate your reaction. Gauging the way your eyes widen, drinking in the way your breath quickens. Like predators with prey, it just feels like they’re toying with you.

You’re kind of grateful that you’re not watching one of Eddie’s normal slasher films tonight. At least Charlie Brown isn’t going to jumpscare you into one of them embarrassingly.

You haven’t responded yet, and Steve is clearly not about to entertain Eddie’s comment nor deny it shyly as he usually would. So you take a big breath, put on your brave face, and smile.

“Oh, yeah,” you curse the shake in your syllables, “I can officially confirm that Stevie is the best kisser in all of Hawkins. Congratulations.”

You end in flourish, matching Eddie’s performance with your own as you set the popcorn down on the coffee table and bow. When you look up, Steve is flush as Eddie smirks.

Again, not what you had expected. An eye roll from Steve, maybe some shock from Eddie at you keeping him on his toes.

The only person being kept on their toes tonight, it seems, is you.

Steve settles into the opposite end of the couch from Eddie before you can even fathom choosing a seat.

Damn it. Middle seat it is, then. Definitely not having an internal panic attack about this. Not at all freaking out.

The movie is already in the TV as you plop down between the boys, careful to not make direct contact with either. At this point, so much as a brush from their knee against yours would be equivalent to a terrible electric shock. You’re not in the mood for further teasing about being so skittish, or Eddie berating you for being scared of a movie like Charlie Brown.

You should have known better.

Eddie notices immediately, and instead of leaving it alone, he comments on it. Bastard.

“Why so far away?” he starts off teasing, throwing half of the pumpkin blanket he was using over one of your thighs. Immediately, his body heat becomes your own, and you scorn the way you want to lean into it. Press into his side, succumb to whatever shitty drugstore cologne he was wearing and the way his last cigarette is probably lingering to that stupid band t-shirt, “You’re not scared that my smelly, sweaty feet are gonna bite, are you?”

“They could,” you blandly reply.

Eddie and Steve share a look behind your head.

Your arms cross protectively over your chest, and you know it looks as if you’re pouting, but you swear you aren’t. You swim in the denial, telling yourself that the sourness in your mood is only a result of being on edge. It was just a bad week for your childish crushes – the quicker you get the stick out of your ass, the quicker you can return to normal, and the quicker you can ignore all your desperate temptations. All those silly butterflies and disgusting chills you get when Steve brushes up against you to grab something that’s just out of your reach, when Eddie throws an arm around your shoulders and his curls tickle your cheeks.

You’ll get over it. It’s fine. A perfectly cozy autumn night is no time to throw a pity party.

When you glance at Eddie as Steve is clicking his way through the movie’s menu, you catch him already looking at you. There’s no trace of his usual joking or relaxed boyish features. He looks genuinely scared, genuinely concerned that he’s upset you.

“Are you mad at me?” he whispers, straight to the point once he notices you looking back at him.

Immediately, you’re shaking your head.

You’re not mad at him. You’re mad about him. You’re mad that his hair looks so soft, and you always wish for more sudden vulnerable moments where he lets his guard down and your fingers detangle the curls. You’re mad that his lips look very kissable, even in the dead of winter when they crack terribly and he arrogantly turns down all your offers of lip balm. You’re mad that every time he laughs hard enough that he lets his head fall to your shoulder, a warmth impossible to shake settles in your bones.

And you’re mad for all the same reasons when it comes to Steve.

It is ridiculous. Stupid, reckless, foolish. Best friends don’t envision taking each other on cute fall dates. Best friends don’t look for every possible excuse to touch one another, to flirt with one another, to just be near one another.

You’ve fucked yourself over, really. Should’ve had half the mind to not fall for not only one, but both of your guy best friends. Idiot.

“I’m not mad,” you hoarsely whisper back as Steve frowns when his remote doesn’t work on the TV, standing to go manually hit play, “I’m sorry, Eds. I’ve just- it’s been a shitty week with work and stuff. I’ve been kind of a dick tonight. I’m sorry.”

Eddie visibly relaxes, moving to lay his arm on the couch behind your head. You do have half the mind to not freeze up at the proximity just as the side of his thigh presses against yours.

Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Do not fuck this up.

That giddy child within you that wants to write their initials with yours in a wobbly, pathetic goddamn heart is jumping with joy. Idiot.

“Don’t apologize for that, sweetheart,” oh, fuck him for that endearment, dripping with adoration. You hate it solely for not being the type of adornment you wish you could afford, “Tonight’s a perfect distraction. Just us, a fuck ton of candy, and Charlie Brown with his big ass pumpkin.”

“It’s called the great pumpkin,” Steve corrects as he returns to the couch.

“To-may-toe, to-maw-toe,” Eddie brushes off, waving the hand not resting behind your head currently.

As Steve sits down, you can’t tell if it’s accidental or deliberate that he chooses to sit several inches closer to you. Suddenly, both thighs are now pressed up against each boy at either side of you.

“Whatever,” he huffs, motioning across you for the blanket from Eddie, “Just share the blanket and shut up.”

And despite being in your own personal Hell, the first hour or so of the cartoon goes fairly smoothly. Normal joking, plenty of Eddie’s manners going out the window as he makes comments through mouthfuls of popcorn, subtle passings of Steve unwrapping your favorite candies before handing them over to you without a word. It’s nice. For a moment, it’s the perfect fall night.

“That’s you,” Steve reaches a hand across you to jab Eddie in the shoulder before pointing out Pig-Pen in his ghost costume on the screen, scribbled dirt around him bouncing about.

“Excuse me?” Eddie scoffs, leaning forward to properly glare at Steve. But there’s no hate there, only gentle joking and enjoyment flaming away behind dark brown irises, “I’ll have you know I showered for this, Harrington. Can you say the same?”

