#so I’m just sitting here shaking and loosing it a little bit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedoghousern · 3 months

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settle down

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: lando has always been a good friend of your brother, so you know he's off limits, but sometimes you just can't help yourself. guess you'll never learn. inspired by "settle down" by the 1975.

contains: 18+, cursing, alcohol/drinking/smoking, suggestive content (make outs!).

4.4k words

a/n: ok let me clarify: loosely inspired. this isn't reallyyyyy the 'storyline' of the 1975's settle down, but that's okay!

You're wearing your hair down and it slightly covers your face as you go to answer the knocking coming from your front door. When you open it, you're surprised to find your brother's best friend standing there.

"Oh, you're early, no?" You ask, puzzled, while pushing your hair behind your ears. You knew your brother was throwing a party tonight, but that was in a little bit, and your brother wasn't even home at the moment.

"He told me to come early to help set up. Whatever that means," he answers.

"Not sure if he knows that because he's not here," you tell him. Your brother is an idiot. "Well come in I guess." You shrug and move to the side, motioning Lando in.

You didn't really mind. Of course, you and Lando were friendly, considering he was so close with your brother. When you were younger you even hung out with the two of them a lot. As you got older, their racing and your school stuff just caused the friendship between you and Lando to be more casual. And it was fine. Sometimes schedules would work out and Lando, your brother, and you would cross paths. But for the most part, you just followed his life online like everyone else.

Though you had to be honest, back then, Lando didn't seem to have much of an effect on you, but now as he stands in front of you, you feel a lump forming in your throat. When did he get so good-looking?

You don't know what has come over you as the two of you enter the house. You feel like falling all over the place. You two make your way to the living room and sit on the couch. It's silent for a moment before Lando speaks up.

"Where even is he?"

"Pretty sure he's stocking up on drinks for tonight. I don't know why he wouldn't have waited to bring you, or just like, tell you to come later." You shake your head.

Lando laughs and shakes his head too and the silence returns.

Now you ask a question. “Hasn't been just us in a while, huh?”

“It's been a minute.” Lando chuckles along with you, the silence now slightly less awkward.

You lean back on the sofa. “So how are you? I haven’t seen you in forever,” you ask with a smile.

“I’m good, I’m good. Honestly, nothing too interesting going on.” He shifts on the couch.

The two of you sit in silence again, until Lando speaks up.

“You're staying for the party, right?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d stick around this time.”

Lando tilts his head to the side. “Is that so?”

Your stomach does a flip. You try to shake away the thoughts entering your mind. He’s your brother's best friend, you've known him for years, you need to relax.

“Mhm,” you hum in response.

Lando looks down for a moment and then over at you.

“When’s your brother getting back?”

“Not sure.” You open your phone and check his location. As you look away, Lando eyes wander to your neck, then your torso and legs, then your lips, all in the span of a few seconds as you sit on the couch next to him. He had spent countless hours with your family, sat and talked with you many many times. What a familiar face yours was to him. But today he couldn't help but notice something had changed between you. Was it all the time you had spent a part? Or maybe the fact that he's finally seeing you in person and not through a screen. Lando would never admit it, but lately he tended to linger on your social media posts longer than he should.

Lando meets your eyes again when you look up from your phone.

“Yeah, I have no idea, looks like he's still shopping. Do you want me to ask?”

Lando shrugs, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s alright, I was just asking.” He leans back again, stretching his arms over his head as he does.

You can’t help but look at the exposed skin of his stomach when his t-shirt rises. Your eyes glance down, but you look away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible.

But Lando does notice your brief glance down and back up again. If you could see his expression, you’d notice it’s a mixture of amusement, and something else. He doesn’t say anything though. Instead, he leans forward, speaking slightly softer.

“You know, I've missed seeing you.”

You can feel heat rising up the back of your neck. Still, you feel a smile tugging at the sides of your mouth and now the two of you are making eye contact. “Oh really?”

Lando can feel your breath on him. He lets out a small breath himself, letting out a shaky laugh. He looks you deeply in your eyes and brings his arm to the back of the sofa behind you.

Time seems to move extremely slowly. The atmosphere is charged, your eyes locked on to one another. Lando holds your gaze for a moment, waiting to see if you have anything more to say.

You lean towards him. He feels you press yourself against him. The two of you are so close together, you can feel Lando’s body heat rising, his muscles tightening.

He leans forward, brushing his lips against yours very softly.

You kiss him back. As you do so, Lando gently moves his hands to your waist and pulls you closer to him and you wrap your arms around his neck. The kiss continues and grows much more passionate. You feel Lando’s hands moving up and down your back, the two of you fully enveloped in one another.

Your position shifts, and now you’re sitting on his lap. Still connected in your kiss.

Lando’s mouth moves along your jaw, “Fuck Lando,” you breathe out as he kisses your jaw and neck. Your hands are buried in his hair.

Your words bring a small chuckle from him, and he smiles into your neck. He's finding himself so fixated on the girl with the soft sounds. Her hair all over the place.

You're also fixated on this boy. Lando Norris. The guy you've known your whole life. The guy who's best friends with your brother. The guy who was off limits. He isn’t supposed to be the guy to make you feel like this, and yet, here you are, on top of him.

Lando’s hands slide under your shirt as he continues to kiss you.

The feeling of Lando running his hands all over you and his suffocating kisses are almost enough to make you forget where you are. Who you are. Almost. The illusion breaks when you hear a sound from outside.

A car door shutting.

The two of you freeze. As one, you both turn your heads. The sound is followed by footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

It’s your brother.

“Fuck,” you laugh, panicking. You quickly slide off of Lando.

“Goddamnit.” Lando shakes his head with a smile and sits back.

You’re both a bit of a mess. You two are breathing heavily and you're flushed. Your hair disheveled. You’ve just barely finished fixing yourself when you heard your brother’s voice from the front door.

“I’m back.”

“Hey!” You clear your throat. “Lando’s here."

“Thought so, I saw his car in the driveway.” Your brother steps into the living room, a bag in his arm.

“What’s up man,” Lando gets up. “You got more stuff in the car?” He asks your brother.

“Yeah a few more boxes,” he responds.

“Alright let me help.” They walk back outside together and you lean back on the couch, looking up and covering your face with your hands.

You sit there for a moment, feeling a bit shaken. You feel a little dirty almost? But you can’t stop thinking about the way Lando kissed you.

You let your hands fall to your sides before the two of them walk back in. Your brother sits on the couch and Lando sits in a chair across from you. Just a few feet away. It’s like nothing happened. You know he can't be found with you.

Luckily, your brother is completely oblivious.

“People should start getting here in like an hour,” he comments.

You get up from the couch. “Alright, I’m gonna get ready then. See you guys later.”

You rush upstairs and shut the door. Your heart is pounding, and you’re still in disbelief. As you lie down on your bed, your mind races with everything that just happened.

You cannot let your brother find out.

He would probably kill you, or kill Lando.

No, he’d kill both of you.

You spend more time than you should getting ready, but you’re hoping to calm down a little. Eventually, you start to hear music from downstairs, and the bass shakes your floor. You also begin hearing the sound of voices and laughter as your brother greets people at the door.

You take a deep breath as you look at yourself one last time in the mirror. Now or never. Just avoid him.

You walk down the stairs and are immediately met with 'hellos' and 'heys' from different directions. You greet as you weave your way through the house, and finally, you get to the kitchen. You beeline to the fridge, getting a drink.

“Hello helloooo,” you hear from behind. When you turn around you're met with your best friend.

"Hey!" Her arrival is a breath of fresh air after feeling so out of sorts with Lando. She gives you a big smile and hugs you tightly.

“Thank god you’re here,” you say as you pull away from the hug. “Get a drink and then we need to talk. It’s important.”

Your best friend gives you a curious look, raising her eyebrow at you in surprise. She glances around for a moment and then back at you.

“What is it? Is something going on?” People are in and out of the kitchen around you two. The house is getting busier and busier. You look around quickly and then whisper in your friend’s ear, “It’s about Lando.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she whispers, a look of excitement in her eye and concern as well.

“Yeah, I know. Now get a drink and let’s get outside or something,” you laugh.

“Are you being serious? Did you fuck Lando?” She leans in closer as if she doesn’t believe what she’s hearing is real.

“Shush! Oh my god come on.” You pass her a drink and grab her hand, pulling her behind you.

Though, as you try to exit the kitchen people are also walking in, causing a bit of a standoff. And of course. It’s Lando and your brother.

“Hey what’s up!” your brother greets your best friend.

Out of you four, your brother is the only one who is out of the loop on the current... situation.

Lando directs a nod toward your friend but soon looks back at you. You're staring back.

“Hi nice to see you both I was just going out for a smoke talk to you later goodbye," your best friend quickly rambles to the two boys, and then you both push past out of the kitchen.

You can feel Lando's eyes on the back of your head as you go out the door.

You sit on the porch and she lights a cigarette, taking a drag, and then turning to you, “I can’t believe it. You’re not fucking with me right?” She says laughing.

You laugh and put your head in your hands. “I’m being so serious," you mutter but then look up again. "But we didn't sleep together. It was just a... heavy makeout...? That got interrupted."

She starts laughing and you laugh with her, the two of you in disbelief.

“Dude you can’t just hook up with Lando! Oh my god, your brother is going to freak out.” She says, still laughing.

“I know. He cannot find out.” You smile and take a sip of your drink.

Your best friend looks at you over her cigarette, “…well, I mean, was it good?”

"It wasn’t bad…” you trail off with a grin. Your best friend smirks as you speak, raising her eyebrow and laughing out loud.

“It wasn’t bad.” She repeats, and you can hear the amusement in her voice.

“You’re a mess.” She says, and the two of you burst out laughing as if it’s not a big deal at all. She's right, you are a mess. You're avoiding him and yet wondering if he's talking 'bout you too.

The two of you keep talking and drinking on the porch until your cans are empty. “Alright,” you say slapping your knees and standing up. “We should be social, and I need another drink.”

“You would be right," your best friend says immediately and gets to her feet. You’re relieved to have her with you, maybe she’ll help you keep your mind off of Lando and what just happened. And getting another drink wouldn’t hurt either.

“C’mon.” Your best friend pulls you away from the porch and the two of you reenter the party.

You're back in the house and the night resumes. You have fun for a bit, talking to your other friends, drinking, and doing some shots. You know Lando is here somewhere, but you don’t know where and you don’t really care. Don't want to care at least.

At one point, your best friend pulls you aside again, “I’m gonna have another smoke, you coming?” she asks.

“Yeah sure, I could use some air.” You two go outside again. It's gotten later and you're feeling the cold air prickle against your skin.

She lights her cigarette as someone else from the party comes out, and they light up too. The three of you talk for a while, but you're starting to feel too cold, and you're the only one not smoking.

“Hey, I’m going back in,” you tell her. She nods, “Cool, I’ll see you inside later, I’m gonna chill out here for a bit.”

You head back into the party, and once again it’s crowded: people are moving between rooms, there’s music blasting, and you can smell the liquor in the air.

You're pushing through bodies as you walk through the living room. You pass someone and the two of your arms collide hard. You go to mumble a 'sorry', but you stop yourself when you see who it is.

Lando. You both pause.

You feel the heat coming off of his body and your chilled skin from the night air touches against him. You're cold and he burns. You shiver, unsure if it's from the temperature outside or the man standing in front of you.

“Cold?” he asks leaning close so you can hear him over the music.

You laugh, “I was just outside. Won’t take long to warm back up in here though.”

He smiles slightly at you and nods, but the look in his eyes reveals he knows there’s more to it than that.

You can still feel the heat coming off of him, and you don’t know how to avoid it. You’re trying to block out the memories of what happened in this living room earlier, but it’s pretty obvious the tension between the two of you is still there.

“Wanna go get another drink?” he asks.

There’s a part of you that knows you should say no, but there’s also a certain adrenaline rush that courses through you in his presence. He doesn’t seem to care about the circumstances, and he’s actually making this interesting.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Let’s get a drink then,” he says, grabbing your shoulders and turning you towards the kitchen. You walk ahead as he follows with his hands on your shoulders. The sensation of him holding you makes your heart race, you feel like his touch could burn a hole right through you.

You get to the kitchen and Lando lets go of you, making his way to the fridge, grabbing you both drinks. You sit on the counter as Lando stands in front of you with his own drink.

You take some time to just look at him, your eyes locked on his, and he looks right back at you. There’s this air of tension between the two of you and despite neither of you outright acknowledging it; you both know.

“Having fun?” you ask him, taking a sip of your drink.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he teases you, taking one step forward so that he’s standing closer than he was before.

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes, I am,” you say looking down at him from your position on the counter.

“Good.”

It’s such a simple word, but the way he speaks it is almost provocative. Everything about him right now is like that.

You both sip from your drinks, and he’s so close to you that you feel like you could lean forward and kiss him without moving. The idea has you feeling a bit dizzy.

You don’t say anything and neither does he; everything between the two of you is so intense, so silent. You're losing your words. You two are speaking in bodies.

You break the eye contact and don’t say anything as you put your drink down and get off of the counter. You and Lando are nearly pressed together for a moment when you get down, but you move to the side and start leaving the kitchen.

Confusion is all over Lando’s face, he turns as you walk by.

“Where are you going?” He laughs as he starts to follow.

You start moving through the party to the stairs, and you don’t look behind you to see if he’s following. You know he is. As you get to the staircase you start climbing up and Lando's nearly on your heels with every step you take.

When you reach the second floor and it’s dark and quiet. You open the door to your room and walk inside, Lando is right behind you as you do so. You enter the room and hear Lando closing the door and clicking the lock. The party is downstairs, and up here it’s a different world.

You and Lando stand there for a moment, and the silence is deafening. You both know why the other came to this room and in the low light, he moves closer to you.

You can feel his hand wrap around your waist slightly and he pulls you towards him. Lando smiles softly as you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and your body is pressed against his.

“You know…” he whispers to you, “I really would like to finish what we started earlier…”

“Or is the idea of your brother being downstairs too much?” he whispers softly, as his hands move to the small of your back, holding you gently and close to his body.

The air seems to be hot as you press yourself against Lando. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, the heat coming off of his body as he leaned his own against you.

“I love the guy but I really wish he wasn’t here. Or that anyone was here,” his voice almost a whisper, “but I guess that means we have to be really quiet…”.

You smile and shake your head, “I guess…” your eyes are flickering from his eyes to his lips. You shouldn’t want this, but you really do want this.

Lando smiles back, his hand trailing your back slowly. It’s a tease and you know it. His one hand starts to move up your back, making its way towards the back of your neck, and he brings his free one to the side of your face. Your arms are still wrapped around him. He traces his fingers along your cheek slowly, and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

Your bodies are close together and you can feel their heat against each other. The air is thick, and you know what needs to happen next.

You both lean towards each other and meet in the middle, finally tasting each other again. The kiss is filled with passion and you can feel his lips on yours, his tongue meeting your own.

Lando deepens the kiss and you're pushed back into the door. Pinned between his body and the wall. He doesn’t break the kiss and his hands slide down your body, moving down to your hips.

Lando starts kissing down your jaw and neck again. There is an ease about the way he moves now, he can take his time now that you're behind closed doors.

He makes his way down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind him. The feeling is electric as his hands rest on your hips still, his touch is soft and tender as he moves his lips back up and kisses you again on the lips.

The feeling of your hands in Lando's hair makes him grin against you. Your kiss becomes more passionate as you pull his hair, and you can feel touch of his hands beneath your shirt. Fingers against your skin. Your mind is hazy from the kiss and the alcohol but you let the feeling wash over you.

He tugs at the hem of your shirt and pulls it off of you.

You break the kiss finally and breathe in the heat of the room. With your shirt removed his hands trail the bare skin of your back and sides, and his lips trace your neck.

The heat is so intense it makes your body feel like it has a mind of its own.

You lightly push him off, towards the edge of the bed, with a laugh. He laughs with you and goes along with your push, sitting down. You see that he has a smirk on his face, and as you look him over he leans back on his hands and continues to watch you.

The air is tense with a build-up of tension, waiting for the next move.

You stand in front of him and grab both of his arms, lightly pulling them up above his head. Lando chuckles softly at the move, and with your help, he lifts his arms fully to keep them there.

You pull the shirt off of Lando slowly, revealing his bare chest. You can see his muscles twitch slightly from your touch.

When the shirt is tossed, Lando’s hands rest on your hips again, bringing you closer and pulling you down on top of him.

He's watching you with half-lidded eyes, a soft smile on his face, and his hands slide up your sides and your back. The feeling is intoxicating, you feel your breath coming quicker and quicker as Lando’s hands make their way up your body.

You kiss him again, hands grasping his shoulders. Your bodies are pressed together and the heat of the moment is too much to resist. You can feel Lando’s hands all over you, caressing your shoulders and neck, and playing with your hair.

He groans as you grind against him, and he lets one of his hands move to the small of your back to pull you closer to him. Lando wants more of you.

Then

Suddenly someone is trying the door handle and there's knocking. You and Lando quickly break away from the kiss. For crying out loud.

“For fucksa-“ Lando starts but you slap your hand against his mouth.

“Settle down,” you mouth at him.

“Hey, are you in there?” You recognize your best friend's voice from the other side of the door. You can feel Lando smiling into your hand. He shakes his head and leans into your shoulder.

You clear your throat, “Yeah I’m in here!” you answer. You hear Lando chuckle softly but he keeps quiet as he is pressed against your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” your friend asks from the other side of the door, “I’ve been looking downstairs for yo-”

“Yeah I’m alright” You interrupt.

“Okay, well….” you hear your friend hesitate for a moment, “...wait. Shut the fuck up.” You hear her familiar laugh.

“Do you have Lando in there with you?” she asks, her voice sounding louder, she must be closer to the door now.

This question makes Lando laugh out loud. You hit his chest. He was the one who was saying we had to be 'so quiet' and now he just confirmed his presence.

You can hear your best friend laugh as well on the other side of the door, and you know she won’t stop until she hears you answer the question.

“Yes, I do," you admit, “Now go away!”

Your best friend laughs even harder outside. “Alright alright. Bye. Bye, Lando. I’ll try to keep your brother away too, you're welcome!” She finishes and you can hear her leave.

“She knows?” he laughs against your ear, “I thought this whole thing was secret…”

“Shut up. Be happy it was her at the door and not you know who,” you joke.

Lando grabs your hips and lifts you off of him. In a few swift motions he has you lying on the bed and he’s on top of you. He leans down and kisses up from your collarbone to just under your ear.

“If we get interrupted one more time…,” he trails off into your ear and then pulls away looking at you. His face right above yours.

You shake your head smiling, you run your hands through his hair looking up at him.

Lando smiles back at you. You can see the desire in his eyes.

You can still feel his breath all over you from his kissing just moments earlier. Your skin is sensitive from the heat, from him, and you feel a wave of goosebumps run up your body just from his touch.

Lando leans forward and the two of you kiss again.

The bass from downstairs vibrates through the floor and drowns out the music, the voices, the party.

Your head is spinning. This is so wrong. But also it feels sort of right. Whatever was happening between the two of you was going to make your life chaotic. But even so, the same thought keeps running through your head…

Now I just can’t stop myself around you.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #Spotify

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cupcakeinat0r · 30 days

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DadBod!Miguel as a brat tamer

You’d been dying to go out dancing for a while now, but your man, Miguel, wasn’t too keen on going. Besides being swamped with work, he also wasn’t really into the scene due to his introverted nature. Not that you were an extrovert nor was it your scene either, however, you did love to dance. You didn’t need to drink or smoke or take those “poppers” or network with a bunch of fakes or whatever. You just loved to dance, and Miguel loves nothing more than to see you happy, so he agreed.

Miguel took you to a really nice spot in the city that played some salsa and reggaeton bangers. For Miguel, the smile plastered on your face made all the loud music and over-bearing people worth dealing with.

“Alright, mama, the floor is all yours. I’ll be waiting here.” He uses his lips to motion at a small table off to the side. Attached to his arm, you look up at him with a frown.

“You sure you don’t wanna dance with meeeee?” You bat your eyes, using one last effort to get him on the dance floor, but alas, he wouldn’t budge. To ease the disappointment, he plants a tender kiss on your forehead and tells you to have fun, and that he gets more joy out of watching you instead.

Making your way into the crowd, one of your favorite songs comes on and you immediately get into it, and like sew, you find a group of those sweet girls that are complete strangers but end up being your best friends by the end of the night because that’s how nights at the club go.

You all dance with each other, singing/screaming the lyrics at each other. Y’all salsa dance with each other, swaying your hips, letting loose. You’re having a blast, but a part of you still wishes that Miguel was dancing with you.

You glance over at the small table where he sits with his legs spread wide open, his black slacks that fit his thick thighs and ass perfectly, and his belt hugging his wide waist, his soft belly the cherry on top. His black top is buttoned up except for the top four, letting his chest hair peek. The long sleeves are fighting for their lives as they try to contain his bulging muscles. He makes the table look so small. His dress shoes are just as shiny as the thin, gold chain around his neck. He takes a swig of his drink as he looks back at you, practically undressing you with his eyes. You smile at him when you decide to give him a show.

Miguel lets his mouth sit slightly open as he watches you dance, your ass jiggling through the thin fabric of your dress. Whilst enjoying your show, he’s simultaneously looking around, making sure no one makes a move on what’s his.

The song comes to an end and a more slow one begins. You start seeing people couple up and you look at Miguel again, your hand motioning for him to come to you.

Miguel shakes his head and raises his hands in refusal, but you’re not giving up.

It’s corny, but you start lassoing a pretend rope, miming as if you’re pulling him onto the dance floor. This wins a chuckle from him, but he doesn’t get up, shaking his head ‘no’. You drop your hands in defeat then make a tear drop motion with your finger on your face and pout. He pouts as well, and mouths ‘I love you’ as a sorry for not wanting to dance.

You chuckle back and roll your eyes, walking toward the table.

“You’re really not gonna slow dance with me? Not even a little bit?” You ask with your hands on your hips.

“Baby, you know I’m not a dancer.” He says, grabbing your hand to rub circles on with his thumb.

“I’m not asking you to be a dancer, I’m asking you to hold me and step side to side with me for like 2 minutes.” You cross your arms, actually getting upset now.

“How about this, I’ll slow dance with you when we get home, alright?” He speaks lovingly, trying to compromise his own insecurities so that you were happy. You let out a short sigh, “You’re acting like an old man…” Miguel wasn’t amused by that comment, but he knows you’re just giving attitude at this point. “ay beba, por favor, no seas asi conmigo…” he tuts, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you closer in between his legs, his thumbs making circles on the fat of your hips.

“No, that’s fine. Be like that then.” You pull away from his hands to turn on your heel, going back to the dance floor.

Everyone is already paired up, and you look around awkwardly trying to figure out what to do. You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see a guy.

He’s absolutely nothing compared to your Miguel but you guess he’ll do for now. You smile at him and begin dancing with him. It’s bachata, so your hips are extremely close to his, his hands tightly grabbing your waist to keep you tightly against his own body.

The glass in Miguel‘s hand could’ve broken had he squeezed any tighter.

You paid no mind to him, but you could feel Miguel’s eyes practically burning a hole into you. Maybe next time, he won’t think twice about dancing with you now.

He thinks about just running in there and ripping the guy to shreds, but he knew better than to embarrass his girl in public like that. He’ll have a talk with you later, privately.

2 hours go by and Miguel sits miserably at his seat after watching you dance with strangers. When you walk back to the table tiredly, you see how pissed Miguel looks.

“Okay… I’m ready to go home!” You’re breathing hard from dancing. Miguel is silent and cold, but still stands to take your hand and walk you out of the club, holding your purse, carrying your shoes, and letting you wear his jacket.

The whole ride home is quiet and his hand that is usually on your thigh isn’t there. You know why. You felt bad, but you never asked much of him, and the one thing you ask for, he wouldn’t give to you.

Still feeling guilty, you try to start conversation in the car, about what to possibly cook for dinner or if y’all needed any groceries, but he just kept facing the road, his brows furrowed and hands clutching onto the steering wheel.

Once you two get home, you reach for your car door handle, but Miguel spits out a curt ‘wait’. Miguel hates when you open doors for yourself. That’s his job, the gentleman. He leaves the car to go over to your side to open the door, but when he does, he stands in your path, and you’re not able to get out, “Care to explain to me what all that was?” His speaks with authority.

“What do you mean?” You play slick. You knew your boyfriend was a giant teddy bear at heart, but sometimes… it was fun pushing his buttons.

“Que tu creer? The stunt you pulled at the club, that’s what I’m talking about.” You’re really trying him, but Miguel is doing his best to control his temper.

“I was just dancing. I asked you if wanted to and you said no, so-“ and in less than a second, Miguel’s pulled you over his shoulder and is carrying you into the house.

You laugh hysterically, kicking your feet, calling out his name and telling him to put you down. Oh, he was mad. You were laughing, but none of this was funny to Miguel.

“o, bueno, entonce baile con un cabron, right?”His voice starts to raise and his blood begins to boil as he walks through the front door and makes way to y’all’s bedroom.

He throws you onto your bed, your body bouncing on the softness of the comforter as you let out some giddy chuckles.

“Jealous?” You smirk, having a little too much fun with this.

“You think this is funny? Cuz’ I don’t.” His lips don’t curl even a bit, which meant you were in for it. You watch him start to unbuckle his pants, biting your lip and rubbing your thighs together.

Just when he was gonna pull down his slacks and briefs, you gasp when he grabs you by the ankles and pulls you open. He basically rips your panties off to find that you’re already starting to drip. “Puta madre, you’re so needy…” he hisses under his breath while he pulls down his briefs, revealing his own dripping, hard mess. He goes to pump himself, inches away from your heat. Watching him fuck his own hand so close to your entrance, you needed some type of relief, so you reach for your clit, but Miguel is quick to catch it and hold it above your head, pinning your other hand shortly after, “Nuh uh, you don’t get to do that. Not tonight, baby.”

His vice on your wrist is tight, making you squirm under him while he thrusts into his one hand, your wrists pinned against the pillow in the other.

His breathing picks up as he edges to his climax, the squelching of his pre-cum in his hand ringing in your ears. He purposefully moans and whimpers into the shell of your ear, putting you through absolute torture. “You don’t like it, do you? Not getting what’s yours? Huh?” He breathlessly speaks between each pound into his fist, your moans becoming more desperate. You can feel yourself clench around nothing, your body weeping for his fat cock.

“Mig, please, pleaseeeee… not fairrrrr,” you beg, wriggling under his grasp, his belly grazing yours every time you arch your back. You had your legs wrapped around his waist and any time you tried lifting your cunt closer to his dick, he’d pull away so you wouldn’t reach, and you’d whine in defeat.

“Not fair? Dancing with some idiot when I told you to wait ‘til we get home isn’t fair.” He growled. With a small whimper, he did one last, slow thrust into his hand before he could combust, edging himself because he wasn’t gonna let you have the pleasure of having his come all over your stomach. Not yet.

He lets go of your hands and positions himself on his knees, moving closer to your leaking cunt. Getting hot, he unbuttons his top and throws it across your shared bedroom, unveiling his now glistening dad bod. You thought you could come just from the sight.

“Fuck, had you not acted up, I’d be devouring this… mierda…” his mouth waters from how wet you were, but he had to stand on business. You flinched when you feel one of his thick fingers drag along your folds, from the bottom to top. When his middle finger meets your pulsing clit, he draws small circles on it, making you whine, “Miguel! Please, I’m sorryyyy, pleasepleasepleaseplease…”

Your eyes are wide shut and your mouth completely open when he starts quickly shaking his forefingers against your clit, your juices flying and falling onto his lap. Miguel takes your moans as indications that you’re close, so just when you’re about to come,

He stops.

You literally cry when he pulls away his hand, a smirk growing on his face, “Mig, I- please, I can’t- I can’t, I’m sorryyy,” you plead for his fat cock, which is practically hovering over your aching heat.

He lowers himself to you, his hands gripping onto the softness of your waist. This allows you to feel his length against your pelvic bone, twitching and wet.

“Sorry for what?” He glares down at you, waiting for your reply.

“Sorry for being mean… just wanted to dance with my man, is all,” you pouted, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing his forehead to yours.

“I won’t do it again, I promise. Please, fuck me?” Your eyes wide with innocence and pleas, you push over Miguel’s heart. You play with his chest hair as he scans your body, thinking if he should accept your apology.

“Coño… such a brat. I’ve spoiled you, you know that?” His voice softens, lining himself up with your hips.

“Because you love me!” You baby talk back to him, batting your lashes at him knowing you’re finally gonna get what you wanted.

“I do. Too much.” Is what he breaths out before rooting a hot, tongued kiss. He groans into your mouth when he starts grinding his cock against your folds, with the addition of your hand pulling on his curly locks on the back of his head.

He pulls away, a string of saliva breaking as he looks down to guide his puffy tip to your entrance. He brings his lips to your ear again and as he slides his dick in, he simultaneously grunts in your ear, “Don’t ever do that again.”

Giving you no time to adjust, he pounds your pussy into tomorrow. The room full with your pornographic moans as well as Miguel’s, the lewd squelching, and the bed creaking. If he went any harder, he’d break it.

Miguel has your legs pushed against your chest now, putting you in a panting mess. He bunched up your dress so that your skirt was up to your midriff and the neckline sat right below your bouncing tits. The way his tip meets your spot every time had you seeing stars and yelping high-pitched gibberish. His happy trail and lower belly slapping against your clit was the cherry on top of everything.

After groaning in your ear, Miguel whispers again, “Am I still an old man, Beba? Huh?” His lip curls as he watches you go dumb from his cock.

You didn’t even bother answering him because all you could think about was how good he was filling you.

He slaps your ass and this snaps some sense into you, somewhat bringing your gaze to his. “Answer me, baby.”

Your voice shakes from the rigor of his thrusts, but you still manage a, “N-no, baby… no…” While you were somewhat right, Miguel was still technically older than you, but that didn’t stop him from fucking you like a horny college boy. The man knew how to fuck and make you come.

“That’s right, mama… fuuck…” Miguel lets a couple more groans out, his ability to be so vocal helping the coil in your stomach unfurl.

“Baby, I’m- I’m gonna c- I’m gonna come…” you barely get it out in a whisper.

Miguel slaps your ass again, “louder.”

“I’m gonna come!” You cry out, your climax about to explode, but Miguel feels you clench.

“ay, diablo… you liked that, didn’t you? Squeezing me s’good…” he slaps your ass one more time before you let out a series of ‘yes’, your hips stuttering against his.

Miguel drags out his own high, slowly pumping in and out of you as he groans into your ear, “Mmmfuckkkk mami…”

He pulls out slowly as to not hurt you, his juices mixed with yours, eventually leaking out. After telling you how good you were and placing a loving kiss to your cheek, He grabbed some tissues on the night stand and cleaned you both up.

“Hey, I really am sorry about earlier. I feel bad for how I acted.” You finally catch your breath, speaking sweetly to Miguel who was changing into a clean set of boxers. He had put you in one of his t-shirts that fits oversized and grabbed a pair of panties for you.

Miguel insists on getting you everything and doing everything for you. When he said he spoiled you, he meant it. He took off your dress and dressed you, he wiped your face with toner, got you some water, everything. You were his queen.

“Mamita, please, I should be sorry for not dancing with you.” He coddled you, pulling you to his chest. No bed sheet or pillow could compare to his soft stomach. “Well, still, I shouldn’t have reacted that way.” You look up at him from his chest and he looks down at you, his hand rubbing your back underneath your shirt.

He lets out a soft chuckle, “It’s alright, mama. Besides,” he turns over to his side, making you two face each other and he whispers, “I can just fuck the attitude out of you.”

“Hey!” You slap his shoulder while he lets out a velvety laugh.

Even though the space between y’all is minimal, it is still too far for Miguel’s liking, so he wraps you in his burly arms, your leg instinctively slinking over his waist. His laughter dies down, your own giggling coming to a stop, and he just whispers, “You know I love you, right? So much, it’s crazy.” Which makes you smile like an idiot, so you roll your eyes.

“I love you, too, viejito.” Now it was Miguel’s turn to scowl and you laugh.

But his expression melts when you kiss his nose as a quick save. Not enough, Miguel cups your face for a full kiss. It was a less passionate kiss, but a long, loving one, putting the perfect seal to an incredibly romantic and intimate moment.

Want more DadBod!Miguel? Here’s my master list bae!

Tags <3

@reewrite @pigeonmama @fayeofthenightingale

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stariikis · 1 month

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what's your ETA?

synopsis ; in a crowded train headed towards your friend's art showcase, you and your boyfriend are caught in an awkward position.

pairing ; non-idol!nishimura riki x fem!reader genre ; fluff, established rs, literal forced proximity wc ; 1180 warnings ; kissing (a lil bit in public), lots of teasing, and mentions of height difference..

“I swear, if you make one more cup of coffee and insist you have to drink it before we go, I'll personally push you onto the train tracks.”

Nearly spitting out his beverage, Riki swallows abruptly and coughs. “Now, I would say I’m used to your violent tendencies, but that’s just gory. But I’d honestly like to see it.” His eyes shine with an unsettling excitement that has you blinking rapidly.

“You won’t be alive to see it…” You tilt your head and feign confusion. In reality, this is both your way of flirty banter. Since Riki just loves to tease you, you believe it’s only fair that you should be allowed to tease back. However, your version of teasing is questionably rude at times, way worse than any fireball of quips Riki showers you with.

“You wanna go or not?” Riki sighs, his mug making a clunking sound on the table when he puts it down. “I’m ready to just sit here and argue with you until night — I’m not the one desperate to see Sunoo’s art exhibition.”

“No, I swear it’s not because I’m desperate to go. You’re the one who’s closer to him though?” You shake your head and frown in bewilderment. “Fake friend.”

Riki whips around in his seat. “Pick me!”

”Bad boyfriend!” You erupt into laughter and lunge forward to ruffle his hair.

Playing along, Riki gets up and pushes you gently away from him. But at the same time his fingers grab ahold of your wrist, holding you close, like he doesn’t really mean it. He’s casting the bait, eyes that look deeply and adoringly into yours glimmering with enthusiasm.

“You’re taking it to heart. Don’t take it to heart,” he murmurs, and leans in to kiss you, voice dropping down to a low. “Pathological liar.” Before you have time to protest, he giggles, hugging you close as if daring you to spit out another one of your alleged, ‘lies’.

When you both reach the station, its difficult to see through the sardine-packed crowd of people in front of you. “It… is so crowded,” you tiptoe to be able to whisper in Riki’s ear – and even that’s not enough, he has to lean down with a huff of amusement for you to reach. “Why is it so crowded today?”

Shrugging his shoulders loosely, Riki slips his hand into yours, squeezing it tight. “You’re the one who wanted to go to this art show.” He mutters quietly. “Kim Sunoo’s, no less. You know we can just ask him to conduct a private show for us?”

“Is supporting your friends a concept nonexistent to you?” You snap, feigning irritation but responding by rubbing your thumb over his. Your boyfriend pretends to be hurt by this, staggering backwards as much as he can in the crowd. His free hand clutching his chest, the playful atmosphere set by your banter fades when he looks at you. Wearing a gentle smile, he leads you into the train when the doors and gates slide open.

He manages to secure you both a spot along the wall near the right-hand-side doors. You can tell by the guilt in his eyes that he wants to find you a seat too, but you’re probably going to get dirty looks from the elderlies if you do so. Luckily, he saves you the social torture and doesn’t force you to take a seat.

The first few stops the train makes are still bearable. Riki is squashed a little too close for comfort at times, caging you in against the wall while you just stare ahead as if nothing’s happening. You ignore the tingles the situations send, all the way from your neurons down to your toes. However, when the crowd dissolves as they alight at their respective stations, you can breathe a sigh of relief.

Like usual, Riki makes a snide remark about your morning breath (even though you’re quite certain your dental routine is competent), and returns to scroll on his phone. What disheartens you, though, is how genuinely uninterested he seems in Sunoo’s exhibit. And how bored he seems to be, despite being here with you.

There’s a nonchalant faze across his face as he scrolls social media, leaning in close with a hand adjusting its grip on the grab bar next to you. You tilt your head, chest starting to ache. Does he really not care as much as you’d like to think he does? To not even feel an ounce of excitement in this moment?

