#then can you please paint on my nails? :) and Will can’t pass her up
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Not So Secret Santa
javier peña x fem!reader
this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!
summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.
warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.
tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.
word count : 4.4k
✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)
no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.
lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics
“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging.
“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.
“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.
“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim.
“My entire Christmas bonus.”
“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”
“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest.
“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh.
“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this.
“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work.
“Please, Steve.”
“No.”
You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours.
When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process.
“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away.
Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today.
Javier P.
Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office.
And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with.
Every single woman, except you.
You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner.
He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be.
“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo.
“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed.
“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk.
“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her.
“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs.
You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails.
Red chipped paint.
You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.
It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway.
Probably.
It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you?
With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless.
Stupid fucking Peña.
Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car.
“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.
Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though.
You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap.
Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday.
Jesus.
You know way too much about him.
You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails.
“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette.
Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night.
There’s no time to be thinking like that.
You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.
Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower.
The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.
“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt.
“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes.
He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.
More people show up than you could have expected.
You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses.
You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours.
Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt.
You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach.
String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation.
“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie.
He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier.
Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.
One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.
You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up.
“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift.
“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things.
“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away.
Javier traded for your name?
As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting.
“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”
Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.
Huh.
That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again.
Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident.
Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend.
Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.
You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people.
Javier’s office.
You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.
Today is just not your day.
Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand.
Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him.
“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult.
“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab.
What a foolish question.
How could he possibly not know?
“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home.
“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall.
“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face.
“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow.
“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”
“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?
This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out.
“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends.
“So this is about the secret Santa.”
Of course he wouldn’t get it.
“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him.
You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first.
“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms.
“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.
“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide.
You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye.
“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night.
“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.”
If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go.
You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you.
Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.
When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole.
“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth.
“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts.
You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt.
You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment.
Jesus you’re soaked.
You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him.
He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here.
You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.
Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock.
Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission.
You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you.
You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust.
You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor.
“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.
He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk.
Did that really just happen?
He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time.
“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning.
“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk.
“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while.
“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.
“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin.
“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss.
It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait.
“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.
He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.
Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier.
[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]
Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting.
from : your secret fucking santa
a/n : happy holidays everyone!!
#pedrostoriesgift23#lincolndjarin#taro-666 <3#javier pena smut#javier peña#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena narcos#javier pena x reader#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal
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JINGLE BELL COCK !
ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. p in v, uncle/niece incest, somno
notes. MERRY CHRISTMAS!! this is very messy and rushed i haven’t been able to write properly lately so forgive me for the repetitiveness and clunkiness!! ignore typos as always :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated !!! this is reallyyy sloppy and I’m embarrassed so I may go back and delete and rewrite in a few days time 😭
tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.
“Woah,” Leon's knees almost buckle when you barrel into him, “Pumpkin, wow,” He takes you in, settles his hands on your hips, and it might be inappropriate ‘cause your mother glares at him over your shoulder. What did she want him to do? Grab your ass? Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. Just doesn’t wanna get put on a list of some kind. “You’re so big now.”
“Yeah?” Your cheeks split with a sweet smile, “I missed you, uncle.”
“God, you’re so big I can’t believe it,” He gives you a once over, he’d like to catcall you to show you how he feels, Leon refrains from doing so. “I remember when you were a kid, always sat in my lap ‘n said you wanted to marry me.”
“Awww,” A gloved hand comes to pat his cheek, you take the tip of the fabric between your teeth, taking it off finger by finger, “I can do that again if you’d really like, uncle.” Your nails scratch his scruffy chin, press your finger into the divot he hates so much, then you stare right at it. Don’t look at that, god. Totally messed him over. Shit fucked up his golden ratio.
“What're you lookin’ at, pumpkin?” He shifts from foot to foot, moves his flight bag from one shoulder to the other.
“Just never seen you with a beard,” You shrug, beaming at him once more. Okay, not the chin then, thank fuck. “It’s cute, uncle, makes you look older.” Leon doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, though he feels his spinal disk shrink with each passing second.
You turn on your heels when his sister-in-law, fine as ever, says your name, “We should go before she gets pissy.” You tell him cheekily, taking his hand in yours, and you’re so big now he can’t believe it. A whole lot of tit, hip, and your ass ain’t too shabby either. Leon’s justification is that he’s only a man, can't help himself when he sees a pretty girl, even if said girl is his niece. He’s an honest guy, gotta give his brother props for marrying such a smokeshow, even more credit for knocking her up. ‘Cause she popped out an even hotter girl, younger, brighter, and your tits sit prettier.
Their family stands on crumbling foundations, when he’s around his brother, Leon’s five seconds away from blowing his brains out at any given moment. He doesn’t know why people question his suicidal tendencies, he’s more than willing to show them. Snow crunches under his boots as he navigates the path leading up to the front door. The layer of glossy red paint has chipped away to reveal the mahogany beneath. It’s been that long, huh?
“I’m in college now, I have my licence and everything, uncle, I wanted to visit you in D.C. but I couldn’t get ahold of you,” You chatter to him, tugging at your laces and propping your shoes up on the shelf near the door, make the move to grab his suitcase, but Leon swiftly moves it aside. “I can carry it, I’m a big girl now.”
“No, you’re not,” Leon frowns, to him you’re a baby. An undeveloped prefrontal cortex and a soft spot on the top of your head. Yeah, you got a rack now, sure, he wants to fuck you now - doesn’t change a thing.
“Okay, well did you bring me a present?” You trail after him, and you really are still a baby.
“Yeah, you’re my favourite girl, I bought you lots.” He’s not sure if you’ll like it. Colouring books, dolls, plastic jewellery. He’s a bit of an idiot. Didn’t think about how long it’s been.
“Can I open them now?” You seat yourself next to him on the couch, knee bumping his.
“Later, pumpkin, I promise.”
“I want to transfer to Washington.” Wine trickles over the edge of your cup, Leon soaks it up with a napkin, dabs at your face when a rivulet dribbles down your chin.
His brother’s knocked out in their dad’s old armchair, it’s beyond saving, but he’s cheap. Your mom retired to bed a while back, they argued over something trivial, a cheeseboard or some shit, and with that it leaves the two of you.
“Yeah? You got friends out there or what?”
“No, but you’re there, uncle.” You grin, batting your lashes so pretty he gets without popping a viagra or two. Three. He needs three minimum. “I could come stay with you, right?”
Fuck no, under no circumstance should he be allowed within fifty feet of you. And here Leon is, bumping knees, brushing fingers like you’re lovesick teens on a first date. That’s just not right, is it? He’s a decrepit old man on his way to getting a senior bus pass, and he’s your uncle and all. Can’t really go around popping boners over family members.
“I work too much.” Leon says coolly, sweat dripping from his temple, drumming his fingers against the table. “Hey, you wanna open your presents?”
“Yes!” You nod with wild enthusiasm, like a bobblehead, cute ones you keep on the dashboard. Leon would love to take you home with him, display you on the mantle like a China doll, show you off like some rare artefact. Just can’t, he’d end up doing something awful, peeking in on you showering— or worse he’d start sleepwalking, get into your room- “Go get them then, uncle.”
The paper is pink, the shade you used to adore as a young girl, the colour you’ve since painted over in your room. He got that professionally wrapped, big bow on it and all. Leon’s not good at making things look pretty. It’s easier to assemble a gun than it is to wrap presents. Your name is scrawled on the tag in cursive writing that belongs to none other than Claire, she insisted on doing so, felt inclined after seeing his chicken-scratch.
“It’s for me, you shouldn’t have, uncle!” You snatch it out of his hands, Jesus, had more manners when you were a kid. Once you tear through the paper, you blink down at the plastic princess costume jewellery. Clip-on earrings, fluffy mules that are much too tiny, the whole lot. “Oh, wow, well, it sure is nice.”
“Pumpkin,” Leon starts, “It slipped my mind that you’re a big girl now, I wasn’t thinkin’ and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” You placate him with your smile, “I’m just glad you’re here.” Cheesy, still makes him swoon.
“We can go shopping ‘fore I go back, I’ll buy you whatever, yeah?”
“I don’t need that,” You shake your head, eyes flitting from his lower half then to his lips. He’s making shit up in his head now. It’s late, Leon should go to sleep, doesn’t wanna start kissing on you and end up in court. “Oh, you’re going already?”
“I’m tired, pumpkin.” My dick is so hard it’s cutting off all blood flow to my brain, my pants are squeezing it so tight I’m gonna contract sepsis and that shit will fall straight off, I don’t want my dick to fall off, pumpkin, hope you can understand my reasoning. Leon hopes you can see the desperation in his eyes, that you can see the sentiment he’s trying to get across.
The bed creaks with his weight, and it’s the same dusty, bed-bug ridden shit his brother’s had for years. He jerks off, blows his load on his stomach, too worn out to clean it up. Falls asleep with his hand down his pants. Then Leon starts having wet dreams like he’s twenty-one again, of your petal lips, of your hands on his dick, your tits, how your thighs look when you sit. Warmth engulfs his cock, and it’s so real, he’s so sure you’re right there, sucking him off like a good girl. You’re cute like a sex doll, and it’s unfair that he has to put on this uncle act. Used to come natural to him when you were a kid, but it’s just different.
Only when Leon lifts his hand does he come into contact with skin, with hair, and a human. At first, he thinks it’s the dog, one of the three. Then he feels small hands parting his thighs further, the familiarity of your smile warming his skin.
“Pumpkin.” Leon rasps, and it’s not quite warning, just a tone that says keep going, but this is fucked up, doesn’t mean I don’t want it though. He thanks you for making the first move.
You pull off with a wet pop, kissing along his Apollo’s belt. “I want to come to D.C. and stay with you,” You say between fervid kisses, “I want to be with you, uncle, you’re handsome and I like you.” Your confession is feverish, he wonders if you realise the weight of your words. Can’t go around telling lonely old men that you like ‘em.
“I’m your uncle, pumpkin.” Leon states simply, ‘cause he’s an adult and he’s collected, but you can keep pumping his dick like that, he really don’t mind.
“No one would know,” You kiss the sticky tip, pre smeared over your lips like lip gloss, tongue poking out to taste him, dipping into his leaky slit. “I could be your girlfriend.” Leon doesn’t even know you, he knows the little girl you once were.
Leon’s too old for that shit. Girlfriend boyfriend talk. “I’m too old to be dating, pumpkin.” He cradles the back of your head with his calloused hand, guides you to base of his shaft, your tongue tracing the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.
“Yeah, but you’re not too old to marry me, are you?” You’re a clever girl, giving him a cheeky smile as you sit up and clamber into his lap.
“What’s gotten into you, pumpkin?” Don’t stop, pumpkin. Same thing. He hopes his dick says enough, standing proud as you lift your hips, wet hole stretching to accommodate his fat tip. Leon can’t see your face, but he shuts his eyes and thinks about it, how your lips would part so pretty, and you’d toss your head back, sweat making your skin all shiny.
“I just really like you, uncle.” One way ticket out of this shitty town, away from his shitry brother, away from your narc bitch of a mom, free food, free housing - Leon understands your motive. Truly, he does, and he can’t find it in himself to give a damn. If you pretend to love then it matters all the same.
“Okay, then sit on it, pumpkin.” Leon urges, firm hands finding purchase on your hips, forcing you down on his cock till you take all of him to the hilt. The head bumps your cervix, and Leon is in love with you. Thank fuck he came back home, thank god, thank Claire for pushing him to the point of booking a flight. “You wanna marry me?”
“I told you, didn’t I? Promised I was gonna marry you when I was a kid.” You press your tits flush to his chest, lips ghosting Leon’s. “I wanna marry you so bad, uncle, you’re all I want.” And Leon can’t help himself, doesn’t mean to let go so early, the coils of heat in his belly turn searing, and he empties himself into you with a groan. The quiet noise of disappointing you let out as his cock softens inside of you is adorable.
“You gotta get used to that if you marry me, I’m old now.” He strokes your head, holds you tight, refuses to let go now that he’s got you.
“I can deal with it, uncle, as long as I get to be your wife.”
#leon s kennedy x you#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#resident evil x reader#resident evil smut
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Complaining. - Ony 4
<<part three part five>>
slight arguing, mentions of cheating and feelings (mild), no proofread, i’ll edit it whenever. sorry for the waittt!
you rubbed your eyes, slipping your white painted toes into your fluffy slides. you weren’t even drunk last night but for some reason, that headache just bothered the hell out of you.
“shittt.” you whispered to yourself. you checked your phone and the time. 10:47am. you stretched before standing up, stretching your legs and making your way to the bathroom. you grabbed a towel, running warm water under it before washing your face lazily. you brushed your teeth, went to your room and grabbed your phone.
you made your way to the living room, sitting on your couch, waiting for something to happen. it was a weird feeling, like empty. you can’t say you’d never felt it before, but this time you were just bored. and you were rarely bored.
but conveniently, as you were scrolling through apps on your tv, you got a phone call from an awfully familiar number. you pursed you’re lips together, frowning slightly before answering. “who is this?” was the first thing you asked.
“damn, you deleted my whole number too?” ony spoke on the other line.
you sighed, rolling your eyes. “boy what you want? ain’t yo girlfriend somewhere near you?” you asked. “just because we… quote on quote “date” don’t mean we live together.” ony mumbled. you hummed. “yeah okay.” you muttered.
“so wassup witchu?”
you paused for a minute before answering. “ion know. but i gotta talk to you about something, ony.” you said while playing with your nails. “ight, speak.” ony said in between a yawn.
you quirked a frown before leaning back on your couch. “we need to talk about some shit going on between us because-“before you could even finish, your phone started vibrating and it was a facetime call instead of an audio call. you smacked your lips and answered it with a frown, making ony laugh. he was still in bed, he looked tired.