You laugh quietly, stuck in the middle of the arguing boys as your eyes stay glued to the screen.

“You showered? What a miracle.”

“Bite me, Charlie Brown.”

You finally pull your eyes from the screen of the kids excitedly sharing what treats they received, trying to not smile at the iconic delivery of a deflated I got a rock as you peer up at Steve’s pouting lips.

He’s pretty, even this close. Faded freckles that will rest for the dreary months until the sun beckons them back to the surface come summer, full brows that still manage to frame his honeyed eyes even as he furrows them deeply.

“I can’t hear the movie over you idiots,” you whisper as he locks gazes with you, “Shut up and pass me another Reese’s cup, will you?”

You don’t have to ask twice. Steve leans down without protest and does as you ask, going so far as to once more tear away the orange wrapper before he places the peanut butter cup delicately in your waiting palm.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, honey.”

The words are more sincere than you’re prepared for. You know he means it as he looks at you with hazel eyes full of a desire, a longing, you’re not used to. Lashes fluttering, corners of his mouth pressing downward but not quite in discontent. He looks impossibly handsome without even trying. Effortlessly, he’s taking your breath away. You have to remind your chest to rise and fall, to remind yourself that this is nothing more than a movie night with friends.

Be normal. Act normal. This is normal.

Except you feel anything but normal when Eddie’s arm falls from the back of the couch and around your shoulders. A clearly intentional move attempted to be brushed off as an accidental action. His skin strikes against yours like a match against grain, and the slow embers they’d been stoking for weeks now erupt from you in a field of goosebumps following the chill running down your spine.

You don’t react.

Not when his thumb trails over the top of your shoulder in soft, sweeping motions. Not when Steve’s head eventually replaces Eddie’s hand on your shoulders as he succumbs to the week finally catching up to him, and you become entranced in the scent of his minty body wash clashing with the soft coconut of his shampoo. Not when your own heavy head smushes uncomfortably against Eddie’s biceps and your own snores join Steve’s in a symphony barely breaking over the volume of the sweet cartoon on the screen.

Eddie doesn’t wake either of you that night. Even when he really should. The three of you don’t finish the final thirty minutes of the movie, but it’s still the perfect fall night for all of you.

Maybe you’ll untangle your feelings for the two boys come winter.

—

“There’s no way you can lift that.”

“Fuck off, Harrington. Your pumpkin from last year was double this one in size.”

“And I was still able to pick it up. If you can’t carry it, we’re not getting it. Simple as that.”

Normally, you’d butt into Eddie and Steve’s arguments. Probably inject a comment about how it didn’t matter because there’s not a single pumpkin here that would ever be bigger than either of their heads — something sure to set them both off until you commanded their silence. Normally, you wouldn’t be so quiet.

But ever since the night of the Great Pumpkin, your mind has been restless enough to kill off any words before they can fall off your tongue.

A cycle of overthinking and overanalyzing has been haunting you for a week now. The memory of Eddie’s fingertips pressing into the ditches of your knees, and that particularly heartstopping look from Steve as he’d so sweetly referred to you as honey. You told yourself you’d get over it, and the morning after had even been close to normal. You’d all woken up with aches in your neck from that uncomfortable sleeping situation on Steve’s couch, and Steve had even offered to pay for you all to just get bagels from your favorite restaurant a block away rather than destroy his kitchen in a mission to make breakfast. Eddie had ordered everyone’s coffee just the way they liked it, you’d repeatedly pointed out cream cheese on both boys’ upper lips repeatedly, and it had all been easy.

And then you went home. And once the first nervous replay of the night began, it turned into an endless cycle.

“The pumpkin has to be big for the design I’m doing, Steve,” Eddie continues to argue as he stands over a larger pumpkin on display. The boys had thought it’d be a good idea to visit the pumpkin patch today.

They’d been right, of course. The weather was beautiful, crisp and dipping low enough to warrant cheesy fall attire. It’s the type of weather where you'd been able to break out a flannel and beanie, all without overheating. Families were walking through the small farm’s selection of pumpkins, children’s calls of glee could be heard from across the bales of hay, a distinct smell of cider off in the distance. The scene was set for a perfect autumn day.

Except for your raging mind. That, unfortunately, had been killing the mood.

Steve looks at you desperately, a few steps away from the two of them. Just enough space that if their petty argument became too embarrassing, you could easily convince someone you didn’t know them, “Please talk some sense into him.”

You hesitate before you finally give in and walk closer to Eddie. Your eyes focus on the oversized pumpkin rather than him. It’s too dangerous to fully drink him in; between his red flannel peaking out beneath his leather jacket and your beanie he had stolen to tuck over his own curls after complaining at the cooler weather, he looked too inviting. Too soft. Rosy cheeks and rosy lips called to you like a siren prepared to drown you in all the want that had begun to brew within your body since the movie night.

“It’s a… big pumpkin,” you state in obvious observation. Eddie tries to work you with his doe eyes instantly, and you hate the way you can feel it working, “Steve’s right. If you can’t carry it to the car, how are we getting it into the house?”

“Steve’s strong.”

At the mention of his name, Steve crosses his arms. And damn him, because the way his own brown corduroy jacket is straining over his biceps also has you dizzy with yearning, “I am not carrying that fucking thing into the house.”

“Why not? You’re a big, strong man-“ Eddie starts, almost tauntingly with a wicked grin, making you finally step in between them.

“The bigger the pumpkin, the bigger the mess,” you point out. Steve nods in solidarity, but Eddie is obviously unconvinced, “Eds, I’m not cleaning up all those pumpkin guts this year.”

A look of betrayal crosses his face, mingling with long lashes and faded dimples, “I swear I’ll clean up after myself. I wouldn’t do you like that, baby.”

There it is. You’d gone this entire day so far without any of Eddie’s usual flirtatious approaches. It had almost seemed like the two men had finally reigned themselves in.