The train screeches to a halt as if agreeing with your intrusive thoughts. There’s still a long way to travel downtown to where the exhibit is held, and unfortunately for you, this is the most crowded station the train has stopped at by far. So many people pour into the carriage that it’s not even five seconds before Riki’s whole body is pressed up against yours.

He drops the arm holding his phone down to his side.

People are pushing you on both sides, and suddenly there’s a wave of gratefulness that you’re not stuck in the middle of the carriage. As if your current situation isn’t painful enough. Your boyfriend can’t meet your eyes, and it’s not surprising. With your noses mere inches apart (only because of the height difference), even you, usually assertive and confident, have to look into the distance.

“Sorry…” Riki says in a hushed tone, moving his lips closer to your ear. His head has practically dropped down onto your shoulder, and you can feel yourself filled with vigorous tremors. He slips his phone into his back pocket, and the hand previously holding it snakes protectively around your waist. You blink up at him, expecting a warm look down, but all you’re met with is narrowed eyes carefully scanning the surroundings.

His neck still dipped downwards, he hugs you close when the final few people slip into the train. Clearly feeling you shaking, he hums soothingly into your ear, “you’re safe”. “You have me.” “Don’t be too scared.” Anything else he says goes in one ear and goes out the other.

Because. In such a situation, what would you expect your boyfriend to proceed to do? a), Accept fate and stay in position, b), shyly turn away from the deathly awkwardness, or c), giggle and tilt his head to pepper kisses along your neck?

Riki chose C.

He’s so gross, you think, but only when you’re stumbling out the train and running all the way to Sunoo’s exhibit to save yourself from remembering the situation more. Why did he ever do that? I should have shoved him away and called him a pervert and acted as if I didn’t know him.

What a lie — when he was pressing a final kiss against your cheek your first thought wasn’t even remotely close to wanting to shove him away. Rather, you had pouted, arms wrapped around his neck, because he’s going to have to make up for being both indifferent towards you and making you so late.

(It is never really his fault.)

thank you for reading! i'm so sorry for the lack of uploads recently, life has just gotten a little bit busier and i finally got a lil break so i decided to write this prompt i thought of a while back!

more of my works >

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coryosbaby · 4 months

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18+, MDNI !! specific hair type mentioned

Js thinkin’ about Drug dealer! Trailer trash! Anakin…

I can imagine you’re outside smoking a cigarette in your pretty pink nightgown, curlers all pinned up, your fluffy house shoes pressing against the damp summer ground. You’re sitting down on the front steps of your trailer as you listen to Anakin and Padmē argue over and over. So much for a smoke break.

But then, with one last mean remark, Anakin is slamming his screen door and barreling down the steps in anger. Tattoos all over his arms, wearing jeans and no shirt or shoes…nipple piercings on full display. He stands in the grass and tries to calm himself down.

Your face flushes with heat as you see him, and you turn your head as if you hadn’t noticed him there. But his eyes lock on you, and he calms a bit. Hes always had a soft spot for you, his pretty young neighbor. Always chasing away creeps and helping you carry in your groceries, selling you pot that isn’t laced (‘you can’t trust the crackheads in this fuckin’ trailer park. Come to me if you ever need any shit like that, okay?’). You can’t deny the crush you’ve had on him for the longest time. You guess you’re just like your momma in that way— always going after men old enough to be your dad, men that you shouldn’t ever associate with. Men that are bad news.

Anakin sighs, jeans hanging low on his hips, and you try not to drool.

“Did you hear all of that?”

You give him a shy, timid smile. You awkwardly shuffle on your feet.

“A little. I’ve only been out here for five minutes, though.”

He hums, his eyes moving down to the cigarette in your manicured hand.

“Can I bum one?”

You nod, and the man walks over the short distance between your houses and sits down beside you. He smells like cologne, sweat, and a little bit of alcohol. Not in a bad way, though. It makes you practically dizzy with want, your thighs prsssing together as he lets out a small “thanks, dollface” as he reaches into your nightgown pocket and pulls out your half empty pack of Marlboros. He lights up, smoke billowing out of his nostrils as he exhales and leans back against your screen door.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I try not to yell, but..”

He shakes his head, as if it isn’t worth discussing. You knee bumps against his, and you shrug.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

His shoulders relax, his ring clad fingers skimming your thigh. He give you an amused smile as he sees the curlers in your hair.

“About to go to bed, grandma?”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, taking a long drag.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Mmm..” His hand comes up to your face, stroking the soft skin of your cheek. Your eyes widen, a flush coating your cheeks. “It’s cute, y’know. The way you always wear your hair like this at night.”

You struggle to find words, your lips parting with every breath. Anakin’s eyes light up, as if remembering something, and he reaches into his pocket.

“You still smoke?” He asks, a baggy of weed now in his palm. You say yes because it’s true, and invite him inside your house.

And of course, it isn’t long before he’s got you whining for him. A joint and a half later, your pussy is spread out on his cock as he takes you against your bedroom wall. He doesn’t fuck you on your bed— he says it’s hotter this way, taking you so desperately. He fills you up damn near perfectly, his face buried into your neck as he holds you up with his strong arms.

All the while, your curlers are falling out, house shoes halfway off your toes, your nightgown lifted up and slightly ripped from his roughness. Your loose, unfinished curls stick against your forehead as he pummels you, and he practically laughs in your face.

“Oh, baby,” he says. “Hair’s so messy, ‘s fuckin’ adorable.”

You cry from embarrassment, drooling all over his lips when he pulls you into a wet ‘n messy kiss. Your fingers card through his dyed black locks, lashes fluttering when he thumbs your clit.

“Oh!” You let manage to let out, slick pooling as you cream on his cock. “Ani, ani, feel s’ good…”

“Yeah?” He breathes, with jagged thrusts into your weeping cunt. “Cmon, dollface. Let the whole trailer park hear you. That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry

creds to @fuckmyskywalker for this amazing idea 🩷🩷

#bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#anakin Skywalker #anakin Skywalker x reader #anakin Skywalker x fem! reader #anakin skywalker x bimbo! reader #trailer trash! Anakin Skywalker #anakin Skywalker smut #dom! anakin Skywalker #Hayden Christensen #anakin Skywalker fanfic #anakin Skywalker blurb #anakin Skywalker Drabble #James Kelly #Star Wars

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iwassupremacy · 2 months

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Drunk texting bestfriend!stray kids (hyung line) pt 2

Stray kids x reader

part 1

maknae line

Summary: basically what happens when they come pick you up

Warnings: consumption of alcohol; a little bit suggestive, but mostly fluff, because Y/N is super drunk and our consensual kinks don’t take advantage of that

Bang Chan

When Chan arrived he couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head. You were sitting in front of the building, heels chaotically discarded next to you. You were sort of sitting in a fetal position, your upper body resting on your own legs. You were barley holding on to your purse in one and your phone in the other hand and your once properly neatly pinned up hair was now all over the place, hanging in your face and mostly laying on your back and shoulders. He slowly approached you, quietly as not to scare you. You still jumped and yelped when his hand carefully touched your shoulder and he shook your body. “Y/N?” You looked up and his worried expression softened at your big puppy eyes and smudged mascara. “Hi there.” He whispered, his hand softly touching your cheek. “Hi” you drunkenly smiled. “C’mon let’s get you home” Chan held his hand out and you shakily took it. Once you stood steadily he picked up your heels and your pursue and phone which in the process of standing up fell from your hand. Luckily he turned around quick enough to see you falling over and stopping your body with his. Your head was now rest on his chest, your hands loosely hanging down. “Channie” you slurred “kiss me.” Chan smiled but shook his head, brushing through your hair. “No, baby girl. You’re drunk.” Your hands landed on his chest so you could push yourself off of him. When you looked up at him he had to suppress a laugh. Your angry drunk pout was just too cute to be taken serious. “You-“ you were interrupted by your own hiccup “You just cock blocked me.” You hit him with your pointer finger when saying you “Because you were jealous! And now-“ hiccup again “And now I want your cock instead.” You innocently blinked. Chan gulped and bit his lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it soon enough. When you’re sober.” For now he just opted with kissing your forehead and helping you in the car with his hand respectfully resting between your shoulder blades and your hip.

Lee Minho

Minho got out of the car and already knew it wouldn’t be easy to get you out of the bar when he couldn’t immediately see you. Usually you’d obediently be already waiting for him. He huffed, rolling his eyes when he entered the bar. He immediately spotted you sitting literally on the bar, swirling your hair and flirting with the bartender. Hw huffed once again. Pathetic. He pushed his way through the drunk crowd and came to a halt right in front of you, resting his hands on either sides of your thighs, you jumped at the soft touch. Your head snapped in his direction, your face scrunched in anger. Surprisingly your expression didn’t change when you saw him. You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re not going to get me out of here!” He nodded. “Okay, so I’m just gonna stay here and wait for you.” Your eyes widened “No! You’re not going to play baby sitter!” You slurred a little which made him grab the drink in your hand and empty it out in the sink behind the bar. Your mouth opened in shock. “What the fuck? What is wrong with you?” You angrily said. His eyebrow raised and he smirked. “Come home with me. There I won’t have to play baby sitter.” You whined “Minho. Let me have fun. I just wanna make out with someone!” Suddenly he leaned in so close you could feel his breath on your face. “Make out with me.” He bit his lip and your breath hitched. “You wouldn’t-“ his hands wandered from the sides of your thighs up to the hem of your dress and played with it, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know I would. I just need you to get out of here and sober up and I promise you can make out with me any time from now on. And more.” As if you were hypnotized you nodded and hopped off the bar which led to you being really close to him, your bodies pressed together. His hands wandered up to your face and be cupped it in them, his thumbs brushing your face. “Let’s go.” He whispered and you nodded again “Let’s go.”

Seo Changbin

You were nervously waiting behind the club. You had turned the guy down the moment Changbin told you he was on his way and since he didn’t give up and followed you everywhere you went to the bathroom and climbed out the window, hoping Changbin would find you there. Then there was the sound of a car coming to a halt and hurried steps. “Y/N?!” You quickly looked up and noticed your best friend approaching you. “Aren’t you freezing? Where’s your jacket?” You awkwardly smiled at him, cringing at what you said next “I may or may not had to climb out the bathroom window.” You slurred and his eyes widened “Why?” He said while examining your body with gentle hands and attentive eyes. You took his wandering hands in yours and he finally looked you in the eyes. “I turned him down and when he wouldn’t leave me alone I fled. Please tell me, it was worth it.” He shyly smiled and put both of your hands on your face. “It was worth it, Y/N. You were right I was jealous. Not because I wanna pick up someone and have sex with them as well but because-“ you interrupted him by letting your hands slide down his arms squeezing his biceps “you wanna have sex with me?” His eyes darkened for a second but he shook his head. “So much more than that. I want to treat you right. Not only in bed but in general.” You face heated up and you bit your lip. “That’s really attractive, Binnie. Kiss me?” He leaned in, brushing your hair out of your face. Suddenly you pulled off with wide eyes rushing away from him. And then you threw up all over the side walk. Changbin gasped and rushed to your side, holding your hair. “Oh God” you whined between gulps” this is so embarrassing.” He laughed “Don’t act like I haven’t seen you throw up before or held your hair.” You just shook your head “This is different, your my boyfriend now.” His heart jumped at that and he smiled like a school boy. “Yes that’s right, I am.”

Hwang Hyunjin

The first thing Hyunjin notices was your exposed body almost passed out hovering over some random guy. Due to the state of the guys shoes he guessed he was the one from your naughty photo. At least he didn’t leave you Hyunjin thought. But he could definitely do a better job covering you up. “Hey.” Hyunjin coldly said “I got it from here.” The man looked at him. “Hey dude, this chick is like super clingy, gotta get her off from me.” Hyunjin visibly cringed at him while sitting next to the two of you carefully grabbing you by the waist and manoeuvring you onto him. “She’s also super drunk, think she’s still gonna want me once she’s conscious?” Hyunjin rolled his eyes at that. “No she won’t. Piss off now.” The guy defensively raised his hands and left, almost falling over. “Hyunjin?” You weakly said. “Hey, princess, I’m here.” You smiled up at him. Or more tried to but the alcohol got to your head again and you gulped. Luckily you didn’t throw up again. You groggily rested your body on his and muttered “can we sit down for a s-second.” Hyunjin chuckled “we are sitting down, princess.” When you didn’t say anything he carefully pulled his jacket off and wrapped you in it. After almost 15 minutes of complete silence with you napping on him, Hyunjin decided it was time to go and without a warning picked you up like a child. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. Like this he stepped to the car and opened the door with one hand while holding you steady with the other. Slowly he ducked down and carefully sat you down in the passenger seat. He even put a hand, once it was free, on your head and whispered “careful don’t bump your head on the roof.” You drunkenly giggled and took both his hands immediately yours and pulled him down to you when he wanted to close the door. “Hyune” you hiccuped “are you really here because you don’t want me to regret anything in the morning?” His eyebrows tightened and he looked away. Encouraged by his behaviour you continued “Or are you here because you felt jealous?” Hyunjin smirked and instead of saying anything closed the door and walked to the driver’s seat. The car started and after driving a few seconds you smiled widely and looked at him with excitement in your eyes “So you wanna fuck me?” He choked on his own spit and gripped the wheel tighter as to not lose control. He had to remind himself of your overly drunk state. “It’s okay, Hyunjinnie. I wanna fuck you too.” You giggled. He shook his head a little bit and chuckled “Tell me that again when you’re sober and I might just fuck you first thing in the morning.”

I originally wanted to post this yesterday but Hyunjins part took me little longer than expected… tell me what you think please, I’m not sure how I feel about this haha

Maknae line pt 1 coming tomorrow!’

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starberryes · 2 years

Text

don't you (forget about me) | steve harrington x reader

“Oh, great, she’s here,” Steve says, stepping away from the door. "First of all, Harrington," You scoff, glaring at that mop of hair with all the rage you can muster. "I have a name. Second of all, we are talking here—” Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever—" "You did not just roll your eyes at me—” Dustin sighs. "Here they go." (or: You've always thought Steve Harrington was a weirdo. When you find out you might be in terrible danger, he might be just what you need.)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader (she/her pronouns used), lots of henderson siblings bonding <3

words: 13.9k

a/n: gif by @dailysteveharrington. thank you all for being patient and i hope you all like it<3 i loved this season and i love steve so i hope you enjoy this lil enemies to lovers fic. this fic is a one shot, but let me know if you'd like a sequel once vol 2 is out bc its a bit of an open, ambiguous ending ;) also some fun facts before this fic starts: dustin's dad appears at will's funeral in s1 and there are several theories about him-- officially, he and dustin's mother are divorced in canon. i'll explore that in this fic. ST4 SPOILERS. this is set in season 4 ep 3 "the monster and the superhero" and follows vol 1 canon also sorry if this doesnt follow canon pretty well i mostly did it from memory cause the wiki still isnt fully updated 💀

disclaimer: this fic discusses the topic of an absent parent, please proceed with caution if this is hurtful to you. also warning for canon typical violence and cursing. english is not my first language so please let me know if there are any mistakes.

📼 NOW PLAYING: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Mind

Your mother had always been slightly overbearing and fearful, but the murder of Chrissy Cunnigham you think might actually kill her. Or at least will force her to lock you in your bedroom and flush the key down the toilet.

“You can’t go anywhere without telling me,” your mother tells you over breakfast, worriedly overcooking her bacon. “You hear me? I don’t want you running around town without me knowing. Or better yet, don’t go anywhere at all!”

You glare at Dustin’s chair, where your brother is munching on toast and eggs, hoping your mother takes the hint. She does, and so she shakes her head and says, “Dustin’s different.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Maybe this killer has a thing for pretty girls,” your mother shakes her head, shivering. “Chrissy Cunningham was such a nice and pretty girl, right your age.”

“You don’t know what that killer was thinking!” You groan. “Why can Dustin leave but I can’t?!”

“Dustin’s not an eighteen year old girl with an easily breakable neck.”

“He’s easier to man-handle!”

Dustin frowns, finally looking up from his breakfast. “I’m not!”

”Besides, do you even know where he was last night?” You ignore your brother’s protests, choosing to point at him as he scoffs in offense. “I bet you don’t, because he’s always sneaking out!”

“I’m not always sneaking out!”

“I try my best with you, Dusty,” she sighs, finally sitting down. “But your sister is right, you’re difficult to keep track of. You’re always running around, like those little legs have minds of their own.” She points the spoon she was using for her coffee at your face. “Don’t you throw that in my face, (Y/N).”

“Mom, you’re right,” you nod, sipping your orange juice, trying to appeal to her soft spot. “He is difficult to keep track off, and there’s a dangerous killer on the loose. How about I keep track of him? Make sure he’s not getting into any trouble, hm? I’ll make sure we’re always safe, together.”

Of course, you were planning on bolting as soon as you were out of your mom’s sight. You mom’s cat Tews meows somewhere across the room, as if he knows not to trust you. That damned furball.

“What the fuck? No!”

“Dusty! Language.”

“Mom,” Dustin says, exasperated. “I don’t need a babysitter. Much less a babysitter that’s also my annoying older sister.”

“No, you have Steve Harrington for that,” you mutter under your breath, and Dustin manages to kick you under the table. You glare at your little brother, then turn to address your mom once again. “I promise we’ll stay together. I know— no, I understand that it’s scary out there right now, but I can take care of myself. And Dustin. You have to trust me.”

“I trust you. It’s the murderer I don’t trust.”

“Mom—”

“Let me finish,” she stares pointedly at you, and you promptly shut up. “I don’t want you two sneaking out. But, it’ll make me feel better if the both of you are together.”

Dustin covers his face with his hands. “Shit.”

“Yes!” You squeal. You stick out your tongue at him, and he rolls his eyes. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Dusty.”

“Screw you.”

“Dusty, it’ll be fun. (Y/N), don’t taunt your little brother,” your mom scolds both of you into silence. “It’ll be like old times, won’t it? Aw, you two used to be thick as thieves back then.”

Dustin sighs, picking at his toast absent-mindedly. “Was there a murderer on the loose back then too?”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

After breakfast, you give Dustin a ride until you arrive in a neighborhood that is most definitely not Lucas Sinclair’s like he told you it would be. You turn to stare at your brother before you unlock the car’s door, confused.

“Where are we?”

Dustin looks at your shoes. “I told you. Lucas’s.”

“Okay, you might lie to me whenever you want, just not to my actual face, Dustin.” You roll your eyes, and he mirrors you. “Seriously, why did you make me come all the way down here?”

“Why do you care?”

“I know we’re doing this to get mom off our backs, but there is actually a killer on the loose,” you say. “So, excuse me if I’m also a little wary about dropping you off at unknown locations, or whatever.”

“Fine,” Dustin sighs. “I’m here to see Max and Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Harrington.”

You blink at him. “Fucking Steve Harrington?”

“See?” Dustin rolls his eyes again. “This is why I didn’t tell you! You are extremely uncool about Steve, you know.”

“I’m not!” You try not to dwell about how defensive you sound even to yourself. “I’m extremely cool about him. I’m extremely cool about the fact you hang out with that douchebag with stupid hair.”

“He’s not a douchebag! I don’t get why you hate him so much.”

Because you remember him and his friends making fun of you all throughout High School, his sneering and stupid stares. Like your brother, you’d never fit in— you never liked going to parties or drinking and you never made an effort to be liked by him and his group of popular dorks, instead you spent most of your days in the library, reading, hiding from Steve and his friends. Whatever honorable things Dustin saw in Steve Harrington you think he might have imagined them.

Now, in your last year of High School and with Steve becoming a social pariah, you don’t have to hide the fact that you still dislike Steve as much as you did back when he was still King Steve. Steve, for however much Dustin insists that he’s changed, upon first meeting you had tried to sweet talk you as if he didn’t know who you were. And you had barely kept it together enough to tell him to fuck off. Ever since then, you and Steve Harrington had hated each other’s guts. Your mutual dislike of each other is not lost on Dustin, who continues to mostly ignore it and tiptoe around it as best as he can.

“He’s not not a douchebag,” You murmur. “Why is he hanging out with two fourteen year olds during spring break? Isn’t the barf bag, like, supposed to be in college, going to frat parties, having a life of his own?”

Dustin doesn’t appreciate the way you talk about him, clearly, but he still replies, albeit unhappily. “He’s helping me with something.”

“With what?”

Before Dustin can respond, someone knocks on Dustin’s window. You jump, surprised, but it’s just Steve and Dustin’s friend redhead Max, looking bored and impatient. You groan and reach over Dustin’s seat to roll the window down.

“Do you mind?” You say to Steve. “We’re talking.”

“Oh, great, she’s here,” Steve says, stepping away from the door.

"First of all, Harrington," You scoff, glaring at that mop of hair with all the rage you can muster. You ignore Dustin’s groan. "I have a name. Second of all, we are talking here—”

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever—"

"You did not just roll your eyes at me—”

Dustin sighs. "Here they go."

“I did not roll my eyes—”

“You absolutely did!”

“There was something in my eyes.”

“That something was lies!”

“Jesus fuck,” Steve finally throws his arms up in exasperation and turns to your brother, ignoring your insults. “You done talking to your lovely sister there, Henderson? We got a counselor to see.”

“What?” You frown at Dustin, irritation immediately melting into concern. “What’s he talking about?”

“Steve, shut your mouth,” Dustin glares at Steve, who shrugs and finally steps away from the car. “Nothing, (Y/N), seriously. See you later?”

“No.” You shake your head. “What does he mean a counselor? Are you seeing Ms Kelly?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise. It’s—” he looks like he’s scrambling to think of an excuse, then his eyes land on Max. Something flashes across her face and she speaks next.

“It’s for me.” she says, “Chrissy died in my neighborhood.”

“She’s kind of freaking out,” Dustin says, and when you finally turn to look at Max you realize how tense she is, her shoulders square, with her lips forming a straight line.

“Oh. That sucks. Hey, Max.”

“Hey,” she greets, awkwardly. It’s part of her charm, you think.

“See?” Dustin asks. “Can I go now?”

You nod, a little shaken up for some reason. Maybe Chrissy’s murder still made you feel slightly ill, and the mention of it made you feel even worse. You couldn’t imagine what Max might be going through. It didn’t help that they had found another body this morning, either.

“Ye— yeah. Sorry. I hope everything’s alright, Max.”

“Yeah,” she nods.

Dustin nods to the door. “Can you unlock the car, then?”

You wordlessly comply, and as your little brother steps out of your mom’s blue Ford Cortina, you talk to Max once again. “Ms Kelly is great help. I’m sure she’ll make you feel better. She really helped me this year, you know, she’s a great listener.”

“Yeah, I know,” Max says. “I’ve been thinking about seeing her for a while, a—actually. I’ve heard she’s well… you know… fine, or whatever.”

“Hey, there’s no shame in that,” you shrug. “Lots of people go to see Ms Kelly… Actually, now that you mention it, Fred Benson, the guy they found this morning, was seeing Ms Kelly too. And Chrissy Cunningham.”

Dustin pauses before closing the car door. “What do you mean?”

You blink, slightly confused as to why you’d even bring it up. “I’ve seen them in Ms Kelly’s office before. I’m not sure why I’m even mentioning it, sorry.”

“No, no, (Y/N), that’s…” Dustin says, then doesn’t finish. “You’ve been seeing Ms Kelly too?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a little ashamed. You think about telling Dustin about everything that’s been going on, the nightmares, the guilt— but then you glance at his friends looking expectantly at him and cower. So you don’t continue.

It’s Steve who breaks the silence. “Henderson, chop chop, let’s go.”

“I’ll see you at home?” Dustin says, a little softer.

“Yeah, yeah. I was gonna go to Dinah’s near Ave Park, but do you think you’ll need a ride later?”

“Steve’s got his car,” he says. “Don’t wait up, okay?”

You nod, watching him leave.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

It’s around eight PM, and Dinah is painting her toenails as you skim through one of her books, the soft hum of the TV in the background, entering through the open bedroom door. Her parents are watching the news, the news anchors are urging people to stay home and to lock their doors to be safe of this new serial killer.

Dinah’s house is your usual hangout spot beside your own. You don’t have many other friends, and there’s only so many times you can force Dustin to watch The Breakfast Club before he’s fighting you for the remote.

“It was all Matty could talk about,” Dinah continues to rant. “I can’t stand this murder talk any longer! I can only hear about Chrissy Cunningham’s missing eyeballs so many times, (Y/N), it’s way too fucking gruesome, but it’s all everyone in this town seems to care about.”

“It’s a pretty pressing issue,” when Dinah glares, you shrug. “I’m just saying! You know I agree with you. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”

“Chrissy was always so nice, wasn’t she?” Dinah shakes her head, putting her nail polish back in her nightstand, then wraps her arms around her legs, hugging herself. “And Fred had a future in front of him. It’s so unfair. They had a family that loved them.”

“Dinah, I really don’t wanna talk about it,” you say, feeling yourself shiver. You don’t want to think about poor Fred or Chrissy, or the families mourning them. You try to focus on the book in your hands, but the words start blurring together, becoming harder and harder to read.

You blink, confused, then realize Dinah is still talking.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it? I think about their dads too. Chrissy’s dad was crying so much at her wake. Do you think your dad would ever cry for you like that?”

You finally snap to look back at your friend. She’s staring at you like you’re small, like an insect she could stomp on. You’ve never seen her black eyes seem so soulless, so empty.

“Maybe they’ll be tears of joy, don’t you think? After all, weren’t you the one who made him walk away?” She tilts her head to the side, a sneer forming in her lips. “They could be a family without you.”

There’s something wrong in Dinah’s eyes. There’s something wrong about all of this, but you can’t point to what, where are you, when, why…what…?

When you blink, Dinah’s eyes look normal again.

“(Y/N),” She asks, frowning. “Are you there?”

You shake your head. What the fuck was all that?

“What?”

“You were staring at me like you weren’t all here,” she explains, grimacing. “Where did you go just now?”

“Sorry…” When you speak you feel a dull ache around your temple, and you lift a hand to rest against it, trying to soothe the pain aimlessly. “I think I need some painkillers or something, my head’s killing me.”

“Again?”

“Yeah,” even before spring break you had confided in your friend about the headaches and the nightmares— you never told her why, but she at least knew you were seeing Ms Kelly.

Dinah stands up, careful not to stain the carpet with her fresh black nail polish. “I’ll ask my dad for some Tylenol. Stay here, I’ll be back in a sec.”

Before Dinah is out the door she’s interrupted by the doorbell, which rings once, twice, three times and more. Dinah frowns, as her dad yells I’m coming, Jesus!

“Someone’s impatient…” you murmur, hand still resting on your temple.

“Hey,” Dinah, who has always had great hearing, says. “I think it’s your brother.”

You frown, and when Dinah’s father confirms it’s your brother by yelling out that It’s little Henderson!, you and Dinah head downstairs to find a heavy breathing Dustin, Max, Lucas and even Steve Harrington, looking as if they just ran a marathon.

Dustin’s eyes land on you. “(Y/N)!”

“Dustin?” you say, “What are you doing here? You need a ride ho—?”

Dustin runs to hug you by the waist, almost knocking the air out of you.

“Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Is your nose bleeding? Do you feel—?”

“Woah, Dustin,” you don’t know what to do with your hands— you and Dustin hadn’t hugged since he turned twelve and he and you both deemed it lame. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Dustin finally lets go of your waist to grab you by the face and inspect it properly. He roughly pulls your face down and tries to pull up your nose to look at your nostrils. “No nosebleed yet?”

Steve tries to stop him. “Dustin, buddy—”

Lucas adds a sustancial, “Dude.”

“Dustin!” you push his hands off your face, feeling your cheeks heat up when you notice everyone looking at you. “What the hell are you doing?”

Your brother opens his mouth to speak, but then seems to notice Dinah behind you and seems to think better of it. “We need to talk,” he says instead, “Like, right now.”

“Right now?” You ask. “I already told Dinah’s mom I’m staying for dinner. Dustin, what the hell is going on with you?”

Dinah clears her throat. “I’m… just gonna go get that Tylenol.”

“Tylenol?” Dustin asks when she walks away. “What for?”

“I have a headache.”

“Shit,” Max says, still by the door frame with Lucas and Steve.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dustin curses, deep in thought. “It’s already started.”

“What?” You ask as Dustin starts pacing back and forth.

“We need to find out how to stop this right fucking now,” Dustin starts pacing back and forth. “Think, everyone.”

“Maybe Robin and Nancy found something in the library,” Steve offers.

“Yeah,” Lucas nods. “C’mon, man. Let’s go find them.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay, okay.” Dustin calms himself down, manages to stop his pacing. “Let’s go wait for them at the Wheeler’s. (Y/N), let’s go.”

You throw your hands up in disbelief. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“(Y/N),” Dustin says, his voice unfaltering. Dustin is never serious about much, and this renders you speechless. “I need you to listen to me for once in your goddamn life, okay? We need to go. Now.”

“Okay, Jesus,” you say finally. “Dinah’s mom is making Lasagna so this better be worth it, Dustin.”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

On the way to Nancy Wheeler’s house, you learn two things: One, Dustin knows where a serial killer might be hiding, and two, your brother thinks you’re cursed and are going to die in, give or take, twenty four hours.

You glare at Steve Harrington in the rearview mirror. “What the fuck have you been giving him?”

“I’m serious!” Dustin yells. “I knew you wouldn’t fucking believe me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, because he looks genuinely frustrated, but a second dimension and a supervillain? Does your brother think you’re stupid? Just how many movies has he been watching? “I just think D&D might actually be getting to your head, Dustin. There’s no way what you just told me is real.”

“Lucas and Max know it’s real too!”

Both of them nod furiously.

“Are the other two fourteen year olds your only source?”

“Steve too!”

Steve winks at you through the rearview mirror.

“Even worse,” you say.

“Listen,” Lucas tries to reason when Dustin groans in frustration, cursing under his breath at you. “I know this sounds absolutely crazy, I wouldn’t believe it either. But I promise you it’s all true, and if we don’t do something soon about it you’ll end up like Chrissy and Fred.”

An involuntary chill runs down your spine every time you think about them.

“Guys,” you say, slowly, “I know things are scary right now, but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for the murders besides a demon supervillain.”

“I didn’t believe it at first either,” Max shakes her head. “Not until I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Didn’t Ms Kelly’s file say the others who were cursed were also having hallucinations?” Steve asks the kids, looking for a place to park. “So, have you gotten any weird visions lately?”

Hallucinations? You think back, but can’t seem to pinpoint anything similar to that. Except tonight at Dinah’s place, before Dustin and the rest had rung the doorbell. Suddenly you grow a little paler, uncomfortable at the memory being brought back. That had been weird, but you were exhausted and knowing a serial killer, Eddie Munson, who apparently your brother knew, was out there still was making you restless.

“I wouldn’t really call them visions,” you murmur.

“Shit,” Dustin breathes, looking at you with wide eyes. “It’s spreading faster.”

“Listen, Dustin, I may be going through some shit lately, but I promise you I’m okay. I just need some painkillers for my head, seriously.”

“(Y/N)!” Your brother takes you by the shoulders and shakes you. “Your life is in imminent danger! You don’t need painkillers!”

“I do if you keep shaking me like a ragdoll!”

“Listen,” Lucas says, grabbing Dustin and prying him off you despite his protests. “Just stay with us tonight, okay? We’ll sleep at the Wheeler’s and it’ll make Dustin feel better, right? We’re all tired.”

“Dude—”

Lucas cuts Dustin off and whispers, “We’ll wait for what Nancy and Robin have to say and then figure out how to convince her later, yeah?”

Dustin sighs. “This was so much easier when El had her powers.”

“So yeah? You’ll stay the night?” Lucas asks, hopeful.

You see all three of the kids staring at you and cave in. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” You say, at the same time Steve parks right in front of the Wheeler residence. Before you can even step out of the car another car pulls over by the garage and Nancy Wheeler and another girl you don’t know step out of it.

“Nance, Robin!” Steve exclaims as he stops the car and steps out. “Had fun at the library? I sure didn’t.”

“It went well, I think—”

“We have a situation,” Dustin is quick to interrupt, reaching over your space and popping his head out from the open window. “It’s my sister. We think Vecna cursed her.”

“Whatever that means,” you mumble, getting out of the car, Dustin trailing behind you and slamming the door shut.

“She doesn’t believe us,” Max explains.

“Well, I personally would be more weirded out if she did,” The girl you don’t know shrugs a little. You recognize her now— she worked with Steve at Scoops Ahoy last summer before the fire at Starcourt, and now works at Family Video. You’ve spoken a bit with her before.

“She’s been having visions, headaches, nosebleeds,” Dustin continues, “like Fred and Chrissy were, according to Ms Kelly’s files. I think Vecna is preying on vulnerable people, people dealing with...” he looks at you for a second, then back at the girls, settling on saying: “Some shit.”

“We found some articles about Victor Creel at the library,” Nancy says, then motions at the house with her chin. “Let’s talk inside.”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

Nancy and Robin turn out to be as crazy as the rest of them— they tell the story of Victor Creel, infamous in Hawkins for murdering his entire family, and about how he was supposedly possesed by the devil according to some conspiracy newspaper. They want to talk to Victor, but the problem is that he’s now a patient at Pennhurst Mental Hospital and completely unreachable to the public. They plan to go first thing in the morning and the rest of the group seems to agree.

“We’ll need a disguise,” is Nancy’s big plan.

You never quite get that Tylenol, because the strongest thing Ms Wheeler has is green tea. You think everyone’s lost their goddamned minds.

“So what do you want me to do while all of you plan?” You ask, sitting on the couch. Nancy and Robin leave to Nancy’s room. Max and Lucas are by the desk in the corner speaking softly, Dustin is pacing around the room impatiently as he usually does when he’s this restless, while Steve is sitting on the couch beside you, playing with Dustin’s (or is it Mike’s?) walkie-talkie. “Am I allowed to eat something? Because I’m starving.”

Dustin snatches the walkie-talkie from Steve’s hand. “You’re gonna break that.”

Dustin’s, then.

“We don’t know yet,” Lucas says, walking over to where you are, holding Max’s hand gently. “We’re hoping the girls find out something from Victor. In the meantime…”

“You can eat,” Steve concludes. “... Right?”

“Right,” Max nods.

“We have to do something soon,” Dustin’s the most anxious you’ve ever seen him, even before you took him to see The Empire Strikes Back. “We don’t know how much time you even have once the visions and all the hallucinations start. We said twenty four hours but we can’t be sure.”

“If it helps, they started today. At Dinah’s.”

“You snapped out of it, right?” When you nod, Steve shrugs. “Henderson, I think we have time to order some pizza, at least.”

“And a movie?” You ask, finally relaxing into the couch. You toss away your shoes and hug them to your chest. “Does Mike have The Breakfast Club somewhere around here?”

“Not that movie again,” Dustin groans.

You throw a pillow at your brother, who manages to dodge it easily. “It’s a great movie!”

“It lost its charm after the thirteen time you forced me to watch it with you.”

“The Breakfast Club?” Steve asks aloud. “(Y/N) Henderson is obsessed with The Breakfast Club? Is that why Dustin is always renting it at Family Video?”

Dustin huffs, offended. “Why else would I want to rent that stupid movie?”

“Molly Ringwald,” Steve answers, at the same time you yell out, “It’s not stupid!”

When Nancy comes downstairs she informs you that sadly no, she doesn’t have The Breakfast Club, but that she should. She does have the soundtrack, however, and you think about asking to borrow it tomorrow before she goes back upstairs to order a pizza.

A while later it’s almost midnight, everyone around you is tired, except maybe for Dustin, but the majority wins and you all decide getting some sleep is the best option. You agree, but know that you’re probably not getting any sleep tonight, either; you’ve been having nightmares every night for the past few days and you don’t believe today is going to be any different.

When the lights go off and everyone is already starting to doze off, Dustin is quick to turn his flashlight on.

“Dude! Turn that off!” Steve moans, launching a pillow straight into his face. Dustin doesn’t dodge this one this time, much to Robin and Steve’s satisfaction, who chuckle lightly.

“C’mon, Dustin, what the hell?” Lucas groans.

“Shut up! I’m trying to see if I can find something else in Ms Kelly’s files!”

“Dude,” Max sighs, “you’ve read them each four times already.”

“You won’t be able to find anything if you’re exhausted,” Nancy tries more softly. “Just try to sleep for a bit, okay?”