“my bad, i just wanna see you when you talk. keep going.”
you squinted for a few seconds. “anyway, as i was sayin. we need to talk about some shit between us because i feel-“
all of a sudden, there was a loud ass sneeze and you frowned. “ony what the fuck is wrong witchu?”
“it’s allergy season bruh please.” he rubbed his nose before sniffing and chuckling. “ight keep going.”
you smacked your lips. “nevermind dude just… you wanna come over today?” you asked while rubbing your forehead. ony raised his eyebrows. “like… for what?” he frowned a little. “so we can talk. cus apparently you don’t know how to listen without making dumbass sounds.”
“can we get sum to eat if i come?”
~
so there you were, sitting in the passenger side of your ex boyfriends car, downing a burger and large fry with a drink. as he drove, he glanced at you from time to time, raising his eyebrows at the way it looked like you just feened for food.
“you ain’t eat today?”
“nah.” you mumbled, taking a bite of four fries and looking at ony with furrowed eyebrows. “you must got a problem or sum?”
“you in my car.” he nudged your arm and you continued to eat your food, staring at him. “ion care.” you said, grabbing your drink and sipping through the straw. ony hummed. “so what you wanna talk about. you know my girl ain’t gone like us together.” he sighed, leaning back a little. you frowned and looked at him.
“i’m just playing, damn.” he laughed. “but for real wassup.”
“we need to get our shit together, that’s what. cus i’m not finna be fuckin on you tomorrow and then we have a lame ass argument the next day.” you glanced at him, passing him a fry. “and ion want yo lil bitch to be mean mugging me, but i’m not gon say too much cus she ain’t did too much yet. but that shit you said about her being a replacement, it just made me feel like you wasn’t really talking to me for me, you was just talking to me cus you wanted to brag or sum.”
ony pursed his lips together, putting the car in park as you both sat in an empty parking lot. “so you tryna say i was only talking to you to let it be known that i could easily replace you?” he frowned softly.
you shrugged, finishing your burger. “i mean, i really hate yo ass. i do. but you having her as my replacement? you gotta do better than that. you making it seem like i’m ugly or sum shit.”
ony smacked his lips and rested his eyes at you. “you know you not ugly, i know you not ugly. don’t do that. and how was i posed to find somebody finer than you?”
“you cheated on me with her, ony. then you brought her around the around the group expecting her to just be invited like we all ain’t been friends since bout middle school and her ass just now coming.”
you turned in the seat to face him. “and then the hoe kept staring at me when she saw me and you talking like she had a problem or sum. wassup wit that? i mean i get why she mad, you talkin to the girl you cheated on to get with her, but she ain’t had to look at me like that-“
“why you always shit talkin?” ony stared at you. but it wasn’t a bad stare. it was more like a genuine question stare.
“huh?”
“you too cute to be worried bout what these hoes got going on or what these bitches think about you. i told you bout that.” he said as his eyes continued to rest on yours. he did tell you about that.
you opened your mouth to defend your actions, but nothing came out. it was like ever since you broke up with him, you’ve just been in that same grumpy mood for the whole time.
“you ain’t ever act like then when we was together, you was a lover girl.” ony smiled a little.
“but you cheated on me and i got mad. and ian gone lie, i been mad about that shit for a long time.” you looked at him. “and it’s annoying seeing you with somebody else that think they better than me or sum. i can’t tell nobody but you that.”
“why?”
“cus that’s embarrassing.”
ong smacked his lips. “i’m sorry for doin that to you. ion got no problem wit apologizing. but ion want you to bottle up yo feelings until i come around cus we not even together.”
“and ion want you to be around me as a secret and then start acting different in front of yo girl.” you raised your eyebrow at him. you might’ve been feeling some typa way, but ain’t no way you was finna sit here and feel bad about shit because she was in the way of you and ony getting back on good terms.
ony rubbed his face. “ion act different. that was only when i expected you to be more mad.”
“but you’ll flirt with me one minute and then be a whole other nigga when you get around her.”
“cus that’s my girlfriend.”
“you don’t even like that girl.”
“says who?”
“me, nigga.”
“who the hell is you to say ion like her?”
“why you always tryna argue wit me?”
“cus i love yo ass.”
you paused in your words and pursed your lips together, slowly staring to smile. “you still love me?” you asked. ony stared at you for a few seconds before rolling his eyes. “duh, why you think you in my car?” you slowly nodded. “so that mean you cheated on me wit that bitch for nothing. when you breakup with her, then we can start back talking, but for now? aw nigga you outta luck. now take me home.”
“bruh y/n-“
“take me home, ony.” you said before finally turning around in the seat and buckling up.
the ride home was silent, but not awkward. it wasn’t like you were mad at each other, it’s just that nobody had nothing else to say. you bit the inside of your cheek, looking around the car. you opened the glove compartment and a perfume bottle rolled out of there. it was yours.
you opened it and smelled it. “i was lookin for this.” you mumbled, looking at ony.
“keep it in there.” he glanced at you.
“it’s mine.”
“that’s the only thing in this car you still got, bruh. lemme keep it.” he mumbled, nudging your cheek. you smacked your lips and put it back.
“you better be glad i’m not as mad as i was.”
#aot headcanons#aot x reader#onyankapon#ony x reader#ony x black reader#onyankopon snk#onyankopon x reader#onyankopon x black y/n#aot onyankopon#onyankopon
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Dramamine—Epilogue
Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Nick Ruffilo
Series Summary: Cynical, brooding bartender Nick meets too-earnest, pretty boy singer Noah when The Rabbit's Foot starts hosting an open mic night.
CW: fluffy boy things, a little hurt/comfort, a little crying
Word Count: 995
Author’s Note: i'm a little sad to be parting with these babies for now. endless thank yous to everyone who has read and enjoyed my little thing. thank you most especially to @darksigns-exe for the original idea and your unending support and @circle-with-me for putting up with all my babble <3
dividers by @cafekitsune 💐
Sleep has escaped them tonight, the downpour pattering softly against the window. The television plays quietly, a docuseries that Noah had wanted to watch but they’ve both long forgotten. Their conversation has lulled, leaving a comfortable silence between the two of them.
Noah’s fingers run carefully through his hair as Nick finally feels himself drifting off to sleep. With his head resting on Noah’s tummy, he’s wrapped around him so tightly, not wanting a bit of space between them. He finds solace in the sound and feeling of his steady breathing.
He’s not used to his head being so quiet. None of the gnawing, the racing, the doubts, the fear, the agony. Suddenly, it’s all just quiet and Noah.
Noah’s ring gets caught in a tangle, whispering out a whoops, sorry, baby before fixing Nick’s hair and massaging his scalp. He’s almost purring when his mind shifts itself rapidly to red painted nails, pretty fingers, gumball machine rings—the way they used to lay together just like this on quiet nights, her fingers gentle through his hair.
With bated breath, he waits to feel the panic settle deep in the pit of his stomach. Instead, as the moments pass, the only thing he feels is right. He feels her tender touch in Noah’s and it feels like permission, like she’s telling him it’s okay to loosen his grip and hand himself over to someone else.
He smiles to himself, placing kisses to the soft skin of Noah’s belly, feeling him vibrate with ultra-ticklish chuckles. He readjusts, peering up to see Noah looking down at him with adoration, and he knows.
He never imagined he would let himself be happy again, but he carved out space for this boy around all of his things, little alcoves in his heart between traumas and he just fits. He fills all the previously empty spaces with things that Nick never imagined himself deserving. He’s never been so positive about something.
“I love you,” Nick says, feeling shockingly steady and sure as he allows himself to finally admit it. Noah’s smile is immediate, dazzling, always enough to make Nick swoon for him. A hand cups his cheek and he feels safer here with him than he has anywhere for a long time. “You knew that, right?”
“I was starting to suspect it,” Noah responds. Nick finds himself burrowing into him, suddenly shy. “It’s nice to be told.”
There’s a piece of him worried that Noah doesn’t feel it, that he put him through too much, ruined his chances at Noah ever fully settling into this little thing they have.
He can’t lose Noah again. He knows what they have is a real, big, scary, wonderful thing and he’s terrified his admission will be enough to finally scare him away.
“You don’t have to say it back,” Nick adds meekly, hiding his face in Noah’s tummy. He hadn’t noticed tears falling until his face is being tilted up, Noah’s thumb gently wiping them away. Looking up at him, all of the worries wash away. Every worry he’s ever had is lost to Noah’s gaze. “I just wanted you to know.”
“Oh, honey. Come up here for me, please,” Noah says, tucking Nick’s hair gently behind his ear. He feels so small. Nick sits up, crawling as close to Noah as he can. He feels warm everywhere Noah’s lips touch him—his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, his neck. There’s still a vague disquiet when Noah opens his mouth that’s immediately soothed when he speaks. “I love you so much, Nicky. I’ve loved you this whole time.”
He feels his heart threatening to thud out of his chest when he remembers that Noah knows everything. Noah knows every sordid little detail of Nick’s life and it hasn’t scared him away. He loves him anyway.
He watches as his own hand is taken in Noah’s, from its original spot in the curve of Noah’s clavicle. Noah is so steady as he traces his fingers along Nick’s mutilated hands, sure in the kisses he presses along his knuckles.
Noah sees him, sees everything, and still chooses to stay. He doesn’t complain or show discomfort as he makes himself smaller to fit himself into the spaces that Nick has made for him—
He’s been so patient, carving out space for Jasmine in their relationship instead of asking for more for himself. He’s been so accommodating to Nick’s every last need. He’s made Nick and his comfort a priority, done it so effortlessly that it was impossible to see him struggling.
“You’re my priority now, okay?” Nick says, noticing for the first time since he got them the way that his hands no longer tremble when touches are placed to the scars that mar him. Not when it’s Noah. Noah has turned his life into something so wonderful, and he doesn’t want Noah to make himself small for him anymore. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get there.”
Nick has never felt smaller as he’s pulled fully into Noah’s embrace, never safer as Noah wraps himself around him, a hand on the back of his head as Nick buries his face in Noah’s neck.
There’s no embarrassment left in him as he sobs into his skin, disgusting sniffling sounds muffled into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. There’s no reason for him to be embarrassed, he finds, not when he’s here. Not when a gentle kiss is being placed to the top of his head and Noah’s arms are running up and down his back, soothing him with such practiced care.
He didn’t have to unlove her to love him, just like Noah said. And he loves him so much. He would have done anything in the world to be able to keep him.
“It’s all right, Nicky. I knew you’d get there,” Noah says, calming any remaining nerves and doubts that Nick had left. “I was happy to wait for you in the meantime.”
tagging: @circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @concretenoah @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens
@cookiesupplier @somebodyels3 @sitkowski @collapsedglasshouses
@agravemisstake @bngurngheart @monotoniscreaming @screamsinsilver @jiizzy
@anameunmusical @itsafullmoon @iknownothingpeople
#bad omens fic#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens rpf#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian rpf#nick ruffilo fic#nick ruffilo fanfiction#nick ruffilo rpf#nicholas ruffilo fic#nicholas ruffilo fanfiction#nicholas ruffilo rpf#noah sebastian x nick ruffilo#noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo#deathblacksmoke works#fic: dramamine
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much ado about nothing chapter 2 - eren x reader - 18+!!
DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.
welcome back to the much ado universe for our second installment! this chapter is just a lot more yearning and getting to know everyone in the uni, fleshing out the mysterious eren a little more, but there's a treat at the end ;)
@toxrez was kind enough to make some LOVELY fan art of this chapter, please find it linked here i am so appreciative so go send her some love!!!!
specific cws: tee tiny pinch of smut, drug/alcohol use, swearing, historia plotting on your downfall like the meddlesome best friend she is
-
“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” - Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare (Act II, Scene 2)
A solid week or two passes and…nothing. You chastise yourself for being disappointed at Eren’s radio silence, especially since you hadn’t exactly given him a way to contact you. He knows Historia has your number, but he hasn’t reached out to get it from her. And why should you expect him to? the annoying, self-doubting voice in your head corrects you every time you dare to hope, you’re not exactly his usual type.
It’s true; since your run-in, Historia’s been busy doing reconnaissance on anything Eren-related she can pick up from the rumor mill. His dating history is a near-blank, but his “hoe history” as Historia lovingly dubs it, is colorful, full of rave girls and bar rats and Instagram models. You’d drank enough that night that it was entirely plausible you had imagined the excited sparkle in his eyes as you rambled on about misrepresentations of theme in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He had come to Scout’s to work after all, not on the prowl for a sex-starved literature student who couldn’t hold her tequila.
The fact was, he wasn’t interested, cemented after your night out to Scout’s on Halloween. Historia had gone to the trouble of dolling you up in an appropriately slutty outfit on the premise that It’s like, one of the biggest party nights of the entire year. There’s no way he’s not going to be there. But, the bar had been devoid of intoxicating cologne and green eyes, and you’d gone home empty-handed and far more drunk than you’d intended to.
The surprise comes a few days after.
You’re sharing a cup of tea with Historia as she paints your toenails on the couch, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly and enjoying the pampering. As you're moving your thumb to like Sasha's Instagram post, Historia reaches for her phone suddenly and knocks the nail polish bottle over, spilling it all over your– again, hand-painted coffee table. After four years with her, you can only contrive a semblance of annoyance; you’re surprised the table even lasted this long with no major casualties.
“Stor!” You scramble for the bottle, righting it, but Historia’s typing madly on her phone, muttering under her breath.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”
“What?” You can hardly contain your impatience, trying to quell the hopeful flutter rising in your chest. Historia bites her lip, grins wickedly at you.
“I told you. I told you.”
“Told me what?”
In lieu of an answer, Historia turns her phone to you. You squint to read the texts through the recently-cracked screen.
> Pregame at my place for min’s birthday tn u in?
> for sure! what time?
> 9ish u know the addy?