Clearly, they hadn’t. They were just waiting for the right time.

“Pack up the puppy dog eyes, Munson. You’re a terrible liar,” you mumble out, pulling your own jacket tighter around your body as you move closer to Steve. He hadn’t started any onslaughts of flirting. Yet.

The moment you get near him, he wordlessly drops his faux irritation at Eddie and opens his arms, beckoning you to step into his space. You almost hesitate, but it was normal. The three of you were always touchy, and it was never a problem before.

Maybe if it had been, you wouldn’t be in your current predicament.

It’s clear he had taken a shower before the outing as your nose smashes against his t-shirt, the clear scent of his minty body wash and coconut shampoo replacing the air of fall around you. His arms are quick to wrap around your shoulders, only encouraging your body to press further into him. And you let him, because he’s warm, and despite all your teasing of Eddie’s complaints about the weather, you agreed that the chill was particularly unforgiving today. Especially in the shady patches void of sunlight.

The only real sunlight seemed to emit from the boy wrapped around you. He’s all tousled shades of golden and leftover fatigue from the early waking to make it out to the pumpkin patch at opening. As he hums into your embrace, you choose to just appreciate it, revel in it.

Eddie is pouting behind you, but out of sight – out of mind.

“I’m getting this pumpkin,” he says decidedly, “Fuck both of you.”

“Would you say it’s your great pumpkin?” you murmur against Steve, letting your eyes close, wondering if it’s possible to fall asleep standing up in this position.

Only Steve laughs at your joke, and you can’t tell if it’s because only he found it funny or if it’s because only he heard your reference to the unfinished movie from the night before.

It doesn’t matter, because the entire moment is interrupted when an older woman who had been bearing witness to the entire interaction suddenly speaks up.

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest couple?”

All the warmth leaves your body, each muscle slowly stiffening as Steve tenses. You almost convince yourself that she wasn’t speaking to you, that there was another couple standing somewhere nearby that were currently gathered in embrace for her to coo at.

And then Steve answers her, “Us? Oh, we, uh-”

“Aren’t they?” Eddie interrupts, mischief dripping off each word as you slowly lift your head and open your eyes back to the grey day, “So in love it makes me sick to my stomach.”

Steve coughs up a few more syllables of protest, but Eddie has already done the damage. When you turn to face the lady, she’s wearing a brilliant smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as she looks at you and Steve in glee.

“Oh, I still remember that feeling,” she continues, a cloud of pure nostalgia glazing over her eyes for a moment before she looks to Eddie, “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll find it one day too, just like your friends.”

Eddie snorts. Easily mistaken as possible annoyance, inherent jealousy. Only you and Steve know better.

“We…” you begin, trailing off when you look up at Steve and see him brimming with hope. You expected discomfort, you expected irritation at whatever game Eddie was playing – you didn’t expect optimism at the prospect of you two being perceived as a couple. The ending to your sentence dies on your tongue, and you choose a polite response instead, “Thank you.”

Was there any real harm in letting some little old lady believe you two were in love? Probably not, especially considering the way she lights up and your faux admission satisfies her. An exchange of have a good day sends her on her way, and she never catches the way Eddie hunches over in laughter once she’s out of earshot. She doesn’t catch Steve Harrington blushing red or the way his arm swings out to smack Eddie in his chest, and she never notices the way you stand in the same place Steve left you, cold and confused and… disappointed?

No harm, no foul.

It was all a joke, anyways.

And that’s all it will ever be, even as you linger back and watch your boys continue their banter, all the while a hollow ache questioning just why the prospect of all that puppy love and youthful oblivion is so funny between the boys. Why the idea of one of them being yours, is so damn funny.

You kind of felt ridiculous. Even more ridiculous than Linus had been, waiting in that pumpkin patch for some great pumpkin to appear. You wish it were just silly children tales and blind hope at play. Your great pumpkin was a little more twisted, a little more complicated; an impossible choice, a gnawing conundrum you will never unravel.

If you could make a choice, it might be easier.

But why would ever need to make a choice when all it will ever be to the two boys who have come to plague your every waking thought as nothing more than a joke?

Eddie gets his great pumpkin, and Steve ends up carrying it into the house that day. You’re the only one to return home with more than just empty arms.

—

Halloween parties are the perfect recipe for disaster.

Spiked cider, struggling fog machines, loud replays of Monster Mash, and a small crowd of half-assed costumes. Every other year, your friends had thrown this type of ‘spooky’ themed get-together, and you would enjoy every single moment of it. Quite literally, every single moment – from the terrible and impromptu karaoke sessions to the ridiculous apple-bobbing contests that Argyle always excelled at. It was always a night full of light, a night full of laughter. Something to leave your chest feeling fizzy as it would always end surrounded by all your favorite people, particularly Eddie and Steve.

This year, it feels like more of a burden.

You’re feeling like something hollow, something monstrous – no costume required – as you stew in quiet misery for the first few hours. The movie night and the pumpkin patch visit have left you feeling something new. Something that had grown claws and growled to be recognized in all its painful yearning and pitiful pining.

Steve questioning you about having something more with Eddie had driven a knife into your chest, and the prospect of being seen as a couple with Steve had torn it free of your ribs. Not quite bleeding, but not quite healing, you’d been haunted by a series of what-ifs that stole away hours of sleep and any time of relaxation you’d normally seek as all the leaves changed colors.

What if you wanted something more with Eddie?

What if you wished that you and Steve were a couple?

What if you could never make a choice?

The allusion of a choice to be made still dangled on the forefront of your buzzing cortex. It still felt just as ridiculous as the first time you’d realized you’d been experiencing more than platonic feelings for your best friends; like a child outside a candy store, without money and without hope to go home with any of the sweets that made your mouth water. Everyone could see you staring in through the windows, you swore they could, and they were probably silently mocking the way you drooled. It was stupid.