“Dustin, c’mon,” you reach for his hand— it’s a bit uncomfortable from your position on the couch and his on the floor, but you do it anyway. That seems to soothe him slightly, to see you still offering comfort, like you’re still yourself. He manages a weak nod, and he squeezes your hand slightly before turning the flashlight off.

After a few minutes, Dustin starts snoring loudly. Steve, who you’re unfortunately stuck sharing the couch with, chuckles.

“He’s a good kid,” he says.

“Yeah,” you can’t help but agree. You wouldn’t trade your dork brother for anything. “He’s great. When he was little, he used to wet his bed all time after watching scary movies with me, and he’d wake me up to change his sheets so my dad wouldn’t yell at him for ruining them.”

“Steve raises a silent eyebrow at you, sounding amused. “And you actually did that?”

“I forced him to watch them. I felt bad,” you smile at the memory. “He would offer to wash the dishes for me, though.”

“Your moral compass is stronger than mine,” he hums.

“You know, he…” you start, unsure if Dustin would be upset if you shared this, then decide it’s not as embarrassing as telling him he used to wet his bed, and continue, “he really admires you. God knows why, Harrington, but he worships the ground you walk on.”

“Henderson?” He asks, a little in disbelief. “I don’t know—”

“I’m serious, Harrington. He loves you,” You hoped you didn’t sound jealous. There had been a time where you thought Steve was almost a replacement for you as an older sibling, but as time went on you realized how important Steve was to him.

“Well. I’m pretty loveable.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure.”

“He’s pretty loveable, too,” Steve says after a few beats of silence, more softly now. “I don’t have any siblings, did you know that? So it’s… uhm, really cool to have him around. Even if he’s kind of a little shit sometimes.”

“Such a little shit,” you agree.

The rest of the group seems to be asleep already, or maybe they don’t care about the conversation enough to join you. Steve starts telling you about the time Dustin burrowed his hair gel and almost set fire to his bathroom, and you have to cover your mouth to stifle your giggles.

It’s not long before you start to feel abnormally cold, and can’t keep your body from trembling. Steve’s gentle voice is gone. The room is dark around you, and realizing that you must’ve fallen asleep while talking with Steve at some point, you hug yourself trying to seek some warmth. You try to grab a blanket from somewhere. Jesus, it’s spring for fuck’s sake, it shouldn’t be this cold. But you realize that despite the darkness you can see, and when you look up at the ceiling, you find a grandfather clock that most definitely doesn’t belong in the Wheeler’s basement.

“(Y/N).”

The voice calling your name is unfamiliar and it makes you feel ill almost immediately, like your stomach has turned into nothing but knots. You try to speak, to ask who it is, but nothing comes out, you can barely even breathe.

“Do you think you could ever keep living with this guilt?” The voice asks, somehow you feel as if the voice is right behind you, whispering into your ear. It’s like nails scraping against chalkboard in your eardrums. “Knowing what you did to your family?”

You want to turn around and find the voice, but you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. The clock is ticking, haunting you, calling for you. You want nothing but to run away from it, but you can’t move— you’re glued in place somehow, maybe in fear, you can’t tell. Everything is uncertain, except for the clock. The clock, you know, it’s real.

It’s counting down. You know what it’s trying to tell you. It’s coming for you and you can’t escape it. It’s only a matter of time now.

“Soon, (Y/N)...” It whispers. “Soon, I’ll come for you, and no one will be able to help you, (Y/N)... (Y/N). (Y/N)!”

You open your eyes with a gasp to find Steve’s arms around your shoulders, shaking you slightly. His eyes are wide, a little frightened. When you look around you find Lucas and Max draped all over a chair, their chests rising slowly, asleep. Dustin is in a sleeping bag on the floor, near Robin and Nancy, hugging each other tightly in their sleep. Steve is the only one awake.

“Shit,” you say, placing your hand in your heart. “Did I wake you?”

“We were talking and then you just went somewhere,” he says. “You don’t remember?”

You suddenly feel very cold. “I thought I was sleeping. I saw…” You think about telling Steve, but it seems pointless now, almost. What would you tell him? You saw a clock? “I think it was one of those hallucinations you guys keep talking about. You’re really freaking me the hell out, you know.”

“Fuck, I think Dustin’s right,” he says.

“About me being cursed by a being from another dimension? Are you kidding?”

Steve does manage to look apologetic. “I know it sounds bonkers, but that’s because it is. I’ve seen it.”

“What? This other dimension?” You were starting to think Dustin and his nanny were just trying to play an extremely elaborate joke on you.

“The Upside Down, but no,” he shakes his head, and then his eyes land somewhere around the room, focusing on one of Mike’s many posters. “The monsters.”

“Vecna?”

“Others,” he says, then murmurs, “Haven’t had the pleasure just yet.”

“The demoger…? What was it?”

“Demogorgon, yeah,” he grumbles. “The Mind flayer too. It’s all real. I wish Will and Eleven were here to actually explain this stuff; they are the ones who actually know their stuff about this.”

You have never seen Steve actually sound so… serious, before. It’s all actually starting to freak you out, you decide, and you aren’t sure if you actually want to find out if it’s all actually real or not. You stay silent for a few moments, sleep escaping you. You figure Steve’s fallen asleep until his voice startles you again.

“You okay there, Henderson?”

No, you want to say. You can’t shake the feeling that the voice is watching you, waiting to catch you by surprise. “Yeah,” you mumble, sleepless, scared.

Steve doesn’t seem to buy your answer however, because you feel his body shifting near your side of the couch, sitting right beside you. When you give him a look (he’s so close he can actually make it out) he clicks his tongue.

“See, I don’t really believe you, Henderson. So, I’m gonna stay near you, just in case you get another vision. Or if you want to hold my hand.”

“Screw you, Steve,” You glare, turning to the other side so that your view is Harrington-less. If you do feel better with him beside you, that’s between you and maybe Vecna, if he’s actually inside your head.

In the morning, when you wake up and Nancy and Robin are both gone (probably visiting a murderer in a mental hospital) and Steve is tangled up beside you, you decide you’ve had enough.

“So we’re just gonna wait around to see what happens?” Dustin argues, as Lucas and Max try to reason with him.

“What else can we do?” Lucas asks, frustrated.

“Literally anything else, dude! My sister might die!”

“Okay, Dustin, you need to stop and we need to go home, now,” you tell him, looking around the basement for your jacket.

“No!” he points at you. “You’re not going anywhere until we know what to do.”

“Dustin. I’m four years older than you,” you glare, placing your hands on your hips. “I’m the older sibling. I’ve entertained this enough already, but I left mom’s car at Dinah’s and we need to go get it and then get our asses home before mom loses her shit.”

“(Y/N)! Listen to me!”

“No, Dustin!” You finally snap, taking Dustin’s walkie-talkie from his hand and shoving it into your bag despite his protests. “I’ve had enough about monsters and other dimensions and whatever other nonsense Eddie Munson has been feeding you! We’re going home, now!”

“I can’t believe I’m actually trying to help you!” Dustin screams, “You suck!”

“Well, you’re stuck with me!”

“I wish I wasn’t,” he says, his eyes cold. “I wish you weren’t my sister.”

The chills return like a slap across your face, making you stumble backwards slightly. The room around you turns dark immediately, the only person left is Dustin in front of you. But it’s not him, it can’t be, his eyes have never looked this lifeless.

“You took his chance away, didn’t you?” The unfamiliar, bone chilling voice returns. “His chance of having a real family, or at least a father figure. He’s right in wishing you weren’t his sister. He deserves someone better.”

Again you want to scream, but it’s like your mouth is taped shut. Around you Mike Wheeler’s basement seems to fade away into blue, and suddenly you’re standing on your front porch, watching your dad walk away. You’re saying the hardness around your eyes, your lips drawn into a tight line. You don’t look like yourself; you look older, and tired, and disappointed, more like a woman than the girl you were when this happened, the girl you must’ve been.

“Don’t come back again,” you tell your father’s retreating form. But your voice is distorted, so far away.

“How many times has Dustin needed his father?” The voice asks. When you blink you’re somewhere else; not Mike’s basement, not your home. There’s splinters of wood scattered by your feet, like a house just destroyed. Everywhere around you is red, like blood, like the blood in those horror movies you forced Dustin to watch because he made them less scary when he squealed. “Are you proud you broke up your family?”

“I was a kid,” you manage to say, and only now you realize you’ve been crying all along, the salty tears wetting your dry lips. “I didn’t want Dustin to know what he did. I would take it back if I knew he wouldn’t actually come back.”

“But you did it anyway. You did.”

I did, I did, I did, you think, over and over. You close your eyes, hard, ignoring how it almost hurts.

“You miss him too, don’t you? Despite everything. You’re sadder about the fact that he left you, too. He left his daughter behind.”

“Who are you?” You hiss out, through your anguish.

“I’m part of you, (Y/N). Whether you want to or not.”

You’re not alone. When you open your eyes you see him — a monster, vicious even in looks, like someone slowly peeled away his skin, and all that was left of him was muscle and meat, not even blood. Vecna. Around you there are two different bloody columns, and you’re quick to notice they’re holding Chrissy and Fred’s bodies, like morbid museum displays, tokens. He was right, Dustin was telling the truth about everything, and now you were going to die because you didn’t listen to him.

“No,” you want to say, you want to scream. But you’re not strong enough, you can’t—

Hey, hey, hey, hey

You blink through your tears. You manage to recognize that melody in this unfamiliar place. You want to run towards it, but you’re not sure your legs can even respond to your commands right now.

Vecna seems to think something’s wrong, too, because as the song progresses he grows more impatient. “You think you can escape like this?”

Tell me your troubles and doubts

Giving everything inside and out and

Love's strange, so real in the dark

Think of the tender things that we were working on

His hands— his claws are stroking your cheeks, an aborted tender gesture, like he’s trying to soothe his prey before going for the kill. It’s over, you think, there’s nothing but this certain death. But then; you think of the hundreds of times you forced Dustin to watch this movie with you; of you both playing with Tews until he scratches one of you in annoyance; driving Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will to the movies; getting ice cream at Scoops Ahoy and guggling when Steve gets rejected once again; putting Dustin’s hair in braids and practicong makeup on him when he was younger; asking Will Byers what he was sketching at the park; Dustin and you laughing during dinner because of some stupid joke. You think about last night, sleeping beside Steve, and the way he made you laugh.

Don't you, forget about me

Don't, don't, don't, don't

Don't you, forget about me

You can’t give up. You can’t leave Dustin.

Somehow you manage to pull Vecna off you with a shove, and you run. You run, you run as fast as your legs let you, as your jeans stain with what looks like blood, as Vecna screams at you. You run like you've never run before.

And then you gasp and you’re falling.

“Shit, fuck, shit!” Someone’s arms are around you, and it takes you a second to calm down to realize it’s Steve, and that you’re in Mike Wheeler’s basement and you’re alive, somehow.

“Holy fucking shit,” Max is saying, but you can barely hear her over the rapid beating of your own heart— erratic, but unquestionably alive.

“God, god, (Y/N),” Dustin’s voice stands out from the others, and when you look at him there are tears streaming down his eyes, and you can barely process anything before you’re trying to reach for him despite feeling like you’re not even in your own body.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, Steve letting go of yours. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“I thought you were gonna die,” he whimpers.

“I’m here,” you breathe out. “Oh my God, I’m here thanks to you.”

You realize that the song is still playing, only to notice the headphones in your ears. You see your scattered bag around the room, and the walkie-talkie that Dustin must’ve been looking for already on the floor. Don’t You (Forget About Me) slowly fades to an end before the next song on the soundtrack starts.

“I’m sorry,” Dustin says into your shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were going through something, I should’ve noticed. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” You shake your head, holding your little brother even closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Fuck, Dustin, I’m so sorry.”

You stay like that for a moment, hugging Dustin on the carpet, Max and Lucas hovering near, and Steve’s hand on your shoulder, grounding you.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

When you explain to Nancy what happened and what you saw once she comes back from Pennhurst she’s quick to pinpoint the house you saw when you met Vecna as Victor Creel’s house. All of you grab your things and head to that location. You try to not feel so dreadful, and Dustin forcing you to listen to Don’t You the entire car ride and holding onto your jacket sleeve helps soothe your nerves, at least a little bit.

But Victor Creel’s house is something out of a horror story, dark and abandoned as it is, and the only light source in the house seems to be the hole Robin made when she smashed the window.

“Let’s split up,” Nancy offers, and everyone seems to comply much to your dismay.

Lucas and Max leave to investigate with Dustin (reluctantly parting from your side) trailing off behind them, Nancy and Robin head upstairs and you and Steve are stuck together and instructed to stay downstairs by Nancy, the only thing illuminating your way being your flashlights.

You wander through hallways, staring at ruined wallpaper and dusty portraits. Victor and his family seemed so happy in their pictures, and you wonder why nobody, family or not, ever came to look for their things. The house seemed frozen in time, like one day the family had decided to get up and leave everything behind, the house nothing more than ghosts.

“I hate this place,” you comment, trying to hug yourself tightly to keep the cold at bay. “Thinking that people died here is…”

“Horrible,” Steve finishes for you. “Yeah… Fuck this place, man.”

When you turn to a corner, you freeze in place.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re seeing this, right?” You point at a clock with your flashlight, unmoving. It’s the same clock from your visions, the one you saw before meeting Vecna.

“Yeah,” Steve frowns. “Real old. Why?”

“I saw it,” you try to explain through the rapid beating of your own heart. “In my visions, I mean. This clock was in them— well, the second one, mostly. In the Wheeler’s basement last night.”

“Shit…” Eloquent as ever, Steve Harrington. “Has to mean something, right?”

“If anything it proves Nancy and Robin were right. It all started here.” You finally force yourself to look away and continue forward, ignoring the way you feel your skin crawling. You hold up your cassette before re-starting the song. “What would happen if I suddenly got tired of this song? Will it no longer work? Does this mean Vecna will… come back for me?”

“Listen, I— I’m not a genius at this like your brother, or like Nancy, or even Robin,” Steve admits, very honestly. “But I promise we’ll find a way, even if that happens. Besides, Dustin told us how much you love this song. Seems kinda impossible you’ll ever get tired of it if you listen to it every day. And listen, I gotta ask. Breakfast club?”

“What?” You feel heat rise up to your cheeks, embarrassed. You start walking away from the clock, trying to get rid of the chills that had gotten ahold of you just a few moments before. “It’s a great movie.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Steve says, and even though you can’t really see him in the dark, you can hear his smirk, picture his smile. He’s teasing, and you’re kind of glad for it. It helps. “I just didn’t think it would be your thing, is all.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s my thing then?”

“I don’t know. You seem like a Dune fan, maybe.” He wonders out loud, your flashlight lighting the way.

“I do like the book.”

“See?” Steve points at his temple. “I knew it.”

“I think working at Family Video is finally getting to you.”

“I’m good at reading people,” he says, and you raise another silent eyebrow at him. He continues, “I’d always thought of you as a little brainiac, and that you’d liked movies that were kinda difficult. You were always reading in school. I didn’t think you’d like teen flicks and Hughes.”

“Dune is not difficult. And maybe you don’t really know me enough to know what my thing is,” you shrug. “... Or maybe every girl is a little bit in love with Judd Nelson.”

“Yeah,” Steve actually laughs. “Can’t beat that hair.”

And you can’t help yourself, you smirk. You think you might actually be dreaming, or maybe this curse made Steve seem more tolerable than usual. “You give him a good run for his money.”

“We’re still talking about hair here, right?”

Now you point your flashlight at Steve and elbow him.

“I’m just asking!”

“It was a stupid question. And just so you know, there’s nothing wrong about liking teen flicks,” you say, continuing to walk and not waiting to see if Steve follows. “Pretty in Pink is my new favorite movie and my GPA is still 3.5.”

“Oh wow. Pretty in Pink?” He whistles. “You have a soft spot for Molly Ringwald.”

“Who doesn’t?”

He hums in response.

You stay like that for a moment, walking through dusty hallways and trying to avoid spider webs. Even with the flashlights the place looks abandoned and lonely, and there’s a coldness running down your spine that you can’t shake off no matter how much you try. You focus on trying to catch the sound of Steve’s breathing to somehow ground yourself to reality. It feels like ever since meeting Vecna your grip on reality slowly fades away, like someone is unraveling the carpet from underneath you, trying to catch you by surprise. Like you’re falling into an abyss of darkness and you can’t hold onto anything— because nothing around you is truly real. And so you bite your lip to keep yourself from reaching out to Steve and holding on. You can’t think of a moment you’ve felt as uncertain as you do now; but Steve’s teasing and your bickering back and forth is normal, makes you feel like you’re not actually in immediate danger. You figure if there’s a different dimension called the Upside Down, then you can most definitely forgive Steve Harrington for being a jerk in High School. He has more than proven himself to you.

Because the truth is that maybe Vecna will win. Maybe you will never beat this curse. And you’ll end up like Chrissy Cunningham, like Fred Benson, like Patrick McKinney; just dead bodies along the trail.

“Hey, Steve,” you call, slowing down to walk beside him. He turns to look at you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Uhm. If something… like, happened to me—”

“Woah, woah, wait,” Steve shakes his head. “Nothing will. We beat the curse, remember? With the song?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t actually beat it, did we?” Now you do turn to look at him, and his big eyes almost render you speechless. You don’t know what to call the look on his eyes, but it makes you want to look away from him; makes you want to run. “Listen, Steve, I just— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, quickly. You think he’s noticed how embarrassed you feel, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re just scared shitless like the rest of us.”

“It’s not that,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk around you and picking fights with you. You’ve— you’ve been there for Dustin when I wasn’t, and I guess you’re not actually a bad guy. So… I’m sorry I judged you. And thank you, I guess. For being there for Dustin. And… me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a second. You’re still looking anywhere but him, now focusing your eyes on a spider in one of the many spider webs in front of you. You feel embarrassed and stupid, but a little bit better. You know you’re doing the right thing by apologizing— you know Steve now, better than you’ve ever thought you would. You finally dare to take one look at him and his eyes are still on you, and when your eyes lock, he smiles softly.

“You’re apologizing for that?” Steve asks, and when you nod matter of factly, he tilts his head to the side. “Huh. Never thought I’d see the day Henderson’s sister apologized to me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Harrington,” you roll your eyes, but can’t help the small smile forming on your lips. “I’m only doing this because I might die.”

Steve chuckles, nodding. “Fair enough,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too, Henderson. To be honest, I think I kind of deserved it. I was an asshole in High School, so… yeah. I, uh, I’m sorry it took me getting kicked off the clique to realize you’re not half bad.”

“Well,” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “It took me almost dying to realize you’re not half bad either. I think we’re even.”

Steve stops in his tracks, making you stop, too, a little confused. You turn to look at him, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look quite so… earnest, maybe. You can’t name the look on his face, but you can’t look away, can’t seem to be able to keep walking. You’re frozen in place.

“You’re not gonna die, Henderson,” he says, determined. “I won’t let you.”

Your mouth goes dry. All you can do in response is nod. You want to say something, but the words escape you, and so you stare at each other for a few seconds, neither of you saying anything. You wonder if Steve can hear the rapid beating of your heart, if he can make out the way your eyes drop to his lips for a slow second despite the darkness around you both.

Then you hear Dustin yell out, “Guys!” and the moment fades away.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

Finding Eddie at Skull Rock seems to be harder than it should be, and once you find him you’re made to follow Dustin’s apparently broken compass. You feel like you’re wandering through the desert, with no clear path in mind. Dustin is at the front, with Lucas and Max following closely behind, Eddie (who you now have a hard time believing would ever be able to kill anyone), Robin and Nancy in front of you and Steve.

You find yourself time and time again choosing to spend more time with Steve, that he seems to be the one able to actually make you feel grounded, like you’re not gonna die in the next three seconds. You feel like yourself around him; but different. Steve is different. This whole experience is making you rethink everything you’ve ever known.

You can’t help but wonder in the silence about Dustin and the others, guiding the rest of you through the night time in the forest. Despite all of them being younger than you, they don’t seem to need your help, especially Dustin, who you think is completely in his element leading the way.

After a while of walking in silence, Dustin announces that the compass seems to be going even crazier. At this, Robin pries it off his hands to confirm that it’s true. Eddie and Dustin argue for a second about following the compass and make another Lord of the Rings reference that has you smiling.

“He’s not half bad,” you comment. “Eddie, I mean.”

“I still don’t know what the hell Modor is,” Steve mumbles under his breath.

You don’t try to explain Lord of The Rings to him— you don’t think there’s even enough time. But, maybe one day, when Hawkins isn’t in imminent danger and Steve still wants to hang out with your uncool self for whatever reason.

“What do you think we’ll find wherever this stupid compass is taking us?” You ask him, trying to avoid accidentally stepping on some poison ivy. Just your luck to get cursed and also poisoned on the same week. “You know more about this than me.”

“I’m actually more like, the, uhm, action guy of the group.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t know where we’re going,” You conclude.

Steve nods. “No damn clue, Henderson.”

“Great,” you chuckle lightly.

“All I know is that it’s probably a portal Vecna opened after killing someone.”

“A portal. To the upside down?” When Steve nods in confirmation, you sigh. “I still can’t get used to how crazy this is.”

“The third time you do this you kind of just start going with the flow of things,” Steve admits. “Russian spies, MK-Ultra, different dimensions, monsters— it all just kind of starts to sound like background noise.”

“Dustin and the kids seem to really know about all of this.”

“They do,” Steve nods. “Dustin is like, their leader. Our leader, I guess.”

“My little brother… fighting communists and monsters.” You shake your head. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. How did Nancy? With you and Mike?”

Steve stops for a second to frown at you. “With me?”

“You know, with Nancy and you dating.”

“Me and Nancy?” he asks, then shakes his head. “No, me and Nance just… we go way back, but she’s with Jonathan. That ship sailed a long time ago. We’re friends now. Besides, she’s the one killing more monsters than me.”

“Oh.”

There’s no way to ignore the way your heart skips a beat at this, or the hopeful glint in Steve’s eyes. The rest of the woods disappear and it’s only you and Steve and your rapidly beating heart. The others are lost to you, in their own little world, searching in the dark with their flashlights like fireflies.

“Yeah,” Steve scratches the back of his neck. “And, just in case, me and Robin are not a thing, either. Just friends.”

“Platonic with a capital P!” You hear Robin yell out in front of you.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you at Steve’s blush. “Yeah, yeah, think she got it, Buckley, thanks.”

“You’re welcome!”

“That’s… good to know,” you comment.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, then scratches his chin. “Is it? Good to know?”

You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe.”

“Maybe. Okay. Maybe is—” he breathes out. “Maybe is cool.”

“Maybe is really cool,” you allow yourself a small smile.

“Really?” Steve inquires, and when he notices his smile he gifts you one of his own. “Okay. That’s great. Maybe is really cool. Cool. Cool beans.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, finally daring to look at him.

Steve follows your movement with his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, breathless.

“Hey guys,” Dustin’s voice rings out, the moment gone. “I think we found the portal!”

You both follow Dustin’s voice until you reach a lake, where Eddie explains Vecna killed Patrick when he was running away from Jason and the rest of the basketball team.

“So the portal is… what?” Robin asks, “Underwater?”

Dustin shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

He starts climbing up the boat, and you’re quick to grab him by the sleeves of his shirt to stop him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” You ask him.

“Looking for the portal,” Dustin says, matter-of-factly.

“You told me this portal is supposed to teleport you to another dimension, one Will Byers got stuck in,” you reply, pulling him away from the boat. “You’re not going anywhere near that portal. None of you kids are.”

“Who died and made you the boss?”

“Three people died,” you note.

“I made her the boss,” Robin quips. “Well, Nancy might technically be the boss, actually. Nance?”

Nancy blinks at Robin’s words. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Nance says yes.”

Eddie frowns. “Yes to being the boss or yes to—”

“Let’s just go,” Nancy urges, gesturing at Steve to help her drag the boat offshore. Steve complies, and helps Nancy climb into the boat, followed by Robin and then Eddie.

“But what about the curse?” Dustin wonders, looking at you.

“I have this, remember?” You hold up the cassette player, and wink at your brother. “Don’t worry about me, okay? Look after Lucas and Max. Nancy might be the boss, but you’re their leader.”

“Okay, yeah,” he nods, sounding more like he’s talking to reassure himself than anything.

“Compass, please,” you tell him, and Dustin complies unhappily. You can’t help yourself from grabbing him by the cheeks and kissing his forehead like you did when he was younger. Despite being a good leader, a fighter, he’ll always be little Dusty, who steals your waffles and makes really bad coffee. “See you soon.”

Steve offers his hand to help you climb the boat and you take it with a tiny smile.

The trip on the boat is short and dark. Even with Steve using his flashlight to try and light the way, it’s barely enough to keep you from being engulfed in the darkness of the night. When was the last time the moon shone down in Hawkins? There are almost no stars above, the view chillingly dark. You fear what you might find. Nancy stares at Dustin’s compass, trying to give any semblance of direction when the compass starts going crazy.

Steve starts pulling off his socks.

“Steve,” Nancy says slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Somebody’s gotta go down there and check this thing out. Was one of you four Hawkin’s High’s swimming co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years?” He figures, already working on his other shoe. “It’s gotta be me, no complaints, alright?”

Eddie chuckles nervously. “Hey… I’m not complaining. I do not wanna go down there.”

You watch as Eddie takes something off his pocket and throws it on the boat’s floor. You want to stop Steve somehow, irrationally, because as far as you know Nancy, Robin and Eddie can’t dive, and you can barely float — but the words die on your throat when you look up and Steve is peeling off his shirt.

“Here,” Eddie says, and you realize now he had wrapped a plastic bag around a flashlight and is now handing it back to Steve. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, taking it from his hands.

“Steve,” Robin rasps out before he dives, and Steve stops to look at her. “Don’t… die?”

“Gee,” he scoffs. “Thanks for the encouraging speech, Robs.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Don’t die, seriously,” you manage to tell him, wanting to reach for his hand but stopping yourself. “Or I’ll kill you.”

Steve nods. He looks like he wants to say something else, but keeps his mouth shut before diving underwater.

The silence on the boat almost kills you, as it rocks quietly, everyone holds their breath waiting for Steve to come up once again. Your heart is in your throat, Don’t You still playing softly in your eardrums, the cassette player still on, a constant to remind you you’re still here. Miraculously.

“He’s…” Eddie whistles. “He’s got balls, King Steve.”

“Yeah,” you nod, looking at the water like you’re hypnotized, waiting for his soaked head to pop up.

“Not what you’d expect,” he adds, a little quietly.

“No,” Robin says, and the way she says it— so fond, so genuine. You couldn’t agree more. Steve is so much more than what you’d expected him to be. “Not at all.”

You stay silent for a few more seconds, all of you waiting for Steve to come back. When he does he emerges with a gasp for air, startling the rest of you. Eddie screams so loud you hear it perfectly well over the music.

“Found it,” Steve claims, holding onto the edge of the boat.

“You found it?” Nancy repeats.

“It was pretty wild,” Steve explains that he seemed to have stumbled into the portal, like an open gate illuminating the bottom of the lake and tinting it red. “It was pretty damn big—”

Before he can continue, Steve is pulled into the water once again, and you jump up instinctively, trying to reach for his hand, but he escapes your grasp quickly. He emerges again and you breathe a sigh of relief— but it’s short lived, because Steve is dragged under once again and he’s not coming up.

“Steve!” you yell. “Steve!”

“What the hell was that, man?!”

Between all the screaming going on, the only thing you can think about is Steve, Steve, Steve—

And so you stand up.

“Wait, (Y/N),” Nancy starts, “What are you—”

“You’re not going in there!” Eddie screams, trying to grab you by the arm.

“I—” You start, but can’t seem to decide on what to say. You don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you know you’ll do it anyway. You have no plan, that much is certain, you’ve never fought a day in your life. “I can’t just stay here!”

“Are you insane?!”

Robin pales. “No, (Y/N), wait—”

With one last look at the rest of the guys, you dive into the water and swim. You’ve never been a good swimmer, but you find yourself swimming like you’ve never had, quickly finding the red portal Steve had mentioned before being dragged down here. What you find on the other side reminds you of when you met Vecna— when he showed you your memories, cold, distorted and dark. You briefly wonder if Vecna had managed to drag you all the way here then, but you have no time to dwell on it too much.

Steve is laying on his back, as some creatures bite at his abdomen incessantly, like leeches. They are choking him, curling their tails around his neck. You stand up and run towards him, only to notice the others have followed behind you, their wet footsteps a reassurance.

“(Y/N)!” Nancy yells, making you turn. She throws one of the boat’s paddles at you, keeping one for herself.

You manage to catch it, God knows how. Steve is still struggling when you get to him, and the first thing you do is smack one of the things across the face, forcing it on its back and stopping it from further gnawing Steve’s abdomen. You see as Robin starts stomping on the one who has its tail curled around Steve’s neck, and Nancy takes on the other one.

“Shit,” Eddie murmurs when he looks up the sky and sees even more of them approaching.

One of them starts going after Nancy, Eddie trying to come to her rescue by grabbing Steve’s still working flashlight and smacking it as hard as he can manage. You help Robin by hitting the one she’s stomping on with the paddle, until Steve manages to bite its tail, forcing it to curl itself from his neck.

With more coming, you are distracted enough to barely notice when Steve manages to behead it, his lips stained with pitch black blood.

“Jesus christ,” Eddie mumbles. “Jesus H Christ!”

The adrenaline pumping through your veins, your heartbeat going faster— everything seems to go for so long, when in reality it must’ve been just a few minutes.

“Steve,” you manage to rasp out, walking towards him, only looking at his wounds, unsure of what you can do to help him. “Shit, Steve, are you okay?”

“They only took about a pound of flesh,” he says, making you sigh. “But other than that… Yeah, never better.”

He stares at you when he says it, and you can’t help the way your breath catches.

“You’ll need bandages,” Nancy notes.

“Do you guys know if these bats have like, rabbies?” Robin wonders aloud. Aware that everyone’s eyes are on her, Robin starts rambling about rabies symptoms and death. You and Steve glance at each other.

Steve’s chest is still rising erratically, exhausted, when he asks, “What the hell are you talking about, Robin?”

Before Robin can go on any longer though, the sky is tinted red again, and the screeching of even more approaching creatures gets you on edge.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” you say, and the rest of the group seem to agree.

The five of you break into a run into the forest, as far as you can before Steve’s wounds start to appear more serious, and when Nancy deems it safe enough, you stop near a tree where Steve can lean against, still breathing rapidly. You remember that Nancy said he’d need bandages, and so you take the hem of your pants and start ripping them open.

“What are you—” Steve starts.

“Bandages,” you say. “I saw this in Indiana Jones.”

“Indiana Jones?” Steve asks with a chuckle, looking up at the sky, smiling. “Your movie choices keep surprising me, Henderson.”

You tie the cloth around his wounds as tightly as you can, hopeful that it’s a good enough job to keep him from bleeding out until you guys get out of here. The wounds don’t look too bad, but you have no idea how long you'll stay here for. Nancy, looking over your shoulders, seems to approve of your bandage work.

“Thanks,” Steve rasps out.

“Just don’t die on me,” you nod, staring at his eyes.

“I’ll try not to.”

He holds your gaze, your mouth going even more dry than it already is. “I’ll hold you to that, Harrington.”

You’re interrupted when Steve catches something behind you. It’s Eddie’s jean vest. When you turn, Eddie scrunches up his nose.

“For modesty, man.”

“We escaped now, but there’s more of those monsters than what we saw,” Nancy interrupts, walking around, trying to think. “They’ll come looking for us. We need to get out of here.”

“So,” Eddie starts, running a hand through his mouth. “What the hell do we do now? How do we get out of here, exactly?”

“We need to find another portal, right?” Robin replies. “That’s the only way to get out of here. But we can’t go back to Watergate, it’s probably full of those bats now. Those bats full of rabies!”

“Right now, the most important thing is to defend ourselves,” Nancy says. “We don’t know what kind of monsters are down here. Maybe they’re even worse than that.”

“Hell,” Eddie breathes. “You think Vecna is here?”

“I don’t know… Maybe.”

A chill runs down your spine at the mention of Vecna’s name. Your hand flies to your ear, and only then you realize you’ve jumped in the water with your headphones on, and when you reach the player secured inside your front pocket it’s wet and broken. Through the adrenaline of the fight, you hadn’t even noticed that the song was no longer playing.

“Shit,” Nancy breathes out, looking at your ruined headphones. “The player.”

“It’s ruined,” you lament, seeing the way it’s soaked. You toss the cassette player to the ground, near Steve’s feet, who pales even more, if it’s even possible.

“Fuck,” he says, breathless, the slight reassuring smile he’d been wearing disappears in an instant. He stands up straight despite his body clearly protesting against it. “We need to find another one before it’s too late.”

“Would it even work here?” Robin wonders. “If it’s one from the Upside Down, I mean. Things seem to be… kind of broken here, don’t they?”

“Then we need to get her out of here right now,” Steve urges, and when he starts trying to walk away it’s Eddie who stops him.

“Dude, do you want your intestines to hang out of your abdomen like some shitty Nightmare on Elm Street scene?” he asks, “Stay still! Those bats could be anywhere!”

“We need to move!”

“Steve, wait a second,” you urge after him.

“We could go to my house,” Nancy offers. “I have guns. We could use them to fend off the demo… bats, or whatever. And we need a player. We can use Mike’s, he has one he didn’t take to California.”

Eddie blinks. “You, Nancy Wheeler… have guns.”

Robin grins. “Full of surprises, isn’t she?”

Steve is already on his way despite his groans of pain, and even though the wounds had seemed pretty superficial to you when you wrapped them up, it doesn’t mean that they don’t hurt like a bitch.

“Steve, you’re just hurting yourself even more now,” Now Robin is sighing, exasperated. You briefly wonder how many times she’s had to deal with Steve like this.

“Let’s go,” he says, ignoring her.

“Steve...” you try to stop him, but he turns around quickly.

“Let’s go!”

Robin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Where are we even going, oh great leader?”

“Nancy’s!”

You all turn to look at each other, unsure if following Steve is the best idea, but with nothing else to do and no other ideas, there’s only one thing to do.

And so you all start walking.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

It’s a while before you arrive at the Wheeler’s, the five of you mostly exhausted from the fight, with Steve clutching his wounds but still leading the way, right next to Nancy. You’re all on edge the entire way back, but despite the lack of music you don’t feel different yet, and you don’t encounter any more demobats, as Nancy had called them.

Nancy’s house seems haunted in this place, just as much as the rest of Hawkins seems to be. Despite housing monsters, the Upside Down looks more like a ghost town than anything. You couldn’t help but wonder how tiny Will Byers had ever survived something like this so young… Nobody ever gives that kid enough credit.

Nancy wastes no time climbing up the stairs; she almost seems unaffected looking at her house like this, so… dead. She hovers near a door and turns to look at you.

“This is Mike’s room,” she nods at it. “His cassette player should be in there. Me, Eddie and Robin will get the guns and look for the cassette in my room.”

You agree to it, and she disappears down the hallway along with Eddie and Robin. You and Steve enter Mike’s room, start rummaging through cabinets. You work in silence. You’ve never seen Steve this quiet, this focused. You wonder if he’s mad at you— he had to be. Now besides demobats and trying to escape, he had to help you too because you’d went and done something stupid and completely irrational.

Steve clears his throat, holding up something in his hand. “Found it,” he calls. “Think it’ll work?” He wonders aloud, as you close the closet door before walking up to him.

“Here,” You say, then pull your ruined flashlight from your back pocket. You hit the back of it against the palm of your hand and the batteries come off. You’re not sure if this might work since the flashlight got wet and stopped working once you jumped into the water, but once you plug them into the cassette player it seems to come to life. Steve sighs, relieved. “Thank God that worked. Let’s get that stupid cassette and get out of here.”

“Sounds good to me,” he quips. He wets his lips, looking around. “You don’t feel any different, though, right?” When you shake your head, he seems to be able to relax a bit. “When we were on our way here, Eddie told me you didn’t waste a second to help me.”

You wait for Steve to continue, but he doesn’t.

“I’ve never been much of an adventurer when we were kids,” you say. “Dustin wanted to climb trees and go camping, and I wanted to stay home and read books. We used to fight all the time because I never wanted to play outside with him, because I was scared of bugs and dirt and I just wanted to stay inside.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that, but he’s near you, hoving near your hand, like he knows you need the comfort, unsure if it’d be wanted from him.