> yep! we’ll be there.
> See if ur friend wants to come too.
“Your friend?” you scoff, pushing her phone away in painfully feigned disinterest when in reality, your heart is pounding in your throat.
“That’s you,” Historia wiggles her eyebrows meaningfully, as if you weren’t already aware of the fact.
“I resent that,” you say, picking up your phone to continue your mindless scrolling until Historia snatches it from you, fixing you with a pointed look. “What? He can’t even use my name? What a douchebag.”
“That’s just how boys text,” Historia swats your concerns away. You bite back your scathing reminder that Historia has been a loud and proud lesbian since her teenage years and has no idea how “boys text”. Sure, you might be grasping at straws to hate him, resist the temptation rising in your throat, but you’re determined. He humiliated you once, and he won’t get the chance to do it again.
“We’re not going,” you say at the same time as Historia talks over you: “We’re going.” You scowl.
“We have to,” Historia shakes your shoulders, “he was all over you at Scout’s, not to mention that mysterious eight inch claim.”
“He’s had more than a week to reach out, and this is how he decides to do it? Summoning me through you?”
“Maybe he was too shy,” Historia shrugs, returning to painting your last few toes.
“Eren doesn’t strike me as a guy who’s too chicken to ask for a girl’s number, especially after everything you found out from Ymir.” Historia’s girlfriend may have been a bit on the anti-social side, but she somehow knows everyone and everything. Despite her bristly demeanor, Ymir possesses the god-given art of pulling the juiciest gossip out of complete strangers, and it isn’t a talent any of you have let go to waste over the years.
“He might surprise you,” Historia looks up at you through her lashes, “this is all just to get you laid anyway, so don’t think too much into it.”
You bite your lip, allowing her to work on your toes as you slip into thoughtful silence. If you’re honest with yourself, like, really honest, you’re not the best at “just getting laid”. In college, you were always the one stuck on the giving end of a one-sided situationship, and your only solution when it would inevitably fall through was to start anew with an equally terrible guy.
As you’ve leaned into your graduate years, you’ve been able to avoid your past pitfalls, sleeping with guys who are far enough away from your type to avoid heartbreak but cute enough to catch your interest, a category Eren should fall into. Something about him has you trapped, though, the same way you used to be. He makes your head spin, renders your normally pin-sharp thinking null and void, makes you say stupid, stupid things. Things like:
“Okay, fine. But an hour, max.”
You reflect on your stupid mistake as you stand on Eren’s porch with Historia and Ymir, in another cute-but-not-cute-but-not-trying-to-look-not-cute (or, at least, you think that’s the criteria) outfit of Historia’s choice. Historia had insisted on bringing her girlfriend to leave you free to “couple up” with Eren, but you realize all that means is you’re arriving to a party full of strangers as a third wheel. Great.
As Historia knocks, your stomach erupts in a bout of nervous grumbling. Not only have you forgotten to eat, but you haven’t been to a drug dealer’s party since you were probably nineteen. It’s actually quite a cute little house, homey brick with a red door and a well-kept lawn, not the trap den you’ve been envisioning all afternoon. The scene is eerily quiet, no LED lights shining in the windows, the low hum of music at a reasonable volume bumping through the walls. It’s not what you expected, but then again, you’re still on the wrong side of the door.
“Coming!” A voice— a feminine voice— echoes through the inside of the house, and one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen flings open the door. Just fucking great. “Hi, you guys are…?”
“Historia,” Historia chirps, not thrown off in the least. You smile timidly, trying to absorb some of the confidence that rolls off of her as she introduces Ymir and then you. The girl eyes you in particular but not threateningly, a hint of a smile playing on her face.
“Mikasa,” she opens the screen door, letting you inside, “Eren mentioned that you were coming.”
“Really?” Historia’s friendly grin grows devious, and you pinch her arm behind your back. “Ow!”
“You okay?” Mikasa frowns over her shoulder.
“Yeah, just stubbed my toe.” Historia scowls at you.
You round a corner to the source of the music, feeling a little like you’re going to puke, but you’re pleasantly surprised by the scene in front of you. It’s not a rager, and there’s nothing suspicious out except a handful of red solo cups and a couple of expertly-rolled blunts being passed around hand-to-hand.
Armin offers you a small wave from where he’s parked on a loveseat beside a striking, intimidating-looking blonde woman, failing miserably to flirt with her. Mikasa falls into an armchair beside another pretty brunette who’s wearing some sort of work uniform and an apron; her name tag reads Hitch<3. You faintly recognize the guy hitting the bong, his name might be John, and the dude beside him is one of Sasha’s best friends, Connie, who’s been posted on Barstool an impressive four or five times.
Eren comes strolling out of the kitchen with a half-eaten piece of pizza hanging out of his mouth and holding his phone, which he’s squinting at, away from his face like an old man. He looks so ridiculous you almost snort.
“Would you just get some glasses already, dude?” John coughs, waving the smoke out of his face and passing the bong to Connie.
“‘On’t need ‘emph,” Eren’s words are muffled by the pizza as he disproves his point entirely, moving his phone back and forth in the air until it seems he can finally see it. When he finishes his text, he takes notice of you, pulling the pizza out of his mouth with a crooked grin. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you try to come off nonchalant, but it doesn’t work, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
“This is—“
“I introduced myself while you were stuffing your face,” Mikasa waves him off, leaning in to look at something on her friend’s phone. Eren scowls at her, moving along.
“Hitch,” he points to the name tag girl who offers a friendly wave, “Annie,” the blonde girl beside Armin on the couch, “Armin— well, you know Armin. Jean,” the mullet dude who’s still coughing, “and Connie.”
A chorus of greetings sounds off from around the room.
“Thank god we’ve finally got some more estrogen around here,” Hitch says to your little group, “these guys are insufferable with anything less than an equal ratio.”
Historia laughs, bouncing over to make further conversation and dragging Ymir behind her. You want to throttle her as she situates herself on the leg of the armchair (that’s already squeaking under two people’s weight) because now you’re left alone with Eren, who ducks into the kitchen and returns, holding something out to you.
You recognize the label of the local beer you’d been drinking at Scout’s the night you met, raising your eyebrows in surprise.
“You drink this, right?” Eren squints at the bottle, examining it. “I thought I remembered, but there was a million others at the store that looked just like it.”
“It’s my favorite,” you admit, accepting it from him with a little flutter in your chest. He grins again, toothy and pleased with himself.
“Good. Well, get comfortable, sit wherever, smoke whatever. I’ll be right back,” he holds up his pizza crust meaningfully, and you stifle a laugh. Eren Jaeger, the intimidating drug dealer apparently known around campus for his giant dick, doesn’t eat his pizza crusts. The thought eases your nerves; he may be the gorgeous, bad-news guy you’d flirted with a couple weeks ago, but he’s also a real person.
You follow his instruction, sitting beside Connie, not so close as to give the wrong impression, but close enough to invite a conversation. He offers a friendly hand.
“You’re Sasha’s friend, right?”
“Yeah,” you shake it, “Connie?”
“I’m surprised you remember. I’ve been backpacking through Thailand for the last eight months, thought everyone would’ve forgotten me by now.”
“Backpacking through Thailand?” You’re impressed.
“He’s only bringing it up so he can talk about it some more,” Jean grunts, shooting Connie an annoyed glance.
“I’d love to hear about it,” you say honestly, “I’ve never traveled.”
Connie launches into a detailed story of his flight over, being crammed between two families with crying babies, the different cities he visited, his bout with food poisoning on a twelve hour bus ride on his side trip to Cambodia. He’s funny and energetic, and it soothes you, lets you relax into the couch a little as you listen intently, asking a question here and there. You’re so caught up in his antics you don’t notice Eren sauntering over, plopping down beside you on the couch.
“Are you talking about Thailand again, bro?” Eren groans, wiping a hand over his face. Connie’s face flushes pink as he frowns.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Jean directs his red-eyed glare at Connie.
“Don’t stop him,” you argue, feeling bad as they dogpile on their friend, “I’m listening, Connie.”
Connie smiles gratefully, continuing on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Eren sighs, resigned to his fate, and settles into his seat to your left, throwing an arm carelessly over the back of the couch, and, coincidentally, around your shoulders. You feel awful because now you’ve lied; you’re not listening to Connie at all, too encapsulated by both the physical and the emotional weight of Eren’s arm around you. No, you reprimand yourself, he’s just getting comfortable. Don’t read into it.
The hour you promised Historia flies by. You’re thoroughly entertained by Jean, Connie, and Eren’s dynamic; Jean seems like a bit of a hothead, bickering with Eren at every opportunity, but Connie balances them out nicely, providing comedic relief at the perfect moments. When you finish your first drink, Eren’s quick to offer you a second and eventually a third, heading off for the kitchen and throwing your one-hour rule right out of the window. One more won’t hurt, you think, especially since you’re actually enjoying yourself. With the lack of distraction, you’re now free to look across the room where Annie, Armin, Historia, Mikasa, and Ymir are all huddled in a circle around a phone. You hear Historia’s drunken giggle and decide to interfere.
“What are you guys doing over there?”
Historia and Ymir exchange an inspired look that makes you sick to your stomach as Eren returns, throwing his arm back over you and peering at the screen in Historia’s hand. “Is that that Truth or Dare app?”
“You know it?” Historia’s eyes sparkle; you can feel it in your bones that’s she’s just concocted a fresh form of torture for you.
“Sort of.” Eren scratches his head, unwitting to the plot you can see unfolding right in front of you.
“Play with us, then!” Historia smiles innocently, beckoning you over. You know better and start to hesitate, but Eren smirks at you.
“What? Too chicken?”
You scowl at him childishly, and turn back to Historia, gesturing to her to bring the game over to the center of the room. You all get re-settled with the new focal point of Ymir’s phone as Historia explains the rules: the phone will pass from player to player, and whoever is holding the phone gets the opportunity to read a truth or a dare prompt to someone in the circle. Simple enough, you think, relieved that Historia won’t have the creative liberty to think of anything humiliating.
“We’re playing the spicy version,” Ymir smirks, “hope you guys don’t mind.”
Fuck. So much for that idea. You try to stay calm under Eren’s arm, praying he doesn’t feel your body tense up.
Historia goes first, daring Connie to reveal his body count. The phone moves to Armin, who has to dare Annie to kiss him on any body part of her choosing, a pink stain erupting on his cheeks when she leans in to peck his nose. The dares progressively get worse until you’re all in stitches laughing at Ymir and Jean tentatively touching tongues, Ymir retching into her hand dramatically afterwards.
“Okay, I’m not that bad,” Jean frowns, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I have an aversion to men,” Ymir hisses, narrowing her eyes. Historia pets her girlfriend’s hair soothingly.
“Down, girl. Go, Armin!”
Armin presses the little rolling dice icon on the screen, and the game chimes as it arrives at its decision. Wide, blue eyes meet yours, and he says your name, asks the question.
“Truth or dare?”
You want to pick truth, take the safe route, but after a couple of drinks and Eren calling you a chicken, you can’t convince yourself to. See, Eren? I can be fun.
“Dare,” you answer confidently. Historia winks at you; you ignore her. Armin reads the screen, the corner of his mouth curling up mischievously.
“It’s daring you to sit on Eren’s lap.”
You blanche. The lap-sitting dare’s already been called several times: Armin himself is reading your dare out from where he’s perched on Hitch’s thighs. But Eren? Surely, Historia rigged it; you look to her in a panic, but her face is simply split into an anticipatory grin. You’re frozen for a beat until Eren shuffles around beside you.
“C’mon then,” Eren grunts, hooking you under the armpits and scooping you up onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your stomach so your ass is pressed firmly into his crotch. You look over your shoulder at him, positive that your eyes are comically wide in surprise; you’ve been able to feel the ripples in his arms through his hoodie all night, but you hadn’t expected him to be so strong. Eren shrugs from behind you, an impish smile on his face. “‘S just a dare. I don’t bite.”
“Don’t believe him,” Mikasa deadpans from across the table, “he’s got rabies.”
That lightens the tension between you, and you exhale an easy laugh, wiggling around on Eren’s lap until you’re comfortable. You hear Eren suck in a sharp breath behind you, low enough that only you catch it.
“You okay? Am I too heavy?”
Eren meets your eyes, almost looking a little startled that you heard him. “No, yeah, m’fine.”
There’s a strain to his voice that wasn’t there before, but you opt to ignore it, hoping you aren’t making him uncomfortable. You have to force yourself to focus on the game and not the heat of his hands sinking through your shirt, unmoving from their station on your hips. The game continues amidst several roaring rounds of laughter: Jean has to “slide his hand up Armin’s thigh suggestively”, Mikasa has to lick Hitch’s neck, Historia has to tell everyone her favorite sex position.
Hitch gets dared to kiss you next, standing and walking to where you sit on Eren, giving you a chaste peck on the lips full of tipsy giggles. Jean, Connie, Eren, and Armin are rendered silent, much to the girls’ amusement.
“Hello?” Mikasa waves a hand in front of Jean’s unblinking eyes; he swats her away irritably. You peek at Eren to see a perverted grin splitting his face; he looks happy as a clam. You pinch his thigh, making him jump.
“Ow! Damn, what was that for?” He rubs his thigh, voice wounded.
“Being a creep,” you say, but the smile twitching at your lips betrays you. Eren’s eyes grow imperceptibly darker, in a private way that feels like it’s just meant for you.
“If you think that’s bad…” he trails off, shaking his head and wrapping his arms against your stomach, snuggling you into his chest. You kick your feet in protest, laughing as you try to shove him off, but Eren’s got you pinned to him, eyebrows raised in amusement at your struggle. He sneaks a hand to your ribcage, digging his fingers in to tickle you. “C’mon, you’re not even trying!”
“Stop, Eren- fuck, that tickles!” You manage to choke out around your furious giggles, worming around in his iron grip.