It was putting a real damper on your entire mood.

“What’s up with you?” Robin questions finally as she walks up to where you sit on the balcony of her shared apartment with Nancy. At some point, you’d decided the frigid chill of the night would be a better place to soak in all your misery.

“What do you mean?” you blandly ask, not even looking up from the railing your eyes had focused on.

Robin joins you on the garden couch, shifting the flimsy seating a bit from the force of her throwing herself down dramatically, “I mean, why are you out here all alone? And why have you been so quiet tonight? Did something happen?”

Straight to the point. One of the reasons you liked Robin – her lack of a filter was something you’d always seen as more of a gift rather than a curse.

“Nothing happened,” you shrug, head feeling light despite the storm that had been brewing for nearly the entire month now. Your fingertip trails around the rim of the now-warm bottle of cider you’d been nursing after chugging two previously. You wanted to be drunk. You wanted to down enough alcohol that you wouldn’t even remember Steve and Eddie’s names by the end of the night.

“You’re doing that thing they do in the movies,” Robin notes, finally making you look at her with raised eyebrows, “You know, where they say nothing’s wrong but it’s all… sad,” she waves her hands erratically through her ramble of an explanation, one hand clutching her own bottle of beer. You can see the condensation through the lowlights and simply know her adult equivalent of apple juice is far cooler than yours. Probably tastes better, too, “Like, something is obviously wrong, but you’re gonna make me work for the answer.”

You laugh under your breath. The silence is filled with static noises of night; you can still hear the chatter of your friend group and whatever Halloween-themed song they were playing over the speakers through the shut sliding door, an orchestra of insects hum their complaints through the dark apartment complex, a soft whistle of the fall breeze rustles all the trees lurking in the shadows.

She’s right. It’s dramatic, it’s stupid, it’s ridiculous – and she’s right.

You sigh out and feed into your theatrics as you fall back against the cushion of the couch, finally matching her slouch, “Have you ever watched the Charlie Brown Halloween special?”

“What?” she scoffs, no trace of rudeness in her remark but rather confusion, “You mean the one where all the kids are trick-or-treating, and that one weirdo is waiting for some magical pumpkin king with that other girl? What does that have to do with-”

“I feel like that weirdo,” you interrupt, staring straight ahead, “Like Linus. Just standing in a pumpkin patch and waiting for some great pumpkin that isn’t going to show. And I know I look silly, but a part of me really believes, y’know? I just can’t stop waiting for something to happen that might never-” you cut yourself off with a sharp breath. That wound in your chest, the one only you can see, throbs. Not bleeding, not healing. Just yearning as you correct yourself, “For something that won’t ever happen. Ever. There’s no great pumpkin, and I just end up looking like a fool.”

Robin’s silence is unnerving. No amount of sounds of the night can blanket over the discomfort begging to bubble over.

“I think I’m just drunk,” you try to save yourself, “I’m sorry, it’s dumb-”

“What’s your great pumpkin?” she asks carefully, “What are you waiting for?”

The alcohol must really be having an affect, because your loose lips are finally moving to their own accord.

“Eddie and Steve.”

She scrunches her face, “What about those dinguses?”

“They’re my great pumpkin.”

You’re clearly nonsensical as Robin shifts to lean forward, entering your blank line of sight, “Are you…. Like, you want them to get together? Sorry, I’m not really following here, Linus.”

The nickname almost makes you smile. Almost.

“I mean, not really,” you try to forage your brain for the right words to explain, but there’s no poetic way to put what’s been on your mind, “I like them. Both of them. Have for a while now, but it’s… it doesn’t really matter, anyways.”

You’re drunk enough to not hear the tapping on the sliding door. And if Robin does, she makes no move to react to it, still focused on you.

“You like both of those idiots? Oh, thank god,” she almost sounds relieved, and your head snaps to her direction.

You still don’t see the figure standing inside the doorway, moving to open the door.

“Thank God?” you laugh humorlessly, “I am not thanking God. It’s miserable, Robs. I like them both so fucking much, and I just- what am I supposed to do with that? They’re my best friends, and I should know better. Besides, liking two guys at once can never work out. What am I supposed to do? Shove them into a room with me and go, ‘oh, hey, I like both of you. And I can’t choose, so I’m just going to make you live with that. Also, Eddie, lay off the flirting, because it sort of makes my heart stop and my chest all tight. And Steve, please don’t call me honey, because it also makes me feel all terribly weird. But also neither of you ever stop either of those things, because I might keel over and die if I’m not receiving all your affections, platonic or otherwise.’”

Your admittance all comes out in one breath, saying exactly what you wish you could say to the two boys. You don’t care how foolish you sound to Robin right now – the cider has taken care of all your shame.

It’s just nice to say it outloud.

Very nice, in fact, until movement behind Robin catches your eye, and you realize you had not been alone during your ramble.

Eddie.

“Oh, fuck me,” the normally internal dialogue comes out as a sigh, eyes wide in stricken fear as Robin turns to face your own waking Hell.

“Welp,” Robin’s very helpful reaction tries to break the tension to no avail, “I… I think I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll- Yeah. I’m gonna go.”

She jumps up before you have the chance to reach out and stop her. Your hand aches to just wrap around her forearm, to beg her to not leave you alone to burn with all your shame and embarrassment, but she’s gone before you’ve even moved a muscle.

Her seat vacated, and in her absence, Eddie takes her place.

Kill me. Kill me now, please. Have mercy on me-

“So…” Eddie begins, fiddling with his hands as he looks down at his lap. In the shadows, you don’t see the ghost of a grin on his lips, “You like us?”

“If you’re about to make fun of me,” you state flatly, bristling in your seat, all liquid confidence beginning to evaporate, “I’d rather you save me the embarrassment, and just kill me. Make it quick and painless, please.”