“If I don’t make it out of this stupid curse, Steve,” you breathe out, legs feeling so shaky you want to throw up, “I need you to promise me you’ll take care of Dustin.”

“He’ll kill me before I let you die,” Steve says, trying t sound lighthearted but failing.

“Steve,” you rag out. “Promise me. Please.”

Steve nods, his voice soft in the way it does when he’s trying to be gentle. “Y—yeah. Of course. You know little Henderson’s like my own little brother.”

“I know,” you acknowledge. “You’ve been a way better sibling than me. I’ve been such a shitty sister and I’m… I’m really glad Dustin has you.”

“That’s not true,” he argues, reaching for your arm in the darkness of the room— you want to flinch away. “He loves you, (Y/N). Seriously, you should hear the way he talks about you when you’re not around.”

You ignore the sting in your eyes and berate yourself for tearing up.

“It’s my fault,” you whisper.

“What?”

“It’s my fault my dad walked away,” you shake your head, tearing your arm away from Steve’s touch, feeling cold as soon as you’re away from him. But you deserve it, you deserve the cold. “I told him I hated him after I learned he cheated on mom and that he had another family, and he never came back. I told him I never wanted to see him again. I’m the reason Dustin doesn’t have a dad now. But— but I was just fifteen, I didn’t— I didn’t know what I was asking—”

“Stop, stop,” Steve interrupts, and suddenly he’s pulling you close to your chest and holding you close.

And suddenly that’s all you need to break down, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. You feel embarrased, stupid for crying about something like this when the world might be about to end, horrifyingly guilty for everything— but for the first time you feel like something has been finally lifted off your chest and you can breathe, here, with Steve holding you. You’re glad Steve stayed behind with you. In truth, you think you might just be glad for Steve.

If someone had told you a week ago you’d be crying in Steve Harrington’s arms you would’ve smacked them. Life can change really fast, huh?

“Nobody is going to die,” his voice is so soft. You’d never thought you’d think of Steve’s voice as anything other than grating, but now you hold onto it like a lifeline. “I won’t let that happen.”

You breathe into his chest. You finally manage to let go of him, thanking God the others weren’t near. You miss the warmth almost immediately, as much as you don’t want to admit it. “Shit, sorry, your bandages.”

“You need to stop doing that,” he quips.

“What?”

“Apologizing so much,” he reaches for your arm again before walking, and you thank him silently. You have to bite your tongue not to apologize again. “Let’s go get that cassette.”

When you both step into Nancy’s room, the silence is almost deafening.

“What happened?”

“The guns,” Nancy explains, her eyes focused on her nightstand, not looking up at either of you. “They aren’t here. But so many things that shouldn’t be are. Like— like my curtains, and these— these toys I gifted my cousin Joanna. They haven’t been here since 1983.”

“We’re stuck in time, dude,” Eddie finishes for her.

“Three years, to be exact.”

“What?” Steve asks, confused. “Three years into the past?”

“... From when Will disappeared, you mean?” You question.

Nancy nods. “Yeah, I… think so. But, (Y/N), If we’re three years in the past, it means The Breakfast Club isn’t out yet,” Nancy swallows, hard, then finally looks up to stare into your eyes.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, his chest rising erratically.

You bite your lip. “She means the song doesn’t exist, either.”

Nancy closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

“Fuck!” Steve yells, “fuck!”

He kicks one of Nancy’s nightstands with so much force he manages to force it into the ground, Nancy’s belongings following suit, scattering around the carpet, making Nancy flinch.

“Steve,” you whisper, trying to reach for him. “Stop.”

Steve sits on Nancy’s bed, hand covering his mouth. He lets you rest your hand on his arm, and he breathes out another curse. He almost looks frozen in place like this, and it reminds you that everything in here feels like it is— ghosts, so many ghosts. You feel like you’re stuck in hell.

“Maybe any song will work,” Robin offers a little desperately, going through Nancy’s drawers, pulling out different cassettes and soundtracks, Duran Duran, Madonna, Elton John. “C’mon guys, one has to work.”

Eddie scratches his neck. “Doesn’t it have to be her favorite song? Isn’t that what Henderon said?”

“Screw it,” Nancy shakes her head, taking in a shaky breath. “We have to try whatever we can. This is our only option.”

“Okay,” you nod, shakily, prying your hand off of Steve’s arm, reaching to cruch own next to Robin and look through the rest of Nancy’s cassettes. “Okay, let’s— let’s try it.”

Robin holds up Total Eclipse of the Heart. “You like Bonnie Tyler?”

“Seems as good as anything,” you nod, taking it from her hands. As the first notes of Total Eclipse start playing, you gulp nervously, praying this might work, that you have at least enough time to get out of here alive.

Steve still looks miserable, but seems a little calmer now. “We need to get out of here right now.”

“How?” Robin sighs. “How did Will ever manage to get out of this place?”

“There has to be a way,” Nancy figures, then something seems to dawn on her. “Will. Will used to talk to Joyce with the Christmas lights while he was stuck in the Upside Down.”

“The Christmas lights?” Eddie asks, incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

As she explains, you can’t help but think that Nancy Wheeler is absolutely brilliant. You can’t blame Steve for falling in love with her before. She’s interrupted by Robin rather quickly though, when she claims she can hear Dustin’s voice— soon enough, all of you start to hear him, distorted and distant, but it's there no less. Quickly Dustin communicates that he thinks there might be another portal in Eddie’s trailer and that seems to be your best shot at an escape.

Robin and Nancy leave to get some supplies for the trip— whatever they can find to use as a weapon, while Eddie wanders off behind them, with the excuse of rummaging through little Wheeler’s action figures. Steve stays with you, as you stare at Holly’s Lite Brite, unsure on what to do.

You trust Dustin and his plan, of course you do. Dustin’s done nothing but prove himself to you these past few days. Still, the thought that everything might go incredibly wrong is almost unshakable at this point. What was it Max said to you? Something about how Vecna’s curse made people feel hopeless and lonely.

“You okay, right?” Steve wonders aloud, searching your face. “You haven’t had any visions yet?”

You haven’t felt Vecna’s pull yet, but you don’t want to be overly optimistic just yet. “I’m okay, I think. Are you?”

You glance down at his bandages, but he only nods. “Yeah, they don’t hurt anymore. I’m more worried about you.”

Warmth spreads all over your cheeks and inside your chest, but now’s really not the time for all of these feelings, and so you try to squeeze them out, to focus on something else.

“I just hope the plan works,” you mumble. “I want to get out of here.”

“You—” Steve shakes his head, looks at you with a look you can’t name. But he sounds frustrated, exhausted. “You just jumped in after me? You didn’t even think…” he trails off. “Eddie said you just jumped. Fucking jumped. You’re unbelievable, you know that, don’t you, Henderson? Absolutely fucking unbelievable.”

You look down at your hands.

“It was stupid, I know, I—”

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs, honesty bleeding into every word he speaks. You look up at him, surprised. “You saved my ass back there.”

The truth is you hadn’t doubted one second— you hadn’t even stopped to think about what might happen to you. Helping Steve was more important to you than anything in that moment, and you didn’t regret it, how could you regret that?

“You saved my ass first, back at the Wheeler’s,” you smile at him. “Even later, in the woods, and at Creel’s house. I don’t know if I could have kept going without you… so thank you.”

Steve stays silent for a few seconds, unsure of how to continue. You can practically feel him grow nervous now, when he clears his throat and begins speaking. “Listen, I know we are on the brink of life and death and maybe world threatening danger, but I kinda need some motivation to get out of here.”

“Yeah?”

“So, now that you know me and Nancy aren’t really a thing, and that me and Robin are platonic with a capital P…”

“Keep going.”

“And since you know, maybe is really cool,” you nod, trying to fight off a smile. “We should, maybe, go on a date together.”

“Hm…” you place a hand on your chin. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can go out with someone who doesn’t like Pretty in Pink.”

“I’ve never said I didn’t,” he shrugs. “I just haven’t even seen it.”

“You haven’t seen Pretty in Pink, you monster?!”

“You know, I’m actively bleeding out here,” Steve gestures at your last minute bandages, his smile almost as handsome as him, even more so after tearing off a bat monster’s head off. Even more so now that it seems you finally have a plan to get out of this goddamn place. “You’re gonna make a dying man wait?”

“You’re not dying, Harrington.” You smack him gently across the shoulders. “I won’t let you.”

Steve chuckles, his hand finding its way to yours, almost nervous, scared of rejection.

“So? What do you say?”

“I say that if we get out of here alive, and it seems like kind of a longshot right now…” you acknowledge, holding onto his hand and squeezing. “I would really, really like that.”

“Yeah?”

You’re smiling. “Yeah.”

You both might be the people with the worst timing in the entire world— you’re cursed by a demon villain from another dimension, and Steve is bleeding out while you’re both trapped inside the Upside Down, with no clue if you’ll be able to actually escape. Not to mention this is all happening in his ex's house. And yet you can’t help but laugh when Steve tries to reach for the back of your neck and fails miserably.

“I really want to kiss you,” he says, “but my abdomen still really hurts.”

“I have to do everything,” you tease, before closing the distance between you, your lips pressing against his with a sigh.

Steve’s lips are chapped, bloody, raw, and yours must be equally as bad, salty, open and bleeding raw. But despite everything the kiss is perfect, as imperfect and uncoordinated as it is; the way your lips fit together, the way Steve cradles your cheek, and how you hold the back of his neck while Bonnie Tyler plays in the background of it all. Now, more than anything, you feel hope.

When you break off the kiss, Steve is smiling.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. And you just might.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington one shot #steve harington fic #steve x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things scenario #steve harrington scenario #st4 #joe keery #female reader #dyfam #mine #stranger things

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tsireyasluvr · 11 months

Note

Hii I’m srry if your request are closed but can I request a Neteyam x female metkayina reader (it doesn’t have to be metkayina but it’s preferred) where Reader is in heat and neteyam is in rut at the same time?

In Synch

Neteyam x Metkayina fem!reader

Authors note: hi anon! you’re my first request, so i hope you enjoy this <3 i also do not think i did the heat/rut part justice, i can’t stay i know too much about it, but i hope you like it anyway!

Summary: as a heavy storm comes on, you find out your mate was in rut, naturally being eager to help him out.

Warnings: 18+!! minors, DNI!, everyone’s aged up ofc, smut, p in v, heat, rut, whining, hand job kinda?, choking, dirty talk, he totally gives y/n head in this

It was beginning to storm at the reefs, you knew dinner would be held indoors for most of the village today so you thought it’d be best to gather fruit for your family and the Sullys as a favour, before the thunder started. You were at it for about an hour or so before your basket got full, smiling proudly at your work as you walked back towards the beach and mauris.

“y/n!” You hear a high pitched voice call out your name, a pair of little legs running quickly towards you. Immediately you knew it was Tuk, grinning as you turn around to greet the girl. “Hi Tuk-Tuk!” you beamed at your boyfriends little sister, kneeling down to hug her with one arm as you held the basket against your hip with the other. “What are you doing out here, hm? is your brother watching you by chance?” You ask, looking around behind her. “Lo’ak is over there somewhere,” she waves her hand around carelessly “not Neteyam though. He’s sick today” your brows furrow in confusion. “Hm? I haven’t heard anything about that, where is he?” she gave you a concerned look “Mama said it’s a pretty serious sickness, and that we shouldn’t be around him. You probably should give him some space, y/n”

You stood back up, shaking your head a little as you looked down at the girl. “no, no, I need to go see him. He’s my mate, I’ll just drop off some fruit for him if he’s feeling sick.” you insisted, the worry for your boy beginning to grow. “Where is he, Tuk?” you ask gently, adjusting your grip on the basket. She sighs a little, before pointing towards the very far end of the village, to a pod that is usually left vacant. “Over there.”

when you finally come into the mauri your mate was in, you see a sight that makes your heart clench. Neteyam writhing against his mat, the pillows beneath his head pretty much flattened and the blanket bunched over his waist.

“‘Teyam? why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick?” you say, closing the pod doors and kneeling beside him, placing the basket of fruit you collected to the corner of his bed. As you got closer, you noticed just how sweaty he looked, how his braids were looking disheveled and like they’d need to be redone later.

he looks up at you with wide eyes, his usual amber colour appearing more green “y/n? fuck, w-what are you doing here?” He inhaled sharply at the touch of your hand against his forehead, relishing in the cool feeling of your skin, digging his fingers into the matt to restrain from touching you. That’s when you realize.

He was in rut.

Your brows furrow in concern, brushing his braids back and any loose hairs on his face, stroking his sweaty cheek with the back of your hand. “You’re in rut… why are you doing hiding from me?” you look at him in slight confusion, tilting your head as he sits up, taking your hands away from his face as gently as he could. “Because, I’ve never endured a rut with anyone else, I don’t-“ His voice strains a little, “I don’t want to hurt you, y/n. You should go” He grits out, clenching his fists to hold any bit of control.

“Neteyam, i’m your mate. It’s my job to help you, i want to help you.” you say, pouting at him slightly as you sit closer to him, gingerly reaching your hands out to rest against his chest. You look at him for a reaction, only to be met with his eyes staring straight at you, unmoving. You decide to become bolder, tossing the blanket that sat around his waist aside, and moving to sit in his lap instead, your legs straddling him.

His hands immediately come to wrap around your waist, groaning at the lightest touches. He grips your hips, digging his nails in as you leaned in to press your lips against his. Neteyam tries to be gentle, he really does. The thought of hurting you is something he can’t bare, but he feels his self restraint slipping further and further away as he shoves his tongue in your mouth, licking his way in. You hold him closer at this, sucking on his warm muscle before pulling away and kissing down his jaw, trailing to his neck.

As you near his scent glands, you feel a switch in you. A heat starts to creep up your insides, an itch forming in your womb. You whine, gripping onto him tightly and grinding your hips onto his, licking at the spot on his neck. Neteyam hisses at this, tightening his grip on you as he starts moving you against him at his own pace. “Shit, that’s so good, princess. You don’t know how badly I want to hold you down and fuck you, watch you cry underneath me again” He whispers, dry humping you through his loincloth.

You mewl at his words, feeling your own body start to move frantically against him, your legs tightening on either side of his waist as you subconsciously release your pheromones. “Do it! Do it, p-please” You beg, reaching for his loincloth. His eyes practically turn to slits, as he looks down at you in pure hunger, clearly wanting to devour you. “Are you in heat? Did this- Did I trigger your heat, my love?” He grins, his sharp fangs becoming more prominent as he leans in closer to you, kissing your wrist as he inhales your scent. “Fuck, you smell so good, pretty girl. Like yovo fruit, so sweet.”

As you frantically try to untie his loincloth, he takes your wrists in one hand and flips you over, with one arm wrapped around your back and hand cushioning your head as he laid you both down. “T-Teyam, take it off, please” you whine, your inky curly hair lying messily beneath you, the woven seashell top Neteyam made you feeling itchy against your chest as you desperately wanted every barrier between the two of you off.

He growls at your whining, licking and nipping at your skin as he trails his tongue down your body, stopping right before your clothed cunt. He spreads your legs harshly apart, barely looking up at you before tearing off your loincloth and taking a long, wet lick between your folds. His eyes flutter shut at your taste, inhaling more of your smell before eagerly licking at you, fucking his tongue into you. “Oh! Mmm shit! Shit! Tey!” You writhed beneath him, humping your hips into his face, gripping his braids.

He pinned you down with one arm, stilling your hips as he sucked on your clit harshly. “So fucking delicious, sweet girl. Just like the fruit.” he growled into your cunt, sending vibrations through your body. You gasp, pulling his hair tighter “Nete! I’m gonna- ngh! I’m g-gonna..” You squeal, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. He plunges a finger into you, still sucking your clit. “Come on, princess. Let me feel it, taste it, hm?” Your eyes roll back at his words, finally letting go with a gasp, cumming all over his tongue.

He eagerly slurps it all into his mouth, licking his finger off as he crawls back up your body, pressing his lips to yours as you tasted yourself on his tongue. Slender fingers made quick work to remove the top he made you off your chest, while you finally untied his loincloth, throwing it as far as possible from you. He hissed as his cock was freed, and you couldn’t help but stare, his tip an angry red as pre-cum oozed down his length. “Yawne, keep your legs spread for me, yeah?” He said, stroking his cock as he looked down at you, panting.

You do as he says, looking up at him with hazy eyes as your chest quickly rises and falls. “That’s a good girl” He grins, lining up his tip at your entrance, not giving you any time to adjust before slamming his entire length into you. “Oh, Eywa! More, more!” You gasp, rocking your hips into his. He snarls, wrapping a hand around your neck as he slams into you, fucking you hard and fast as he loses any last bit of control, only thinking about chasing his high.

You yelped as you felt him hit your g-spot, holding tightly onto the wrist of the hand that was wrapped around your throat, looking up at him all teary eyed. You felt like it was too much yet not enough at the same time, pleading him with your eyes. “Whats wrong, pretty girl?” He coos, pushing your jaw up with his thumb, the same hand still wrapped tightly around your throat as he brought his head down, his breath hot against your neck. He sucked and kissed around your scent glands, breathing you in, licking at your sweet spot. “Fuck, you taste so good, yawne. Everywhere, every bit of you. Your skin.. your lips.. your tight, wet cunt. Just can’t get enough of you, you know that?” He murmurs into your skin, covering your neck in his saliva.

You pant against him, feeling your vision get drowsy as your arousal grows and you moan helplessly against him. He finally takes his hand off your throat, instead running it through your hair as he grazes his teeth along your shoulder. “Nete.. Nete, I’m s-so close” You whimper, scratching your nails down his back. He grins at your whiney voice, loving the way you grasped onto him, the way your body trembled under him at every touch.

“mmm fuck, cum around my dick, princess. let me feel it, hm?” He sat up, grabbing your hips as he began rutting into you like an animal, violently fast and bringing his hand down to rub at your clit, abusing your cunt as he looked down at your twisted expression. Your jaw dropped in a silent gasp, gripping the pillows above you as your back arches, screaming out his name as you finally came undone.

“Fuck, such a good girl.” He groaned, bending down and holding you close to him as he fucked you deeper now, thrusting the entirety of his cock into you as he sunk his fangs straight into the crook of your neck. “Neteyam!” You squealed, throwing your head back in pleasure and crying out as you felt the pulsing of his cock inside of you. “‘m gonna cum, princess, fuck. you’re gonna make me cum” He whined, licking at the imprints of his sharp teeth in your neck.

“do it.. do it, in me, Teyam, please. Please” You beg, tugging lightly on his braids. He knows you’re not thinking straight, that it’s all just your heat talking. But he refuses to stop now, his own rut was clouding any bit of sense he had left in him as he nodded quickly at you. “you gonna take me, baby? all of me?” He moaned, caging your head with his arms as he kept looking down at you, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. “yes! mhm!” you clench around him again, desperate to have him finish. He hisses at the tightness, moaning before finally spilling inside of you.

You hold him to your chest, your hands shaky as you pet his hair soothingly, relaxing from the feel of his weight on you. “I love you” you whispered in his ear, resting your cheek on top of his head. He smiled softly, wrapping his arms around you as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x you #avatar smut

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corazondebeskar-reads · 5 months

Text

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it.

Please read responsibly.

I. in media res

-the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

-intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

-fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

-avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

-broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

-kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dddne #tw noncon #non con #dark fic #tw abuse #seriously heed the warnings #don't like don't read #deaddovedecember2023

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wheresarizona · 1 year

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Gif by the amazing @pedropascalsx

September Part 2

Firefly Hospital, 2024

summary: Twenty years ago, Joel Miller was the love of your life. On the day of the Outbreak, you’d gotten separated and never saw him again—imagine your surprise when you find out the smuggler Marlene hired to bring the immune girl to your research hospital is none other than the man you thought you’d lost forever.

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader (reader is a doctor with no physical descriptions)

rating: E (18+! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (10 years), oral sex (f receiving), face-sitting, vaginal fingering, coming untouched, dirty talk, praise kink, canon-typical violence, minor character death, slight angst, emotions, love confessions, mentions of PTSD, handwavey medical jargon (went to google medical school for this one), Ellie being a cockblock, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, TLOU finale speculation, TLOU tv spoilers, TLOU game spoilers)

word count: 16.6k+

a/n: This goes over reader and Joel’s reunion after twenty years of being apart. It is dramatic and a fun ride. I’m playing fast and loose with game canon to speculate how the show finale will go, and this chapter follows a bit of how it goes in the game, with me taking some liberties. Thank you to the love of my life, @juletheghoul for betaing and being by my side.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Part 1 - Part 3 - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

20 Years After the Outbreak

He can’t fucking believe it.

He’s at a loss.

Months Joel spent with this little girl, bringing her across the country, keeping her safe, protecting her with his life—fucking Tess lost hers getting Ellie to the Fireflies, and they’re just going to kill her in order to reverse-engineer a vaccine? She was a lamb to the slaughter. He’d inadvertently brought her to her death.

Anger is threading in his belly, pissed off over everything he went through, feeling like it was all for nothing, not if she’s going to die.

They’re in a hospital that’s being used by the Fireflies to try and find a cure, Ellie taken from him, Joel kneeling on a hospital room floor after an armed guard had hit him, listening to Marlene talk about how this was harder for her due to her history with the girl.

Joel rolls his eyes because if she actually gave a shit about Ellie, she wouldn’t let this happen.

There has to be another way.

He has to find Ellie.

He almost lost her getting here, and he isn’t going to just step back and let her die, the world be damned, he can’t lose another person he cares about, not if he can help it. He’ll do everything in his power to find her and get her the fuck out of here—she’s too important to him.

Marlene’s in front of him, the guard at her side.

“This isn’t about me, her, or you,” she tells him. “There is no other choice here—my hands are tied.”

He scoffs, moving to sit on his ass and resting his arms on his knees, glaring at her. “Yeah,” he sneers, “you keep tellin’ yourself that bullshit if it helps you sleep at night.”

She sighs, shaking her head.

“March him out of here,” she orders the guard. “He tries anything. Shoot him. Don’t ruin this, Joel.” She turns on her heel, opens the room door, and leaves, Joel’s mind racing with what he can do. He’s sized up the other man, knowing he can take him, the only disadvantage being that Joel didn’t have any weapons, and he did.

“Get up,” the Firefly says.

Joel doesn’t bother moving, working out in his brain his next steps. He needs to get his hands on a gun, thankful they hadn’t handcuffed him, which would give him the opportunity to disarm the guard.

Get a weapon, find Ellie

His mind chants.

It was evident that she wasn't safe as long as these people were alive, so he’d take out anyone who got in his way.

“I said get up.” The other man raises his handgun, pointing it at Joel.

He sighs, groaning as he rises, rage pulsing in his veins, his jaw clenching, hands in tight fists wanting to hit this bastard.

Marlene left the door open, the Firefly’s back to it, his attention focused on Joel, not realizing someone had slipped inside quietly behind him. Joel watches as the smaller person claps a hand over the man’s mouth, their other hand slicing open his throat with what he thought might be a scalpel. The guard gurgles as he falls forward, the gun clattering to the ground, grabbing at his neck to try and stop the bleeding, to no avail, falling to the floor in a growing pool of blood.

Joel’s confused, his eyes a little wider, taking in his unexpected savior.

From the scrubs she’s wearing and the scalpel, he thinks she’s some kind of doctor. Her hair is hidden under a surgical cap, her face obscured with a mask covering half of it as if she’d left in the middle of an operation.

She’s bending down and picking up the gun, tossing it to him when she straightens, Joel catching it easily.

“Who are you?” he asks.

There’s something familiar about her eyes, but he can’t place who she is, not sure who the fuck he knew who’d be all the way out here and willing to risk their life for him, his brain coming up with no one.

For one hopeful second, even though he knows it’s fucking impossible, he thinks it’s Tess until the woman speaks, her muffled voice dashing his hopes, “No time to chat,” she says. “We have to get Ellie—I couldn’t do it alone.”

His eyebrows are in his hairline, all of the confusion and disappointment being replaced with hope once more.

“You know where she is?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers, nodding. “Follow me. Your stuff is down this hall.” She points behind her. She’d discarded the scalpel, pulling a handgun from the back of her pants. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

Leaving without another word, Joel is hot on her heels. Questions could wait until Ellie was safe, keeping his guard up and on alert, fingers itching to kill these assholes. Down the hallway, she shows him where his things are on a counter, him quickly putting on his backpack, their weapons drawn as they start moving, him covering her back.

“We’re turning up here,” she whispers. “Two guards—need to get to the stairwell.”

“Copy that.”

Eerie calmness washes over him, his brain working to figure out their next moves. She stops at the corner, glancing around it. Her head turns toward him, nodding, then she steps out, two shots ringing out. Joel sees the Fireflies crumpling to the ground as he follows.

“Clear,” she says, stuffing her gun into her pants as she goes to one of the bodies to take their semi-automatic rifle. Joel does the same, impressed with the clean headshots.

“Who are you?” he asks again, taking up point behind her again with the bigger gun.

“We’ll worry about that later, Joel,” she answers, already on the move.

“How’d you know my name?”

“Ellie,” she replies. “But I’d never forget Joel Miller.”

Does she know him? Does he know her? His eyes had trailed over her body for any kind of clue, but he came up empty.

“What’s your name?”

“That’s not important,” she says. They’re approaching the stairwell. “Ellie’s on the top floor, far end. The place will be littered with guards. They won’t hesitate to kill you, so show no mercy.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it,” he grits out. “Would burn this fuckin’ place to the ground if I could.”

“I’ll bring the gasoline. You light the match. Deal?”

Joel huffs out an amused breath. He may not have any idea who this woman is who’s helping him, but she’s competent, knows what needs to be done, and is funny.

He kinda likes her, whoever she is.

They don’t speak as they hurry up the stairs, and once they’ve exited, she jams a chair into the door to lock it.

She was right about the place being littered with Fireflies.

They move as a unit, in sync, somehow knowing what the other would do without speaking, taking out anyone who got in their way swiftly and efficiently. Rage fueled him, and she led him, knowing where to take cover, tossing each other more ammunition divested from those they’d gunned down. The guards had no idea what hit them, hearing screams and frantically calling for reinforcements over their radios, wondering out loud who was killing them.

It’s a bloodbath, a fucking massacre. Joel and this woman are ruthless in their endeavor to get to Ellie.

Blood is spattered on their clothes and skin, sweat clinging to their bodies, breathing hard when they enter a door and see where the operating room is. Joel barricades the door they’d come through with medical equipment to buy them time, his knees aching and back sore, heart racing a mile a minute.

“There will be a nurse and a doctor,” she whispers. “I should’ve been in there, too.”

He grunts in response, taking off his backpack to strap the rifle to it, putting it back on, and grabbing the handgun from his waist.

He’s hoping and praying they’ll make it in time, not sure what he’ll do if they don’t, the trek to the room feeling like it takes forever.

She pushes through the door first, him stepping in after her training his gun on the surgeon about to operate.

“Get away from her!” Joel angrily demands, his teeth bared, ready to shoot.

“What are you doing here?” the surgeon asks, moving to stand between them and Ellie, holding up a scalpel in defense. “You brought him here?” The question was directed at the mystery woman.

“Yes,” she answers, her gun locked on him. “We’re not letting you kill her.”

“She’s our future! You can’t take her! This is the only way to save lives!”

“It’s not!” she shouts, Joel hearing her anger.

“You’ll pay for this—don’t come any closer,” the surgeon threatens, swinging the scalpel around.

There’s no hesitation when she pulls the trigger, the man falling to the ground as the nurse screams, Joel seeing her reaching on a surgical tray for something sharp, his shot stopping her.

The room is cleared, his focus moving to Ellie.

“Sweet Jesus,” he murmurs, his gun going back into his waistband, not wasting another second to get to the girl, her in a surgical gown and oxygen mask, hooked up to an IV, her eyes closed.

“Come on, baby girl,” he says, carefully removing the mask. The woman had shouldered her rifle, moving to the other side of the table to carefully take care of the IV and bandage Ellie’s hand. “I gotcha,” his voice soft as he gently picks her up, his attention moving to the woman. “How do we get outta here?”

He watches as she tears off the cap and, finally, the face mask.

Stumbling back, he feels like he’s been shot, his eyes going wide, all of the oxygen leaving his lungs and making it hard to breathe, blood pounding in his ears.

It can’t be.

Since the night of the outbreak, Joel has been plagued with nightmares, reliving the horrors over and over again, self-medicating with pills and home-brewed booze to dreamlessly sleep. There were nights when he’d dream of the woman he once loved—her eyes, her smile, usually the two of them in bed with soft light pouring in from the window, and if his brain was being particularly cruel, he’d be on top of her, watching as she came around him—something he once loved to see, and was now painful, waking up harder than a rock, and too fucking sad to do anything about it except drink until he passed out. A vicious cycle.

Staring at the woman in front of him, it’s the same face from his dreams.

He’d kissed those lips, held those cheeks, spent hours studying every detail, and thought he’d never see it again—only in memory, another person lost to him.

It feels like he’s seeing a ghost, unable to believe that this is real, that she’s standing there, thinking maybe he might be dead, and he’s having a nice hallucination before his soul leaves this earth.

He croaks out your name, it feeling rusty on his tongue.

She smiles softly, and he sucks in a breath because it is you, and you’re alive, tears beginning to burn in his eyes.

“Hi, babe,” you greet with a wiggle of your fingers in a wave.

His heart constricts, his lips slowly tipping up, replying without a second thought.

“Hi, baby.”

Hours Earlier

“She doesn’t have to die!” you shout.

For months, Marlene has been talking about a girl immune to the infection and that she hired a smuggler to deliver her to your research hospital where you worked, but after most of Marlene’s crew didn’t make the trip here, you all assumed the girl hadn’t survived.

At least you had until she’d been found unconscious nearby, the old bite mark that’d healed and scarred with no sign of infection prominent on her arm, identifying her as Ellie Williams.

Tests were done to confirm her immunity, and now you’re discussing what’s to be done with the lead surgeon at this facility and Marlene, the doctor so adamant about finding a cure he isn’t taking into account that Ellie is a child and that there are other options than doing a procedure that will outright kill her.

“We have to extract the fungus,” he replies.

“Yes, and we can biopsy,” you argue.

“Can that be done?” Marlene asks.

He’s sitting behind his desk, you and Marlene standing in front of it. She’s called you in as a second opinion because you’re second in line behind the surgeon here at the hospital.

You and he speak at the same time.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Her attention moves to him.

“Lay it out for me why a biopsy wouldn’t work.” Her arms are crossed over her chest, looking tired.

“The fungus is intertwined with the brain, and removing it would destroy the host.”

“She’s a child, not some science experiment. Why does it all have to be removed?”

He sighs.

“It’s our best chance at making the vaccine—extract the entire specimen, and we’ll save millions of lives.”

“At the cost of an innocent kid?” Marlene asks with a raised eyebrow.

He leans forward on the desk, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Do you think I’m unaware of the situation?” he asks. “How many Fireflies have died for less? How many sacrifices have been made for nothing when this one will actually have results?”

She looks at you.

“Rebuttal?”

“In order to make a vaccine, we only need some of the mutated infection. It’s possible to biopsy some of it to get what we need—extracting the entire specimen is overkill and murder.”

Marlene faces him again.

“I want to agree with her,” she says, pointing her thumb at you. “If she can do it without killing Ellie, then I’ll have her take over.”

His eyes narrow.

“She’s not even a real doctor.” “My degree would say otherwise,” you snidely reply.

He met your gaze.

“You didn’t complete your residency—you were an intern when the outbreak happened. I was a practicing physician with years under my belt, and you think you know our best course of action for this situation? I have the experience. I have been searching for a cure for years while you were off being a medic.” The disdain is evident in his tone. “You may have risen in the ranks here over the last five years, but I am the head of this hospital.” He looks at Marlene. “I’ve been working for your cause practically since its inception. Our goal is to make a vaccine. You’ve trusted me here for years to do our work, and we’ve been fighting for this moment—this is our chance to justify all of the sacrifices and horrific things we’ve been through, and we can’t let it all go to waste because our cure happens to reside in a fourteen-year-old girl—you have to trust me on this, a biopsy is not enough, we need it all to ensure the vaccine is made.”

“That’s horse shit!” you exclaimed, throwing up your hands.

Marlene holds her hand up to you, her attention on the surgeon.

“What if this was your daughter?” she asks, well aware that he has one, who’s also a Firefly.

“I wouldn’t hesitate,” he answers. “One life for millions of others? I think it’s worth the sacrifice.”

She nods.

“Do it.”

“Marlene, I can—” you start to protest.

She turns to you, cutting you off, “We have to do whatever it takes to be successful—if you don’t agree, you can leave. It’s being done with or without you, but you're not welcome back once you step outside those doors.”

Your mouth falls open, anger swirling in your gut.

This is murder. They’re going to kill this girl, and what if it doesn’t pan out to anything? This isn’t sitting right with you, not when there are other options. You’ve been with the Fireflies for years, a way to survive and try to do some good, but seeing what they’re willing to do for a cure has made you disillusioned with the group—the experimentations, infecting people to try out vaccines that failed—and now there’s a real shot at getting somewhere, and they want to kill the person who’s giving it to them.

Can you get her out?

Can you save her?

That smuggler she came with managed to get her across the country in relatively good shape, and you have to assume he fought and killed to keep her safe.

Would he help you?

Two against dozens of armed guards sounds like a suicide mission, but what will the Fireflies resort to if this all fails?

As the surgeon said, you spent years as a medic, which meant you were traveling, protecting yourself, gaining your skills as a doctor and in self-defense, not shy about guns, blood, or carnage.

If they’re going to do whatever it takes, then you will too, in order to save this girl.

“Am I understood?” Marlene asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply.

“Good.” She glances back at the man. “I’m gonna go tell Joel.”

The name has a jolt running through you, memories of a man from your past coming to the forefront of your brain—chocolate-colored eyes, brown waves of hair, a strong nose, broad shoulders—Joel Miller was a hard one to lose, and you never recovered, would never recover. He was the love of your life, and you were planning on spending the rest of your days with him and his daughter up until the world ended, and you got separated, hoping they were out there somewhere as safe as they could be in these times. You squash down the sliver of hope, knowing Marlene isn’t talking about your Joel.

“Why?” he asks, making you mad that he’s questioning her decency.

“He traveled with her for months. He has the right to know. Good luck with your surgery.” With that, she left, leaving the two of you.

“I know you don’t agree with me,” he starts, “but today will go down in history as the day we saved the world.”

Your hands clench at your sides, grinding your teeth.

“Right…”

“Get her prepped for the operation. We’ll start in two hours.”

“How many will you need on your service?”

He thinks it over for a second.

“You can scrub in—I won’t need your help. One nurse will do. It’s a pretty straightforward procedure.”

“As you wish, Doctor,” you say through your teeth. “I’ll get the operating room put together.”

With the discussion over, you leave the room, trying to figure out what you’ll do as you walk to the surgical floor, mindlessly changing into scrubs, and a surgical cap, putting on your medical mask last. In the back of your locker, you take the handgun, stuffing it into the waistband of your pants, thankful it was normal to walk around armed.

Before you go to the girl’s room, you stop at the nurse's station, having the few there decide who will help during the surgery.

You’re not going to bother putting the operating room together; that will give you extra time.

Frankly, you shouldn’t even bother seeing the girl, but something inside you wants to meet her, so you go, her sitting up in a hospital bed, legs criss crossed under her, reading some old magazine one of the nurse’s probably brought her.

Knocking on her door, you ask, “Anything good in there?”

She looks over the pages at you.

“Just two hundred and fifty-four hot new fashion, beauty, and body secrets. People really read this shit?”

Laughing, you answer, “Yes, especially girls your age.”

She makes a face that has you snorting, her setting it down.

“It’s crazy how much people cared about how they looked.”

Walking towards her, you smile, nodding your head.

“I know,” you reply. “It would take me a minimum of thirty minutes to get ready before leaving the house.”

Shock is on her face.

“Why did it take so fucking long?”

“Shower, hair, makeup, finding the perfect outfit—if I had a date, it took me an hour because I wanted to look as cute as possible.”

Sadness has your chest going tight, remembering your first date with Joel and how you stressed over what dress to wear, mentally high-fiving yourself when his eyes lit up at seeing you. He tried to be a gentleman, telling you he was old-fashioned and didn’t do sex on the first date, his mind changing by the end of the night when you’d both ended up naked on your living room couch.