“Can you lovebirds cut it out?” Jean shoves Eren’s shoulder harshly, nearly knocking you both off the couch. You slide off of his lap, already having fallen halfway off in the struggle, cheeks burning as you come back to the room full of half-strangers and out of the little moment you’ve just had with Eren. You can feel Historia’s eyes burning a smug hole in your forehead. “It’s almost eleven, if we’re going out we need to get moving.”
“Shit, really?” Eren’s still catching his breath, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to check for himself. Sure enough, 10:57 is glaring white on the screen back at him. The past week hits you, and suddenly you’re so tired, unwilling to face Scout’s or wherever they’re planning on going. “Scout’s or Devil’s Paradise? What are you guys in the mood for?”
You feel the permanence of the few drinks you’ve had and the lack of sleep this past week setting in, eyes heavy. “I think I’m probably just going to head home.”
You’re met with a resounding round of protests from the group. Only Eren is there to come to your defense, swinging an arm around you and pulling your ear to his mouth. “Want me to take you?”
He’s only had one beer, safe enough and far preferable to stumbling through the cold streets half-drunk and alone. You nod; you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the exhaustion, but your eyes flutter, and you lean into his embrace.
“I’ll meet up with you guys later,” Eren says, waving his friends out the door; his tone leaves no room for argument. Ordinarily, you’d be embarrassed at the way he speaks for you, but you’re grateful for it now, legs draped over his while the rest of your party files out.
“Text me when you’re home!” Historia calls, she and Ymir making up the caboose of the line that files out of the door in search of more fun to be had. You’re not worried about missing out, content with the warmth of Eren’s body against yours. Once the door shuts, you two sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Eren scrolling on his phone and you drifting dangerously close to sleep, curled into him.
“Ready?” Eren’s inquisition isn’t pressing; he actually sounds more than happy to let you lay here for the rest of the night, let you take advantage of his status as a personal space heater and cuddle up for the next few hours.
“Ready,” you reluctantly sigh, allowing him to pull you to your feet and out the door. You let him practically carry you, leaning on him heavily until he buckles you into his obnoxious muscle car. Eren starts the engine only for metal music to come blaring out of the speakers.
“Fuck!” Eren jumps, scrambling to turn it down. “Sorry.”
You’re so tired you’re barely phased, laughing sleepily and pulling your knees to your chest, making yourself comfortable in the seat. “S’ok.”
The red LED lights lining the accents of the leather inside soothe you, the movement of the car rocking you softly as he pulls out and onto the street, driving you home. This is far too comfortable for a potential one night stand at best, but you’re too exhausted to care, little tidbits of Elizabethan English literature rocketing around in your tired mind. The car ride is short, your head bobbing against the cool windowpane as you watch the streetlights pass by. When you arrive, Eren places a hand on your knee, warming your skin through your jeans.
“Sure you’re okay?” You don’t miss the note of concern in his tone, smiling to yourself.
“Yeah,” you answer, shaking yourself awake as best you can, “I’m fine. Just tired, s’all.”
Eren looks dubious, searching your face. “You don’t seem like the type of girl to fall asleep at the pregame.”
“It’s school,” you admit, “and work. I’ve gotten like six hours of sleep in two days.”
“Want me to walk you up?”
“You don’t have to.”
“That’s not what I asked.” The authority in his voice isn’t something you’ll soon forget, feeding the flames in your core.
“I’m a big girl, Eren, I’ll be fine. I just have to hop through that door,” you point at the illuminated door in the parking garage, “into the elevator, and then third door on the–”
“Left. I remember,” Eren finishes for you, leaning onto the center console. He’s very close to your face, close enough for you to graze your hand over his cheek, which, you do, curiosity and beer outweighing your common sense. Your eyes are wide open now, studying him. You know you’re staring at his lips, too forward for your relationship as it stands, but you’re tipsy and far beyond tired and you can’t help yourself. In the low lighting of the parking garage, he’s gorgeous, eyes almost glowing.
You’re not sure who leans in, but you feel your lips brush together, tentative and shaky. He leans into you further, pressing his lips fully against yours. His mouth is even hotter than his hands were, searing as he kisses you deeper. You can feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, cupping your face and pulling you closer to him. You hate yourself for it, but a little whimper escapes you, pouring into him. Eren takes advantage of your open lips, swipes his tongue against your teeth, and before you know it, he’s pulling you over the center console to straddle in his lap.
He’s not too rough with you, but he’s insatiable, his hands traveling up your back, one landing on the back of your neck to hold you firmly to him and the other gripping your ass through your jeans, drinking you down like he’s a man starved. You nip at his bottom lip, wide awake now and grateful for the slight tint to his windows. Your hands run through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and it earns you a throaty groan from deep inside his chest, making you smile against his lips.
“You sure you don’t want me to walk you up?” Eren murmurs, mouthing at your jaw. The sound of his voice grounds you a little, and you giggle breathlessly as he brushes over a particularly ticklish spot.
“Told you I’m a big girl,” you whisper, “what do I need you for?”
Eren smirks, dark and dangerous. “Might need me to protect you. Who knows? There’s all sorts of awful guys who would love to take advantage of a pretty little thing like you.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhm,” Eren’s half-hooded eyes flick down to your chest and back up to your eyes, making your regretful response twice as difficult to get out.
“I need to go to bed, and you need to go with Armin’s birthday thing,” you sigh, leaning back against the steering wheel. You’re well aware you don’t have the willpower to turn him down to your lips inches away, but it’s late, and you could use the sleep. Not to mention the 8:00 am lecture waiting for you first thing in the morning. “Isn’t he like, your best friend?”
Eren groans dramatically, throwing his head back against the headrest.
“Armin won’t mind, I mean,” he traces a hand up your body, fingers grazing you from hip to chest, “just look at you.”
“What?” You cock your head playfully. Eren rakes his gaze over your body, stopping in a few choice places, something wicked pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Really gonna make me say it?”
You smirk down at him. “Maybe.”
“You’re trouble,” he tackles you again, pulling you into another kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and giggles. Eventually you find the willpower to shove yourself away from him, knocking your spine into the steering wheel with a short honk that makes laughter spill from both of you.
“Okay, really, unless you would also like to wake up at 6:30, I should get going.” You dab at the little tears pricking your eyes, trying to catch your breath. “Plus, you’d be a bad friend if you didn’t head back out for Armin’s birthday.”
“Can’t have that,” Eren agrees, regret flickering over his face. He reaches for his door handle so you can climb out on his side, but he changes his mind, withdrawing his hand and going for his phone instead.
“What is it?”
“Before you go,” Eren slides his phone open, tongue caught between his lips— God, he’s so fucking cute, “lemme get your number.”
You can’t help yourself, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, so now you want my number.”
Eren frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Could’ve asked Historia all week.”
An indignant flush rises in his cheeks. “I’m a man. I wanted to ask you myself, in person. Plus…”
The rest of his words taper off into a quiet mumble that you can’t quite catch. “Plus what?”
“I was nervous,” Eren raises his gaze to meet your eyes sheepishly, cheeks now bright red. Your heart thuds in your chest; he really is beautiful, with his long dark lashes and strong nose. You can hardly conceptualize the fact that he’d just kissed you- twice. A teasing smile tugs at your mouth.
“Nervous?”
“‘M not exactly your type, am I?” You can barely hold your laugh in, remembering your own cyclical, self-disparaging thoughts over the last few days.
“Give me that.” You snatch his phone and type your number in, handing it back to him with a smile. “Okay, I really should head up now.”
Eren concedes, throwing his door open for you to clamber off of his lap, stand in the doorway of his car, look down at him. Eren stares at you for a beat, running his eyes up and down your body. You start to step back, bid him goodnight, when he breaks out into a boyish grin, raises a hand to flick two fingers at you in a come-hither motion.
“Get back over here.”
You dissolve into giggles, feeling light as air, leaning back into the car to indulge him in one- no, two, or maybe three more kisses before you’re pushing yourself off of him with a quiet moan. “Eren, I need to go to bed, really, I do.”
“I know,” he sighs, leaning back into his seat. If you dare to look down, you can see where his pants are starting to tent, a thick bulge behind the zipper. You swallow hard; maybe he’ll end up living up to his impressive reputation after all. It takes every ounce of nerve in your body, but you step back from the car and wave meekly.
“Goodnight, Eren.”
“I’ll see you,” Eren smiles, shutting his door. Before you can even make it through the door, your phone buzzes, and you pull it out with a knowing smile.
> nice ass ;) sleep tight
It's so crude it makes you laugh out loud, turning around to see Eren snickering to himself childishly in his car. You toss him your middle finger as a response, only making him laugh harder. You don't hear the roar of his engine until you're already stepping into the elevator. The ride up feels long, exacerbated by your exhaustion, and you lean heavily on the wall, nervous butterflies dancing in your stomach as if you’d just had your first kiss. Your phone buzzes again, and you know who it is before you even unlock the screen.
> make it home safe? it’s ok if u don’t answer bc ur wrapped up in bed with ur boy toy ;)
Historia’s text would have ordinarily annoyed you, but you’re so giddy and love-drunk you giggle to yourself, thumbs trembling as you type back.
> he just dropped me off. he’s heading back to u guys now
> what???? nothing happened?
> i don’t kiss and tell
> aha! so u DID kiss him
> maybe…
Your phone buzzes close to a dozen times after that, but you pocket it, figuring you can just fill Historia in in the morning. You want nothing more than to collapse in your bed, but the lingering taste of Eren on your lips is distracting you. All throughout your skincare and your tooth brushing and your changing clothes, it still feels like his hands are ghosting over your body.
When you finally tuck yourself in, you slither a hand down your body and into your pajama shorts, rubbing mindlessly until you cum with the memory of Eren’s mouth and everything it might be capable of on your mind and his name on your tongue. You feel a lick of hot shame as you throw your shorts into the hamper, but a rush of elation follows it up. Eren wants you just as badly as you want him, and now, you’ve gathered enough evidence to do something about it. One good fuck, you decide, and he’ll be out of your system. Just one.
#eren jaeger#aot x reader#aot smut#eren x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger series#eren yeager x reader#eren jeager x reader#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger x you#aot x you#snk smut#snk x reader
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This is Me Trying (byler): 3
word count: 6,996
warnings for this chapter: none really, ngl. just very honest and open conversation. but same as all the other warnings in previous chapters, just be cautious if you see anything that may trigger you. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3
in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.
The world buzzed with static around him, each second feeling like an eternity. Time stood still, just like the day Mike took off his watch. His hands were shaking, the anticipation inside him about to explode like fireworks. He balled his hands up into fists and put them in his sweatshirt pockets, but immediately pulled them back out because he could feel his palms getting sweaty.
Mike glanced around, and saw the nextdoor neighbor taking her dog out for a walk. He raised his hand in an awkward greeting, and she smiled back at him. He watched her run further and further away until they were out of his line of sight; a minute had definitely passed by now. He turned his attention back to the door, and lifted his hand again, going to knock one last time.
But then, before he was able to, Will opened the door.
Mike froze, his hand still in the air. He lowered his arm slowly, and took a mental photograph of Will’s awestricken face before he was met with a faceful of door. He should have seen that coming. He leaned his head against the door, exhaling with a shaky breath. “Will… I know I’m the last person you want to see. I just…” he hesitated, digging his nails into his palms. This was likely going to be his first of many fumbles. “This is going fucking splendidly already, Jesus Christ.”
There was no response on Will’s end, but Mike figured he might as well get everything off his chest, even if Will wasn’t there to hear it. Saying it out loud could probably suffice. “Uh… I guess I should start by saying I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you with my words, with my actions, for being so fucking reckless with my life. I’ve accumulated a lot of regrets over the past few years, but…” here goes nothing, “loving you will never be one of them.”
Mike closed his eyes with his head still on the door, but jumped back a bit in surprise when he felt a light thump right next to his face. “... Will?”
“I’m listening.”
The faint sound of Will’s voice was music to Mike’s ears; low and velvety, with a hint of rasp. His stomach nervously flipped as he cleared his throat, continuing on. “I’ve been a mess without you. I don’t know who I am without you. This is me trying to say…” Mike trailed off. What was he trying to say? How could he reduce his love for Will into a single sentence? How could he explain himself in a concise, yet bold form that wouldn’t scare Will away? He couldn’t. He was doomed regardless of how the conversation would unfold. He asked Will the first thing that came to mind: “... You ever been to a college party?”
“Yeah, a few.” Will replied.
“Well, I just failed out of school because I went to way too many of them. I just drove here directly from my last one, actually.” He tried to add a bit of humor to his voice, but it ended up coming out sounding pathetically broken. Fumble number two. Fuck it all. Everything was going down in flames. Mike set his hand on the door, caressing the painted surface as if it were Will’s face.
“But here’s the thing— it’s hard to be at a party when you feel like an open wound. You’re all I think about, and it’s like I can’t… I can’t let go. It’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. And even though you don’t love me, and even if we can never be friends again, I need that closure, Will, and I need you to understand that I won’t move on if that never happens.” Mike felt the doorknob click below, and he lifted his head up just as the door opened again. Will emerged, tears lining his cheeks. Motherfucking fumble number three. When Will and Mike were little, they functioned as a unit. When Will was happy, Mike was happy. When Will would cry, Mike would cry with him. Now, Mike felt like he was five years old again, getting choked up at the sight of Will crying, and mentally cursed himself. “Fuck, now I’ve made you cry for the umpteenth time in our lives. What else is new?”
Will crossed his arms across his chest, and looked down towards the ground, still on the defensive. But his voice betrayed him when he said, “No, please don't worry about me. It’s fine. And I…” his voice wobbled, “I’m sorry for slamming the door. I was just so…”
Mike nodded in sorrowful understanding. “Yeah.”