All your pity partying was easier to swallow than this. You liked your brooding solitude far more than the acceptance that Eddie had just heard your very mortifying speech, liked the assumption that you might have been upset with the boys more than them knowing the truth.

Eddie throws his hands up in surrender, “Not making fun of you. I swear.”

“Well, if you’re about to reject me, can you also make that quick and painless?”

“Who said I was rejecting you?”

“I know it’s fucking weird and I just ruined everythin- wait, did you just say you’re not rejecting me?”

You were so convinced that the outcome would always be bloody, always painful and bitter, that you hadn’t prepared for this. You had a hundred and one speeches prepared about how you agreed with the boys, how you were all better off friends and how you would reassure them that in a few months’ time, you’d be able to get over the silly crushes.

There were no practiced words on the tip of your tongue for the instance in which they found out and reacted well.

Eddie continues to grin under the lowlight of the porch light, looking at you sideways, not a single glimpse of him running from this evident.

“I’m not rejecting you,” he repeats himself, shuffling a bit closer on the couch, “And I’m definitely not making fun of you.”

You’re a bit speechless still. He’s close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, his knee briefly bumping the side of yours in an attempt to get you to look at him. Like a moth to the flame, you dare to turn your head, to fully take in the proximity.

“You did hear everything I said, right?” you can imagine the way the scent of cider mingles with your breath as you whisper softly to him. You almost consider grabbing what’s left of your third, or fourth possibly, bottle and just chugging as you had done with your previous drinks.

But being drunk would be a penniless attempt. When Eddie is looking at you like this, there is no amount of alcohol that could combat the sobering effect he has on you. The chill in the air hadn’t done it, the lingering smell of a bonfire somewhere in the distance was futile – but those big, brown eyes shocked you right out of your inebriated state.

Endless. They were endless in entertainment, in bewitching, in calling out to the wound in your chest. The gash might even be bleeding finally at this point as your heart hammers and your bones threaten to break.

“Every. Single. Word,” his lips spread thinner as he punctuates each word, corners of his mouth upturning to impossible heights, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stop all my flirting? Because, by all means, I can. It would be a shame, though, considering I was right.”

You hardly notice the way you’re leaning in closer to him, “Right about what?”

When he meets you halfway, own body succumbing to the gravitational pull you possessed and had no idea of, you finally note the further lack of distance.

“Right about you liking us,” his breath hits your chin as he sighs, “Right about the fact that you don’t squirm every time I joke about kissing you because it makes you uncomfortable. At least, not in the way Steve always assumed,” he pauses, body slowly angling towards yours. The only symptom of his nerves you’re able to catch is the hard swallow, as if he’s keeping all his fears at bay before he continues, “I need to ask you something, and this time, it is not a joke.”

Maybe the creators of Charlie Brown should have let Linus drink. Then, he would have seen his great pumpkin, just as you were now.

“Ask away,” you expect it to come out as a stutter, to falter and trip over your request.

But you don’t. Even in your fuzzy state of mind, you’ve never been more sure of what Eddie is about to ask of you.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your reply is half an eager nod, half a pathetic mumble of please. The moment Eddie has your permission, his lips find yours, sour from cider and sweet from candy.

It’s better than your overactive imagination had been able to conjure the last few weeks – last few months. Once you two find some sort of broken stride, an exchange of lips and teeth and tongue that feels right, you almost scold yourself for having sat in fear for so long. You should be mulling over the way this wouldn’t end well, the way this was too good to be true, but you can’t. When your fingertips tangle up the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, and his own hand rests gently around your throat as he pulls you closer, you don’t second guess anything.

You’re kissing Eddie. He knows you like him, knows you like Steve as well, and he’s kissing you.

Right around the time you’ve nearly found yourself in Eddie’s lap, and all the air in your lungs has been stolen, the sliding door to the balcony opens again. You don’t want to break apart from Eddie – you think you’d rather take another metaphorical knife to the chest than do so – but he’s quick to separate without giving you a choice.

If you weren’t so terrified of coming across as something too needy, a greedy animal full of whines of protest, your lips would have chased after him.

Instead, your eyes flutter back open to find Steve Harrington standing behind Eddie, eyes wide as they can go as he takes in the scene he’s walked into.

In an instant, you jump backwards, putting distance between yourself and Eddie as a symphony of curses ring through your mind like alarms, “Steve.”

Eddie has the nerve to merely smile.

“Nice of you to join us, big boy,” he calls casually over his shoulder as Steve walks further out onto the balcony. Your heart is still beating out of your chest, realizing what Steve had just witnessed.

You fucked up.

“Steve, I didn’t-” you start to try to defend yourself, but it feels a bit useless as he looks right at Eddie, almost as if awestruck.

“Robin came and got me, what the fuck happened?”

You wish you could wipe the floor with Eddie’s smugness, momentarily forgetting all the emotions he had just pulled from you with a simple kiss as he smirks up at Steve, “I was right.”

You try to anticipate Steve’s reply. A play by play of a fight that might break out, a rejection still waiting to happen, a punchline that had yet to land.

His lack of reply is almost worse.

He glances down at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity as all the hurried energy leaves him in slow spurts. His shoulders drop in relaxation, near relief, and a soft smile plays at his lips. Once curled fists now unfurl, subtly swiping away sweaty palms on the sides of his denim-covered jeans. Every action, every smoothing over in his anxiety, sends you sinking deeper into the cushions.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you mutter, shrinking under his gaze.

“Because he was right,” Steve takes a slow step forward, still underplaying his smile, “Because that shithead was right, and you like us.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that they had discussed this. It was never a possibility in your mind that they’d also been running over scenarios, considering their own what-ifs all the while you’d been losing your mind.

But it makes sense.