“An hour?!” she exclaims, taking you from your reverie. “Why?”

“Well, when two people like each other very much—”

“Ew,” she interrupts. “Yuck, I don’t want to know. Anyways, I’m assuming you’re a doctor?”

Making a show of looking down at your body, you ask, “What gave me away?” You met her eyes again.

“Honestly, you’re not like any doctor I’ve met before—earlier with the tests, they were so…”

“Cold?” you finish for her. “Not very friendly?”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, moving to sit on the edge of her bed.

“There’s no bedside manner anymore,” you say. “It’s getting you fixed up and on your way—at least that’s how it is with newer doctors, the ones who’ve learned over time and didn’t actually go to school before the world went to shit. But I want to make sure you’re comfortable, and—” you look left and right like you’re making sure no one is around before looking at her again“ —It’s nice having someone new to talk to. People here are boring.”

She laughs.

“I can tell.”

It’s the right decision to save this girl. You know, in your gut, that it’s what you need to do.

Her spunkiness reminds you of Sarah, who also wouldn’t have been into two hundred and fifty-four hot new fashion, beauty, and body secrets. You’d bonded with Joel’s daughter over music, her loving your CD collection and always letting her choose what you listened to in the car, her tastes varying, which had a lot to do with her dad loving tunes from the seventies and eighties. She was a firecracker, always keeping her dad on his toes, and here was Ellie keeping you on yours.

“Let’s talk business, squirt,” you say.

Her face scrunches up, “Squirt?”

“Yeah, similar to ‘kiddo,’” you answer.

“You fucking sound like Joel—where is he, by the way? I woke up, and he wasn’t with me. People have been weird and will only say he’s okay.”

The worry is evident on her face, even though she’s trying to hide it.

“I haven’t personally seen him,” you reply. “He is okay, though. Marlene was actually heading to let him know how you’re doing.” And that they’re planning to kill you, you didn’t say out loud.

“That’s good. Don’t need him worrying.”

“I’m impressed he got you all the way here. What’s he like?”

You’re curious about the man.

“Tall, wide—” she held out her hands “—and a grumpy asshole.” Definitely not your Joel, then. “But he’s got his nice moments.” She gives you a conspiratorial look that makes you smile. “Don’t tell him I said this, but I know deep down he’s a fucking softy.”

“You’re secret’s safe with me,” you laugh.

Her face goes somber, her fingers fidgeting with the blanket under her.

“So, what’s gonna happen to me, Doc?”

Your stomach must drop all the way to the ground floor.

You couldn’t lie to her, but you didn’t want to scare her.

“They want to extract the infection from your brain to make a vaccine,” you answer truthfully.

“Who’s they?”

“Marlene and the head of this facility.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “You won’t be there?”

“I was asked to scrub in, but I won’t be operating.”

“Surgery, then?”

“Surgery.” You nod.

“Will it hurt?”

Smiling reassuringly, you answer, “Won’t feel a thing. You’ll be knocked out cold.”

“That’s good. Can I talk to Joel beforehand? I just want to thank him for everything.”

You frown, “That won’t be possible. I’ll happily relay a message to him for you.”

She looks downtrodden, eyes darting away from you.

“That works. Um, if I don’t make it, can you tell him I said thank you? For getting me here safe and not abandoning me? That I’m sorry for being such a fucking pain in his ass.”

You reach to touch her leg comfortingly.

“I’ll let him know,” you reply softly. “You know, I once knew a Joel before everything.” You wave your hand in explanation, her meeting your gaze to nod. “I was going to marry him,” you continue. “He hadn’t asked yet, but I knew he was the one. You never forget a dreamboat like Joel Miller,” you sigh wistfully.

Her eyes go round.

“Joel Miller?” she asks. “Your Joel’s last name was Miller?”

“It was.” You nod. “I loved him and his daughter Sarah.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You’re taken aback, “I’m sorry..?”

“Sorry, sorry.” She puts up her hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just my grumpy Joel’s last name is Miller, and he had a daughter named Sarah.”

Your heart clenches, and your throat gets tight, asking thickly, “Had?”

Clear sadness comes over her face.

“I don’t know all the details, but she didn’t make it. Early on. Really fucked him up.”

Covering your mouth, you need a second, emotions warring inside you—hope that it is your Joel and unimaginable pain about Sarah, not wanting her to be gone, and thinking of all the years he would’ve been alone, wondering if he even had Tommy. It’s a struggle to keep the tears at bay.

“Your Joel Miller, does he happen to be from Texas?” you finally ask.

“Yeah,” she answers, nodding. “Sounds funny, too. His brother Tommy and him are from, I think, Houston, no, fuck, starts with an ‘A.’”

“Austin,” you breathe, eyes wide as saucers.

“Yeah!” she exclaims. “Holy shit, is my Joel your Joel?”

She’s excited by the prospect, and you’re doing everything not to cry. You need to go to him. You both need to save this girl, and once that’s done, you can have the long overdue reunion. He won’t want her to die, especially not after losing Sarah. It’s cruel that he’s been put in this spot, your blood boiling, knowing without a doubt that if he brought her here alone, the two of you could get her out, or at least you’d both die trying, and you’re willing, especially to see Joel one last time.

“I think he might be,” you reply.

“You gotta go talk to him!”

“I do.” You nod. “Do you trust me?”

She looks confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to be safe—you’re not going to die. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Okay..?”

“Good. You’re not going to see me again until after you wake up, so don’t panic, squirt. I’ll be there.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to go see him,” you say as you stand up.

She picks up the magazine.

“Do you need kissing tips? It says here that with these techniques, you’ll rock his world.”

You snort.

“Aren’t you a goddamn comedian—you must’ve amused the hell out of Joel.”

She looks proud as she smiles.

“I made him laugh—multiple times.”

“Way to go, kiddo. Don’t tell anyone where I’m going, and I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sounds good, Doc.”

It was your goal not to arouse any suspicions, walking briskly towards the floor you knew Joel was on, stopping to snag a scalpel, and taking the back way that was a little longer but would have you bypassing a lot of the guards since you had some time to work with, the procedure having to be delayed with nothing being ready.

Hiding in the shadows of the next room, you gasp when you hear Joel calling Marlene on her bullshit, your heart picking up in speed at the familiar Texas drawl and rasp, a stray tear falling down your cheek.

He’s here.

He’s really here and alive.

The focus needs to be on saving Ellie, so you know you can’t trip him up by revealing who you are, thankful you’d changed into your operating clothes.

When his door opens, and you hear Marlene’s footsteps heading away from you, you’re moving, scalpel held tight in your hand, knowing you need to be as quiet as possible so as not to alert the other two guards on this floor.

You don’t even look at Joel when you enter the room, focusing on your task, and executing it seamlessly, only chancing a glance once you’ve tossed him the gun.

He’s older and greyer, years of surviving making his already broad shoulders even broader, his face hardened over time, having some idea of the hell he’s been through, and still, just as he was at thirty-six, at fifty-six, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Your fingers want to smooth the furrow between his eyes, kiss those plush lips of his, feel his arms engulf you, hold you tight, and never let you go.

Twenty years and you’re still madly in love with Joel Miller—one look, and you’re a fucking goner.

You can’t get your hopes up, not knowing anything about his current situation, assuming he’s probably moved on.

Who wouldn’t want him?

There’s no way he’s been single all these years. You’ve had your own flings, nothing long-lasting or very memorable.

Who could compare to Joel?

He’s the blueprint of what you want in a man, and no one could or would ever measure up.

Was your life lonely?

A little, but why tie yourself to someone you’d never be able to love because your heart belonged to another?

“Who are you?” he asks.

“No time to chat,” you reply. “We have to get Ellie—I couldn’t do it alone.” You ignore the excited flutters in your tummy at hearing his voice.

He asks another question, and you answer, leading him from the room, weapons raised, ready to face whatever comes your way, comforted with Joel at your back.

When you reach the top floor, you quickly understand how he managed to get Ellie here in one piece—the man was a killing machine—brutal, merciless, breathtaking.

The way he fought was a thing of beauty, and if you hadn’t had to focus on staying alive, you’d have loved to watch him—seeing his strength, his competence, not wasting a single shot.

Somehow, it made him more attractive, which you didn’t think was possible.

The two of you worked together so well as a pair, covering each other, moving as one to mow down anyone who crossed your path, making it to the operating room just as they were about to begin.

You feel no remorse for killing the surgeon. Frankly, you haven’t felt bad about killing another human in years because there’s no room for feeling guilty when you’re trying to survive—you compartmentalize, knowing that it’s either them or you; if you hesitate for even a fraction of a second, you’re dead, so you’ve got to pull the trigger first, and you will.

You and Joel are on the same page about getting Ellie out of there as soon as possible. You quickly take care of her IV and make sure her hand is bandaged, smiling softly when you see Joel tenderly lift the girl into his arms, murmuring quietly to her, seeing just how much he cares.

There’s no doubt in your mind he would’ve attempted this rescue alone, and the thing is, you’re pretty sure he would’ve succeeded from sheer will alone.

His eyes meet yours, seeing his trust in you, him relying on you now to get you all out.

“How do we get outta here?” he asks.

There’s no point in hiding anymore, honestly surprised your cap and mask even stayed on.

You’re not sure what his reaction will be, hoping for happiness.

When he gets a good look at you, he stumbles back in shock, the blood leaving his face, watching his eyes go wide, mouth agape, seeing the shock, the disbelief, the hope, many emotions coming over his features as he processes what’s going on.

His voice cracks as he breathes your name, and you gently smile, knowing this is probably a lot for him, raising your hand and wiggling your fingers in a wave.

“Hi, babe,” you say.

It’s noticeable on his face the realization that it really is you, and you’re here, his eyes getting misty, lips turning up, the blood in your veins thrumming when he answers like he had a thousand times before without missing a beat, “Hi, baby.”

“You’re alive,” Joel says in wonder, his eyes mapping out your face, seeing lines from aging but still just as beautiful as the first time he saw you all those years ago.

“I am,” you reply, nodding. You point at him. “You are, too. Imagine my surprise when Ellie started telling me about this grumpy asshole named Joel Miller, who brought her here—couldn’t believe it was my Joel Miller until we compared notes. Sorry to spring this on you; I know it’s a shock.”

He huffs out a breath.

“That’s a fuckin’ understatement.”

You giggle.

Is this real? Is he dreaming?

You’re just as lively as he remembers, your smile like a breath of fresh air in this godforsaken world.

There’s a sensation in his stomach, it not feeling right, hitting him a second later that the fluttering is fucking butterflies, as if he was a goddamn teenager again, talking to his crush.

Twenty fucking years, and he still has it bad.

“God, I missed you,” you say.

“I missed you, too.”

“We’ll catch up after we get the fuck out of here. We’re going out that door.” You point at the opposite wall from where you came in. “Pit stop to grab her things that are on the way. Then the elevator to the basement garage—we can get a truck. There’s multiple.”

“I need you to do somethin’ first,” he says.

Your head cocks to the side.

“What do you need?”

“Come ‘ere, my hands are full. I need you to pinch me.”

Your eyebrows drew together.

“You need me to pinch you…?” you ask slowly.

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding. “Gotta make sure I’m not dreamin’—need to know you’re really here with me.”

Your eyes soften, quickly moving around the table until you’re at his side, smiling at him as you pinch his arm, leaning in to kiss his cheek, his skin buzzing where you touch, wanting more of it.

“There,” you say, looking at him through your lashes, and it has him gulping. “Believe I’m here, now?”

“I missed you so fuckin’ much, baby,” his words come out rough, feeling the tears in his eyes.

“I missed you, too, Joel,” you reply, rubbing his arm, goosebumps erupting on his skin. “Let’s get out of here—I wanna catch up.”

He nods, “Lead the way.”

He watches you getting the rifle into your hands, him following you out of the room, stopping to grab Ellie’s backpack that was left on a hospital bed, and you putting it on.

It’s a fucking maze to find the elevator, you knowing exactly where to go, guards showing up halfway to it, commotion erupting as you told him where to go, covering him and Ellie as the three of you moved quickly down the corridors, gunshots ringing out.

You’re both panting by the time the elevator doors close, you taking point in front of him with your gun at the ready.

Joel can’t get over you being here with him.

There’s so much about you that hasn’t changed since all those years ago, somehow keeping your radiance, your life, not losing yourself to the darkness, but underneath all of that, he’s seen how you’ve adapted—killing with zero hesitation, not afraid to do what it takes to survive, a ruthlessness to you that only develops after going through some horrible shit. Guilt makes his chest squeeze, hating that you’ve been out here on your own, surviving. He at least has Tommy, had Tess, and with how easily you’re leaving with him, he doesn’t think you have anyone, and it breaks his heart.

“Do we need to worry about runnin’ into anybody else down there?” he asks.

You glance at him over your shoulder, “They would’ve called everyone to the top floor, and I’m pretty sure we took out at least ninety percent of their muscle. I can’t imagine anyone being stupid enough to try and stop us.”

He nods.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome. I’d honestly planned on trying to get her out before I knew it was you who’d brought her. I’m thankful you were here—you’re a fucking tank. Probably wouldn’t have even needed me.”

He chuckles, his chest puffing out a little in pride.

“If I’d had to do it alone, I’d be in a helluva lot more pain, so thank you.”

“Knees?”

He nods. “And my fuckin’ back—I’ve gotten old.”

“But you still look really fucking good,” you reply with a wink, and it makes his throat go dry, his heart hammering that you’re flirting with him, that you’re still interested in him after all this time, even though he’s gone grey, and rougher around the edges. You didn’t even shy away from what he’d do to keep himself and those he cares about safe; pretty sure you even liked it.

It’s been so long, he wonders if you moved on and if he even has a chance with you.

He’s had time to mourn Tess, thankful for the years he got with her, keeping him alive and not letting him self-destruct in his grief, but even though they cared about each other to a certain extent, they’d been using one another—he was the muscle, she was the brains, and he couldn’t give her what she wanted; offer feelings that weren’t hers to have, so what they had wasn’t all that romantic, there wasn’t time for any of that shit, and Tess didn’t much care for it, anyway.

There’s history with Joel and you, memories of a time when you’d been happy together, and being here with you is making him remember all of the good times—the feelings he had for you that he’d buried deep inside after he thought you were gone, coming alive inside him, consuming him, wanting to touch you, feel your soft skin under him, and kiss you—fuck, he hasn’t kissed in so long, Tess never being very affectionate, sex always quick and a means to scratch an itch.

He clearly remembers what sex was like with you—it haunts his dreams, the time you’d spend in bed, reliving the passion, the tenderness, the love, something deep down he’s craved since the last time he was with you.

The elevator opens before he can speak, the gun raised in your hands as you exit, Joel at your back, both of you stopping in your tracks once you’re out, finding Marlene standing there with her handgun pointed towards you both.

“What’s your plan?” she asks. “You save her today, but what about tomorrow? There’s a lot of shit out there. How long before she’s killed by a pack of clickers? If she even makes it that long without being murdered first. Face it, you can’t save her.”

“We’ll sure as fuck try,” he grits out. “Stop pretendin’ like you care about her. You were happy to stand aside and let her die.”

“For the greater good, to save lives.”

“You can shove the greater good up your ass, Marlene.”

She sighs.

“You can still do the right thing.” Her attention moves to you. “Do the biopsy like you wanted. All I care about is finding the cure. I’ll put you in charge of the facility. You can lead in the vaccine’s development.”

You scoff.

“You know as well as I do,” you reply, “that I’ll be dead if I step one foot back inside there. You’re lying, Marlene. You and the rest of the Fireflies will want us killed for what happened today.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Marlene asks.

“Yours!” you exclaim. “For not listening to me. This is all your fault.”

A gun goes off, and Marlene stumbles, falling to her knees, her gun skittering across the ground when she loses her grip on it.

She’s holding her stomach, a blood stain expanding under her hands.

“Don’t,” she chokes out, looking at you with her face contorted in pain. “Don’t kill me. Let me go. Please.”

You and he both know what needs to be done.

“She ain’t safe with you alive,” he says, her attention moving to him.

“Please,” she pleads.

Another shot is fired, and Marlene’s lifeless body crumples to the ground.

“Come on,” you tell him, heading towards a nearby pickup, shouldering your rifle as you get the door open for him to set Ellie in the backseat, you disappearing for a minute and coming back to put gasoline canisters in the bed, along with a bag, telling him it had emergency rations and a first aid kit.

“Where will we go?” you ask when you get in the passenger seat, Joel already ready to drive.

“Wyoming,” he answers. “Tommy.”

Relief washes over your face.

“I’m happy to hear he’s alive,” you say softly.

A stone is in his stomach that he’ll have to tell you about Sarah.

“Yeah, that asshole’s still alive and kickin’,” he replies. “His wife scares the fuck outta me.”

“Wow, can’t believe someone married him.”

He chuckles.

“Me either—do you know how to get outta here?”

The truck’s started, Joel already driving.

“Yes!” you reply, directing him.

There’s not much talking as you make your way out of the city, both too nervous and expecting the worst. It feels like he can finally breathe once you’re on the highway heading toward Tommy’s.

Ellie’s still passed out, the pickup rumbling down the road.

“How long will she sleep for?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Oh, an hour or two,” you answer.

He nods. “We gotta do anythin’ for her?”

“Nope. Just have to wait for the drugs to wear off—she was given a cocktail that could knock out a horse.”

He frowns, nodding once.

“It’s sweet,” you reply, him seeing you with a soft smile on your lips.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“How much you care about her.”

His hands squeeze the steering wheel, the leather creaking.

“She’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles.

That makes you laugh, and God, he’s missed that sound.

“Ellie apologizes, and I quote, ‘for being such a fucking pain in his ass,’” you giggle. “She also wanted to thank you for keeping her safe and not abandoning her.

His heart clenches up.

“She said those things?”

Your lips tip down, frowning.

“Yeah. Wanted me to tell you in case she didn’t make it.”

“Why’d you wanna save her?”

“It was the right thing to do. I fought for a way that she’d survive the operation, and I was outvoted—couldn’t let them murder her.”

After losing Sarah and thinking he lost you, too, Joel had erected walls in his mind to keep the debilitating grief he felt at bay, shoving down his emotions and not letting himself feel—couldn’t let himself feel, not if he wanted to live, which was already a struggle. This made him cold, emotionless, a husk of a man, having to keep finding something to fight for to keep going, only allowing his rage to come out in order to kill and do what was necessary to survive without a single care.

Tess would poke at the walls without meaning to, getting glimpses of his tenderness that she’d bat away and make him close back up.

Ellie made it her goal to break them down, him imagining her with a sledgehammer, laying waste to the concrete and steel, making him care, making him feel until she’d made a hole big enough to crawl inside and worm her way into his heart, the kid one of the most important people in his life now.

And then there’s you, coming out of nowhere and making the walls left standing crumble to dust simply by being here—the memories, the history, the love, igniting him, making him remember what it was like to feel again, focusing on the strongest emotion that has him feeling warmth deep down to his bones, contentedness, pure happiness, the feeling so strong he’s almost breathless.

You’re alive and with him, Ellie’s safe and sound, and he’s happy, actually happy, for the first time since everything went to hell.

And you care about Ellie, which just makes him love you even more, those butterflies in his stomach going wild.

“Thank you again for all you did,” he says.

“It’s no big deal.”

“You coulda died.”

“Would’ve been worth it.” You shrug.

He smiles.

“God, I’ve missed you.”

“Same. I have missed you every day since the last time I saw you.” Reaching your hand over, you touch his thigh, sadness on your face as you look at him. “Joel, I’m sorry about Sarah,” you say gently.

He sucks in a breath, avoiding your gaze.

“Yeah,” his voice is thick, his throat so tight it’s hard to speak, but you need to know what happened, Joel knowing how much you’d loved her, treating her as if she were your own. “It, uh, was my birthday when everything went down.”

Your hand goes to your mouth, gasping, “Joel, no.”

“Yeah.” He swallows hard. “Worst fuckin’ day of my life.” Tears were in his eyes. “Held her in my arms as she died—fuckin’ military shot her,” he spits out. “Tryin’ to contain everything they just started murderin’, took my baby girl from me,” he chokes on the words, a tear slipping down his face. “Lost her and thought I lost you, too, found your house in flames.” He wipes at the wetness in his eyes. “Fuckin’ hate remeberin’ that night—my entire world was taken from me.”

“Oh, Joel,” you whisper, moving across the bench seat to be next to him, Joel welcoming the hug you give him, wrapping your arm around his belly, and resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that, and I’m just so fucking sad about Sarah,” you sniffle.

He reaches to press a hand against the back of your head.

“I know, baby,” he replies.

“Was Tommy with you?”

“Yeah. He kept me alive.”

“What’d you do?”

He lets out a long sigh.

“A lot of fucked up shit.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“I guess if you’re livin’, you’d have to.”

“Isn’t that so assbackwards? What were you doing before Ellie?”

“Boston—smuggling.”

“Oooh, a criminal, isn’t that sexy.” His hand moves to hold the steering wheel again, gulping. “Sorry,” you say quickly, sitting up. “It’s rude of me to flirt with you while you’re explaining all these horrible things. I don’t even know if you’re still single; for all I know, you could have a wife and kids back in Boston.”

“No wife and no kids—I can’t, not again.” He can’t help the somber tone of his voice.

He can tell you understand from the look on your face.

“I get it,” you reply. “I, uh, made sure I couldn’t have children. The world’s too fucked, and I didn’t want to risk anything. So, had a fellow doctor help me out.”

He’s sad remembering how when you were together, you’d wanted kids with him, at least two, you’d told him, and he’d been excited by the prospect, seeing how much you cared about Sarah and her adoring you. It was painful to think about, but he’d asked his daughter a week before his birthday over breakfast if she’d be okay if he married you. She’d been ecstatic and wanted to help him pick out the ring.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t be,” you wave away his apology. “Better safe than sorry.”

There’s a question sitting on the tip of his tongue that he finally asks.

“Do I gotta worry about a partner huntin’ us down to get you back?”

You scoff.

“No. Painfully single. Anyone I need to worry about?”

“Not anymore,” he answers. “There was someone months ago—they didn’t make it.”

“Jesus, Joel,” you gasp. “You can’t catch a fucking break. I know life is a bitch, but my god, do I feel like it’s taking a special interest in making you miserable.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, that’s how it feels sometimes. God must be laughing at me.” He glances at you. “I think things are changin’ though after today. Finally think I’m gettin’ a goddamn break.”

You lean forward, knocking your knuckles on the dashboard.

“We don’t have wood, but I’m being safe—don’t want to jinx you.”

“Thanks for lookin’ out.” He smiles.

“Always.” You grin.

“Tell me what happened with you,” he says. “How’d I lose you?”

It’s something he’s wondered for twenty years, needing to know what happened to you.

“As you know, I was interning at the clinic to complete my residency—”

He did know that. You were fresh out of med school when you’d met, honestly surprising him that you let an old guy like him get your number.

“And I’d had your birthday off,” you continued. “When they called me in, I went, but something didn’t feel right about halfway, so I turned around to head back to your place. A tire went flat.”

“The spare was flat, too, wasn’t it?”

“Yes…”

“I told you I’d take care of it, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother!”

“You weren’t no bother—you were my girlfriend, and it was my job to make sure you were safe. I shoulda just fuckin’ done it. Fuck.” He hits the steering wheel.

He felt like this was all his fault. So much could’ve been different if he’d done this one thing.

“Hey, hey.” You rub his arm. “This isn’t on you. I was the dumbass.”

He meets your eyes.

“Twenty years,” he says. “Fuckin’ lost you for twenty goddamn years because of a tire?”

He can’t fucking believe it.

You’re looking down, “Yeah,” you whisper.

He sighs loudly, squeezing your thigh.

“Sorry about gettin’ upset, it’s just, God, think of what our lives coulda been.”

“I’m sorry, Joel. I fucked up.”

“No, baby. You were busy becomin’ a doctor, already stretchin’ yourself thin datin’ me. I shoulda done more.”

“You did more than enough, and you had your own stuff to worry about—Sarah, your construction company. I’m an adult. I should’ve made sure my shit was taken care of.”

He sighs.

“You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

“I am.”

“What’d you do after gettin’ out of Austin?”

“Searched for you. Doctors were in need, so I traveled a lot in the early days offering aid and hoping I’d find you. Some years later, I got snatched up by the Fireflies, thinking maybe they had the right idea, eventually helping to try to make a vaccine. Was at the research facility for the last five years, but things were so fucked. I know I would’ve gotten out soon if I hadn't left today.”

“What do you wanna do now?”

He’s hoping you’ll say you want to stay with him, wanting you back.

“Um, well, seeing as I’m unattached, and you’re unattached, I thought I’d follow you around? Wherever you go, I’ll go,” you answer. “I’m not sure if you can tell, but I never got over you, Joel. Never. I thought I lost you, mourned what was and could’ve been, and I was never able to really be with anyone because I still loved you, and seeing you today, being with you, it’s evident I still love you. So, if you’ll have me, I wanna stay with you, I don’t want to be away from you ever again, and I know Ellie is important to you—I’ve known her less than a day, and she’s already pretty fucking important to me, too. She’s a good kid, and I’m glad you’ve got her. I’m just really fucking hoping you’d maybe want me around, too.”

His heart’s squeezing so tight it’s hard to breathe, so happy that you’d want to be with him again, but doubt rears its ugly head that this is all too good to be true, that you don’t know what you’re signing up for.

“I ain’t him,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re not who?” you ask, confused.

“I ain’t the same man you fell in love with.”

“You think I don’t know you’ve changed? We killed together today. You’ve been referred to as a ‘grumpy asshole’ by someone who’s been around you for months. I’m not expecting you to be the man you were twenty years ago—we’ve been through literal hell. I know I sure as fuck am not the same.” You grab his thigh. “We can figure it out, get to know each other again. However, I think it’s safe to say with how easily we’ve fallen back into things, there isn’t much to worry about.” You softly smile. “We’re not the same people we were before this shit, but I think the love’s still there. At least, it is on my end. You’re fine, babe,” you reassure, rubbing over his jeans. “Don’t stress. We can make this work if you’re willing.”

He met your eyes, seeing the truth shining brightly in the depths and knowing without a doubt you meant what you were saying, wanting to kiss you so badly.

“I’m so fuckin’ willin’,” he says. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Impossible.” You smile. “I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

He knows you mean it, and it has his heart swelling, thinking maybe things are changing for the better, that he’s being given a second chance at life, and he’s not gonna waste it.

“Wanna know the moment I knew you loved me?” he asks, reminiscing about the past.

It’s how he’d known you were the one for him.

A curious expression is on your face, smiling at him.

“Tell me.”

“When you didn’t even bat an eye at bein’ fired from the clinic in town for datin’ me.”

“Oh my god, I wasn’t fired. I was forcibly relocated.”

He chuckles.

“If that’s what you wanna call it. You datin’ a patient made it to where the only clinic that’d take you was an hour and a half away in the city.”

“You make it sound like I was dating you while you were still my patient—you were in my care once, and by the end of the appointment, you’d seduced me.” He snorts. “I was never your doctor again, so it wasn’t unethical. I had to be forcibly relocated for breaking a dumb clinic-specific rule that made zero sense because Janis was jealous you were dating me and not her and reported me. Fucking, Janis,” you seethe.

“If it makes you feel any better, she’s probably dead now,” he says.

You chortle before covering your mouth in shock.

“That’s fucking dark, Joel.”

“You were thinkin’ it.”

“I mean, yeah, the odds aren’t very good. You wanna know something, though, about the whole me being forcibly relocated to the city?”

He met your eyes, seeing that smile he loved.

“What’s that?”

“It was worth it—you were worth it. I’d do it all over again and happily be forcibly relocated so I can date you.”

That has him feeling soft.

“Am I still worth it?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“Twenty years might have come and gone. I’m not that young piece of ass I once was—“

He makes a face, cutting you off, “You were never a piece of ass to me,” he says seriously. “I loved you—still love you, never fuckin’ stopped. Before everything went to fuckin’ shit, I saw us havin’ a life together—was gonna ask you to move in that night, had a key ready to give you. I wanted to marry you, have kids, and spend the rest of our lives together because you were my everything.” His voice cracks when he speaks again, “You and Sarah, you both were my entire fuckin’ world.” He clears his throat to compose himself. “I loved you so fuckin’ much I spent years tryin’ to find you. Years. When there wasn’t any sign, I figured I lost you, too, and with you gone, my last shred of humanity went, too, because I no longer had anythin’ to live for. I loved you,” he croaks. “I still love you, and I’ll never stop until the day I die.”

Tears roll down your cheeks.

“I love you, too,” you say.

His arm moves around your shoulder to pull you into him, hugging you as best he can and kissing your hair.

“I’m happy to have you back—want you with me if you can accept that I’m fucked up.”

“We’re in the same boat. It’s crazy what an apocalypse does to people.”

You stay like that, him holding you against him while you both talk, reminiscing about before, sharing your favorite stories about Sarah, comfortable with each other, and talking so easily like no time had passed at all.

An hour goes by, Joel navigating the road as you chat.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” a voice says in the backseat. Ellie sits up, rubbing her eyes. “My head feels so fucking weird.”

“Hey, take it easy,” he says. “Drugs are still wearin’ off.”

“Welcome to the land of the living,” you say.

She must notice how you’re cuddled up next to him, seeing her eyes get big in the rearview mirror.

“Woah, you really didn’t need those kissing tips, Doc.”

You snort, and Joel’s curious about what she means.

“What’s she talkin’ about?” he asks.

“She’s being a smartass.”

He huffs out an amused breath.

“She’s always a smartass,” he replies.

You move to look over the seat at her.

“Just feeling woozy? Anything hurt?” you ask.

“Brain’s all foggy. Nothing hurts.” She touches her head, looking confused. “What happened? Did they do the procedure?”

“They didn’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “We—”

He interrupts you, “They found somebody else,” he says quickly, knowing Ellie won’t take what you did well. “There was another like you, and they chose them.”

He doesn’t want to meet your eyes because he knows you’re staring him down.

Ellie’s not buying it; he can see it on her face, making him grimace, and swallow hard, knowing he fucked up, shame roiling in his gut.

“So, Joel is a fucking liar,” you say, eyes still on him. “I can’t believe you—she deserves to know.”

“She ain’t gonna like it,” he says.

“You don’t know that.”

“What won’t I like?” Ellie pipes up. “What’s going on, guys? Be straight with me, Doc.”

Your attention moves to her.

“They were going to kill you.”

“Oh,” she says quietly. “I was okay with dying if it meant saving people's lives.”

“That’s very courageous, Ellie, and I understand you want to help, but they didn’t need to kill you. What was the point if they had and a cure couldn’t be made?”

Her eyebrows furrow.

“They still would’ve had a chance to try!” she says hotly. Joel knew she’d be mad; the kid was determined to be a martyr. “It could’ve worked, and you took away my shot to help do some good!”

“They were going to murder you,” you calmly reply.

“I was willing to die!”

“Well, I ain’t willin’ to lose you!” His voice rises.

“It wasn’t your choice, Joel! It was mine!”

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’, and you ain’t listen’ to her either!” He tilts his head towards you. “They coulda gotten what they needed without murderin’ you, but they didn’t care.” He looks at you. “Baby, tell her your plan if you would’ve had the chance.”

“We could’ve gone in,” you say, “and biopsied some of the infection—it intertwines with the brain, so just a little bit somewhere that wouldn’t do you any harm.”

“Well, why don’t we go back there and do that then?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

You sigh.

“Because the Fireflies were so deadset on taking your entire brain, they were willing to kill anyone who got in their way.”

“You killed them,” she breathes, eyes wide.

“We did.” You nod.

“What do I do now? Why am I here?” She’s upset. “Why am I immune, Doc? Are there others like me?”

“We’ve never come across anyone else immune—somehow, the infection has mutated in your body. It’s a new development, something we’ve never seen.”

“And the people who could’ve figured out what the fuck is going on with me are all dead? Great.” She falls back into her seat, pressing her hands to her face. “I needed it all to mean something.” Her words are muffled, looking up at you with wet eyes. “All of the people who’ve died for me. First, my friend Riley who was there when I was bitten—the two of us planning to die together, and my turn never coming. Then Tess and Sam. It needs to mean something. Their deaths can’t have been for nothing! Why do I get to live, and they don’t? What’s the point of me being immune if I can’t do something good with it?”

“Hey, Ellie.” You reach over the seat to touch her arm. “There’s still hope. If I can get access to the right equipment, I can do the biopsy. It might take some time, but I’m capable and have spent many years working to find a cure. There’s hope, kiddo. They didn’t die for nothing, you’re still here, and we’ll have the chance to see what we find.”

“You promise?” she sniffs.

“I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Is there something you want to say, Joel?” You look at him pointedly.

He sighs.

“Sorry for lyin’ to you, Ellie. It wasn’t right.”

Her face lights up.

“Oh, Doc’s got you whipped!” she laughs. “This is so fucking funny.”

“Ellie,” he grumbles, glaring at her in the mirror.

“You’re fucking forgiven, Joel, but I’m still gonna give you shit about being in love,” she sing-songs.

“Christ,” he sighs.

“It’s okay, babe,” you say, rubbing his arm. “We’ll just gross her out with excessive PDA.”

That has him perking up.

“Excessive?” he asks, looking at you and seeing your mischievous smile.

“Wait,” Ellie says. “What’s PDA?”

“Public displays of affection,” you both say simultaneously.

She makes a face.

“Like kissing?” she asks.

You look at her, grinning.

“Yes,” you answer. “And inappropriate touching.”

“Ew.” Ellie mock gags. “Disgusting. I don’t need to see that shit. Keep it to yourselves.”

“Sometimes when two people love each other very much, they can’t help—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sappy bullshit,” Ellie interrupts. “I’m good. Don’t look back here. I’m putting on actual clothes.”

About forty miles from Tommy’s, the truck breaks down on a mountain highway with no way to salvage it, having to walk the rest of the way, gathering your belongings for the half-day trek.

Ellie is a delightful conversationalist, telling you about the trip she and Joel made, poking jabs at him here and there that have him looking grumpy and you laughing.

The three of you are on high alert, even while talking, Joel and you gripping your rifles tight with the young girl between you as you walk for a few hours, finding an old abandoned farmhouse to stay in for the night when the sun begins to set.

It’s just your luck that there’s a stream running through the property, and though it’s too cold to fully bathe, you and Joel take the opportunity to wash up with a bar of soap pilfered from the home to get all of the blood and grime off your skin while Ellie explores the house.

There’s tension between you and Joel, and it’s thick, palpable, fueled by the shared looks and finding his eyes on your body more times than you can count; you’re just as obvious with your interest, checking him out at every opportunity, marveling at how his flannel hugs that chest of his, and his jeans making his ass look incredible, your fingers itching to touch him, and feel his warm skin.

To add fuel to the fire, he hasn’t kissed you yet.

Hours you’ve been back together, and not one single kiss to your lips, knowing he wants to, seeing his gaze lingering on your mouth when he talks to you, wondering to yourself what’s keeping him from going for it, and it was taking everything in you not to make the first move.

It has you desperate and aching, just wanting to feel his lips on yours and his arms around you once more, knowing it will be so fucking good, but in the back of your mind, you know his hesitance is Ellie. After what she said on the drive, he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, which was sweet of him, but it’s been twenty years, and you’re jonesing for just one kiss.

Inside the house, Joel goes about barricading all of the doors on the first floor with furniture, refusing your help, which leaves you to stand off to the side, getting flustered because the man’s putting on a damn show.

He pushes up his sleeves, allowing you to see his muscles flex as he works, seeing his strength while he manhandles a china cabinet, sinfully grunting, sweat beading on his skin. It has you all hot and bothered, thanking the powers that be, Ellie was in another room going through stuff so as not to see you openly gawking, knowing the girl would give you shit about it.

With the last door secure, he turns to you, wiping at his forehead with the back of his arm, a knowing smile on his lips when he asks, “Is there somethin’ on my face? You’ve been starin’ an awfully long time.”

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, I was staring because you were being a damn tease.”

He matches your stance, crossing his arms and looking amused.

“I was movin’ furniture. How is that me bein’ a tease?”

“You were moving the furniture suggestively. You know exactly what you were doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I was just makin’ sure we’re safe for the night.”

“Uh-huh, right. You’re a damn tease, Joel Miller.”