He took a good look at Will, noticing how Will’s hair had finally grown out of the bowl cut, falling into his eyes in loose copper waves, ending just above his strong jaw. His eyes, even obscured with tears, looked green as ever. Mike wanted to drown in them.
“You changed your hair,” Mike heard himself say. Will let out a small smile at that, brushing some of his bangs out of his eyes, along with some tears that had attached themselves to his eyelashes.
“Yeah, the bowl was kind of… archaic.” Both of them began awkwardly laughing while still crying. Mike had to refrain from thinking too much, because if he did, he’d get all sentimental about how this was the first time he’d laughed with Will in… he couldn’t even remember.
“You like it, though?” he asked. He still sought his approval, after everything. Of course Mike liked it. Mike liked Will’s hair no matter how it was cut. But this style that Will was sporting currently had Mike falling flat on his face; and not literally, for once.
“Yeah, it really suits you,” he told Will, who was flattered at the compliment.
“Thank you. I mean, Mom’s skill set with scissors was… limited, but she tried.” Mike thought of that one time he’d walked into the Byers household unannounced back in junior year of high school. Will was sitting on a chair in the middle of the kitchen with a literal bowl on his head as Joyce shuffled around her son with a pair of kitchen shears. Joyce was an incredible mom who loved both of her boys unconditionally. Which reminded Mike…
“How’d you get my number?”
“Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”
“She shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m sorry for letting her give me your number,” he apologized, picking at the nails of his index fingers with his thumbs. “And I’m sorry for calling you on your birthday. I should’ve respected your space.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Will replied quickly, eyes wide. “I was being a total asshole that day. I know this doesn’t excuse what I said to you, but I’ll have you know I’d just failed an English test–”
“Did you not read the material?” Mike smirked, and Will smiled back up at him, their eyes fully meeting for the first time.
“You know me too well,” he said, and Mike’s heart skipped a beat. “But then, when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, my boyfriend at the time broke up with me.”
Mike gawked at that, his eyes narrowing. “On your birthday? That’s ass.”
Will leaned against the doorframe. “Mike Wheeler, everyone: ex-English major, literary nerd, and author.” Mike ignored the not-so-subtle roasts in favor of Will’s muscles, which were even more defined than he remembered. Will had obviously become well-acquainted with the gym. His gaze trailed along the divots of his biceps, and his mouth went dry when he realized that Will was wearing… the blue sweatshirt Mike had sworn had gone missing during senior year.
“But yeah,” Will continued, “leave it to Matt Winters to ruin the one day of the year where I don’t feel like shit. So when you called, I’d just gotten back home. And I felt so guilty for snapping at you and hanging up that I didn’t call you back after the fact, because I was afraid you’d be mad at me.”
“Are you kidding? I could never be mad at you. Ever,” Mike emphasized. “And we both know I’m not a good person when I hold grudges.”
Will’s strong eyebrows furrowed, and Mike feared he’d said something wrong, but Will rose up onto his tiptoes, lifting his hand up to Mike’s forehead in mock-concern. “Mike, are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Yes. If Will was going to act all flirty and cute and tiptoe-y and forehead touch-y, then they’d need to call an ambulance. Because Mike was down bad.
“Haha. You’re funny,” Mike deadpanned at the joke, despite himself.
Will retreated back to his spot in the doorway. “But seriously, I just told you that I have a real live ex, and you’re not mad?” How could Mike be mad at Will for that? Why would Mike be mad at Will for that? It wasn’t like Mike had any right or say as to who Will dated, and if Mike did so much as judge Will for any romance-related decisions, he’d be the biggest fucking hypocrite to ever walk the earth. He figured he’d come clean to Will about this one. It was the whole reason why he was here, after all.
“Will, I hooked up with four guys…” Should he say this next part? Sure, okay, whatever– “And all of them had the initials ‘WB’.” Mike’s focus shifted down to his shoes, too humiliated to see Will’s reaction. But he didn’t even have to see it, because Will giggled. Like, high pitched and adorably. Mike’s head snapped up and Will, having gotten caught laughing at Mike’s biggest shame, slapped his own hand to his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle it.
“No way,” Will said, his voice still suppressed with his hand.
“Way,” Mike quipped back. He decided to try something new then, reaching up to Will’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. His beautiful lips were curved into a shy smile.
Will shook his head, crossing his arms again, but not in hostility like he had before. “I don’t believe you.” And all of a sudden, it was August 1989, and they were back in Mike’s basement again. Those were Will’s last words to Mike before he’d stormed out, never to be seen again. And a year and a half later, Will became thoroughly aware of the aftermath, where Mike tried and failed to fill the Will-less void with–
“Wyatt Bowman, Wes Butler, Walker Brooks, Warren Blakeley,” he listed off what he’d endearingly dubbed The WBs™, but now in retrospect viewed as fucking pathetic, and watched as Will exhaled sadly. He tacked the only thing he could think of onto the end of his list to lighten the mood: “... And there was a guy named Elvis.”
Will snorted. “Like Presley?”
“Exactly.”
“Jesus,” Will whispered, running a hand through his hair. Mike wished it was his hand instead. As he took in Will’s jarred reaction, his world went cold. It made more sense when Mike shivered, looked up, and felt a few snowflakes land on his eyelids. He lowered his gaze back to Will, avoiding the impending guilt with lighthearted bluntness.
“Yeah,” he concluded unceremoniously, “so, you have an ex-boyfriend, and I have a disturbingly high body count. I think that makes us even.” Will’s lips formed a line, and Mike diverted his eyes back to the ground. He watched Will’s feet, clad in fuzzy socks and slippers, shift backwards. The moment was finally here; this was the end. They were not, in fact, even; Will was shutting him out for the last time, giving Mike the closure he’d practically begged for. Mike lifted his head so he could at least say goodbye properly, but saw that Will was… waiting for him?
“Wanna come inside?” he asked, and Mike raised his eyebrows in shock. Well, that was a plot twist if he’d ever seen one. He took a deep breath, muttering a slow “Yeah… sure,” and followed Will into his house. Mike took off his mud-caked shoes at the front door, remembering how much of a neat freak Will was, and imagining his reaction if he tracked the past seven or so hours into the house. He expected it would probably begin with “Michael James.”
Once situated, he took a look around the living room. There were multiple swirly, wooden furniture pieces that Mike knew Will wouldn’t have picked out in a million years, but he’d still managed to make the apartment his own. Framed movie posters, a black couch, and a few bookshelves were sprinkled modestly amongst the otherwise very feminine decor. Mike walked over to the bookshelves, which were fully stacked with comic books and picture frames. He peered at one of Will posed with Ivy and Hannah, who gripped onto either side of a metal pole that Will had perched atop his shoulders as he lifted them in a white muscle tank top. He knew he’d started working out. God, Will was attractive. He smiled to himself, moving on to look at the next photo. It was the exact same one Mike had on his desk, the photo that Jonathan took of Mike on Will’s handlebars. Mike felt like crying again, so he looked away before that could happen. His attention was drawn to the ceiling, which was lined with Christmas lights. He guessed the passage of time had thankfully worked in Will’s favor, as well.
“So Kate’s at work?” Mike asked, and Will whipped around from where he’d been organizing one of his other bookshelves, like he cared about what Mike thought in regard to his preference of alphabetical versus publisher order.
“How do you know about Kate?”
Mike hesitated, expression sheepish, “I… I ran into your friends Ivy and Hannah on campus. They’re how I found you.”
Will blanched. “Oh God. What did they say to you?”
Mike shook his head in reassurance, taking a step towards Will. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I think they were just worried about me, because I was… kind of lost.”
“You didn’t think to get a map?” Will, the little shit, teased as he took a step of his own towards Mike.
“I had one, Will!” Mike tossed a hand up in exasperation. “I just… couldn’t read it correctly?” He phrased the last part of his sentence more like a question, which Will must have thought was funny, because he moved a few inches closer to Mike in order to poke his chest.
“Okay, that tracks,” he grinned, and Mike feigned offense as he felt Will’s fingerprint burn a hole in his sweatshirt, the fire expanding to scorch his entire torso. Will was close enough that Mike could hear Will breathing lightly through his nose, and could see the freckles scattered like constellations across his neck. His eyes traveled up a bit to land on the one mole above Will’s lip, and he fought the urge to kiss it.
“Ivy and Hannah said to tell you they said you’re welcome, by the way, whatever that means,” he breathed, and Will processed what Mike had just told him before bringing his hands up to his own face as he turned beet-red.
“Of course they did.”
Mike observed Will’s reaction, pushing down the bit of hope that bubbled up inside of him. He hadn’t a single clue of what Will had told his two friends, but the way he reacted made him think that maybe it wasn’t all terrible.
“Wait,” Will brought a hand up to lightly smack his forehead, “I’m so stupid, I should have asked when you first came in.” You’re not stupid at all, if anything I’m stupid, but go on, Mike thought. “Do you need anything to drink or eat? You look like shit.”
“Wow,” Mike said as he glared back at Will, giving away his joking nature with a small lift of his lips. “But sure, water is fine, thank you.” Will stood there for a moment in contemplation. Mike gulped, feeling incredibly anxious as to what Will would say next.
“I’m gonna make you pancakes,” he told Mike, ambition in his tone. Mike wasn’t even supposed to be there, yet there Will was, taking on the role of hospitable host. Mike shrugged, leaving the option up to Will as to if he really wanted to be that kind to him.
“You don’t have to.”
Will was the one who shortened the distance between them this time, taking Mike’s much larger hand in his own, intertwining their fingers and gently rubbing his thumb along the back of it. “But I want to.” Mike felt lightheaded.
“Well, I didn’t say it.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Mike glanced down at their connected hands as Will spoke again, but he didn’t hear what he was saying. He blinked, pulling his attention back up to Will’s face. How was he supposed to concentrate on what Will was saying when their palms were brushing together with intentionality? And of Will’s own volition, no less.
“Wait, sorry, what?”
“I said, I’ll have some too, if it’ll make you feel better.”
Well, now Mike had to say yes. He gave in, and Will nodded in approval before letting go of Mike’s hand. Those few sweet seconds would have been enough to last Mike for another year and a half without him, but now Will was making him pancakes. There was no turning back after this. Will headed to the kitchen, turning back when he noticed Mike standing in the middle of the room and gesturing for Mike to follow him, chuckling to himself.
Damn Will for being so aware of the effect he had on Mike.
They made it into the kitchen, and Will headed to the pantry while Mike hopped up on the counter like when they were kids. Old habits die hard. Will eyed him from where he stood, grabbing the box of Bisquick. He ritualistically walked around the kitchen, grabbing eggs, milk, vegetable oil, and a bowl before setting them all down on the counter. He paused in what he was doing to reach over to his coffee pot, pouring a mug, grabbing the sugar bowl and dumping whatever was left into the mug before handing it to Mike, who took it with gracious hands. He’d remembered the way Mike took his coffee. Black, no cream, and a diabetes-level fuck ton of sugar.
“Thank you.” That didn’t even begin to cover how Mike felt about it.
Will hummed in response as he got to work, cracking an egg into the bowl and whisking it around. “So what have you been up to? I mean, besides hooking up with the entire male population of Indianapolis and failing out of school,” Will asked, and Mike died a little on the inside. The truth hurts sometimes, Wheeler. Deal with it.
“Jeez, Will. Harsh. Warn a guy next time,” Mike frowned, sipping his coffee. “I’ve been working on a novel.”
“Ooh, do tell!” Will exclaimed, turning to Mike as he stirred the batter, the sweatshirt he wore— Mike’s sweatshirt— stretching as his muscles flexed underneath the fabric of the sleeves. Mike set his coffee down next to him and shifted so his hands were squished under his thighs. That way he wouldn’t be able to do what he truly wanted to, which was to grab Will by his waist and shove his tongue down his throat as he ran his fingertips over Will’s arms.
“Um, it’s a mythological coming of age, with a bit of a twist… the protagonist is gay.”
“Ohhh my god,” Will grinned, all teeth. “That is great. I love that.”
I love you, Mike thought, but held his tongue. “Right? But yeah, I’ve been working on that, and… journaling. A lot.” Well… journaling was a synonym of writing dozens upon dozens of love letters, right? But Will didn’t have to know that.
“Mike Wheeler using a therapist-approved coping mechanism? I’m proud of you,” Will said. Mike preened at the praise as he pulled one of his hands out from under his leg to pick up his mug.
There was a beat of silence, and Will stood there, his eyes fixed on Mike for a strangely long time as the pancakes sizzled. Mike watched Will’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. He was either hallucinating, tripping, or Will was checking Mike out.
“But what about you?” Mike asked, effectively snapping Will out of his trance, “Any groundbreaking endeavors I should be caught up on?”
Will shrugged as he plated the perfectly congruent, golden pancakes he’d made. “I’ve been working on this new painting for a while now… it’s a watercolor piece, so it’s kind of out of my comfort zone,” Will explained, turning to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of Canadian maple syrup. Mike nodded at what Will was telling him, but something else dwelled in the forefront of his mind.
“Yeah, you’re more into oils on canvas, right?” Mike asked, and Will’s eyes snapped up to meet his, establishing an understanding between the two of them. “I saw the painting,” Mike remarked slowly, trying his best not to freak Will out or make him feel ashamed of it. “I’ve gotta say, you flatter me, Byers. I am not that attractive.”
Will couldn’t hide his smile. “Shut up. Yes you are.”
Will handed Mike a plate, and Mike thanked him as they dug in, the two young men standing at (and sitting on) the counter as they ate. Mike cut into his pancakes, stabbing a bite-sized piece with his fork and swirling it around in the syrup on his plate. He looked up when he heard a similar scratching noise and saw Will doing the same thing. Will met Mike’s gaze, light smile gracing his face as he lifted the fork up and popped the piece into his mouth. Mike blushed when he realized he’d been staring, and quickly focused back on his own plate. He chewed the piece of pancake he’d cut and confirmed to himself only after one bite that these were the best pancakes he’d ever had. These were pancakes of reconciliation.