Why else would they have continued to flirt with you this way? Why else would there have been such a steady progression in how far they were willing to take all the jokes, all the bits? Months of memories flash before you, and the final click into place occurs when Steve drops into what little space was left on the other side of you. It forces you to scooch over, press even closer to Eddie, leaving you to be completely sandwiched between the two men tightly.

There’s still a little bit of bravery left somewhere in you. Just a spark, but enough to have you looking at Steve with determination.

“Hey, Steve?”

“What’s up, honey?”

Eddie’s squeak of laughter doesn’t go unnoticed. But you refuse to react and lose this momentum.

“Can you kiss me?”

If you were reading this entire scenario correctly, drunk or not, the answer would be yes.

No choices necessary. You could have your cake, and eat it too.

Steve looks past you, over your shoulder and at Eddie, “You’re drunk, honey-”

“It doesn’t matter,” you insist, “I promise, I want this. Sober or not. Just…” you falter finally, taking a deep breath. Steve’s cologne, Eddie’s last cigarette lingering on his jacket, and the crisp autumn air fill your lungs. “One kiss. Nothing more. I swear.”

“You really gonna make her beg, Harrington?”

“Fuck off,” Steve’s softness when it comes you isn’t extended to Eddie, sending a warning glance the other boy’s way, “The only reason you’re not on my shit list is because you’re also plastered.”

“I’m not plastered,” you and Eddie say in sync.

Just like that, the high-rise tension has broken. Eddie rests his chin on your shoulder, clearly no longer afraid of the closeness that had become a normal before the ‘unfortunate’ overhearing of your admission. His arms wrap around your waist, pout on his lips as his temple leans against your hair.

“You’re lucky you’re both cute, you know that?” Steve muses, shaking his head softly.

You’re both cute. The sweet amusement nearly stitches up the once gaping hole in your chest immediately.

“You gonna kiss her or not?” Eddie’s voice is loud in your ear despite his low volume, chin moving against the apex of your shoulder, “Because if not, my lips are growing awfully cold-”

Steve’s hand lifts and thumps Eddie’s forehead immediately, loud enough for you to hear the impact as he leans off of you dramatically, letting out a groan of complaint.

You almost turn, a bit too eager to witness theatrics you’d normally roll your eyes at, when Steve’s palms cradle your cheeks with unexpected softness.

“Hey, look at me, yeah?” he barters. And his wish is your command, your attention wholly his as you look at him worriedly. Although the sentiment of him hesitating to kiss you while drunk was sincerely endearing, you don’t know if you could handle any form of rejection right now.

You bite your lip, and Steve’s thumb is quick to come and tug gently below your mouth, forcing your bottom lip to be freed from between your teeth.

“One kiss,” he says sternly, brows furrowing, “I’ll kiss you, mostly because I’m a selfish bastard who’s terrified you won’t ask again when sober, but we are talking about this in the morning,” he leans back a little, and looks at Eddie pointedly, “All of us.”

“Stop stalling and kiss h-”

Eddie never gets to finish his sentence.

Steve kisses differently than Eddie, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s more sober or if that’s just how it is. But it’s something you’d like to learn; you’d like to memorize the patterns of both their lips, the differences in the touch of their hands as they pull you in deeper, the comparison of Steve’s stable and sure hands versus Eddie’s shaking and coloused ones.

Steve is a generous kisser, a follower at your beck and call. He lets you set the pace and lead the way. You control when the two of you pull back for air, when his teeth graze at your bottom lip, when he lets out soft and pretty sighs into the kiss. He’s all sweetness, none of the sour you’d tasted on Eddie’s tongue to be found.

Just like honey.

How fitting.

When Steve finally takes an inch of control and releases you, formally ending the kiss and leaving you just as breathless as Eddie had, you swear you’re seeing stars. You’re dizzy with want. You wish you hadn’t chugged those beers, you nearly consider getting down on your knees and begging both men for more. They’ve given you what you’d craved, and more, but you’re a selfish animal. Prepared to dig in your claws and call for more than you bargained for.

“One kiss,” he reminds you when you lean in for a second. He’s smiling like he might let you get away with it if you really pushed for it, though.

You play innocent instead, leaning back until your back nearly bumps into Eddie’s chest.

“One kiss,” you nod, fighting back a smile as you look at the man before you.

A great pumpkin indeed.

“You know, I don’t have a one kiss policy,” Eddie sighs from behind you, and you can feel the way he throws himself back on the couch.

When Steve rolls his eyes, you truly believe he’s about to only offer a snarky reply rather than what he does instead.

He places a warm palm on the center of your back, encouraging you to lean forward with care before he’s reaching out for the collar of Eddie’s shirt and dragging behind you for a quick kiss.

You nearly break your neck just to witness the tail end of it all.

“There, happy?”

Eddie is just as shocked at you, flushing scarlet all the way down his neck, sinking beneath the collar of his t-shirt.

“I- Uh-” he stutters out, at a loss for words, “Y-Yeah. I- Yeah, very happy.”

“Good,” Steve seems satisfied as he guides you back into place, practically manhandling you to lay back in your seat so that your shoulders are comfortably pressed to both his and Eddie’s side, “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go back in there, enjoy the party with our friends, and you two drunk idiots are going to stay out of trouble. And then come tomorrow morning, we’re going to get breakfast, deal with your absolute monsters of hangovers, and… talk about this,” he pauses and vaguely gestures at the three of you with a small smile, “Capiche?”

“Aye, aye, capt’n,” Eddie murmurs as you whisper back an echo of “capiche”.

“Yeah?” Steve questions again, catching your eye with a smug smile.

“Yeah,” you nod, speaking up a bit louder as you decide to take one last daring risk, “I do have one last request, though.”

“Hit me, honey.”