Three steps, and he’s in your space, your breath hitching when his big hands land on your hips, leaning his face close enough to your own that your noses almost touch.

You’d forgotten how much real estate his palms can take up, your skin tingling under their breadth, arousal burning in your belly.

“You think I was bein’ a tease?” he asks in a low rasp, his eyes moving between yours and your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Lemme show how much of a tease I can be, baby.”

Your eyes widen.

“Oh god.”

“You drippin’ for me? Thinkin’ about how it felt to have me inside? How I stretched you open? How you always felt me the next day?”

It feels like your skin is on fire, your body so hot, your heart pounding in your chest because now you are thinking about it, and it’s making you throb between your legs.

A whimper falls from your lips as he nudges your nose with his, mouths so close you can feel his breath.

“Bet your panties are drenched for me, baby. Bet you’d love me to slide my hand down them to touch your pretty little pussy, and feel just how wet you are.”

You’re pretty sure you’ll explode if he doesn’t do something, harshly whispering, “Fucking kiss me already, Joel!”

He smiles, chuckling.

“Got you all needy. Alright, I’ll kiss you.”

There’s a possibility your heart might jump out of your chest as he starts moving, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Fuck, I’m starving,” Ellie says as she enters the room. Joel steps away from you, and you cannot stop the strangled whine that comes from your throat. “You okay, Doc?”

Clearing your throat, you turn to face her, smiling.

“Just peachy.”

She seems to accept your answer, a book held in her hands.

“As I was saying,” Ellie starts. “I’m fucking starving. We got anything to eat?”

The three of you shared some jerky on the drive and nothing more, realizing you haven’t had an actual meal since that morning at the hospital, your stomach suddenly growling.

“Seems it’s dinner time,” Joel says. He looks at you, “You brought those rations, right?”

“I did,” you answer, walking to the rundown dining table that you’d plopped your bag onto, Joel’s backpack next to it. Rummaging through what you have, you say, “Looks like we’re having a variety of canned goods.”

“Got any peaches?” Ellie asks.

“Yep!” you answer, grabbing the can.

“Fuck yeah! I call dibs,” she replies, coming over to take it from you.

All of you sit at the table to eat, Joel across from you, Ellie at the head seat, everyone relatively quiet as you chow down, feeling his eyes on you and pretending like you don’t notice.

“What did you find?” you ask her.

She meets your gaze, setting down her fork to pick up the book.

“Something called ‘Jurassic Park,’” she says. “It’s got dinosaurs, which I thought was fucking cool.”

“The movies were really good,” you reply.

Her eyes get bigger.

“They made movies about this?” She holds it up.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Three. I’ve never read the book, though. Let me know how it is.”

“I’m gonna start it tonight after dinner. Did you ever see the movies, Joel?”

He doesn’t answer, too focused on you.

“Earth to Joel,” she says, leaning forward to wave her hand in front of his eyes, his head turning towards her quickly.

“Did you say somethin’?” he asks.

“Yeah.” She’s grinning, clearly amused. “You know, if you stare at her any harder, she might catch on fire.”

His eyebrows dip down.

“I wasn’t starin’,” he grumbles, his elbows on the table while he takes a bite, looking at his can.

“Jesus, Joel, I was not prepared for you being a lovesick fool. It’s honestly gross. Thank god you weren’t like this with Tess.”

His head snaps up as you tense, knowing she’s mentioned that name before.

“That’s enough, Ellie.” His tone’s severe.

You look at him, your eyebrows pinched together.

“Who’s Tess?” you ask.

Ellie’s eyes go big.

“Oh, shit,” she says. “I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t realize she didn’t know.”

“Who’s Tess?” you ask again.

“It’s alright, Ellie,” He sighs, long and loud, running a hand through his hair. He looks at you. “Tess was my old partner in Boston. She, uh, died on the trip to bring Ellie to the Fireflies.”

“Oh,” you reply, nodding. “The one you’d mentioned. I’m sorry she didn’t make it.”

“It’s just how these things go,” he says.

“Your girlfriend died…” you say slowly. “You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

He grimaces.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Well, I’m going to finish eating upstairs,” Ellie says, the chair scraping across the floor as she gets up quickly. “You two need to be alone.”

He looks at her.

“You don’t gotta do that,” he replies.

“No, no,” she says, grabbing her can and book. “I am so happy not to be a part of this.” She briskly walks away.

He sighs, pressing his hands to his face.

“What do you mean it wasn’t like that?” you ask. “If you were partners—clearly romantic…”

Meeting your gaze, he answers, “It wasn’t romantic. We cared about each other, we kept each other alive, and occasionally fucked, but there was nothing romantic about it. I didn’t feel that way about her, and can probably count on one hand how many times we even kissed. I didn’t love her. I couldn’t love her.”

You know the answer before you even ask the question, and still, it catches you by surprise.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

“Joel,” you whisper.

“You were it for me. You were always it for me, and if I couldn’t have you, then I didn’t want anyone else.”

“It was the same for me,” you reply. “Felt cruel to try and be with someone when I could never love them, so I just didn’t.”

“Yeah. I was always upfront about what I was willin’ to give.”

“Gotta set expectations.” You nod. “Don’t want to hurt feelings.”

He lets out a long breath, looking away.

“Still got hurt anyway.”

“Honestly, if you told me not to fall in love with you, I think I’d just fall harder, so it makes sense.” You shrug. “You’re still a goddamn dreamboat of a man.”

His eyes meet yours again, crookedly smiling.

“Dreamboat?” he asks.

“God, yeah. Look at you. The grey is sexy, and my god, I think you have more muscles than when we were together.”

There’s a change in his gaze, seeing his eyes go darker.

“You wanna find out?” he asks.

“Um, yes, I would very much like to do a study and compare it to previous findings.”

He nods, pointing at your can.

“Finish eatin’.”

“But—”

“Dinner first,” he cuts you off. “Then you can check me out. Gonna need your energy.” He winks, and you gulp, rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache as you do as he says, both of you finishing your food in silence.

Ellie’s upstairs, and the two of you are alone down here, anticipation welling up inside you because you know at some point, everything between you both will finally erupt, and you can tell it’s going to be explosive.

He leans back in his chair when he finishes, resting his hands behind his head, his eyes on yours, waiting for you, and smiling when you push your can away.

His voice is deeper, drawl more pronounced when he speaks. “I was gonna stay down here and keep watch for the night,” he rasps. “You’re more than welcome to rest upstairs if you’re tired.”

He says one thing, but those darkened eyes of his say another.

“We both know I’m staying with you.”

Smiling, he replies, “I hoped you would.”

“There’s no furniture, so we’ll have to get comfortable on the floor.”

“If I remember correctly, you quite enjoyed the floor.” He smirks.

You suck in a breath, memories of the two of you being so turned on by the time you got back to your house, you didn’t make it past the entryway, him fucking you on the rug.

Your skin is burning up, clearing your throat.

“I’ll grab us some pillows from upstairs,” you say, the chair making noise as you get up.

He nods, “Okay.”

Quickly you’re moving, taking the stairs two at a time, figuring out which room Ellie’s in with the door shut, glad she chose one on the other side of the house and managing to find four pillows in the other rooms, hugging them to your chest as you return to Joel.

He’s looking out the living room window, his body tense, taking in his profile, his attention shifting to you when he hears your footsteps.

The center of the living room is bare, the lone couch against the front door, the coffee table pushed against a wall, leaving the space between you and him empty, stopping in your tracks when he faces you.

His shoulders visibly relax, the two of you stuck in place, staring at each other with looks like you cannot believe the other is there and alive. Years of thinking you’d never see one another again, and now you’re in the same room, breathing the same air, feeling so relieved and happy.

Something shifts, both of you realizing you’re alone and don’t have to fear any interruptions, the energy igniting, eyes going dark with want—all of the hours you’ve spent together building up the tension for this very moment, it snapping with the pillows falling to the floor, unable to keep away from each other any longer, closing the distance in quick steps.

His hands cup your face when he reaches you, crashing his mouth to yours, kissing you desperately, feeling his happiness, his joy, each press of his lips telling you he’s happy you’re alive and here with him. The passion has your fingers threading into his grey waves of hair for something to hold onto, gasping when he eagerly licks into your mouth, him groaning when his tongue slides along your own. Your blood is singing in your veins at how right it feels, how familiar it is, twenty years, and you still know how to kiss each other, finding your rhythm, not able to get enough, both so greedy you don’t stop until your lungs ache for oxygen, coming up for air with gasping breaths.

He’s kissing along your jaw, speaking into your skin, “I missed you so fuckin’ much, baby.”

“I missed you, too. Every goddamn day.”

Hands start wandering, needing to feel each other; he’s squeezing and touching anything he can; you’re working the buttons on his shirt and pushing it open to touch his warm skin, mapping out his muscles and the scars littered all over his torso that weren’t there before, wanting to kiss each and every one.

He’s sucking at your pulse point, palming your breast, his other hand grabbing a handful of your ass, your skin buzzing, arousal pooling in your belly.

“I love you,” he rasps as his lips meet yours again. “Never stopped lovin’ you,” he murmurs.

“I love you, too,” your words muffled, moaning when his hand finds its way between your legs, cupping your sex.

“I need you,” he says between kisses. “I’m so fuckin’ hard.” He grabs your hand to press it to his bulge, feeling him straining against his zipper, your cunt clenching at the reminder of just how big he is.

“Oh, god,” you moan. “I’ve missed your dick.”

“I’ve missed bein’ inside you. Wanna feel you again.”

As great as that sounds, your drenched panties indicating just how much you want it—there’s one small problem.

You pull back to see his eyes at half mast and glazed over in lust.

“We can’t fuck,” you say.

He frowns, eyebrows pinching together.

“Why not?” he asks.

“I love you, Joel. I love you a whole hell of a lot—would die for you, but you haven’t showered in days, you’re literally a walking UTI, and as much as I’d love to have that big dick inside me, I am not, risking an infection.” His frown goes deeper. “We can do other stuff, though!” you continue, and that gets his attention. “Hand stuff—no blow job until you’re clean,” you quickly add. He’s thinking it over, the wheels turning.

“I get it,” he finally responds. “You’re the doctor. You know what you’re talkin’ about. After a good scrub, you’d wanna?” he asks, looking hopeful.

“God, yes. I’m praying there’s someplace to wash when we get to Tommy’s.”

He smiles.

“They’ve got workin’ water in the houses—hot water. I can take a shower to get all nice and clean for you, and I’m sure he’ll set us up someplace with a bed.”

“Nobody better need us for a day or two, then,” you say, hooking your arms around his neck. “We won’t be leaving it.”

“Is that so?” He crookedly smiles.

“Oh, yeah. We’ve got time to make up for, and I want to feel you for days.”

He kisses your chin, lightly nibbling on it before trailing along your jaw to your neck.

“You gonna let me fuck you full of me? Fill you up?”

“Until I’m stuffed,” you moan, pussy pulsing at his words.

“Fuck,” Joel groans. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“You love it, though.”

His head comes up, looking you in the eyes.

“Love you more,” he rasps, kissing you hard with his hands on your waist, thumbs playing with the waistband of your scrub pants. “When’s the last time you showered?” His question said into your lips.

“This morning.”

“Thank Christ.”

It’s disorienting how suddenly he pulls back, confusion on your face as he bends, roughly pulling your panties and pants down your legs.

“What are you doing, Joel?” you ask as the cool air hits your bare skin.

“I can’t fuck you, but you didn’t say anything about my mouth.”

He unties your shoes, sending them thudding across the floor.

“You’re gonna eat me out?” you gasp. “Right here.”

You have to hold onto his shoulders for balance as he gets your lower half undressed.

“Right fuckin’ here.”

Once you’re naked from the waist down, he’s groaning as he gets up, kissing you quickly before he moves the short distance to grab a pillow, letting it fall to the floor beside you when he returns, watching as he discards his shirt, and unbuckles his pants, getting them undone.

You can tell he has a plan, knowing exactly what he wants, and you’re happy to go along for the ride. A surprised sound leaves your mouth when he kisses you hard, all tongues and teeth, his body pressed to yours, his hand squeezing your bare ass, while the other moves down your front, moaning when blunt fingers slip through your folds.

“Fuck, you get so wet for me,” he says into your lips.

Your heart is thudding, pleasure radiating in your core as he pushes through your wetness, moaning when he circles your clit, unable to stop from canting your hips into his hand.

“Fuckin’ needy for me, baby.” He nips at your lip before kissing you hungrily, swallowing your soft sounds while your fingers grip his hair.

It’s been so long, and it feels just like you remember. Joel still knows how to play your body, gathering moisture on two fingertips to work against your bundle of nerves, applying the right pressure, circling it just how you liked, his tongue sliding along your own, heightening the arousal, building you up.

With your eyes closed, it feels like you’re back in that little house you had in Austin, him stopping by on his lunch break for a quickie, you both too horny to bother going to the bedroom.

“Wanna feel you come on my hand,” he murmurs.

You whine when he presses one thick finger into you, your hands gripping tighter in his grey waves, when the second one pushes in alongside it, stretching your walls and easing the ache of emptiness.

“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you moan. “It feels so good.”

He pumps his digits, hearing the wet suck of your pussy taking them, it sounding obscene between your legs, him working them in and out, filling you over and over again. His thumb presses into your clit, rubbing it while his fingers work; every nerve in your body lit up, fire burning in your belly, knowing this was going to be quick.

Your tongues are tangling, lost in what he’s doing to you, how he’s making you feel, memories of the past, happiness for the future now that he’s here, all of it overwhelming you, rocketing you towards your release, and he knows your close, has always been able to tell.

His mouth separates from yours to speak, “Open your eyes, baby. Wanna see you come.”

You do as he says, seeing his so dark only a sliver of brown remain, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. Panting breaths filling the air, hearing his fingers, Joel taking up your vision, focusing on him, and only him, the world dropping away, everything else forgotten.

He crooks his fingers, and a second later, he’s hitting nirvana, a strangled moan pulled from your throat, your legs going wobbly at the white-hot jolt of pleasure, him having to hold you against him with his other arm to keep you standing.

“There it fuckin’ is,” he rasps. “Come for me—soak my fingers, baby.”

You tumble over the edge with a cry of his name, waves of your arousal spilling around his digits as you tense up, clenching down on him hard, your body alight in ecstasy.

“So good to me,” he groans. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

His mouth is back on yours, kissing you deeply as he works you through your orgasm, every muscle in your body relaxing, brain a pleasurable haze.

God, you’ve missed him. It’s been way too long since you’ve come that hard, and now that you’ve gotten one, you want more, need more.

He breaks the kiss, removing his fingers from you, and you miss them already.

He’s crookedly grinning, eyes bright.

“Do I still got it?” he asks cheekily.

You giggle, playfully slapping at his naked chest.

“Yes, you’ve still got it,” you reply. “Played me like a goddamn fiddle. Haven’t come like that since…” Your eyes squint while you think. “Well, fuck,” you say. “Haven’t come like that since you.”

His chest puffs up in pride, and it makes you snort.

He steals a kiss.

“Fuckin’ glad I didn’t forget how you like your pussy touched.”

“Obviously, it was important to your survival—gotta know how to shoot a gun and finger pussy.”

He chuckles, moving to look you in the eyes.

“Yeah. Lemme see if I remember how to eat it,” he husks, seeing the hunger in his gaze as he lewdly sucks you off his fingers with a groan making your cunt clench. His digits leave his mouth, “Taste even better than I remember. Can I eat your pussy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding your head.

Thinking about it, you’re pretty sure the last person who gave you oral was Joel. Your body is thrumming in anticipation, feeling your arousal coating your inner thighs, excited because you know it will be good.

He crookedly smiles, tenderly kissing you before he gets onto the floor, his head on the pillow while he lays on his back.

This is where you get confused because you should be the one in that position, right?

Tapping on his chest, he says, “I need you to sit right here.”

That’s when it hits what he wants, and your eyes go wide.

“Joel, we are old. I’ll break your neck.”

He makes a face.

“Stop that. You’re not gonna break my neck. Just cause we’ve aged doesn’t mean you can’t sit on my face.”

“My knees would disagree.”

“That’s what the pillow’s for,” he smirks, patting it.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say, moving to sit where he indicated.

Did you think this was a bad idea? Definitely, but the man is so damn eager that you can’t help but want to give it a go.

He’s looking up at you, his hands on your hips.

“Remember how I like it?” he asks.

“Basically suffocating between my thighs?” you ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Exactly,” he replies, slapping your ass and making you squeak.

“If you need to tap out, you better fucking do it, Joel.”

“Of course, baby. Now get up ‘ere. It’s been twenty years too long since I’ve tasted your pussy.”

“Well, aren’t you just rarin’ to go,” you tease.

“Givin’ me shit about how old I am, and now you’re makin’ fun of how I talk?” He smacks your ass again. “Bad girl. Stop hollerin’ down a well, darlin’, and ride my face—I’m rarin’ to eat your pretty little cunt.”

Your head falls back as you laugh, not at all surprised when hands grab onto your ass and start scooting you closer to his waiting mouth, Joel manhandling you into position.

“That was the most yeehaw you’ve ever sounded,” you giggle, your knees sinking into the cushiony pillow on either side of his head, appreciating that he thought to grab it.

You’re sitting up, hovering over his mouth, shivering when there’s a wet streak of lips pressing kisses along your inner thigh, savoring the scratch of his beard.

Fuck, he’s gonna have you coming quickly; you just know it with how your pussy is throbbing.

“You know I don’t fuckin’ talk like that,” he says below you, kissing your other thigh.

His hands are gripped tight on the globes of your ass, squeezing your plump flesh.

“No, you don—“ the word breaks into a moan as he pulls you down, breathing you in, the hot air ghosting over your sensitive flesh, sparks dancing in your center when he nudges your clit with his nose.

His voice is muffled, “Smell better than I remember,” he groans. “Gotta taste. Sit.”

He’s helping you lower down until you’re touching his skin, not satisfied until his face is fully buried in your sex. You scrabble for something to hold onto at the first swipe of his tongue, your fingers landing in his hair.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan.

One taste and he becomes ravenous, his loud groans vibrating against your heat, obscenely licking and sucking, his hands guiding you so he can slurp up every last drop of your arousal he can get, drinking down everything he can, relishing in the prickle of his facial hair.

It’s so much better than you ever could’ve imagined, the man feasting on you like a starving man, rocking your hips, his fingers digging into your ass, humming appreciatively as electricity ignites under your skin, body vibrating, Joel working you up.

You’re gasping his name, feeling your orgasm build. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking it into his mouth, the pleasure causing your eyes to roll back in your head, moaning loudly, tightening your fingers in his grey waves.

“I’m so close,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck, Joel. It’s so good. You’re so fucking good. I’ve missed you.” You’re so drunk on what he’s doing, you’re rambling. “I’ve missed this. Don’t stop. Make me come.”

You feel him groaning, Joel doubling down and focusing on your bundle of nerves—sucking it, licking it, lips and tongue worshipping you until you’re cresting, body seizing up as euphoria floods your system with a gasp of his name.

His loud, long groan vibrates against your sex, his mouth moving to drink your release straight from the source, pushing his tongue inside of you as deep as possible, licking into you eagerly, wanting to get every little bit of you as he can.

Your body’s trembling, pussy fluttering, panting out breaths, feeling so fucking good as Joel helps you ride out your high.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve had this much pleasure, and it’s intoxicating. You’re used to getting yourself off with your hand when the need arises and have only had a few partners over the years—the sex always quick and to the point, an orgasm never guaranteed, and here was Joel making you come twice in less than an hour.

He’s spoiling you, you’re addicted, you never want him to leave.

Broad strokes of his tongue through your slippery folds has your back arching, surprised he’s still going, knowing it must be hard to breathe down there. Your body is scorching, feeling like you’re burning from the inside out as he licks every inch of you, reacquainting himself with your cunt.

He lifts you up a little, and you hear him take a big breath.

“Ride my tongue, baby.” His voice is rough, strained. “Use me to get yourself off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m damn sure.” He smacks your ass. “Be a good girl and use me.”

You suck in a breath, pussy squeezing hard around nothing. He doesn’t let you reply, sticking his tongue out and pulling you down on top of it.

Your legs are closed around his head, his beard scratching against your thighs, hanging onto his hair for balance.

Grinding yourself against the flat of his tongue, he lets out a long broken moan, his grip on your ass tightening as you do as he asks, chasing your pleasure, using him, still so sensitive from your previous orgasms that the familiar heat was already growing in the base of your spine.

His mouth is hot and wet, working yourself up, pressing your clit hard against his muscle, moaning at the sparks of electricity shooting through you as you rubbed along it over and over again.

He’s groaning loudly beneath you, and you can tell he’s enjoying this just as much as you are, going faster, eyes squeezed shut, panting out moans. You know your skin will be tender from his beard, and you don’t care—this is worth it, your pleasure heightening, muscles in your belly beginning to tighten, Joel drowning in your pussy.

The sensations overtake you, everything coming together, falling over the edge with a cry of his name. Your legs are squeezing his head so tight as the wave of pleasure rolls through you, starting in your core and spreading to the tips of your fingers and toes.

Joel makes a strangled noise beneath you that has your eyes flying open, almost falling on your face as you quickly move off of him, ending up with your ass on his chest, looking down at him between your legs, your heart hammering in fear that you killed him—his eyes are closed, face completely lax, and glistening from your juices, his arms laying limply at his sides.

“Joel?” You pat his cheek. “I swear to god, Joel, if you die from suffocating in my pussy, I am bringing you back to life to kill you myself.”

“Not dead,” he slurs, eyes still closed.

“Thank god.” You rub your thumbs over his eyebrows and down his cheeks, sliding your fingers into the hair over his ears, him humming contentedly. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Came so fuckin’ hard.”

Your eyes widen, looking behind you to find his softened cock out of his jeans and resting on his stomach, streaks of come painting his skin.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. Looking back at him, you ask in disbelief, “You got off from eating me out?”

“Yeah.” He smiles dreamily. “Fuckin’ love your pussy. Missed it so much.”

You snort, rubbing your finger down the bridge of his nose. With him so relaxed, he looks like your Joel from twenty years ago, and it makes your heart squeeze over all of the time you missed with him.

What would’ve been different if you’d been together when the world ended? Would Sarah be alive? Would the two of you have still survived all these years?

You let the questions disappear as quickly as they came because there’s no point in pondering them. What happened, happened. You’re just thankful that by some miracle you found him again, that you both are now determined to stick together and live whatever days you have left by each other's sides.

“Aren’t you a romantic.” You trace over his wet lips, which are surprisingly soft.

His hand comes up to grasp yours gently, his practically encompassing yours. Featherlight kisses are pressed to each of your knuckles and, finally, your palm. His eyes blink open, all heavy-lidded to look at you.

“Fuckin’ love you more,” he says softly.

You feel yourself melt under his tender gaze, seeing the truth in the dark depths of his eyes.

“I love you, too.”

“Are you guys done fucking?!” Ellie yells from upstairs.

Joel’s eyes go wide, cheeks turning red, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Give us a minute!” you reply.

“Okay!”

“Don’t look so embarrassed, Joel,” you say to him, tapping the tip of his nose. “It’s not the first time we’ve been caught, and I doubt it’ll be the last.”

He groans, pressing his hands to his face.

His words are muffled, “It’s just as embarrassin’ today as it was twenty fuckin’ years ago.”

“Hey, look on the bright side, babe. Ellie didn’t see anything. Remember how scarred Sarah was that one morning you forgot to lock the door? Thank god we were under the covers, but I thought she’d need therapy.”

“Don’t remind me,” he replies, looking at you again. “Taught her to knock, though.”

“Yeah, it did.”

There’s a lot of groaning as you both get up from the floor, knees not as young as they once were, Joel and you agreeing that maybe you guys should stick to fucking on furniture. After a quick search of the downstairs, you’re able to find a relatively clean towel for Joel to clean up with; you're already dressed. He hollers at Ellie that it’s safe to come down after his shirt is put back on and pants are righted.

She stomps down the stairs like she wants to make sure the two of you know she’s on her way, you and Joel standing by the dining table, passing a bottle of water between each other.

She covers her eyes with one hand when she enters the living room.

Joel huffs out an amused breath, shaking his head as he takes a drink when he sees her.

“There’s zero nudity, Ellie,” you reassure her. “It’s safe to look.”

She uncovers her eyes, “Can’t be too safe,” she says. “Last thing I want is to have to gauge my eyes out because I saw Joel’s old ass.” She makes a disgusted face, and you laugh, Joel snorting.

“What happened to spendin’ the evenin’ readin’ your new book?” Joel asks her.

“Ran out of water,” she answers, holding up her water bottle. “I’m fucking thirsty. Please tell me, one of you has extra.”

“Yes!” you respond, turning to get into your bag and grabbing a container of water. “Here you go, kiddo.”

She’s briskly walking over to take it, unscrewing it right away to take a few big gulps, sighing happily when she finishes.

“Fuck, that’s good,” she says, wiping at her mouth. Ellie looks between you both. “Thought I was gonna be stuck up there all night. So, based on how you were all over each other in the truck and the disgusting noises that I wish I could unhear, I’ll take it, Doc, and you are back together?” she asks Joel.

His ears are bright red, clearing his throat.

“That we are,” he answers, not meeting her eyes.

“Are you fucking blushing?” she teases.

“Ellie,” he grumbles, glaring at her.

“I’m just giving you shit, Joel. Hopefully, she can help pull that stick out of your ass.”

He sighs, and she laughs.

“I’m happy for you, ya big ol’ grump. Doc’s great! I see why you like her, and Jesus, I’m not into sappy romantic bullshit, but you guys have a great fucking story.”

“We really do,” you say, looking at him and finding his eyes are already on you.

“That we do,” he agrees, a soft smile on his lips, leaning in to kiss you.

“Oh, gross.” Ellie sounds disgusted, fake gagging. “I’m going back upstairs. I don’t wanna see this, and I definitely don’t wanna hear anything, so please keep it down. Yuck.” She doesn’t wait for a response, walking away.

You pull apart, looking at Joel.

“We’ve scarred another kid,” you laugh.

“I don’t think, too bad, though,” he chuckles.

“No, not too bad. Now, if she saw your old ass, she’d definitely need therapy.”

He frowns.

“My ass ain’t old.”

“I mean…” you pause, leaning to look behind him at it. “It’s still really nice. Like my god, you could bounce a quarter off it, and the way that I wanna touch it.” You straighten, meeting his eyes. “After you shower and I can get you naked, I am absolutely getting a closer look.”

He smirks, setting the water bottle down on the table, so he can pull you into his arms.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah.”

His head moves closer, hovering his lips over yours.

“When I can get you naked,” he rasps, “I’m spreadin’ you out on a bed and spendin’ hours between your legs, usin’ all that God gave me to make you come so many times you pass out.”

“Is that a promise?”

“You know it is, baby.” His lips meet yours, kissing the air from your lungs.

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

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part one also on ao3

Steve’s breaths land on Eddie’s chest as he sleeps.

Slow, and soft, and quiet, and Eddie relishes it. The feeling of his breath, the warmth of his face pressing to Eddie’s skin, and the weight of his hand that’s curled into a loose fist. He feels so small on top of Eddie, though his limbs are long, though he’s larger than life itself. He feels like… a boy.

He’s just a boy.

Eddie blinks his eyes open in the morning light, squinting the way he does every morning as the sun rises. It drives him a little crazy, never being able to sleep in, but it’s nice to be awake when Wayne comes home. To get his forehead kiss and fond, “Mornin’.”

Eddie shifts down a little, carefully moving Steve to look at him, and Steve nuzzles his face into the pillow, sighing in his sleep. His fingers open, spreading and then curling like he’s trying to grab at Eddie’s shirt, but his fingers just dig into his skin a little bit. Eddie smiles, reaching to take his hand carefully, and when Steve’s fingers curl around his, Eddie lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles.

He gazes at him. In the morning light, his hair looks like it’s glowing, like threads of spun gold, like he’s some fairy tale character. His expression is light, and Eddie realizes that his resting face is almost smiling. His eyelashes fan under his eyes, and his cheeks are pink, and Eddie’s dark sweatshirt makes his skin looks even more golden. Eddie gazes some more.

He never thought he’d be here. Lying in bed on a Saturday morning with Steve Harrington across from him, sleeping, holding his hand like a child. Steve breathes. A bird chirps outside.

Something shifts in Eddie’s chest. It falls into place.

Steve wakes up slowly. Eddie thinks he wants to see him wake up every single morning. He inhales deeply, his fingers tightening on Eddie’s hand for a moment as he sighs, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he blinks them open. His gaze finds their hands first, and he blinks again, his finger shifting in Eddie’s, and then he looks up.

He half-smiles, and his voice is rough when he speaks.

“You’re watching me sleep?”

Eddie smiles, releasing his hand and reaching out to touch him as Steve settles his hand on Eddie’s arm that’s bent under his head. His fingers push his hair aside and press into Eddie’s bicep as Eddie caresses the side of his face.

“Sleeping beauty.”

Steve’s smile widens, and he closes his eyes again. Eddie brushes his hair back, and he moves forward to kiss his forehead before he gets up.

Wayne comes home as they’re sitting at the table, sipping coffee from mugs that were taken down from around the living room. Steve’s is blue.

“Mornin’.”

He stops as the door closes behind him, eyes finding Steve sitting there, his feet on the chair, one of his knees drawn up to his chest. Steve freezes, looking up at him, and Eddie leans back in his seat, smiling as Steve’s cheeks flush pink in embarrassment, like he thinks Wayne can just tell.

“...Who are you?” Wayne asks as he toes off his work boots, eyeing Steve.

“I’m, uhm, Steve Harrington. Sir.”

Eddie grins into his mug, watching Steve set his down awkwardly like he doesn’t know if Wayne is going to want to shake his hand or something. Wayne looks at him.

“Harrington,” he says.

Steve blinks, nodding after a moment, and Eddie remembers suddenly that Wayne’s been in this town his whole life. He knows the Harringtons. Everyone knows the Harringtons.

“And you’re here with Eddie?” Wayne says, looking down at Eddie, who meets his eyes and raises his eyebrows, tilting his head.

“Yes, sir?” Steve says hesitantly.

“You don’t know?”

“I— Yes, I’m with him.”

Steve’s face is red, and he glances at Eddie nervously.

“You’re hanging out with Eddie?” Wayne says, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“…Yes.”

“Even though he’s weird?”

Eddie lets out an offended squawk, and Steve half-smiles.

“I like him,” he says, his voice softer.

“Why?”

Steve giggles, looking at Eddue. His cheeks are pink.

“Be nice, Wayne,” Eddie says, mumbling into his mug as he takes another sip.

“I am,” Wayne says defensively. “I sure hope you’re nothing like your daddy, boy,” he says to Steve, and Eddie clicks his tongue, swinging his arm around to hit his leg.

“Respectfully, sir, I’d rather kill myself than be anything like him.”

Wayne barks out a laugh, and Eddie chokes on his coffee, leaning forward to wipe his face. Steve looks at him with wide eyes, murmuring an apology, smiling.

“Alright then,” Wayne says, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed,” he says, ruffling Eddie’s hair and leaning down to smack a kiss to his temple. He pauses on his way down the hall.

“Steve?”

“Uh, yes?” Steve stutters, leaning to see him around Eddie, who turns to look at Wayne with a raised eyebrow.

“You need anything, you come on by, alright?”

Eddie looks back at Steve. Steve blinks, his expression softening, and he nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Wayne disappears down the hall, and Steve dissolves, slumping. He lowers his head to the table, pushing his mug away as he hits his head lightly on the table a few times. Eddie laughs, reaching out to pat his head.

“Leave me to die,” Steve grumbles into the table.

“You’re so dramatic,” Eddie says fondly, tugging his hair. Steve just groans. “…Stevie.”

“Mm.”

Eddie tugs again and leans over the table, tilting his head at him as Steve looks up at him, his eyes cutting up at him like a sad puppy. Eddie’s chest aches a little.

“I like you too,” he says softly, smiling when Steve’s cheeks flush pink.

“Really?” he asks, his voice small. Eddie tilts his head the other way.

“We had sex last night, Steve.”

Steve shushes him, and Eddie grins.

“And?” Steve says quietly, taking his mug again and twisting it around, fidgeting. “We’ve both had meaningless sex with people.”

Eddie pauses, looking at how Steve is looking down at his mug, legs crossed on his chair, the sleeves of Eddie’s sweatshirt almost covering his hands. And he reaches across the table, tracing Steve’s knuckles lightly, tentatively. Steve looks at him again with those eyes. Shy. Nervous.

“Last night wasn’t meaningless,” he says softly. “To me.”

Steve blinks at him, his cheeks flushing again. (Eddie loves how much he blushes.)

“Me too,” he says, and then he pauses, blinking again. “Me either? You know what I mean.”

Eddie giggles, and he leans across the table, tilting his chin up. Steve smiles, softening as he leans to meet him in a light kiss that tastes like coffee. (Steve takes his black, the menace.)

They stay in the living room. Watch a movie on the small television. Steve sits next to him on the sofa for a while before he relaxes when Eddie puts his arm around him, pulling him close, and he gradually melts against him until he’s finally laying next to him, his head in his lap. Eddie plays with his hair, forgetting about the movie as he gazes down at him. Steve holds his other hand, tangling their fingers and squeezing.

— — — — —

“Oh my god, no, he was so sweet about it.”

“But he rejected you, I can’t believe that.”

Eddie sighs heavily, dropping his head onto the textbook in front of him. It was quiet just a few moments ago, and his brain was finally getting used to it enough for him to read without getting distracted. But the girls’ voices carry over through the bookshelves, through the air, and he really doesn’t care about their drama right now.

“He was so nice, Marie, seriously. Told me I was pretty and all, but…”

“Why didn’t he wanna go out with you?” the other girl asks, aghast. “You’re a total catch.”

Eddie almost groans out loud.

“He just said he wasn’t interested,” she says lightly. “It’s not a big deal, he was nice about it.”

“Steve Harrington has never once rejected a girl,” Marie says, and that catches Eddie’s attention. He lifts his head. “I don’t get why he’s starting with you.”

Eddie blinks, tilting his head as he listens.

“Maybe he has a secret girlfriend,” the girl says, and Marie giggles. Eddie pulls the collar of his shirt up over his face, suppressing a smile.

The next time he sees Steve it’s in the hallway, and their eyes meet. And then Eddie is the one blushing, because Steve smiles at him. (That’s all it takes. A smile. Eddie is pathetic.)

Eddie tilts his head, gesturing down the hall, and Steve nods subtly. He’s standing with Tommy Hagan and some others, but as Eddie steps backward down the hall, he says something to them that Eddie can’t hear. And then he’s following Eddie down the hall, calling something to his friends, and Eddie is suppressing a smug smile, heading down toward the bathroom, praying it’s empty.

Steve is right behind him as he’s headed inside, and Eddie is grinning now. It is empty, and Steve’s hand presses against the top of his back, pushing him inside and toward the stall that’s the farthest back. Eddie goes easily, dropping his bag as he turns and lets Steve push him into the wall as the stall door swings shut behind them.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes, grinning and reaching up to touch his face as Steve kisses him hard.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back when they part with a gasp. He’s holding his neck and leaning against him to press him into the wall.

“Heard you rejected some girl,” Eddie says softly, his eyes trained on Steve’s lips, which curve into a smile.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Sound carries a lot in the library,” Eddie complains, tracing his jaw carefully. “‘Steve Harrington has never once rejected a girl,’” he murmurs, dragging his fingertip lightly across his jaw to touch his lips, pulling the bottom one down before he releases it, smiling as it pops back into place. Steve hums softly.

“Maybe I got my eye on someone right now,” he says softly, almost whispering, his eyes shining, half-shut as he looks at Eddie. His hands slide over Eddie’s waist

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

“She pretty?” Eddie teases. Steve suppresses a smile, his tongue sliding across his lower lip.

“The prettiest,” he teases back.

Eddie scrunches his nose, tilting his head at him, and Steve kisses him. His hand presses into Eddie’s chest, pushing him into the wall, and Eddie tilts his head, wrapping his arms around his neck, letting his lips part as Steve slips his tongue across them.

He pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, and he kind of wants to mess it up, to tangle it and make it stick up in ways Steve would never allow it to, and then he kind of wants to make Steve leave like this. To not let him fix it in the mirror. He kind of wants Steve to look like he’s been making out with someone. And he kind of wants people to talk. To ask Steve who the lucky girl is.