He turned towards Will to compliment his culinary skills, which would inevitably be shot down with a humble, “they’re just pancakes, Mike,” only to see Will staring at Mike already. Will’s eyes jumped from Mike to the floor to the kitchen cabinet to the floor and back to Mike all within the span of five seconds. Mike held his attention this time when he licked his lips, and Will watched intently as the syrup disappeared.
God, Mike felt like he was in high school all over again; those four years had felt like a romcom movie montage of staring, quick touches, and flirting back and forth. The only difference between those movies and real life was the reserved, cautious nature behind every single stare, touch, and flirtation. But this time around, Mike noticed, Will seemed more confident in himself, more purposeful in the way he carried and expressed himself. Everything lingered for longer than normal, than acceptable, than usual. It was a promising sign.
Once they’d finished their pancakes and put their dishes in the sink, Mike and Will headed to Will’s room. There was something intimate about entering Will’s space like this; something sacred, something previously unattainable. That was the dresser that held all of Will’s clothes. That was the desk Will drew at. That was the bed Will slept in. That was the phone Will had used to break Mike’s heart.
Mike admired the dark blue walls, decorated modestly with a few more posters, before he came across Will’s framed Hawkins High School diploma. Mike remembered that day vividly; after everyone in the Party had walked across the stage and gone back to Mike’s house to celebrate, Will had brought their friends into a secluded area of the house and told them he was gay. Mike, who had been head over heels in love with his best friend for over five years at that point, was having a crisis, because oh my God, Will was gay, and the flirting might not have all been in his head. Maybe he had a chance. But every interaction between them following that day was strictly platonic, and Will made sure Mike knew it. So Mike withdrew after a while, not wanting to keep stringing himself along like he had been.
“Little did I know that everything would change,” Mike said more to himself than to Will, but Will walked over to stand next to him, close enough that their arms brushed.
“Why, because I came out?” he asked, looking up at Mike, who didn’t reciprocate the action, but instead kept staring straight ahead at the diploma, as if it were a portal that would take him back in time to before his world imploded.
“No, not because you came out. Because… because then, I fell under the delusion that I could finally have you.” He looked down at Will then. “But then I fucked it all up in August.”
Will turned his body so he could fully face Mike before saying, “Okay, I’m confused. I’ve gotta ask. What’s your recollection of that night?”
Mike didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to remember it. Hell, he didn’t want to think about it. But Mike took a second to reason with himself, because Will was standing beside him, Will was asking something of him, and the least he could do after everything was oblige to Will’s one request. So Mike told him.
It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and Mike was lying on the basement couch with his legs hanging off the edge. His eyes were closed, and he wore his headphones which were attached to his Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as Mike had from the second it fell into his hands back in 1986. He felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. He cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when he registered that it was Will who was entering his space. He always loved when Will came to his house unannounced; there was a certain element of familiarity, of family, of domesticity.
“Mike, we’ve gotta talk,” Will said, his voice a bit edgier than usual.
“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” Mike sat up, pulling his headphones fully off his head and resting them around his neck. Then he saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.
“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. Mike’s eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. Fuck. How on earth did he find them? Mike thought he’d hidden them well enough. Apparently, he was sorely mistaken, because Will held Mike’s letters, all twenty-six of them, all addressed to Will, in his shaking hands. Mike couldn’t even begin to explain, mouth hanging wide open.
“Dear Will,” the boy with the bowlcut began with a snarl, “when I look into your eyes, I see the rest of my life. Dear Will, why does loving you feel so wrong yet so right? Dear Will, I want you to hold me in your arms forever, because it’s the only place I can truly call home.” Mike wanted to die. “I don’t know what to… Why the hell are these addressed to me? And why… Why are there so many?”
“Because…” Mike squeaked out, eyes wide with intimidation, “they were for you. You were never meant to find those, I swear to God.”
“Are you making fun of me or something?” Will snapped, and Mike flinched. He’d never seen Will this angry before. He stood up then, his face on fire with inferiority from when he’d been on the couch as Will towered over him. Now, Mike was the one looking down at Will, whose chest was heaving with unadulterated rage.
“Come on, Will! I’m your best friend, and you really thought I’d make fun of you for being gay?” Mike kept his tone soft, what the Party called his Will Voice™, trying to calm Will down. It worked, at least a little bit, because Will’s breathing became more regulated, and less metaphorical smoke escaped his ears. But his eyes were still a menacing shade of green, his pupils blown wide.
“Well, no,” Will’s voice was lower this time, laced with venom, “but that does not mean you get to fuck around at my expense.” Will could not have been more wrong. Mike was anything but fucking around. Malice was the last thing on his mind when he thought about Will. When he thought about Will, he felt safe, he felt hopeful, he felt valuable, and he felt worthy. What he felt for Will was pure love, and he’d say it out loud… if he didn’t hate himself so much.
“I poured my heart out in those letters,” Mike told him, taking a step forward. Will stepped back. “I didn’t write them for shits and fucking giggles, they were genuine,” he continued, following Will as he backed away, stopping only when he had Will caged in between his arms, back against the wall of the basement. Will held onto Mike’s wrist, their watches positioned side by side. Mike closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, collecting himself in preparation for what he was about to say next. Confession time. “I wanted to send them so badly… I just didn’t, because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Mike opened his eyes, drinking in the expression on Will’s flustered face. He blinked slowly, lashes fluttering, and fuck, he could hear Will’s heartbeat. He licked his lips. Afraid of what? I’m afraid of the world. I’m afraid of our country. I’m afraid of this town. I’m afraid of my family. I’m afraid of your dad. I’m afraid of myself. But I’m not afraid of you, Will. I’m not afraid of you.
And with that, Mike leaned down and kissed Will.
Those were the best five seconds of Mike’s life, by far. Will’s lips were smooth, yet firm. They were warm. Mike wanted to kiss Will forever. He allowed himself, for once in his life, to take what he wanted, and moved his hands down from the wall to Will’s hips, gripping them with all of his pent-up passion, holding him close. He felt Will’s hands meet Mike’s shoulders, and… he was pushing Mike away. Oh no.
“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?” What was it with Will thinking everything was so fucking funny to Mike? He’d just bared his soul to the love of his life, but Will had interpreted everything as simply cruel humor. That was what Will thought of Mike. He wouldn’t stand for it.
“No, Will, I’m in love with you,” he said in full earnest, grabbing Will’s hand, just like he’d always done throughout the years whenever Will felt angry, alone, or scared. In turn, Will aggressively shook Mike’s hand away like it burned him.
“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that, you don’t mean it.” What the hell?
“What makes you think I don’t?”
“I just… you’re…” Will forced his words out in a state of panic, ducking out of Mike’s reach as he headed for the stairs. “I can’t do this. Not now.”
“Please don’t go. Hear me out,” Mike pleaded, getting desperate now. “Will, you’ve got to believe me.”
Will turned around from where he stood, halfway to the basement door, his gaze ice cold. “Well, I don’t, Mike. I don’t believe you.” Mike took back what he’d thought about not being afraid of Will. He was terrified. He watched Will stomp up the rest of the way, slamming the door behind him. Mike put a hand up to his mouth, muffling a sob.
What had he done?
Mike stopped his pacing for a moment to breathe. He’d gotten it all out, and by some miracle, without breaking down. He looked over at Will, who rested his chin on his palm as he sat on his bed, staring into space. “I never got the chance to explain myself. You just… shut off.” Will blinked a few times, looking up at Mike with that same blank expression, and Mike wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He didn’t have the energy.
Will breathed out hard through his nose, getting up from his spot on the bed and meeting Mike where he was at, and placing a hand on his arm. Mike didn’t move; all this talk about Will abandoning him caused some of the resentment to return. But Will took Mike’s chin and moved it so their eyes could meet again. He looked sad.
“Because I had convinced myself that you could never love me the way I loved you. But all of a sudden you were telling me that you loved me romantically and wanted to be with me forever! How can you blame me for being thrown off?”
Mike shrugged, resigned. “I can’t.” And he meant it; he couldn’t blame Will for being thrown off, because Mike had gone through the complete opposite, having felt led on and let down. “But you also can’t blame me for waiting so long to say something. I literally hated myself for years for being gay.” Will’s hand that held his chin lowered down to the space between his neck and his shoulder, and he went to reply, but Mike spoke faster. “And when you came out, I thought maybe I could, too. But then, another part of me didn’t want to say anything, because coming clean about my true feelings for you would’ve destroyed everything we worked so hard to build back up after California.”
“Well, I didn’t make it any easier by keeping you at arm’s length after I came out,” Will said as he ran his thumb back and forth along Mike’s sweatshirt sleeve. “I tried to convince myself I was okay with being just friends in order to protect myself, you know?”
“Yeah,” Mike’s tone was rough as he crossed his arms, and Will pulled away. Nice going, Mike, you fucking asshole. “I mean…” Mike softened his voice, “I get your thought process. I just felt so… rejected. And after August, it felt so final. Like, I really thought you had zero feelings for me, and that I had severely misread things.”
“You didn’t. Believe me, Mike. You didn’t,” the words tumbled out of Will’s mouth, startling both of them at once.
Mike looked down, feeling the beginnings of tears pricking his eyes. “I’m trying to.”
Will reached out to Mike and pulled his hand up into his own, his fingertips gently mapping out the veins that spread out beneath Mike’s skin. “Do you still hate yourself now?” he asked, and Mike looked up slowly.
“I’m not gonna lie, yeah, I do,” he admitted, playing with Will’s fingers as he spoke. He was not proud of the person he’d become. He relived every single one of his mistakes on a constant loop, with each day bleeding into the next. The shame devoured him like a hungry beast. Every waking moment without Will felt like suffocation. Mike slowed his movements before confessing something else, something he never thought he’d ever be able to. “But I hate living my life without you even more.”
Will let out a small sniffle at that, and Mike was quick to comfort him, his hands flying up to cup his face and swipe his tears away. Will leaned into the touch, his voice breaking. “I hate living my life without you, too.”
“Can I…” Mike hesitated, uncertainty flooding his thoughts, but he swiftly pushed it away. “Can I hug you?” he asked. Will nodded, laughing wetly as he said, “Yes, of course.”
Mike pulled Will into a tight embrace, warmth filling his body instantly as Will’s head fell against his chest, right over his heart. He could only imagine what Will was thinking, granted the fact that his heart was thrumming at record speed. Will ran his hands up Mike’s back, pulling him down slightly by his shoulderblades. Mike nestled his nose in Will’s shaggy hair, breathing him in. He still washed his hair with the coconut shampoo he’d always used. In order to avoid the temptation to inhale Will’s scalp like a vacuum, he opted to place a feather light kiss there, so light that in the future, only he would remember it happening. As they stood there, their bodies flush against one another, Mike knew he didn’t need a watch to tell that time as an entity ceased to exist. Mike and Will held each other tightly as the rest of the world fell away. This was what Mike had been waiting for. Just this. He finally felt whole again.
He wasn’t sure how long they’d been clinging to each other, or who pulled away first, but he was sure of the fact that both of them were crying. Again. “Goddamnit,” Mike laughed, practically slapping his sweatshirt sleeve up to his face to absorb the tears that fell there.
“Since when have you been a Frequent Crier?” Will teased, and Mike remembered that Will had never been exposed to the outcome of his emotional revolution before.
“What can I say?” Mike continued the bit, “Their loyalty program has really good perks.”
“Can’t argue there,” Will laughed, leaning his forehead onto Mike’s chest again as Mike’s hands ran up and down Will’s sides. He memorized the feel of Will’s improved physique, trailing his hands upwards until his hands met Will’s chest.
“Also,” Mike said into the silence, causing Will to twitch slightly, but not enough to remove his forehead from Mike’s chest. “The Heart? Didn’t know I was still held in such high esteem.” Will’s hands, which had been resting on Mike’s hips, moved forward until they were wrapped around Mike’s lower back.
“You’ve always been my heart, Mike,” Will told him, voice steady and sure. “You never really stopped.” Mike felt his jaw drop, barely able to process what he was hearing. The words that left Will’s lips ricocheted around Mike’s brain, and he might have forgotten how to breathe for a minute. He needed Will to pinch him, so he could wake up from this… if it wasn't real, it would be a nightmare. Instead of asking Will to do it for him, he pinched himself, and felt butterflies erupt in his stomach when he didn’t snap his eyes open to the sight of his bedroom back in Indianapolis. He was still here, in Will’s room, and Will was holding him rather sensually, and Mike felt so fucking alive.
“So… where do we go from here?” Mike whispered, and Will lifted his head, an unrecognizable look in his eyes. Mike backed away, fear slowly entering the peripherals of his mind, all possible worst-case scenarios threatening to cave in on him. He’d gone too far, been too forward, taken Will for granted, given off the impression of an ulterior motive.
“Sorry,” he said, almost a reflex at this point in his life. He always had something to be sorry for. Something to make up for. Something to–
“Me too,” Will whispered, grabbing Mike’s wrist before he could get too far. He pulled Mike back in sharply and grabbed him by the back of his neck, tugging him all the way down until their lips collided. Mike let out a little noise in absolute shock, but not wasting any time as he shoved his hands into Will’s hair, raising his head as he leaned into the heat of Will’s mouth. While Mike’s hands remained pretty central to Will’s upper body, Will’s hands roved Mike everywhere they possibly could. They lifted from Mike’s lower back, up his torso, past his chest, around the back of Mike’s head to brush the nape of his neck, through Mike’s long hair, then back down to grope Mike’s ass. Mike squeaked into Will’s mouth, and he responded with a low hum of a laugh that sent vibrations through Mike’s body and set him ablaze. Mike lowered his grip on Will’s shoulders to his biceps, squeezing them the way he’d wanted to since Will opened the door earlier that morning. Will broke the kiss then, smirking up at the taller man. “You really like my arms, don’t you?”