“You know, she allegedly hates when you call her hon-”

“Shut up,” Steve cuts Eddie off, focus on you and only you, “Ignore him. What’s your request?”

You look between the two boys, realization settling heavily as you recognize that this is real. You had yearned, you had pined, you had wanted until every nerve-ending in your body had ached, and now? Now you have them. Technicalities aside, you had gotten all that you had craved.

And to think you’d assumed you’d be waiting until winter to unravel all that now sat in the palm of your hands.

“Can we have a movie night?” you ask, a bit meeker than intended, “Maybe… I dunno… finish that Charlie Brown movie?”

Eddie’s laughter from behind you is music to your ears, and the smile that spreads across Steve’s cheeks should be hung up in a museum for your perusing whenever you please.

“Yeah, of course we can,” Steve assures you, a hand coming down on your knee, “Right, Eds?”

“I suppose,” Eddie sighs. His arm is on your shoulders, just like that first night, and this time you let the match ignite.

Honestly, the flames had engulfed you long ago. You just wish it hadn’t taken you so long to succumb to their warmth reflected in the brown eyes of the boys on either side of you.

The three of you do rejoin the party. Finding a bit of enjoyment now that you aren’t drowning in your pity party. Steve is right in his prediction of the hangovers – it might be one of the worst you’ve ever had the privilege of experiencing – but after a very sincere talk with your boys (including an only slightly grumpy Eddie, it’s worth it.

And when the three of you do finish your movie night, this time shamelessly cuddling up and sneaking kisses between sweet scenes, you can’t help but giggle at Linus finally seeing his Great Pumpkin.

At least you know yours is the real deal, especially when Eddie is the one to fall asleep this time in the final ten minutes, his head in your lap and Steve’s hand tangled in his curls.

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deobienthusiast · 3 months

Text

what to expect when you’re expecting | lee sangyeon

• pairing: idol!sangyeon x nonidol!female reader

• word count: 1.9k words

• rating: PG (i’m reluctant to put G but there are a few sexual innuendos)

• genre: fluff, super cute, i’m inclined to say suggestive but there’s like one measly moment

• warnings: sickly cute, like super sugary sweet that it might make your teeth rot, there’s like one suggestive comment made by sangyeon, babies, and pregnancies

• tagging: @deoboyznet and @mars101 for the banner and beta reading! she worked really hard for me on this one and i love her dearly for it! and @heemingyu for also betareading it!!!! ILY BOTH SM🩷🩷🩷🩷

• notes: this concept with sangyeon hit me like a fucking truck. i literally was just sitting at work, thought of the not-so-original title and immediately went “ahh this is perfect for sangyeon”

“sweet girl, you are more than we ever expected and better than we ever imagined”

The word perfect isn’t a word you would use very often. Especially when it comes to your life. Nothing about your life has been simple. You had a distorted vision of what perfect might look like due to your parents' crumbling marriage. Fighting and screaming all the time wasn’t exactly the image of a picturesque marriage.

There was a period in your life that you used to want to forget. The fucked up image of love that your parents engraved into you made you run through guys like they were going out of style. Each one was worse than the last. You swore you’d give up on love after your last boyfriend. That was until you met Sangyeon.

Oh sweet Sangyeon. A dashing, lovable man that managed to steal your heart, and the hearts of many others. Sangyeon was an idol, a star amongst the stars. He was the main vocalist and leader of a very popular boy group, and no matter how much his members teased him, they wouldn’t lie when they said they depended on him a lot. Sangyeon was a natural born leader, great with anyone and in any situation.

The fact that you, in your must insecure and fucked up state, were able to catch Sangyeon’s eye was a feat in itself. When he approached you, you couldn’t believe it. What would an idol want with you? But he was so kind, so soft spoken and sweet. He made you feel so special, all the time.

Your relationship was secretive at first, with his idol image and him being a leader he had no choice. It was hard at first, your insecurities getting the best of you, but he never faltered. He never gave up on you. He fought tooth and nail to keep you and your relationship together. When the news came out, fans were supportive. Most of them at least. The good outweighed the bad, and the two of you couldn’t be happier.

People became even more supportive when Sangyeon proposed. The world seemed to be warming up to the idea that Sangyeon was beginning his life outside of being an idol. Which is why the news of your pregnancy wasn’t a surprise to anyone.

Sangyeon took the time to ease people into it, wanting people to understand that he was still the same old Sangyeon, except he’d be coming home to a wife and soon, a daughter.

Preparations for your little girl were in full swing. Gifts being delivered, cute cards, diapers (because you can never have enough), clothes, balloons. Your little apartment that seemed to be perfect for you and your little family was beginning to seem a little crowded. Sangyeon didn't seem to mind, though. Too enamored with the idea of attending lamaze classes, and what you would consider his personal favorite, decorating the nursery.

In one of his very rare off days, Sangyeon had been spending the entire time buried in ripped open boxes, instructions, and pink and lavender colored paint cans that Kevin had specifically asked not to touch until he could get to your home. Hobbling from your place in the kitchen, one hand on your stomach and another on your lower back, you made your way towards the open door that smelt more new than the rest of the house. The pristine white furniture scattered all about, some even covered in plastic so as to not get droplets of paint on it in the future.

A smile makes its way to your face when you notice the three in one crib Jacob had bought for you guys was perfectly intact, Sangyeon standing over it proudly. As if hearing you at the door, he whipped his head around, a smug smirk on his face.

“I told you I’d get it done.”

Your husband was met with a roll of your eyes as he chuckled. “My hero.”

He swiped at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt as he walked towards you. First laying a soft peck on your forehead, then bringing both hands to your growing stomach, leaning down to place an equally soft kiss on the top of it. Almost as if feeling him place the kiss, the baby kicked. The small bump hits Sangyeon on the tip of his nose as he scrunches up his face.

“Easy. I know I stink.” Sangyeon whispers to your stomach.