Eddie tightens his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling it at the roots, and Steve huffs, sliding a hand down to the small of his back and pulling him close. Eddie licks into his mouth, tugging his hair to make him tilt his head back, and Steve lets him, sighing softly.

They part when the door to the bathroom bursts open, and they freeze, holding each other tightly, staring at each other and holding their breaths as they listen to someone come in, muttering to himself.

Eddie’s chest aches. Because they have to hide. Because they both know it, they know it so well they aren’t even breathing. And Steve seems to think it at the same time. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s, and his hands run across the small of his back. Eddie slides his hands to hold his face tenderly, looking at him intently.

They both flinch when the boy rips some paper towels from the dispenser loudly, the sound echoing in the room. And then the door opens and shuts again.

They exhale, and before Eddie can say anything, Steve is leaning in and kissing him hard. Eddie closes his eyes, his fingers sliding behind his ears to hold his head. He lets out a soft groan.

They’re both breathing hard when they part, and their foreheads press. Steve reaches to touch Eddie’s face, holding it gently in his hands, and Eddie feels like he deserves it, this tenderness he’s only found on the palms of Steve Harrington’s hands.

They look at each other. Steve looks like he’s going to start crying. Eddie brushes his thumbs over his cheeks as he whispers to him.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Steve blinks at him. His expression softens. And he kisses him again, slow and soft and gentle.

“I know,” he murmurs.

Eddie pulls him into a hug. He buries his face in his neck, sighing as Steve hugs him back, and he closes his eyes.

“I have basketball practice today,” Steve says, his voice muffled. “It ends at, uhm. Five.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly.

“…You wanna come over tonight?”

Eddie grins.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I’ll make you dinner.”

Eddie’s smile widens.

“You don’t have to convince me,” he says. “I already said I’d go.”

“No, I wanna,” Steve says softly. “Wanna treat you good.”

Eddie groans into his neck, grumbling a weak, “Baby,” as he kisses him. Steve’s hand makes its way to Eddie’s head, cradling the back of it as he exhales.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, honey.”

“...Can you give me a hickey?”

Eddie pauses, nuzzling into Steve’s neck.

“Here?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, pressing a slow kiss to his skin. Steve’s breath hitches, and he tilts his head farther to the side, humming affirmatively.

“Want people to wonder.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, and he whines softly in the back of his throat. He’s never made a noise like this before, and his face flushes with heat, but Steve just breathes a soft, “Please,” and Eddie is putty in his hands.

Eddie opens his mouth and presses another kiss to his neck, slowly, carefully, intentionally, and Steve exhales, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s hair and scratching at his scalp lightly. He hisses in pain when Eddie bites down hard, sucking his skin between his teeth and licking at it, but his hand holds Eddie in place, his other hand gripping his waist as he breathes hard.

“Yeah,” he chokes after a moment, his voice weak and thin. “Fuck, like that.”

Eddie grins, digging his teeth into Steve’s skin, sucking harder, and Steve whimpers, pulling Eddie’s hair. He releases the skin after a moment, kissing it softly and dragging his tongue over it to soothe it, and then he bites down again, his body flushing with heat when Steve lets out a weak, “Oh, shit,” and whimpers again. Eddie shushes him softly, slipping his fingertips under the hem of his shirt to touch his soft skin. Steve squeaks, and Eddie grins again, listening to Steve’s breathing as he kisses his neck again.

When he pulls away, Steve’s skin is reddening.

“How was that?” he asks like he doesn’t know.

“Eddie,” Steve whines.

Eddie shushes him again, grinning and kissing his lips softly.

“Was that good?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. His eyes are closed, his head fallen back. Eddie brushes their noses together, stroking his neck softly, and Steve reaches up after a moment, tilting his head and pressing his fingertips into the bruise. He lets out a strained breath, biting his lip.

Eddie kisses him again, smiling as Steve kisses him back desperately, his hand jumping to hold Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes him back against the other side of the stall. Steve hums softly, moving to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck, and Eddie slips his hands under Steve’s shirt.

Steve chokes, his arms tightening, his tongue sliding between Eddie’s lips. Eddie kisses him some more, listening to his soft, breathy hums, listening carefully in case the door opens again.

“Gotta go,” he says after a little while, between kisses. Steve whines. “Come on.”

“I don’t wanna stop,” Steve complains, his head falling back to the wall as Eddie leans to pepper his neck with kisses. Eddie hesitates before kissing the hickey, scraping with his teeth, and his chest aches as Steve lets out a pained whimper. His fingers tug at Eddie's hair again, but he holds him in place when Eddie tries to lift his head, and Eddie grins, licking the spot gently.

“Stevie,” he whispers.

“Mm.”

“Don’t pout,” Eddie giggles, nudging their noses together.

“‘M not pouting,” Steve says, pouting. He’s almost smiling, looking at Eddie like a puppy again, and Eddie wishes he could freeze time. He touches the hickey, pressing against it lightly, watching Steve’s eyes flutter shut, watching him furrow his brows and bite his lip.

“I’ll give you another one tonight,” he murmurs. “After dinner.”

Steve’s eyes open.

“Wherever you want,” Eddie asks, whispering. Steve’s eyebrows jump, and he smiles.

“Okay,” he breathes. Eddie kisses him.

“I’ll see you later.”

Another kiss.

“Okay.”

Kiss.

“Have fun at practice.”

Kiss. Steve is smiling now.

“You’re stalling,” he says between kisses.

“I know.”

He kisses him again, and Steve giggles, finally pushing his shoulders.

“Get outta here,” he says, holding Eddie away. Eddie bites his lip, taking a breath as he stoops to grab his bag, and he pauses before opening the stall door. He’s almost past the stalls before he groans, turning back around, and Steve is lingering in the stall door, smiling like he knew Eddie would do this: come back to kiss him desperately, holding his face and grinning. It’s fast, three kisses in quick succession before he finally tears himself away.

“See you later, sweet thing,” Eddie says, and Steve blushes before he waves half-heartedly. Eddie catches himself before he can say love you without thinking, and he blows him a kiss.

The sun is going down when Eddie shows up at his house, and Steve greets him by jumping him in the doorway. Eddie catches him in his arms, yelling in protest, and they fall to the floor, Eddie on top of Steve.

“Oh my god,” Eddie says loudly, grinning as Steve cackles, his arms around Eddie. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” Steve says, looking up at Eddie and pushing his curls back, tucking them tenderly behind his ears. Steve’s hair is wet, and it smells like expensive products. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Eddie says softly, looking down at him. His eyes find the hickey on his neck, and it’s almost purple now, dark against Steve’s skin. Eddie exhales. “Oh, I fucked you up.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, grinning happily even though he’s on the floor.

“Did people talk?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And?”

“They’re very curious.”

Eddie beams, caressing his face. Steve turns his face into his hand, his eyes shining, and Eddie can’t help but lean down to kiss him softly.

“What’d they say?”

“‘Steve’s got a secret girlfriend,’” Steve says, imitating the others, a smile teasing his lips.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, I just pretended to not know what they’re talking about,” Steve says nonchalantly, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. What hickey?”

Eddie laughs harder, and Steve pulls him down into a kiss, smiling and nipping at his lower lip. Eddie lets him, revelling in the kisses as he remembers they’re laying in the doorway of Steve’s house, the door open, halfway on the porch. Nobody’s around to see them, except the trees and the clouds and maybe some lightning bugs.

Eddie pulls away when Steve starts to lick into his mouth intently, and Steve groans.

“Dinner,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve leans up to catch his lips again. “And then we can make out.”

“You’re the worst.”

Eddie presses a finger into the hickey, and Steve lets out a hiss and an Ow!

“Fucker.”

Eddie snickers and kisses him again before he pushes himself up.

Steve makes pasta. Eddie sits on the counter and watches as he fills a pot and turns on the stove, as he gets out the pasta from a cabinet and sets out vegetables on the counter. He tells Eddie about how basketball practice went, and Eddie is barely following along. He doesn’t know any of the terminology, and Steve doesn’t seem to realize that Eddie doesn’t know anything about basketball, but Eddie doesn’t mind. Because Steve is ranting, his voice soft and smooth and content as he spins a knife in his fingers without even noticing himself do it (and that’s so much hotter than it should be) before he starts chopping the vegetables. He knows what he’s doing, and even though he’s talking the whole time, he finishes with the vegetables faster than Eddie could ever chop them. (Also Eddie would definitely at least nick his finger a few times, but Steve does it all effortlessly, smoothly. And Eddie grips the edge of the counter to control himself.)

Steve sits on the counter when he finishes, sliding the plates across the surface so they’re in front of Eddie, joining the cans of 7-Up, and hopping up. That’s effortless too; he seems weightless as he moves up onto the counter that Eddie had to use one of the chairs to get on. Eddie presses his lips together and pops open his soda.

“Cannot believe my boyfriend’s a normie,” he says quietly, and Steve snorts.

Eddie looks at him as he’s sipping his soda, and his heart swells when he sees the way Steve’s eyes are shining, almost sparkling.

“Problem?” Steve says playfully.

“You got a problem with your boyfriend bein’ a freak?” Eddie asks, tilting his head, and Steve tilts his head back before he reaches out and hooks his fingers on the silver chain around Eddie’s neck. He pulls him in so they’re both leaning over the plates between them and kisses him softly.

Steve hums thoughtfully when they part, eyes lingering on Eddie’s lips before he says, “No. I like it.”

Eddie giggles.

They go to the living room after eating, and Eddie comes up behind him as he leads him down the hall, stooping down and wrapping his arms around his legs to pick him up, holding him over his shoulder. Steve shrieks and clutches at him, laughing loudly as Eddie carries him into the living room and dumps him on the sofa before pouncing on top of him. Steve is laughing carelessly, happily, and Eddie’s whole body aches as he looks at him, at the way his eyes squint under his smile, at the way his hair is messy, now dry and a little frizzy.

“Are you gonna give me another?” Steve asks between kisses, his fingers in Eddie’s hair as they lick the taste of pasta out of each other’s mouths.

“You want more?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yes, please.”

Eddie shifts so he’s straddling Steve’s hips, and he sits up, tying his hair up in a ponytail with the hair tie around his wrist. Steve giggles, watching, his hands on Eddie’s thighs.

“Where do you want it?” Eddie asks, running his hands across Steve’s chest. Steve’s cheeks are pink, and he looks up at Eddie like he’s fucking reverent before he tilts his head, exposing the side of his neck, the side that’s bare. Eddie grins.

He leans down, brushing Steve’s hair out of the way, and Steve sighs as Eddie brushes his lips over his skin.

“You want it like the other one?” Eddie murmurs.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes.

Eddie kisses his neck softly at first, smiling when Steve’s hands squeeze his thighs. He takes his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses across his skin for a while before he starts licking him, short kitten licks that make Steve exhale slowly, melting into the sofa, his hands loosening on Eddie’s legs before they slide around to his ass and squeeze. Eddie giggles, lifting his head to look at his neck. He can see his veins beneath his skin in some places, and part of him feels like a vampire here, gazing at them.

He presses a kiss to his neck and slides his mouth across his skin until he feels his pulse against his lips. He hums softly, pausing there, feeling the rhythm of Steve’s heartbeat against his lips, lingering. It’s a little fast, and Eddie smiles.

“Eddie,” Steve whines. “Bite me.”

Eddie snorts.

“Rude.”

“You know what the fuck I mean.” Eddie can hear the smile in his voice.

“I know what the fuck you mean.”

He kisses his pulse. And then bites.

Steve lets out a shaky exhale, his hands tightening. Eddie closes his eyes, enjoying himself as he sucks on Steve’s skin, as he bites him and scrapes his teeth over it, as he soothes the spot between bites with gentle swipes of his tongue, as Steve squeezes his ass absentmindedly, almost kneading it. They’re both humming softly, and Steve is letting out strained groans as Eddie bites him, murmuring curses and Eddie’s name under his breath.

When he finally sits up, he looks at the spot on Steve’s neck, and it’s already bruising.

“Might actually be worse than the first one, actually,” Eddie says thoughtfully, brushing over it with his thumb. Steve exhales without opening his eyes.

“Thank fuck,” he says, smiling when Eddie snorts. “Want ‘em to see it.”

“You are an attention whore,” Eddie says, smiling as he leans down to kiss Steve’s lips, and then he kisses across his face as Steve laughs softly.

“‘S fun,” he says as Eddie kisses his jawline, nipping at his skin with his teeth.

“You want one more?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Eddie gives him one more. This time it’s just under his ear, and Eddie can smell his shampoo as he bites and licks and kisses him, smiling the whole time as Steve whines and groans and swears.

“Eddie,” he says when Eddie finally pulls away.

“Yeah,” Eddie says breathlessly.

“I wanna come.”

“Go ahead.”

Steve whines again, his eyes squeezing shut, and Eddie shifts on his lap, grinding down on him and grinning when Steve gasps. Steve’s hands slide to Eddie’s hips, pulling him down harder.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m—”

“You got it,” Eddie says softly, reaching to his neck and curiously, carefully holding his throat so his fingers press into the bruises. Steve keens, his fingers so tight on Eddie they might bruise (and wouldn’t that be nice: the memory of Steve’s hand on him), and he lets out a loud moan, follows by a breathless Yes.

Eddie tightens his hand, grinding against him again and grinning when Steve lets out an open-mouthed moan, and he’s suddenly very grateful that Steve lives in the fucking woods, that nobody is around to hear him like this. Then he remembers that no one ever has heard him like this, and his grin widens, because he’s the first. Because he gets this, and no one else does.

And because—

“Never thought I’d get this,” he murmurs, leaning down to nudge their noses together, still moving against Steve. Steve’s eyes flutter open to look at him, and he reaches a hand up to touch Eddie’s face. His eyes are glassy. “Even in my wildest fuckin’ dreams. Never thought I’d get anything like you.”

Steve whimpers, his other hand sliding up Eddie’s back, pushing his shirt up.

“Me too,” he says breathlessly. He sits up, pushing his face into Eddie’s neck and kissing him desperately, panting as he pulls at the small of Eddie’s back. Eddie smiles, tilting his head for him and closing his eyes, hugging his neck and pushing his fingers into his hair.

“Eddie,” Steve chokes after another minute.

“Yeah, baby.”

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Me too.”

They hold each other as they come back down, arms tight around each other, faces buried in each other’s necks, and Eddie giggles quietly.

“That was fun,” Steve mumbles. Eddie kisses his neck softly and lifts his head, looking at him. His hair is messy, which Eddie loves, and his eyes are half-closed.

“Yeah, it was.”

He kisses him slowly, tenderly, holding his face. Steve doesn’t open his eyes when they part, his face relaxed, blissful.

“Will you spend the night with me?” he asks softly. “Please?”

Eddie just giggles and kisses him again.

He isn’t allowed to make fun of his wallpaper, which Steve tells him before he leads him upstairs, which just piques his interest. He hides his face in his shirt when they finally go into Steve’s room, trying not to laugh at the horrific plaid wallpaper, but he can’t hold back his giggles when he hears Steve snort.

They take a shower. Steve does his hair with some of his fancy products that smell nice, and Eddie tells him it’s never happening again. Steve sticks his tongue out at him in the mirror, his fingers dragging through his curls, but Eddie decides he’ll let Steve do this whenever he wants to when he sees the way his eyes are shining as he’s scrunching his curls and twisting them around his finger. He looks like he’s making art instead of doing Eddie’s hair.

Also, it feels nice. Which is a nice plus.

And every once in a while Steve’s bare chest presses to Eddie’s back as he reaches for another product. Which…

He’s so warm. Probably because of the shower and the lingering steam in the room, but Eddie thinks it might just be him. Like there’s sunlight in his veins.

In the morning, Eddie wakes up with his chest to Steve’s back, his arm draped across his waist, and he sits up slowly, squinting in the sunlight as he looks down at Steve, who shifts after Eddie’s movement. There are two bruises on the side of his neck that Eddie can see, and he smiles. He leans down and kisses one, and Steve inhales, one of his hands lifting sleepily and reaching for Eddie, who takes it and lifts it to his lips.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Eddie says roughly when Steve blinks his eyes open and rolls onto his back. Steve smiles and opens his arms, and Eddie lies on top of him, sighing as Steve’s arms wrap around him.

Eddie falls in love with mornings like this. Steve gets used to Eddie waking up early in the morning before his alarm clock goes off, and it becomes routine for him to just pull Eddie into a hug for a while. It also becomes routine for him to complain that they have to get up. Neither of them ever wants to, not when they know they have to go to school and they won’t be able to kiss each other or hold each other, when they’ll be separated until after school (unless Steve has basketball, or Eddie has Hellfire or band practice). But they still go.

Eddie hears the rumors and gossip swirling around school. About Steve’s secret girlfriend. About the hickeys that he refuses to hide. There are countless theories about whose mouth could have left them there. One of Steve’s friends asks if Steve refuses to tell them who it is because it’s a freshman, and Steve gags before glaring at him.

“No, I’m not a fucking creep.”

“Alright, we’re narrowing it down.”

Steve just rolls his eyes.

Theories span from other students, girls that Steve has and hasn’t hooked up with, to teachers, but when someone asks if it’s a teacher Steve just laughs.

Nobody even glances Eddie’s way.

— — — — —

Steve’s car is in front of the trailer when Eddie gets home from band practice. Eddie pauses when he parks the van, staring at it curiously for a moment before he gets out, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat of the van.

“Hello?” he says when he walks inside, looking at Steve and Wayne on the sofa. Steve’s legs are crossed, and he’s holding a mug in his hands, smiling contently. They’re watching a baseball game on the television.

“Hi, baby,” Steve says lightly.

“Are you coming over just to hang out with my uncle now?” Eddie asks as he kicks his sneakers off and sets his bag on the table. Steve’s head is tilted toward him, but his eyes are on the television, and Eddie smiles at how careless he looks, comfortable in Eddie’s living room. Eddie leans down to press a chaste kiss to his lips, and Steve smiles.

“I forgot you had practice today,” Steve says. “And there happened to be a game on.”

“Ah,” Eddie says, collapsing heavily onto the sofa between them. “So you guys aren’t becoming best friends.”

“Obviously Steve and I are best friends,” Wayne says dryly, turning to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple, eyes still on the game. Steve giggles, and Eddie grins.

He loves them.

He hasn’t told Steve yet (yet), but he thinks it all the time now. Every time he looks down at his sleeping face, every time he asks for a new hickey, every time he sees him laugh with Wayne.

They keep ganging up on Eddie together, teasing him about his hair, his music, his clothes. (Wayne teases him and calls him a vampire when he sees the way he’s marked up Steve’s neck. Steve burns red the first time, but Eddie just grins, shameless.)

Eddie fucking loves it. Loves seeing their eyes sparkle, loves the way Wayne ruffles his hair affectionately, which he starts to do to Steve too. Whenever Steve is home when Wayne comes back or goes off to work, Wayne reaches to muss his hair before he leaves, and even though he’s Steve the Hair Harrington, Steve just grins and hunches his shoulders like a little kid.

Wayne calls Steve son. Eddie can see the way Steve’s eyes shine every time he says it.

And he sees the way Steve’s eyes shine when Wayne comes home one morning to find them on the sofa and kisses both their foreheads almost mindlessly, murmuring a soft Good morning before he heads off to shower and go to bed.

Eddie’s heart feels warm as he watches Wayne kiss Steve’s forehead, and then Steve watches Wayne disappear down the hall before he looks at Eddie, his eyes shining.

And then they’re glistening, and his lip quivers, and Eddie frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning toward him, and touching his face as a tear escapes.

“Just…”

He shrugs, closing his eyes and falling against Eddie, who takes him into his arms.

“What is it?” Eddie asks gently, holding him and swaying as he rubs his arm.

“He’s really nice,” Steve says finally, his voice weak. Eddie smiles into his hair.

“He is, isn’t he?”

Steve sighs shakily, reaching to hold Eddie’s forearm.

“Sorry,” he says after a moment. “I don’t know why that was… I don’t know. Overwhelming.”

“‘S alright, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, leaning to kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

And he aches to say it. That he loves him.

But he doesn’t. Not now. Not when Steve’s already crying because he’s gotten casual affection that he isn’t used to.

It gets progressively more difficult to hold it back as time passes. Every time they say goodbye when they leave for school, every time they make out in a bathroom or a janitor’s closet with their veins full of adrenaline, every time they murmur greetings into each other’s mouths, every time they kiss regardless of their morning breath, every time Steve smiles the way he smiles every single time Wayne ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead.

— — — — —

They’re watching a movie when Steve’s parents come home. Steve is laying on Eddie’s chest as they lay on the sofa in the living room, his fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, and Eddie feels a little sleepy, but the air stills when they hear a car pull into the driveway.

Eddie is about to ask who it could be when Steve sits up abruptly.

“What day is it?” he asks frantically, looking at Eddie with wide eyes.

“Uh, Saturday?” Eddie says, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie. Steve stands, clearly in a panic as he reaches for his hair.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Wait, wha— Babe, what’s…”

“‘S my parents,” Steve says, looking at Eddie desperately. “I forgot they were coming home today, I—”

Eddie reaches and gently pulls his hands out of his hair, squeezing them.

“It’s okay,” he says softly despite the panic in his own chest. “It’s alright. We’re friends, right?”

Steve exhales, lacing their fingers and squeezing as the front door opens.

“Okay,” he says softly.

Steve’s parents look how Eddie expected. His mother’s hair is stiff, frozen in place with an abundant amount of hairspray, and his father is wearing a suit that’s somehow not wrinkled despite the drive back to Hawkins from the airport.

Steve already seems mad at them. Eddie wonders if he is.

His mom kisses him on the cheek in greeting, but Steve looks stiff, smiling tightly as Eddie lingers in the doorway, hands rubbing his legs anxiously, trying to look normal.

“Who’s this?” Steve’s mom asks, eyeing Eddie when she releases Steve from their uncomfortable embrace. She’s looking him up and down. They both are.

“Uh, this is my— my friend,” Steve says, and Eddie waves, smiling. “Eddie.”

“Eddie,” his mom says lightly, but it’s a forced lightness. “What’s your last name, hun?”

It’s sickly sweet.

“Uh, Munson,” Eddie says, and Steve’s father finally speaks.

“Munson,” he repeats, looking at Eddie distastefully. His nose is almost wrinkled, like the rips in Eddie’s jeans have a stench.

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought your parents moved from Hawkins.”

Eddie blinks in surprise, and he remembers suddenly how small Hawkins really is. They probably went to school together.

“They did,” he says. “When I was sixteen. I live with my uncle now.”

“Your uncle.”

“Wayne Munson,” Eddie says confidently.

Steve’s father nods, looking at Eddie again, and then he turns to Steve with an air of disappointment around him. Steve seems to shrink into himself when their eyes meet, and Eddie wants to grab his hand and pull him away, to take him somewhere his father can’t look at him. To take him home.

“This is who you’re fraternizing with now?” he says as though Eddie isn’t even there. “A Munson? What happened to the Hagan boy?”

“I— I’m still friends with Tommy,” Steve says, and he even sounds like a kid now. “I can have more than one friend—”

“Stephen.”

Steve shrinks back even farther, looking down.

“I don’t want you fraternizing with people like this,” his father says, gesturing toward Eddie, who just watches, eyes wide, heart pounding, aching because Steve looks so scared. And a part of him wants to laugh at the use of fraternize. If he only knew that his son begs for Eddie to dig his teeth into his neck until bruises bloom on his skin, for Eddie to tug his pants down his legs and toss them aside, for Eddie to kiss him like the world is ending.

“You don’t even know them,” Steve says, looking up at his father anxiously. “Wayne is—”

“I knew Wayne in school,” his father snaps. “A pathetic underachiever, he isn’t the type we associate with, Stephen.”

Eddie’s hands are shaking. He glares at him, curling his fingers into fists to suppress the shaking, but it doesn’t work.

Steve is glaring at him too. Slowly, he raises his chin, squares his shoulders, and he’s shaking too.

“Don’t talk about Wayne like that.”

Eddie looks at him.

His father scoffs.

“You have no reason to associate with his type, he’ll rub off on you, Stephen,” he says matter-of-factly. “You need to stick the Hagans, not… trailer park trash.”

“Don’t talk about Wayne like that,” Steve says again, his voice louder, and his father looks taken aback, blinking in surprise.

“Stephen—”

“Wayne Munson is a good man,” Steve says firmly, his voice shaking a little. “He’s— He’s kind, and— and hardworking, and he—”

“I knew him in school, Stephen,” his father says again, his voice condescending and mean, and Steve snaps.

“That’s your problem,” he bursts loudly, and Eddie’s never seen him this angry. “You’re so stuck in your head, and— and focussed on stupid fucking juvenile things like popularity a— and— and social status, that can’t see past your own fucking nose.”

His father is staring at him, wide-eyed, scandalized.

“You’ve lived your life with your father’s fucking money, and you got everything handed to you,” Steve says angrily, jabbing his father’s chest with his fingers. “Your house was a wedding gift, and your job was waiting for you when you finished college, which you didn’t even pay for. You never had to fucking worry about affording food or water or a car.”

He’s breathing hard, and Eddie’s lips part in awe as he watches.

“Wayne fought for everything he has,” Steve says, his voice rough now. “You wouldn’t survive a day in his life, show him some fucking respect.”

Eddie’s eyes sting with tears, because Steve is defending Wayne. Standing up against his father even though he doesn’t have to, even though Wayne isn’t here to hear it. Even though he’s scared.

It’s quiet suddenly as Steve and his father stare at each other, and Steve is challenging him, chin raised as he looks into his eyes, hands in fists by his sides. Eddie can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

And then his father is looking at Eddie, almost scoffing.

“What have you done to him?” he asks lightly, like it’s a joke, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do, what to say, but it doesn’t matter, because Steve speaks again.

“Don’t you fucking look at him.”

His father looks at him again, his eyebrows raised.

“If you have a problem with me, it’s with me,” Steve says evenly, firmly. “Not him.”

It’s quiet again. Eddie’s hands ball into fists, and adrenaline courses through his veins as he waits, just about ready to push his way between them, to do whatever he has to.

“How dare you speak to me like this? I’m your father—”

“I don’t care.”

“Stephen,” his mother says, speaking finally from where she’s backed into a corner, and Eddie looks at her, noticing how young she suddenly looks.

“I don’t care!” Steve yells. He looks at her, and then back at his father. “I don’t care. I’m sick and fucking tired of listening to you talk about people like this, especially people I love,” he says, his voice rapid and angry, and holy shit—

“You come home after leaving for weeks,” Steve says, skimming right past it like he didn’t notice himself say it, and Eddie is crying now, because Steve loves Wayne, Steve loves Wayne, Steve loves Wayne— “And the first thing you do every goddamn time is start bitching about the dishes in the sink, or the dirt on my car, or what my hair looks like, or who I’m with, or the fact that I didn’t call or I called too much, and there’s nothing I can fucking do right, and I don’t care.”

Eddie wipes his cheek quickly, sniffing as he watches Steve’s father nod, running his tongue over his teeth as he stares at Steve.

“You think I’m only here because of my father’s money,” he says slowly, eerily calm, ignoring everything Steve’s said. “Then we’ll see where you end up without your father’s money, how does that sound?”

“Sounds great,” Steve says without a beat. “At least I won’t end up as big an asshole as you.”

And then he’s turning and grabbing Eddie’s hand, pulling him out of the living room and toward the door, where they slip their shoes on and head out the door, leaving their dirty dishes on the coffee table as if in spite.

Steve is breathing hard as they get into the Beemer and pull out of the driveway, as they drive down the road, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do. He’s the only one crying, which feels wrong, but he can’t stop.

But even though Steve isn’t crying, his hands are shaking, and he’s breathing too hard, too fast, and Eddie finally reaches out to touch his arm. The road is luckily empty, but anxiety builds in his chest as Steve’s chest rises and falls and rises and falls.

“Stevie, pull over for me.”

Steve doesn’t pull over, still breathing hard, and Eddie shifts in his seat to face him, squeezing his arm.

“Steve. Pull over.”

Steve finally does, pulling over on the side of the road and putting the car in park. His hands fall to his lap, trembling, and Eddie squeezes his arm again.

He lets go to wipe his own face quickly, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face Steve completely, reaching to take one of his hands. Steve laces their fingers, still breathing too fast.

“Stevie, baby, look at me.”

Steve inhales sharply, and he turns to look at Eddie before he exhales slowly. Eddie nods, squeezing his hand.

“There you go,” he says softly. “Need you to breathe.”

Steve closes his eyes, nodding and taking a deep breath. Eddie runs his thumb across his knuckles, waiting as he exhales slowly, pauses, then inhales again.

When his breathing is slow again, he squeezes Eddie’s hand and turns toward him. They look at each other, and both of them are crying now, their eyes filled with tears. Eddie reaches out to wipe one away when it falls down Steve’s cheek, and Steve leans forward to press their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” Eddie murmurs softly.

“For what?” Steve whispers, twisting their fingers.

“...Standing up for Wayne like that,” Eddie says, his voice breaking. “I just…”

Steve lifts his head, looking at him, and his lip quivers, and he looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what.

“I love you,” Eddie says, his voice thick as another tear falls down his cheek. Steve blinks, and tears fall from his eyes, and Eddie wipes them away.

“...Really?” Steve asks in a small voice. Eddie nods, smiling softly.

“Yeah. Really. I really, really love you.”

Steve blinks again, his lip quivering as his eyebrows raise like he’s shocked.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while,” Eddie says. “I just— You stood up for Wayne like that, and—” He sobs weakly, taking a stuttering breath.

“I love you too,” Steve says quickly, reaching to hold Eddie’s face. “And I love Wayne, and I love your trailer and all your fucking mugs and your posters and your music and—”

Eddie pulls him into a kiss, squeezing his eyes shut. Steve kisses him back desperately, hands holding Eddie’s face, fingers slipping into his curls. (Which have been so much softer and smoother since Steve’s been taking care of them.) When they part, they stay close, their foreheads pressing, taking slow, deep breaths as they hold each other.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Steve says after a while, his voice soft. Eddie sighs, caressing his cheek, and Steve turns his face into it, his eyes closed. There are tears caught in his eyelashes, and wet streaks down his cheeks, and his nose is rosy, and Eddie aches with how beautiful he is. He wonders how quickly he actually fell in love with him. If it was so fast he didn’t even notice until he almost blurted it out loud without thinking.

“Come home,” Eddie whispers, stroking his cheek. “You can borrow some clothes from me and Wayne, and we can go to yours to pack a bag if we need to.”

“...Okay,” Steve breathes.

He goes home.

Wayne is in the kitchen making himself coffee and a sandwich when they finally get to the trailer, and he notices right away that something is wrong. He leaves everything on the kitchen counter as he comes closer, looking at their tear-streaked faces.

“What happened?” he asks anxiously, wiping crumbs off his hands on his legs as Eddie and Steve kick their shoes off, and Steve wordlessly crosses the room toward him and pulls him into a tight hug. Wayne hugs him back tightly, looking up at Eddie worriedly. Eddie just smiles, watching.

Steve is crying again, shaking in Wayne’s arms, and Wayne runs his hands up and down his back firmly. Eddie leans against the table by the door, watching as Wayne closes his eyes, murmuring something too quiet for Eddie to hear. But Eddie hears Steve’s response, even though his voice is muffled by Wayne’s shoulder.

“I love you, Wayne.”

Wayne’s arms tighten around him, and they sway, and Wayne runs a hand over his back and he turns his face to kiss Steve’s head.

“I love you, too, Stevie, I got you.”

It’s like he knows.

Wayne carefully wipes Steve’s tears when they finally part, nodding and whispering to him. Eddie watches. He’s crying again. Wayne holds his hand out to him when he notices, and Eddie moves forward, taking it and leaning against Steve’s back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as Steve sighs.

Wayne gets them both glasses of water and has them sit on the sofa. Eddie tells him what happened. Wayne’s eyes get glassy as he listens, looking at Steve, who’s quietly sipping his water and looking at the floor, his cheeks red like he’s embarrassed. And then Wayne is pulling him into another hug and kissing his forehead.

And he tells Steve that he’s home now. That he’s safe here. And then Steve is crying again, falling against Wayne as Eddie takes his glass and carefully sets it aside, smiling despite the tears.

Eddie and Steve stay in the living room when Wayne heads off to work after ruffling their hair and kissing their foreheads. It’s quiet when he’s gone, when they hear his car drive away. They’re sitting side by side, and the room is darker than it was when they got home because the sun’s set and nobody turned on the lights.

Eddie reaches for Steve’s hand. Their fingers lace. Steve squeezes.

He falls against Eddie after a moment, his head on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie releases his hand to wrap his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“My school stuff is at my parents’,” Steve says quietly, mumbling a little bit. He’s tired. Eddie can hear it in his voice, can feel it in how heavy he feels against Eddie.

“We’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Eddie says softly, running his fingers through Steve’s hair to pull it out of his face. “And we’ll get your hair stuff and clothes and everything. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” Steve breathes. “Just thinking.”

“...You wanna go to bed?”

“...Yeah.”

They go slowly, sleepily. Eddie brushes his teeth while Steve changes, and Steve brushes his teeth while Eddie changes. (He already has a toothbrush here, set in a cup with Eddie’s.)

He’s wearing Eddie’s boxers and a sweatshirt. He looks beautiful.

They climb into bed in the dark, seeing through touches and the sliver of moonlight, and before Eddie is even laying down, Steve is pulling him into a messy, sleepy kiss. It tastes like their mint toothpaste.

Eddie sucks on his lip, guiding Steve onto his back gently, listening to him sigh, feeling his hands dance down his spine. Eddie smiles against his mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers softly when he pulls away for a breath, and Steve hums, fingertips digging into his back.

Eddie tilts his head and kisses down his cheek and jaw before he buries his face in Steve’s neck. Steve tilts his head to give him room, sighing again.

“You want one?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Mhmm.”

Eddie smiles again, kissing his neck, and their legs entwine under the blanket as he bites down on Steve’s pulse. Steve whines weakly, pushing a hand under Eddie’s shirt to touch his skin. His hands are warm. They always are.

Right now, Steve’s fingers press into his skin as Eddie’s teeth press into his, and Eddie revels in the way his breaths come out sharper, the way he hums and swears, and when Eddie finishes, he kisses the spot softly, tenderly, before licking it to soothe it. Steve hums, wrapping his arms around Eddie tightly.

Eddie can’t see the bruise in the dark.

He’ll see it in the morning when he wakes up before him and looks down to gaze at him in the morning light, before Steve stirs and opens his arms to hug him.

The thought makes Eddie kiss him one more time, his lips landing somewhere on his cheek as they roll onto their sides slowly, and Steve hums, sighing sleepily. In the morning, Eddie will hold him, and then Wayne will come home as they’re drinking coffee. He’ll ruffle their hair and kiss their foreheads, and Steve will feel beautiful and loved, and he’ll know that he’s home.

Eddie can’t wait for the sun to rise.

#working on the last part of lonely town and i kept getting them mixed up i am so confused and sleep deprived #pray for me #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

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beastofburdenxo · 5 months

Text

Awakening: Hypothermia part 2

here it is, the much-awaited part 2! Emmett realizes what he did in his sleep, how will he fix this?

2.8k words. MINORS DNI tags: fingering, first time, p in v sex, unprotected sex, first orgasm(?) Praise, language

Emmett stirs in his sleep, his heart pounding. “Oh no, did I dream again?” he wonders to himself. Feeling the front of his pants, he has his answer. “Shit.” He turns back towards you, hoping he didn’t disturb you, putting his arms back around you. He notices you slightly shaking, you can’t possibly be cold. He's right by your side, then he notices that your pants are gone. Your panties are all bunched up, slightly damp in the back. “Oh god, what did I do? Did I hurt you?” He sits up in bed, pondering if he should flee when you turn towards him. “Emmett, you awake?” you mutter in the darkness feeling him move. He's speechless, hoping that he didn’t do what deep down he knows he did. Hoping that you are innocent and clueless to his inappropriate behavior. “Emmett, talk to me. I know happened.” Emmett feels like he’s about to be sick at your words, his worst nightmare coming true. You grab his shoulders, knowing he’s going to want to bolt. “I’m not mad Emmett, you were asleep, had no idea what you were doing.” His chest feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself. “Did I hurt you? Did I-”

“No Emmett, you didn’t hurt me I’m fine.” you assure him, “Nothing big happened, you just moaned a little in my ear and...” You trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at what you were about to disclose to him. Emmett put his head in his hands, “And what? What else happened?” You clear your throat, how do you put this politely? “Umm, well, you kind of humped me a little. Held me tight to you and uhm,” you stuttered this last part, “Groped a bit, and you sorta, used me to get off.” Emmett made an angry sound, “Damn it, I'm so sorry. I understand if you can’t stand to be around me anymore. I'm an animal. Over here having wet dreams about my dead friend’s daughter. Rutting against you like a pig.” You shush his displeasure, “I don’t think any less of you Emmett, you can’t control what your body does when you're asleep.” Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “And besides I didn’t hate it. It's the closest a man has ever gotten to me.” Silence fills the room as Emmett digests this information. “What?” you feel his eyes on you, “You enjoyed it? Enjoyed pretty much being molested by a man twice your age?” Your face reddens in the dark. “It felt kind of good honestly, I didn’t want you to stop.” You curse yourself at letting this secret loose.