“Yeah, how’d you notice?” Mike tried to be sarcastic, but ended up sounding breathless. Will pressed a chaste kiss to Mike’s lips, turning them around and backing Mike up until his calves hit the base of Will’s bed. Mike was sure he had died and gone to heaven.
“You wouldn’t stop ogling. You were being so fucking obvious, it was hilarious,” Will teased, and Mike whined a little in embarrassment, but Will was having none of it, so he pushed Mike backwards until his back hit the mattress. “Don’t worry, babe, it was cute.”
Babe. Mike had thought Will would only call him that in his dreams. But this wasn’t a dream. Mike watched as Will climbed on top of him, one leg on either side of his waist, and leaned down to kiss him, nice and slow. Mike ran his tongue along Will’s lower lip, and he let Mike in immediately. They continued like that for a few minutes until Will lifted Mike’s arms up so they were pinned above his head, and Mike quietly moaned as Will began to kiss down his neck. He smiled at the ceiling. Mike Wheeler loved Will Byers, and Will Byers loved Mike Wheeler. All was right with the world.
But Mike would have a lot to explain over Christmas.
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Can I please request an Amado x reader fic where he slowly starts to fall in love with her? and, if it's possible, can she be a non-fluent Spanish speaker? Somewhat like Mimi. Thank you so much!
By proxy
Amado Carillo Fuentes x female!reader, (mention of you wearing heels/skirt/painted nails/lipstick, no warnings, the usual for the show) 1545 words
a/n : hopefully this is what you had in mind ! let me know how you like it
As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx
When he arrived, you were already seated in the chair next to his assigned one. Sunglasses perched on your nose, colored lips matching your nails, and satellite phone opened to your ear, ushering things in the receiver he couldn’t understand. Amado wouldn’t usually pay attention to all those details, but the space between the seats is narrow and you don’t seem to realize he needs you to get up so that he can finally sit down.
The heat is unbearable today. Of course he knew Belize was going to be hot, but the humidity mixed with little wind is making sweat run down his back. A temperature you don’t seem to mind, deeply invested in whatever conversation you are having, with your freshly pressed shirt, not a bead of sweat on your forehead. He has to cough to get your attention, and the look you give him makes him feel like he is intruding, your palm cupping the receiver so as to not disturb whoever is on the other side.
‘’ Puedo ayudarle? ‘’
That is when he notices your accent, the way the r comes out round and unrolled. You speak English, he thinks, but he can’t figure out more. He’s never really been one to notice the subtleties between accents.
‘’ That’s my seat, ‘’ he begins in English, ‘’ Do you mind if..? ‘’
‘’ Oh. ‘’
You are quickly on your feet, pressing the back of your knees to the chair to make more space for him to pass through. He can smell your perfume, feel the softness of your silk shirt as his hand brushes your elbow as he moves forward. You sit back down at the same time as him, one of your legs moving on top of the other. Before he can even say thank you, you are back on the phone, throwing phrases and fancy words he can’t understand. Is English is good, but it clearly wasn’t fluent enough for whatever business conversation you were having. You close the antenna with a snap.
‘’ I’m sorry about that, not very lady-like of me. ‘’
There is no point for you to try talking to him in Spanish anymore, and as much as he can’t shake away his own accent, he knows his English is probably better than your Spanish. You don’t really mean it, half an apology, half small-talk, too focused on what is happening up front, the first plane being manoeuvered on the tarmac. He offers you a polite smile nonetheless.
‘’ It’s all good. ‘’
The plane isn’t even stopped behind the podium that the auction starts, loud voice coming from the speaker, bragging about the size of the crew cabin, the space in between the seats. Nothing he needs to know, nothing that would make a difference in the type of business he plans on making with those buys. Rip it all out, he would say, start loading it up. It goes pretty fast after that, when the auctioneer finally stops talking about the whys and the hows and starts selling the plane.
He can feel you watching, chin turning his way every time he buys a plane. Probably because, compared to him, you haven’t bought much so far, no one did really.
‘’ May I ask you what all those planes are for? ‘’
You are bold, he can give you that, biting your questions, answers rolling off your tongue just as quickly. He doesn’t even realize when he started smiling, cheeks touching the underside of his sunglasses.
‘’ I could ask you the same question. ‘’
Your bite the inside of your cheek, as if you are thinking it through, if you should actually give him an answer or just another question in response.
‘’ Fair enough. Maybe our bosses’ business isn’t for us commoners to talk about. ‘’
‘’ Oh, no, you’re mistaken. I’m the boss. ‘’
That catches your eyes, knees turning to his side, body following shortly as your own sunglasses slide down your nose with the movement. He knew it would, maybe that is why he said it. There is something fun about you, carefree, that feels like it could turn this chore into something enjoyable for once. He never liked making small talk, but he does appreciate this back-and-forth that is happening. Amado watches as your elbow drapes over the back of your chair before you speak.
‘’ What’s your name again? ‘’
You do be asking many questions, he realizes, but he gives you his name nonetheless, finding himself to enjoy it when you give yours back.
‘’ Then, Amado, ‘’ You continue, ‘’ Why do the dirty work? It’s hot as hell on this tarmac. No budget for shades, the paddles are plastic, no wine bar, what’s in it for you? ‘’
‘’ Good company, clearly. You seem to be doing those a lot. ‘’
He loves the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You barely acknowledge his statement, raising your own paddle for a small luxury plane as your attention turns back to the front. A few second passes, before the gavel smashes the podium. As the applause dies down, the auctioneer talks into his microphone, voice booming and with more spectacle than he usually enjoys.
‘’ Told my boss I could speak Spanish, but I’m more at a 4-year-old level than anything else. You mind translating that for me? ‘’
He can tell you are flirting, trying to keep the conversation going. Your eyes are playful, meeting his and twisting his insides, sparkling warmth to his chest. This feels different, and he wonders if he has gotten too old for this. Still, he plays into it.
‘’ He said the plane’s all yours, mija, but that you have to pilot it back to the US if you want to keep it. ‘’
Your laugh makes the people in front of you turn, you don’t mind them though, continuing to look at the vendors as they parade the planes around.
‘’ I would crash the damn thing. You don’t happen to know a good pilot, do you? ‘’
He leans his head to your side, close enough to smell your perfume again, almost tasting the salt from your skin.
‘’ Hmm. I got someone in mind. ‘’
‘’ Well I hope he’s any good, I plan on coming back in one piece. ‘’
You are raising your paddle again, two, three times until the sale is yours. He is sure you get more Spanish than you let him on, or maybe you just go for looks and hope the plane fits your budget, if you have any. You haven’t talked much about why you are here either, and he can’t help but wonder who would buy almost as many planes as him. It is not as much, clearly, he is here to buy the biggest ones, all of them, but you have been weirdly focusing on the smaller ones, the cleaner ones, rivalling all the white heads on the tarmac.
‘’ Don’t worry, ‘’ He says as he adjusts himself on the chair, ‘’ I’ll land us safe and sound. ‘’
You find this funny, beaming at him, smile wide and refreshing in the heat. He can tell your eyes are curious, squinting from the sun as you look at him over your sunglasses.
‘’ How romantic. ‘’
There is no real implication behind your words, mostly mocking him, brushing off your actual surprise that he is in fact a pilot. Amado buys the last three planes, it is a quick process, raising his paddle, gavel knocking, and before he knows it you are on your feet, heels clacking on the asphalt the moment they end the auction.
He watches as you pull down your skirt, gathering your things in one hand while the other moves towards him, wide open for a handshake.
‘’ Well, Amado, the pleasure was all mine. I guess I’ll see you at the next one? ‘’
Probably not, he thinks, but he gets the sentiment, appreciates it even. He shakes your hand, your warm palm against his, a fingernail grazing the inside of his wrist.
‘’ I thought I was supposed to fly you back home? ‘’
‘’ Are you asking me out on a date? ‘’
‘’ Maybe. Are you saying yes? ‘’
You don’t answer him straight away, sizing him up and down. He can’t tell what you are looking for, but the small smile on your lips makes him think whatever he is doing is working. You take your hand back, pushing hair behind your ear.
‘’ I’m staying in San Ignacio tonight. The hotel’s bar is pretty good if you’d like to drop by for a drink. ‘’
You don’t wait for him to answer, turning on your heels and walking down the aisle, waving to a man in a suit that is quick to walk you to a black suv. He can do nothing but mirror your smile, pushing his sunglasses up his head. He wouldn’t mind doing the drive, especially if it means he could see you again.
He doesn’t have to think more about it, you had him at ‘bar’, ‘drink’, the notes of vanilla in your perfume. A cold Whiskey actually sounds like a good idea.
#amado x reader#amado carrillo fuentes x reader#narcos mexico imagine#narcos mexico fanfiction#narcos mexico imagines
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Series The Bet: Haunted House - JHK
→ pairing | Jung Hoseok x Reader
→ genre | smut, angst, enemys to lovers!au
→ word count | 6,431
→ summary | Because of your friends, Hoseok thought you hated him, and you thought the same. But after they bet on spending Halloween Eve night in an abandoned house, everything changes.
→ warnings |sex, Adult content(a lot), alcoholic beverages, low slang words.
→ A/N| Please reblog and like if you liked it, Tumblr is loving to end blogs around here by cutting their visibility. DON'T DO WHAT THE CHARACTERS DID. I'm not talking about sex, if you are of legal age and want to, do it. I'm talking about going to abandoned places at night. Be careful, there are a lot of bad people in the world just waiting for a chance to hurt you. Stay safe. The house is not haunted at all, so don't worry, there's nothing terrifying about this story.
“I can’t fucking believe that we are doing this.” It must have been the fifteenth time the boy next to you had said the same sentence, it was almost like it was in a loop. And you completely agreed with him, you didn't believe you were doing such a stupid thing, mostly, you didn't believe you were heading towards an abandoned house next to Jung Hoseok, the most beautiful and most annoying man you knew. The vodka you had been drinking nonstop for two hours before getting in that car wasn't making you any more comfortable with the situation. But you had to take that bet, there was no way you were going to let your friends think you were scared to spend the Halloween night in the most famous abandoned house in town; even if you were hella scared. "Why the hell did you have to bet me too?" He took his eyes off the road for a second, staring at her and then back to the street dimly lit by the car's headlights. "Were you that desperate to be alone with me in a place, but are you so proud to say, that you had to take the two of us to an abandoned house?"
Although you sometimes wanted to beat Hoseok until he passed out, you couldn't deny how cute he was. He had that emo badboy vibe, wore dark eye makeup and painted his nails black, and wore really heavy clothes. He had that hate-filled look in his eyes, but at the same time, his expression didn't say anything. And that black hair, god you wanted to get your fingers into that hair. You weren't sure why you hated him so much, maybe it was to mask all the lust and attraction you felt for him, maybe it was the fact that you felt annoyed that you were the only one of your friends who hadn't slept with him. And you also didn't know why he hated you so much, you just knew that from the first time you saw each other, you started insulting each other.
"You can keep dreaming, Hoseok, because the only reason I bet you is to prove to everyone that you're just a scared chicken."
He snorted.
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, maybe you'll believe it one day." The two then fell silent again, the atmosphere in the car heavy, and it was so quiet outside that you could only hear the car's engine. You then started feeling anxious and rethinking the whole situation. You were going to a place in the middle of nowhere, a house hidden in the middle of the forest, in a place where no living soul had stepped in years; except of course the drunk and drugged wanderers who were likely to commit crimes and hide in the house. It wasn't a place for two young adults to go to at dawn. It was very dangerous and that's how horror movies started: with two idiots snooping around where they shouldn't.
"Okay, maybe this was a bad idea, Hoseok." He arched an eyebrow, but he didn't take his eyes off the road or said a word. "This can be quite dangerous, we don't know what we can find there." And you paused. "Perhaps we should both give up this challenge and accept whatever the punishment is."
"I'll not give up." he scoffed. "If you want wimp out, go ahead, I'll stop the car and you'll go back." He said slowing the car down, and you widened your eyes.
"Are you going to let me go back by my self? Down this deserted road?"
"Or you can just stop being a coward and finish the damn dare."
“Ugh, fine.” You crossed your arms, huffing and leaning back in the seat. "But if I die, I'm going to make your life hell,"
"If you die, I will too, honey."
And for some strange reason, you felt comfortable with the nickname.
A few minutes later, after being silent again, both saw a dirt road that entered the forest, when approaching closer, you saw a huge tree fallen to the ground, blocking the entire passage. Due to its size, you would not be able to go around it, you would have to walk from there. Hoseok stopped the car as close to the side of the road as possible, turned off the engine and both got out of the car, feeling the temperature drop instantly. You hugged your body, while the guy went to the trunk and took out a backpack. After locking the car, he was the first to jump over the tree, turning around and waiting for you. You still felt like that was a bad idea. And Hoseok knew it. He glued his eyes together and moistened his lips before speaking.
"Do you want to stay in the car?" He could see your eyes twinkling when he suggested it. And he found it adorable.
"Will you stay with me?" You had never used such a soft tone of voice with him before, and he might not admit it, but he liked it. And it would be interesting to spend the night in a car with you, but he was too proud for that.
"I'm not giving up on the challenge, (y/n). I'm staying in the house." You shook your head, your jaw quivering too much from the cold to argue, then just sighed and headed towards the tree, climbing it. When you stood on top of the fallen log, Hoseok who was on the other side, adjusted the backpack on his back and stretched his arms towards you, helping you down, and before the mood started to get weird, he started walking again down the dirt road towards the abandoned house.