You giggle, bringing a hand to run through his slightly damp, dark brown locks as he stands up.

“Well, what do you think?” Sangyeon asks, gesturing to the bed.

“I think she’s going to need more than just a bed, Sangyeon.” You counter.

Sangyeon drops his hand, beginning to pout. “Well I know that! I’m not finished yet.”

This time you let out a chuckle. “Babe, it took you three days to put the bed together. At this rate, the nursery won’t be done when she arrives.”

Sangyeon looks around the room, taking in the still full cans of paint, the partial design that Kevin had started of white lilies that surrounded your daughter’s name, and the rest of furniture that still needed to be put together.

He smiled as he turned back to you. “Being parents is chaotic, right? You gotta expect the unexpected.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “I think the saying is what to expect when you’re expecting.”

“Well we definitely didn’t expect this.”

A breathy laugh made its way past your lips as you made your way through the chaos, laying both hands on the baby crib. Sangyeon followed closely behind you, a firm grip on your hips to make sure you don’t fall. His senses were immensely heightened when it came to you and it seemed they were heightened even more if that was even possible now that you were pregnant. You hadn’t so much as lifted a finger for anything, Sangyeon being at your beck and call.

“What do you need me to do? Anything?” He questions.

You turn to look at him. “The blanket your mother knit, it’s in our room. Can you bring it to me?”

Sangyeon smiled, turning to make his way out of the room, but not before tripping over a ripped box that still holds pieces of the pale pink rocking chair that needs to be put together. His face turns beat red as he speed walks towards your room. You giggle at your husband’s cuteness as you turn back towards the crib.

Sangyeon put the purple sheets on the mattress, and had even placed the pillows on the bed. A teddy bear that Changmin had gifted you sat in the middle of the bed. You laugh to yourself as you remember the pleas Sangyeon made to the younger boy, promising not to get anything scary for your baby girl.

“I found it!” You hear Sangyeon yell, his fleeting pounding across the hardwood floor as he rounds the corner into the room.

The small, pink and white checkered blanket swings back and forth in his hands from the movement as he hands it to you. The soft material glides through your fingers as you lay it over the mattress.

Sangyeon lays a peck on your shoulder as he whispers. “Perfect.”

You smile as you let him wrap his hands around you. He brings them both to the bottom of your enlarged stomach, putting pressure as he lifts up your bump. You groan slightly as your husband chuckles from behind you. You feel him start to release his grip on the bottom of your stomach as you whine.

“Don’t stop.” You say softly, placing your hands on top of his.

Sangyeon snickers. “I think that’s what got us in this position in the first place.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his comment, a rush of heat blooming up your neck. You turn in his arms, slowly so he can gently let your stomach down from his hold. The size of your bump leaves a substantial amount of space between you and Sangyeon as you have to just lay your hands on your shoulders. Sangyeon looks you over as he smiles slightly.

“Stop stressing.”

You frown. “I’m not. I swear. I just,”

“Want everything to be done before she gets here. I know. Everything will be done, I promise. Some of the guys are supposed to be coming over later on today to help. Kevin wants to finish painting the room, Jacob and Younghoon are going to help me put together the rest of the furniture, and Eric and Sunwoo will…” Sangyeon trails off, making you laugh.

“Just keep them away from the paint. I have a sneaking suspicion more will end up on you all and the furniture than the walls.”

Sangyeon laughs as he leans forward to peck your nose. Your eyes close at the soft contact, feeling a bump at your stomach again, letting you know that your daughter has once again kicked.

“She seems to know when we’re being affectionate.” You tell Sangyeon.

He grins before you both head a cough.

“Don’t let me interrupt, but you should really start locking the front door.”

You both pull apart as Sangyeon speaks.

“Sunwoo, please stop just entering my house without knocking.”

You laugh to yourself as Sunwoo makes his way towards the two of you.

“I did knock. You guys were too enthralled with each other to bother hearing me.” Sunwoo says.

He bends down to whisper to your growing belly. “Hi baby! It’s your favorite uncle!”

You scoff playfully as he turns his head, laying his ear on your stomach, nodding as if the baby is talking to him. You look at Sangyeon who's watching his younger member in amusement.

“Saying anything interesting uncle Sunwoo?” You ask him jokingly.

Sunwoo lifts his head giving you a smirk. “Just that she likes me more than Jacob.”

You snort as you back away from the boy. You didn’t bother commenting back knowing that even he knew that statement wasn't true. Jacob was already the favorite uncle with how much your baby girl kicked whenever he was around. Everyone knew that, but you kept quiet so Sunwoo could have his moment. You were able to hear the chime of your keypad this time around as you heard more voices enter.

Sangyeon grabbed your hand, leading you into the family room where everyone was gathering. They all smiled and said hi, some giving your stomach light pats in a gesture to say hello to your unborn daughter. Just as you had expected, the moment Jacob patted your stomach the baby kicked making both you and Jacob laugh. Sangyeon gave out the assignments for everyone as they took off towards the nursery.

“Look at the fearless leader, leading the way to build a nursery.” You said softly.

Sangyeon grinned. “Who would’ve thought, huh?”

You heard commotion in the nursery as you sighed. “Oh boy.”

Sangyeon helped you over to the couch, turning on your favorite show as he pecked your forehead. “No more stress. Everything gets done before she gets here. I promise.”

You nod. “Just as long as they don’t break anything.”

Your husband laughed, kneeling down in front of you. “I’ll rough ‘em up if they do.”

A look was thrown Sangyeon’s way as he laughed at you, the both of you knowing he doesn’t have a single violent bone in his body when it comes to his members.

“Very funny.” You say softly.

Sangyeon grins. “I guess this is what we can expect while we’re expecting.”

You grinned. “Oh baby girl, you are in for a real treat when you arrive!”