“Well, I'm glad I stopped when I did. Hope you got your fill, because this will not happen again. I knew this whole thing was a bad idea.” He turns away, stoney and cold towards you. Silly little tears fill your eyes, you didn’t want Emmett to be upset. You should have kept your mouth shut. “Little girl doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Emmett thinks to himself, “She enjoyed it? The fuck? I used her and she liked it?” He rubs his eyes, “She enjoyed it because it’s all she’s ever had. You are all she’s ever had.” A small voice in the back of his head tells him, “Poor thing doesn’t know any better. Show her there is better to be had.” If he could shut the voice off, he would, “No, it’s wrong. She’s too young. I literally watched her grow up.” “And now she is grown,” the voice replies, “She is an adult Emmett, a poor sexually deprived and innocent woman. Listen, you made her cry.” In the silence he hears your sniffling. “Dammit, I didn’t want to upset her. How do I make this right?” He turns back towards you, nervous that you would blow up in his face. “Hey,” he whispers, “Don’t cry. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself, you did nothing wrong.” His warm hand caresses your shoulder. “Look at me, please.” You refuse. “Come here, hey, come here, don’t cry.” His arms snake back around you. “Hey now, don’t cry sweetheart. I’m sorry I upset you.”

He makes you turn towards him, his blue eyes dark with concern. “Let’s forget this ever happened, okay? I don’t like seeing you like this.” His thumbs wiping away your tears. “it’s over and done with, water under the bridge alright?” You finally meet his gaze, “I won’t be able to forget, and you won’t either. I don’t want to forget.” With shaking hands, you reach for his beard and try to pull him closer. “No, no, stop sweetie. You’re confused. You really don’t want to do this. Let's just go back to sleep, okay?” With a new determination in your eyes you reply, “You said my name in your sleep, I heard it. Deep down you want this as much as I do.” Your lips are now ghosting over Emmett’s, just waiting for one of you to make up for the distance. “Emmett,” you whisper against his lips, “It’s okay Emmett, please. I trust you. Emmett.” In an instant your lips finally meet, not knowing who finally broke resolve. His lips are soft and tender against yours, not trying anything further. Nice and gentle, like he’s second guessing himself. He holds your face, eyes studying you, like he’s looking for any sign of hesitation. “Are you sure? We can stop right here, no pressure at all.” You put your lips on him, back where they were as your answer. The kiss deepens, his grip on you tightens. You breathe each other in like you were the last source of oxygen. He moves down to your neck, sucking softly on your skin. “I can feel your pulse,” he chuckles, “Excited, are we?” you avert your gaze in embarrassment. “It’s alright sweetheart, mine is the same way. I've wanted this for so long, you have no idea.” Emmett whispers in your ear.

You reach behind you to undo your bra, but Emmett stops you, “Let me.” In one fluid motion, his rough strong hand has the clasp undone, slowly pulling it off your body. Eye contact is not wavering the whole time, like he’s making sure you’re okay. Half of you is completely exposed to him now, your skin slightly pink with nerves. “You are so beautiful, you know that?” His words just deepen the flush. He bends down to explore this new exposed flesh; your hands automatically go to his hair. Like you're using his scalp to ground yourself, this is not some naughty thought or dream, this is real and now. Emmett takes his time, no need to rush this. His warm mouth finds your unguarded nipple, and you jolt in surprise. He looks up from his work, slight grin on his face, “You good? Not used to that are you?” You lightly slap him upside his head, “No I’m not, but it feels nice. Keep going Emmett.” You don’t have to tell him twice. While his mouth is on one nipple, his hand is working on the other. Eventually trading up. The familiar feeling of suspense returns, like when you were all defenseless against him rutting up against you. But this time, you knew there weren’t going to be any interruptions. You both are panting; he can feel your thighs clench around his waist from being wrapped around him. His hands go to your waistband of your pants. Looking up at you he asks, “Would you like these to come off?”

Shakily with desire you respond, “Yes, please.” Emmett softly moans at that response, “So polite.” He removes your legs from around him stretching them out straight. With his electric blue eyes on yours, his hands grab your hips, “Up for me sweetheart.” You oblige him, raising your hips to get your pants off easier. He slowly pushes them down, panties with them, eye contact never wavering. “Breathe, it’s okay. You are doing so good.” Goosebumps hit your exposed skin as the fabric is slowly removed from your legs. Part of you wants to just yank them off in frustration at his extremely slow movements, but you don’t. Emmett wants to do this right, knowing your inexperience. Finally, after what feels like forever, you are completely naked in front of him. You want to curl up in a ball, not used to being naked in front of anyone, much less a man. Emmett slowly strokes your exposed legs, “Are you okay?” he asks you. You nod in response, but that’s not good enough for Emmett. He lies down next to you, hand going to your cheek. “Are you okay with this?” he asks again, “I need to hear that you are okay.” You softly grab his hand that is on your face and kiss it, “I’m okay Emmett, just feeling a little exposed right now. It's not fair that I'm the only naked one here.” He smiles at that, running his hand up your thigh, “This is all about you right now, we’ll get to me later.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips as you realize just how high Emmett’s hand is on your leg. Creeping closer and closer to where you both want him to be. He kisses you deeply again, gently climbing on top of you, his knee between your legs. “Can I look at you baby?” Your eyes get big at knowing what he wants. “I won’t touch unless you let me. Can I see just how pretty my girl is?” You gulp, wanting to please him but still skittish. “Breathe Babygirl, let me see you.” Time stands still as Emmett waits for your answer, not daring to go forward without your consent, still rubbing your legs. Finally, you decide to let him look. “Okay,” you whisper, “Go ahead, I just hope it’s what you're expecting.” Emmett kisses both knees as he gently pulls them apart, exposing you fully to him. His normally crystal-clear eyes turn muddy with lust, “Oh my sweetheart, it’s what I expected and so much more. You are so stunning and..” he comes back up to your face, “And so very wet for me. Just how I want you to be. Perfect.” You turn away from his words, trying to hide your face with your hands. Emmett is not having that, taking your hands in his, “it’s true, don’t hide from me. Get used to me talking like this, because I will every day until you quit shying from it. So pink and dripping for me baby, so pretty and small. Can I touch you baby? I won’t enter I promise, just let me feel.”

At his words, you feel your body respond even more. Not knowing that it’s possible to be this wet just from his explicit compliments. All you want is Emmett to touch you, anywhere and everywhere. You take his hand in yours, finally doing what you thought about earlier when he was asleep. His warm hand finally reaches its destination. Both of you moan as his fingers explore your warm folds. “There you are beautiful, is this okay?” His index finger finds your clit, slowly rubbing, eye contact never wavering. “Emmett yes.” you manage to choke out, pleasure building at his movements. “I’m okay with one finger if you want to.” He kisses your neck in response, “Are you sure? Don't let me hurt you.” Watching your pleasure ridden face, He slowly enters one digit inside you. You are so wet it doesn’t hurt, just feels unusual having something inside. “Oh baby, you are so tight.” Emmett groans, “So warm for me, you are doing so good at taking my fingers.” In and out his finger goes, watching you the whole time. Emmett loves that he is the one who makes you feel so good. “More,” you cry out, “Please add another finger.” Your request is driving Emmett crazy, “Only because you asked so nicely sweetheart. Tell me if it is too much.”

Emmett feels like his dick is going to explode any minute as another finger goes inside you. You are doing so good for him, accepting the second digit without much protest. Your thighs begin to shake. “Breathe sweetheart, don’t forget to breathe. I know that feels so good, doesn’t it? Two fingers inside you while my thumb is rubbing that little clit of yours, yeah?” Your voice goes out on you wanting to answer him. That familiar feeling that you had when he had you pinned on your stomach slowly returns. You just hope and pray that it happens this time. “Oh yes, you are so close I can see it in your eyes. Come for me baby, let it go. I’ll take care of you this time. I got you.” Emmett raises you up and holds you close as you orgasm for the first time ever. You cry his name repeatedly into his shoulder, body limp and trembling in his arms as he takes you through it. “There it is, there you go. Yes, good job sweetheart.” he coos, silent tears of relief slide down your cheeks. You wipe them away before he notices, not to worry him. He gently puts you down on the bed again, inhaling your remaining whimpers and moans. One hand goes down to unbutton his pants, finally freeing himself. He sighs in relief. You look down and notice what’s happening as your high starts to fade. “Shhh, I was just uncomfortable is all. Nothing is happening without your say so.”

“Can I touch you?” you ask him. Curious as to how he feels. “If you want to,” he answers, “But remember, this is about you.” You kiss him passionately as you reach down, fingertips lightly grazing his dick. You feel him twitch at that slight touch. “it’s okay, it does that sometimes. Your hand is so soft, sweetheart. You can grab, it doesn’t bite.” Emmett guides your hand around him. He's so thick you can barely get your hand around it. “Oh, this soft skin is going to be the death of me.” he moans as you slowly start to stroke him. “I don’t know how much more I can take; I want to be inside you so bad.” Between kisses, you stop stroking him and pull him back on top of you, “I want you too, Emmett.” He grabs his dick, sliding it between your folds, “Are you sure? This might still hurt even though I tried to stretch you.” Your eyes close at the feeling of your clit being touched again, “I know, it’s okay. Just go slow.” Emmett’s forehead touches yours, eye contact steady as he lines himself up to your entrance. “This can stop anytime you want it to. Don't lie there and let me hurt you.” You feel the head slowly entering you, as Emmett tries to distract you with kisses. At first you just feel really full, nothing too bad. And then it’s like he hit a wall, your body refusing him any further. You start to whimper in pain, “Shhh, it’s okay. I'm almost all the way in sweetheart. You are doing such a good job” His hand goes back to stroke your clit, “Easy there, that’s it, you can do it. Focus on the pleasure baby, not the pain. It'll go away soon.” And it does, your body responding to his touches, it lets him through. “Oh fuck,” he grunts, “There it is honey, I'm in. Oh, you feel so good. Are you okay?”

You grab onto his shoulders at the massive intrusion. “Yeah, I'm alright. Just move please, it’s starting to hurt again.” With a deep kiss, he slowly starts to move. Your hands go back to his hair as he continues to talk to you, “Breathe, don’t hold it in. Oh, this is better than I could have ever imagined, you feel so good around me. Oh shit, so tight baby. Just for me huh?” Emmett gets a good rhythm going in and out at just the right speed, sending you to heaven again. “Yes, just for you Emmett,” you manage to squeak into his ear, “Just for you.” At hearing your confession, his hips start to move sloppy. “Oh sweetheart, I can’t last much longer. It's been so long. You just feel too damn good.” Your nails start to dig in his back at the pleasure. “it’s okay, come for me baby, come for me.” you moan. Emmett buries his face in your shoulder, your name coming out of his mouth like a chant. That familiar growl unleashes from his throat as he finally hits his peak, quickly pulling out of you and spilling on your thighs. “Oh yes, like that.” he mutters to no one in particular, “Look so good covered in me.” You shakily sit up and pull him into a kiss, leaning on him as you have no strength left. “Are you alright baby?” he asks. “I’m perfect,” you answer, “That couldn’t have possibly gone better.”

With a tired chuckle Emmett responds, “Let’s just not wait for another freezing night to do that again, okay?”

“Okay I'll give you 20 minutes.”

#a quiet place x emmett #emmett x reader #emmett smut #a quiet place #emmett x fem reader

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 1 month

Text

comforting him

(cw: age gap 25/41; nightterrors, scars from injury, könig is having a shitty day, smoking, a bit of angst maybe, smut nsfw, mdni 18+)

the part before: going for a walk

It isn’t always fun and games, like the first time König had nightterrors while I was sleeping next to him.

The scream that woke me up. My disorientation until I knew what’s going on. His big body shaking next to mine. His arms trying to hold onto something. That something being me. And I talked to him, trying to get him grounded in reality again. Soft words, whatever came to mind.

After a while he calmed down, but he didn’t want to talk about it, which is… understandable.

And it happened again today, his pained shouts pulling me from my sleep. My smaller body hanging onto his bigger, trembling one, almost shoving me off me him when he snaps out of it.

I have to tell him at least five times that I’m okay, that he didn’t hurt me at all, that nothing happened to me. And even then, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

We both don’t sleep the rest of the night. Just sitting in the living room, listening to music. I get up every time to change the vinyl or flip it to the B-side, then snuggling back into his lap.

He looks exhausted and I just want to take his discomfort away, but I don’t know how. So I just resort to softly stroking over his shoulders and back, calming him like that.

I try not to see the scars that adorn his body, cutting through the tattoos here and there. Sometimes destroying the motive that already was there. Sometimes seeming like they were worked into the design because they already were there before. My hands caress over his warm skin, trying not to linger too long in one spot. To not think about all the injuries, or about him going on another mission. Probably sooner than later.

He always holds me close to him when I sit on his lap. Just tonight it feels a little bit more like he’s holding onto me not the other way around. Not to slip away.

In the morning, I go to work, König slipping back under the covers while I get dressed.

"Get some more rest, hm?", I tell him, caressing over his cheek before giving it a little kiss. "If you can." I don't know what else to say.

He just looks so tired, dark circles under his eyes. For once looking his age – or even older.

He grabs my hand, pressing his lips to my knuckles, grunting softly instead of an answer. I press his fingers before slipping out of his hold and leaving the bedroom, quietly closing the door.

I drive myself to work, yawning a little more than usually while answering emails, getting myself an extra coffee. My mind coming back to him every so often, sighing. Remembering the panic on his face, the empty look in his eyes afterwards. Cut off, inwardly suffering, silent.

When I return home, looking to hug the big guy and give him a big kiss, ask him how he is doing, he is nowhere to be found.

"König?" I call out.

Where is he? I check all the rooms, kitchen and living room at first. There isn't a trace of him, no food cooking on the stove, his glasses set aside next to the book he's currently reading.

Mimi is sleeping on the couch, the little kitty basking in the sun that is falling in through the window.

I think for a moment, almost running upstairs, but no. He wouldn't be up there, he doesn't use the office and I can't hear the shower. So I head downstairs, to the home gym. Usually, he works out while I'm at work, already showered and fresh when I return. But I don't know where else he would be. He surely would have texted me if he had gone out.

I crack the door open a little, peaking my head in. And there he is, wrecking the punching bag that's hanging from the ceiling.

Thud thud thud.

Thwack.

His fists hitting the leather repeatedly, before smacking the palm into it.

The headset is sitting fast on his head, his hair loosely tied together. His shorts tight around his thighs, his muscle shirt sweaty like the rest of him. And I try to ignore how good he looks like that.

His movements come to a halt, seeing me in the corners of his eyes, only doing a half-turn in my direction.

"Hey, how are yo-", I start, but he interrupts me, pushing one of the headphones back.

"What?", he says, louder than necessary and the impatience in his voice startles me.

"I was just-", I repeat, but the look on his face shuts me up as he finally meets my gaze. I feel like I'm intruding, disturbing him when I shouldn't be, and for a moment I don't even know what to say. Startled.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares.

My mouth drops open, hoping the right words come out, but they don't. The way he looks at me... I can't deal with. The simmering anger, the arrogance the way his chin tilts up, the brows more furrowed than I've ever seen them before.

I shake my head, breaking the eye contact for a moment, just to get away from his stare. "Uh, just- I'm sorry for disturbing you.", I finally press out, slipping back, heading out the room again.

Before I turn around, I see the anger on his face dissipate into frustration and something else I can't put my finger on it.

I rush out the door and up to living room, pacing around until Mimi comes up to me, and I pick the kitty up. Snuggling the little furball. Contemplating if it might be better to pack up my stuff. Give him his space.

I shake my head. No, that would be shitty too. Running away because he has a shitty day.

I sigh. I feared that something like that might happen when I was hesitant to go stay with him. And it's not like he shouldn't be allowed to have shitty days. I just don't really know what to do about them. Yet.

I hear steps, heavy thuds on the stairs, coming to a halt, and I turn to look.

He just stands there, on the top stair, almost hitting his head on the staircase above. The headphones around his neck, his hair falling down into his face. Just looking at me, his arms hanging to his sides, his shoulders slumped down. The distance between us too great, but he doesn't dare come closer.

"I'm sorry, Liebes.", he says, his voice hoarse, the words quieter than I would have thought. Defeat and apology in his expression.

I just stand there, looking at him. I mean, I knew he had troubles. The self-imposed lonesomeness. And I'm not talking about staying home a lot, preferring to be by himself. The stuff about his work that he doesn't want to talk about. The nightterrors, just like today. I don't fully believe him when he says, he doesn't have them often.

The scowl on his face when he thinks I'm not looking. The simmering anger that's seemingly always there. Directed at himself rather than the people around him. Well, most of the time at least.

"It's okay.", I finally say.

He shakes his head, making a step forward, just a small one. "It's not." He sighs. "I'm usually better at hiding... it." Another step. "I'm not angry with you, I swear."

I sigh too. I knew that but apparently, I still needed to hear him say it. A soft sad smile stalks onto my face as I come closer until I'm standing before him.

"You shouldn't need to hide it.", I say, snuggling into his chest, pressing myself against him, still holding Mimi.

He closes his arms around me, embracing us both. He's sweaty, but I don't care right now. I need this closeness.

"You're here because I broke your bed, not to babysit a manchild.", he says flatly, but the edge in his words jabbing at himself is still obvious. And I don't want to point out the flaws in them. I’m not here because he broke my bed. This isn't at all what this is about, but he still seems to be in whatever spiral he was just moments ago.

"I'm not.", I answer. "Something is troubling you, that doesn't make you a child nor does me asking you about it make me a babysitter." He doesn't say anything, his arms only hugging me a little tighter. "So... You wanna talk about it?", I ask.

I can feel him hesitate and then shake his head. "No, I'm..." He breaks off. "I just have to deal with it, okay?" He softly strokes over my hair. "You don't need to worry about me."

"But I still do.", I say, softly, finally looking back up at him. I can't stand the defeated look on his face. He averts his eyes, hugging me closer.

And we just stand here in the living room. The three of us in a hug, only our soft breaths cutting through the silence.

Before he breaks it. "I actually got the information on the next mission.", he says, his voice steadier now.

I perk up. "And?"

"I'm leaving next week.", he answers.

I swallow, hard. "Which day?", I want to know, so I can count the days.

"Wednesday." So six days, including today. Shit.

"Okay." I press myself into him, Mimi still in between, and she meows. Tearing me from my dwindling thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby.", I coo, pressing a kiss to her head, and she meows again, freeing herself from my hold, jumping down to the floor.

He takes the chance to pull me flush against him. "Me too.", he mumbles into my hair.

My arms wrap around his waist, my hands stroking down his back. Hugging him back, thinking about what to do.

If he doesn't wanna talk about it, then maybe a distraction will help ease his mind. Or at least take his mind off things. And mine too, now that I know he’ll be leaving.

"Some, uh, friends of mine asked if I wanna go out for some drinks.", I start. "We could join them if you want to." The tips of my fingers brushing over his lower back. "We can also stay home, of course, you know – whatever you prefer. But they actually wanted to go to the pub where we met." I smile up at him, remembering that moment when he got my attention with a simple compliment of my bandshirt.

"That..." He hesitates, but returns the smile then, although meekly. "That actually sounds like a good idea."

I get onto my tiptoes to finally get the kiss I came looking for earlier. He meets me halfway, kissing me, and the way his lips feel against mine sets me a little more at ease.

"Shower first?", he says then, his eyes intently on mine.

"Yes, stinky.", I quip which makes him laugh a little before I pull him with me up the stairs.

I hear him sigh behind me, a deep defeated tone, and I stop in my tracks again, but he just lifts me and carries me to the bathroom.

After the shower he looks refreshed, in a fresh band shirt and his favorite pair of cargo pants. Smelling like his usual shampoo, and he even put on a little bit of aftershave.

He's looking a bit more like himself. Especially when he puts on his leatherjacket, flicking his hair back with a trained move of his arm, so it isn't stuck in the collar, but falls down his shoulders.

The frown on his face is still a little more etched in than usually. It lightens up a bit when we sing along to Slipknot's "Before I forget" on the drive to the pub, and even more so when we join my friends there.

After the general introductions we get some drinks and settle down at the table. My hand in his, underneath the tabletop.

"Can I try? Just a sip." He points at my drink, an orangy-red liquid, more sweet than sour.

I pull one eyebrow up. "Sure, but I'm not sure you're gonna like it."

But he already took my glass and gulps half of it down.

My jaw drops. "You said just a sip!", I complain, loudly.

He smiles at me, a lop-sided apology, the smile that never lets me be mad at him, before his face contorts into a grimace. "You were right, I don't like it.", he comments.

The nerve. He sees my exasperated expression and laughs. His big hand grabs the back of my head and he pulls me in to press a big kiss to my cheek, and the public display of affection makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter and my exaggerated exasperation disappear.

"I'll buy you a new one, okay?", he says, pulling away, getting up and heading to the bar.

I shake my head, rolling my eyes, unable to keep the grin off my face. Looking after him, my eyes are panning from his broad shoulders down his back until they land on his tight ass as his hips sway. Blatantly ogling him, but I can't help it.

Robin’s hand on my forearms pulls my attention to them, and they start to tell me about their newest obsession: little, tiny octopuses. They’re showing me pictures and videos of the cute and small creatures when König gets back. He sets the new drink onto the table in front of me, I glance at him, mouthing 'thank you'. And he just winks.

It doesn't take long until he joins the conversation with the younger guys at the table which quickly turns into a trip to the billiard table. And my friends come in all shapes and sizes, still König towers over all of them. His tall stature bending down over the side of the table to line up the ball, sinking it in the right hole with precision. He is an insertion specialist after all.

Robin and I are laughing and giggling, making the stupid jokes we always do, and I’ve almost forgotten about the troubles today, getting myself another drink.

I look over to the guys again and König’s talking to Dan. Bits and pieces I pick up are telling me that they're talking about some soccer teams and matches. I grin to myself because I know how glad Dan must be that he finally got someone around who's interested in that, because none of us are.

He catches me staring at him, the corner of his mouth tipping up in a smirk. I blow him a little kiss before I take my jacket and head out the front door for a smoke.

Moments later, the door behind me croaks and I turn around. The big guy is standing in the entryway, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

“You smoke?” His deep voice fills the silence of the breezy night.

I sigh, juggling the bag of tobacco, rolling papers and filters in my hands. “Used to, but sometimes when I’m out with friends… or stressed… I still go for a smoke.”, I answer, a wry apologetic smile stalking onto my face.

He nods like he understands, putting his hand in his pocket, leaning beside me on the wall. A simple gesture, but when it comes to him, I find even the most minute of movements hot.

“Me too, especially when I’m at work… or having one of those days. Like today.”, he says, the smile turning lop-sided, and after a pause adds: “So… Can I have one as well?”

I chuckle, hiding my slight surprise. “Sure. Should I or do you know how to roll one?”, I ask in return.

His extended hand, the palm turned up, and a little tilt of his head are his only answer. I hand him a filter and a rolling paper with some tobacco, getting myself the same items before I put the tobacco baggie back into my purse.

When I turn to him again, my attention gets pulled in by his hands that softly take the little paper, putting the filter on the right side, pushing some of the tobacco in. Taking it between his middlefingers and thumbs, rolling it up in a swift trained motion. The ease with which he does it is impressive, even more so considering how tiny the cigarette is compared to his hands.

Then he lifts it to his mouth, his tongue darting out, licking over the paper in one swift go, to make it stick.

My eyes go wide, my breath halts in my throat, and I have to remember myself that I need to breathe.

He sees my expression which pulls a laugh from him. “Never thought you’d be jealous of a cigarette, hm?”

That pulls me from my trance, I laugh and playfully smack his arm. “Oh, stop it.” I shoot him a look, my eyes sparkling at him while I tease: “I know, I’ll be getting that as soon as we come home.”

He lights his cigarette with the zippo he always carries in the right outer pocket of his cargo pants, taking a drag and blowing the smoke into the air. “Don’t you know it.”, he says, the devilish smirk coming out. His hand drops down, pinching my butt playfully, and I yelp a little bit, almost dropping my unrolled cigarette.

“König!” But he just grins down at me.

Then I finally manage to roll it, stick the filter end between my lips and search for my lighter.

“Here, let me.”, he says, holding out the zippo in front of my face, the clank of metal and then the familiar snap, before a little flame burns at the top.

I shoot him a thankful look and lean forward until the flame catches on and the cigarette burns. I take the first drag, inhaling it deeply.

He puts the lighter away again, and I fall against him, resting my head against his chest while his arm drops around me, pulling me into him. Sharing this moment together while we smoke our cigarettes.

“To think that this all started because I complimented you on your shirt…”, he says, seeming a little bit caught up.

I laugh, the light sound getting carried away into the quiet night sky. “Is a little crazy, right?”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

We fall silent, puffs of smoke inhaled and exhaled. Soft noises from inside the bar making it less quiet. The air around us is thick with things we don’t say.

I think, I like you more than I ever thought I would.

I might even be falling in love with you.

And that scares me.

We excuse ourselves a little early because honestly, I'm tired from not having slept all that much tonight, and the few drinks I had made me a little tipsy. And he kind of promised to eat me out when we get home.

We get to the car and – as so often – he opens the door for me. I smile at him and climb into the seat, but he steals another kiss. One that has me panting a little harder. He pulls away and rounds the car to get into the driver side.

I sit back, turning on the music as he starts driving.

Looking at him. The streetlamps light up his face every so often, casting the one side in shadows.

Wondering what might be going on in his head, the stoic expression not giving anything away.

Whatever went on in his mind today seems forgotten about, he seems like his usual self again. But maybe he’s just hiding it? Or it helped going outside for once, and I ask myself if maybe the time we first met, he also went out to distract himself.

And I don’t even know why, but my heart starts hurting a bit.

How is it like when he is alone at home? Does he talk to nobody?

“What is it?”, he asks, not taking his eyes off the road.

I look away and shake my head. “Nothing.”

“I’ve been around long enough to know that it’s never nothing.”, he says with a little sigh, an understanding smile on his face.

“Just thinking.”, I say plainly.

The smile gets a little wider. “Hmm, thinking, that’s a dangerous thing.”, he says, sounding earnest and joking at the same time.

The corners of my mouth tilt up, of their own volition. “It is.”

His hand lands on my thigh, squeezing it, and the little gesture soothes me. Pushing the thoughts away as I relax into the leather seat.

His thumb grazes over the sensitive inside of my thigh, and I shoot him a look. The small grin is the only hint that he’s doing it on purpose, only getting wider as he brushes further up until his hand is between my thighs. My fingers clasp over his, but I don’t pull them away. Shamelessly grinding against the palm, relishing the delicious friction and paying him back for his cheeky move. Now it's his turn to shoot me a look.

The sleepiness is almost forgotten about, and the slight tipsiness does nothing but make me even hotter and hornier.

Parking the Mercedes at his usual spot in the garage, he cuts off the engine and I jump out the car before he can even get out and open the door for me.

I take a few steps back, biting my lip, trying to hide the grin that stalks onto my face as he makes his way around the car. His gaze is on me, looking at me from under his brows, unbridled desire in his eyes.

His broad shoulders seem even wider with his signature leatherjacket, his hair moves, the long strands falling down his shoulders, while he comes closer with long strides until his boots bump into my converse and his arms close around me. He almost towers over me, leaning me back in his embrace. His lips crash into mine while my hands grab him, trying to get even closer to him.

We don't say anything, but I can feel the simmering intensity as he deepens the kiss and picks me up, making the last few steps into the house. My legs close around his waist when he pushes through the door, and we're both not breaking the kiss, desperate for more.

I think back to the first time we hooked up, how he carried me upstairs to my flat. How the anticipation and excitement simmered in my veins back then, and his touches still consume me and make me wanna devour him, but it has become so familiar at the same time. How his fingers press into my thighs, grabbing the soft pillows. How his nose nudges against mine when we kiss. How he swallows up the soft noises I make, tasting every single one of them. His chest against mine, the plane of muscles warm and pillowy.

His scent, his taste. How the long strands of his hair feel as I run my fingers through them.

He sets me down on the dresser in the hallway, pulling my shoes off, kicking his boots away and getting rid of the leatherjacket. He doesn't have to say it, I know what he wants, and pop the button on my pants, lower the zipper. His hands grab the waistband, helping me get it off. My pants and panties fall to the floor before he drops to his knees, his eyes fixed on my pussy as he spreads my legs and places them over his broad shoulders.

He pushes his hair out of his face and dives in, his mouth pressing against my lips, and I moan as his tongue darts out and licks me for the first time.

My hands hold onto the surface beneath me, my body slumping back into the wall, the sensation of the cold brick against my shoulders,while he starts to eat me out. Soft groans and mewls drop from his lips, getting lost in the slick and warmth. His lids are closed, his lashes adorning his cheeks, seeming almost solemn. The stern expression he usually wears on his face nowhere to be found, the frustration that was plaguing him today slowly dissipated throughout the evening and I can't find any of it left in his eyes when he looks up at me. Finding mine, holding the gaze.

His nose is buried in the soft curls as his mouth closes around my clit, sucking, licking over it with his flat tongue, coaxing moan after moan from me.

My hands dart out, the one grabbing his fingers that press into my thigh, the other caressing down the side of his face.

"Fuck, can't get enough of you.", he breathes, licking me again. Lapping up the wetness, desperately tasting me.

My eyes turn up, breaking the eye contact, my thighs are starting to shake and I come on his tongue. His hands are steadying me, so I don't fall off the dresser, my body writhing, my head pressing against the hard wall behind me. My moans resound in the small space around us, the stimulation making me lose my mind.

He doesn't stop until I grab his hair, pulling him up to me. He grunts, reluctantly breaking away from my pussy, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss that I answer with the same frenzy. Tasting myself on his lips.

He hastily unbuckles his belt, freeing his erection that has been straining against the zipper, hard, the tip smeared with pre-cum. Breaking the kiss to look down between our bodies. He grabs himself by the base, slowly dragging it over my pussy. Finding the entrance and dipping into the wetness.

His eyes are intently on mine, my mouth falling open as he stretches me, my eyebrows turning up. His jaw drops, his expression mirroring mine.

He's so close, our panting breaths intermingling. A choked moan rising up my throat when he fills me, the tip pressing up against my cervix.

My legs close around his waist, pulling him closer. He lifts me off the dresser, but we don't get far as he presses me up against the wall, steadying me with his arms. Fucking into me, his hips pushing forward.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck.", he curses, the desperation in his voice sending a pang of need between my thighs.

I hold onto his shoulders, my back pressed against the wall behind me, meeting his movements.

"So tight, Liebes.", he grunts. "Driving me crazy."

A little laugh shakes me before him bottoming me out makes me moan again. "What should I say, huh?", I shoot back, teasing him.

He halts and captures my face between his thumb and pointer. "Oh, but you always take me so well.", he tells me, knowing what those words do to me. And they don’t miss their impact.

I shake my head, trying to ignore the tingle running down my spine. “Fitting together like two puzzle pieces.”, I joke, which pulls a deep hearty laugh from his throat.

“Well put.”, he says, with a twinkle in his eyes.

He hoists me up again, making our way to the bedroom. His dick moving inside me with every single one of his steps, and I sigh as I snuggle into the crook of his neck.

He slips out of me and almost throws me down into the mattress, quickly getting off his clothes, and I pull my shirt above my head, fully naked now. I lie down, my belly against the sheets.

The mattress dips down as he drapes his body over me, his warm skin against mine. I look back at him, propping myself up on my forearms. Inviting him in, and the hurry drops away again.

He brushes my hair out the way, looking into my eyes, as his dick slides between my thighs. My mouth falls open, little panting breaths dropping from my lips, when he drags him himself back and forth, his length pressing against my slick pussy.

He slips into me, filling me up again, and I relish the feeling, familiar but still intense every time. He pulls me up, his hand grabbing the back of my head, kissing me. His lips softly against mine as he backs off and presses into me again. Slowly, savouring how I take every inch, until he's fully seated inside me. Rolling his hips, almost lazily.

Soft, so soft.

“Feels so good.”, I mumble into the kiss, thrusting my ass back, meeting his languid strokes.

Losing myself in the hazy pleasure, the slow and sweet fuck. Moving in unison until his hips are rutting forward, stuttering, as he loses the rhythm. Still kissing me while he comes inside me.

"Ngh, Liebes...", he grunts against my lips, pushing in one last time, slumping down on me, and I feel his weight on me for a moment.

I cradle his face, my thumb coasting over his jaw, wiping away a drop of sweat. His panting breaths fill the room, and I can't help but smile. Pressing another kiss to his lips, a small sweet one.

It seems to stir him awake and he doesn't stay slumped over me, propping himself up on his hands again, smirking down at me.

He pushes into me again, my mouth shaping into an O, my eyebrows turning up, and I can feel the wetness seep out of me as his dick fills me up again.

The question on my face must be clear when I crane my neck to look up at him.

"Didn't think it was over, did you?", he drawls, starting to fuck me harder. "You can give me one more, Hexe."

"Oh fuck.", I mumble as his hips snap forward, colliding with my ass. I hold onto his arm, steadying myself, my nails burying into his muscly forearms.

I remember how he was careful with me at first, afraid to break me. How he doesn't have such reservations anymore. Thrusting into me at an almost punishing pace. Trusting that I would use my safeword if it in fact was too much.

And I remember how I imagined how fucking him must be before we did it for the first time, and how it compares to reality.

Me splayed out on the bed, my front to the mattress. Him kneeling over me, his knees framing my ass as he's buried balls deep in my pussy.

Grabbing my hips, positioning me to fuck me even deeper. Sliding in and out of me, bottoming me out which pulls whimpers from me every time. Making me lose my mind quickly.

His hair whipping back and forth when his hips snap forward, his groin pressing up against the soft pillows of my ass repeatedly.

“Good girl, oh fuck.”, he praises me. “Taking me so well…” He lets go of me, his hand coming down on my butt, and I cry out at the sting.

Alternating between my left and right cheek, reddening the skin with every slap.

My hands are fisting the sheets beneath me, and my eyes are rolling back, lewd sounds getting pulled from my throat, as he plunges his dick into me again and again.

"Fuck, König...", I sigh, his name getting swallowed up when my face gets pushed into the sheets again.

"Say it again.", he grunts, but the hard thrusts of his hips unintentionally shut me up as he leans forward again, pressing me into the mattress. "Need to hear you say it, Liebes."

And I do say his name as I come once again, the sounds turning into uncontrollable moans, and he is not stopping until I'm a writhing shivering mess beneath him and he is pressing sweet kisses to my face again.

He pulls me with him as he rolls off me, bringing my body close to his until I'm draped over him. Basking in the afterglow, pressing myself up against his warm chest, our heavy breaths intermingling.

I remember how we joked about him keeping up, him making a comment about how I should be concerned to keep up with him, and most of the time he's right, but seeing him a little out of breath after we just had sex. Just like right now. It makes me feel all kinds of things. Deliciously dirty and heartwarmingly fluffy ones.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm feeling so sleepy.", I mumble into a yawn. The sleepiness caught up and is taking over me now.

He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple, his arms engulfing me. "That's okay, Liebes, just sleep.", he whispers, and I close my eyes, pressing my cheek to his pillowy chest.

"G'night..."

"Gute Nacht."

~ more in the Masterlist ~

#metalhead!könig #she likes the dark #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

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