The road was surrounded by giant trees that covered the sky with their leaves, not letting you see above them. It was cold down there, and the street grew dark as you went further. You could hear crickets, tree branches bumping against each other pushed by the wind, you could hear the wind whistling violently, and you could hear your heart beating in your ear. You've never been afraid of the dark, you've never had to sleep with the light on, you've never been afraid of what could be hiding in your closet or under your bed, but at that moment you were afraid of what might be lurking behind those trees.
You looked at Hoseok, and he didn't look scared at all, in fact he looked thoughtful. And focused. He was a very confident guy, he trusted himself and in his abilities, whatever he wanted, he would go out there and get it. You envied that about him. And your thoughts were interrupted when you heard something like dry branches being broken, as if someone was stepping on them, and it came from the middle of the bush. The sound made you involuntarily jump to Hoseok's side and grab his hand and his arm, both of you stopping walking as you stared at the place where the noise seemed to have come from. The boy looked at you, all curled up as you held on to him and he could only smile, that was the first time you had touched him willingly. Another sound of the same kind came from the bushes and you stifled a squeak, turning all at once towards him, bumping into his body, hiding your face in his chest, closing your eyes tightly, hugging him around the waist. You've never been so terrified, and that wasn't funny.
"Hey, it's okay." Hoseok tried to calm you down, hugging you and running his hand through your hair, not trying to push you away, just trying to reassure you that nothing was going to happen. "You're safe with me, don't worry. It's just a few branches snapping, there's nothing to fear, I promise."
"What if it's some wild animal? A bear or a wolf."
"We don't have animals in these forests, the most it can be is a stray cat, it won't hurt us." His voice was extremely calm, and smooth, and oddly enough, you were starting to calm down. You never thought that one day you would be soothed by Jung Hoseok, but at that moment, he didn't seem to hate you that much. Then you slowly lifted your head, opening your startled eyes and looking at the image of his dimly lit face, he stared back at you, bringing one of his hands to your cheek, caressing it slowly before coming to his senses and realizing what was happening. He cleared his throat and took a step back. "Let's go on, huh?" You blinked slowly before nodding, ducking your head, trying to ignore your burning cheeks. "Come on, hold my hand." He said reaching out his hand to you which you accepted quickly, letting his big hand encircle yours.
The rest of the way to the house was calm, and although you were still startled by the noises of the forest, having Hoseok's palm against yours was helping you not to lose your mind. A few minutes later, you were able to visualize at the very bottom, at the end of that road, a very humble little house. As you got closer, the feeling that something could go wrong increased. And knowing that it wouldn't do any good to ask Hoseok to come back and forget about that damn bet, you just took a deep breath, as if you were already preparing for the worst.
When you finally got to the house, you could see how deplorable it was. The wood was faded and rotten. The window panes were broken and the porch wood creaked as they stepped on it. The front door was half open, and the moonlight that had illuminated most of its way there didn't reach inside the house. Hoseok took a flashlight out of his backpack and you frowned, you didn't know people still used those things even with the advancement of technology and flashlights in cell phones. Although it was better to use up your flashlight battery than to use up your cell phone battery and not be able to call the police if you had to.
Hoseok used the tip of the flashlight to push the door open, It creaked until it hit the wall. The first thing he saw was a large living room, with two old sofas and the upholstery torn apart, a coffee table in front of it with shattered glass strewn across the floor. There was a fireplace across the room, beer bottles crammed into it, and there was also a staircase that led to the other floor of the house. Walking around, following Hoseok, you could see condom wrappers and used condoms scattered on the floor. And couldn't help but notice the strong smell of urine.
"This place is disgusting, ugh!" You complained, covering your mouth and nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.
"Let's take a look up there, maybe it's better than down here." Hoseok commented, walking towards the stairs, and you followed him, even knowing that in a dilapidated house like that, the floor could give way under your feet at any moment. Upstairs, there were three rooms on the left side of the hallway and one on the right, at the very end. . Only the door on the right side was closed, while the others were wide open. Those rooms were bedrooms and everything was like downstairs, dirty, with destroyed furniture, and with boards on the windows, there were broken bottles everywhere and used condoms on the floor. "This place is perfect for catching seven different types of diseases. When we get out of here we're going to have to burn our clothes and shower with disinfectant and alcohol.”
“Agreed.” Hoseok turned to you, shining the flashlight into your face, causing you to frown and use your hand to block the excessive light that was in your eyes. “Hey, what are you doing?”
"Did you just agree with me?"
"Yes, can't I?"
Hoseok raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything, despite being curious, he decided not to follow his curiosity and just turned the other way, heading towards the door at the end of the hall, it l led to a bathroom and surprisingly it was the cleanest place in the entire house. And even though it was still dusty and the sink was inside the bathtub, it was still the only place in the house you could sit on the floor, without risking touching someone's sperm or urine.
"Well, I think this is the only suitable place for us to spend the night." Hoseok said bending down, he supported the backpack on his thigh, and pulled out a blanket, unfolding it and placing it on the floor. He also took a bottle of vodka and a juice box out of his backpack, making you wonder why he was carrying those things.
"Why do you carry this stuff?" The boy looked up at you for a second before opening the bottle of vodka and taking a sip. He then extended the bottle towards you, who raised an eyebrow, there wasn't much to do there, so drinking would be your only source of entertainment. Shrugging you reached for the vodka and took a sip, grimacing as you felt the drink burning down your throat. Hoseok laughed and handed you the juice box, feeling much better after drinking it.
"I like to be prepared for any kind of situation. I can get drunk anywhere, and I can get drunk and sleep anywhere." And he smiled, patting the floor beside him, signaling you to sit next to him, and again without many options, you did, leaning against the wall and sharing the bottle of liquor with him;
Two hours had passed and the bottle of liquor was almost half full, you and Hoseok should have had half a dozen fits of laughter while drinking and talking, you had never been together this long without insulting each other or talking, and that made you curious, he actually seemed like a nice guy, so why the hell did you guys hate each other?
"Why you hate me?" You asked amid laughter, causing Hoseok who was catching his breath from his last laugh to look at you before letting out a dry laugh.
“You tell me, preppy girl, why do you think I hate you so much?”
“I have no idea.” You shrugged. "It's just that every time you look at me, I feel like your gaze will penetrate my soul or something. And you always pay so much attention to my girlfriends, but never to me." You giggled, feeling your face numb. "Fuck, my cheeks are numb."
"I don't pay attention to your friends, they chase me up and down, god, I've never seen girls as clingy as they are. It gives me the chills." Hoseok bent one leg and rested one arm on his knee, while leaving the other stretched out and leaning his head against the wall, facing the bathroom ceiling. "And I don't know why you're friends with them, they're not good company, I've seen them badmouthing you to other guys." And so he looked at you, seeing you curiously, with your mouth slightly open and eyes fixed on him. "Even for me."
"They don't do that."
"Yes they do." He laughed. "Don't be innocent, when I asked them if you were single, they told me yes, but that you would have no interest in me, and that you thought I was a junkie with no future."
"I never said that." Your voice came out louder than it should have and you instantly covered your mouth with both hands, starting to laugh, just like him. "I never said that." You whispered, turning around and crossing your legs, facing him. "Actually I think you're very talented, I went to Tequilas on Friday to see your performance and look, you're the best Rapper I've ever met."
He frowned, and because of the alcohol you didn't realize how much his eyes lit up to hear that you had watched his performance and that you liked it.
"You were there?"
"Yeah, I went with the girls, but I left before them as they told me that after the show they would meet with you and have a threesome."
“What?”
“Threesome, ya know, when three people...”
“I know what it is, babe, I'm referring to what they said. I didn't do any of that with them, I can use drugs sometimes but I never forget what I do and I don't usually do stupid things.” And he looked angry. "What other lies were those girls telling you?"
"I don't know… They talk a lot about you." You said thoughtfully, it was only then that it dawned on you that he had called you babe. "Did you just call me babe?"
"Yes babe, but stay focused, what else do these girls say about me?"
"Hmm, well they say you prefer naughty girls, said you hate the quiet ones, that they've had sex with you in several places and that you fuck really good."
“Oh, I do fuck really good but I don’t know how the hell would they know ‘cause I've never had sex with any of them.”
“And they said you said that I'm weird... and gross.” Hoseok's eyes widened and he watched you lower your head for a few seconds before lifting his chin and looking at him again, giving a wan smile. "And that's ok, everyone has the right to have their opinions..." And before you could continue, Hoseok took his hand on the back of your neck and pulled you all at once towards him, your lips collapsing in a violent kiss, where he stuck his tongue in your mouth, leaving you gasping for air. You were forced to unfold your legs and get on your knees as every second he pulled you closer and closer to him, your hands going to his hair, your fingers fulfilling a dream. And when he pulled his lips away, both with deep breaths and racing hearts, he looked into your eyes, again that look that seemed to penetrate your soul making you shiver.
"I don't think you're gross. I think you're the most wonderful, hottest woman in this town. And if every time I look at you, you feel that my gaze is penetrating you, it's because the thing I want most in this world since I laid eyes on you is to fuck you until I come inside you and make you come so hard around my dick that you would forget about any other man that had passed in your life.” And he gave you a peck, a long, hot peck. "I never even touched any of those girls, I just wanted you, I just want you." And he kissed you again, your will matching his at such a rapid rate that the next thing you knew, you were sitting on his lap, his hands squeezing your ass as your nails scratched the back of his neck. "And I don't mind if you're a quiet one, I can make you go pretty loud."
"I've never had sex under the influence of alcohol, that's weird." You chuckled between kisses. He grinned.
"What's weird?"
"The urge I have to just take these pants off and jump on your dick."
"You can do that if you want." He whispered, kissing down to her neck.
"Not here, there are already a lot of condoms scattered around this house."
"Then let's go elsewhere."
"But what about the bet?"
"Fuck this stupid bet, I just want you all over me."
You got up, staggered back, but leaned against the wall to keep from falling, laughing silly. Hoseok gathered all his things and turned on the flashlight once more, leaving the room. He waited for you to follow him and extended his hand towards you, this time you not only intertwined your fingers with his, but also grabbed his arm with your other hand, leaning on him, feeling as if your legs were jelly. Laughing as you went down the stairs, you were much more comfortable with the whole situation, no longer frightened by the creaks coming from the forest. Once again when you reached the fallen tree, Hoseok grabbed you around the waist, helping you to jump over it. Running clumsily towards the car, he unlocked the car alarm and you climbed into the backseat, undressing. The guy tossed his backpack into the driver's seat before ducking in front of the back door and looking at you. His eyes roaming every inch of your body until you were completely naked.
“Someone's eager”
“Aren’t you?” You whispered, slowly spreading your legs giving him a wide view of what he wanted most. Hoseok licked his lips and started to undress outside the car, being tall he wouldn't be able to do it in the car as quickly as he wanted, throwing his clothes on the front seats. And when he finished taking off his pants, he found a packet of condoms in his pocket, getting into his car and slamming the door behind him. Breathing so heavy he could feel his lungs working. With one knee propped up on the bench while he wore the condom, you fingered your wet space, his eyes alternating between down there and into your eyes. You then grabbed his waist, pulling him towards you. Hoseok rested his right hand on the back seat and his left hand on the passenger seat as he positioned himself, hovering over you.
And he swore as he started to get in, feeling you tighten around him, pulsing, your moans echoing throughout the car, invading his ears, making him roll his eyes and with one hand hold your neck. He started slowly, moving his hips slowly, eyes glued to your face, watching the pleasure wash over you, your lips parted, sometimes biting your lips, frowning. He also watched as you gripped the edges of the seat, your fingers sinking into the upholstery, your legs up, curling your toes, your chest pounding, your nipples hard, your body tingling, god, and it was all because of him. It was all because of his thick dick going in and out of you, hard as a rock, stretching your walls, touching your weak spots, it was all about that slim, beautiful, drawn body. It was all because of that face, those eyes upon you, the pleasure that had spread across that long, thin face. Hoseok was more than a man, he was a work of art, a piece of paradise, the male version of Aphrodite. A god who should be treated well, venerated. And you were sure you would do anything for him. You never hated him, it was all lust, desire.
"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" His voice was low, lustful and inquisitive, using his thumb to caress your parted lip.
“Only you.” You whispered back, licking his thumb before taking it in your mouth. He let out a low growl, lowering his body and taking your lips in a slow kiss that turned into a fiery kiss as he increased the speed at which his hips moved, bumping against yours, the noise certainly echoed out of that car, onto that deserted street where nothing but the wind could be heard. Your voice was muffled by his mouth, but as soon as he pulled away, kissing your chest until he was sucking on your nipple, you threw your head back, slamming it against the door, your moans getting louder and louder, following the force with which he thrust. “Fuck. It feels so good.” He didn't say anything, just bit your nipple, bringing his hands to your waist, moving your hips against his so easily it was as if he controlled you body with the power of his mind. And when the first orgasm came, so suddenly, you screamed, arching your back as he continued to move, feeling you tighten around him, your pussy so wet it dripped onto the seat, wetting the leather. Hoseok hugged your body, he sat down bringing you onto his lap, burying his face in your hair as you calmed down a little, your body shaking.
"Are you okay?"
"Fuck way more than okay." You laughed, your hips starting to move involuntarily, your body burning with arousal, his cock was buried so deep inside you that you didn't know how long it would be until you were coming again. You leaned your body back, using your arms to lean on the two seats in front, wiggling your hips as you went up and down, the guy let his head fall back, eyes on you, on how your breasts swayed, at how your body danced on top of him. He licked his fingers, and while one hand went towards your breast, pinching your nipple, the other went down to your pussy, and he didn't even need to wet his fingers, as what he found down there was a puddle of water, his fingers sliding in circles over your clit. Your sly moans no longer had control, as well as your body that while riding him, was rubbing against his fingers, needing more contact, needing to release that tension. “Shit i’m com...” And you barely managed to finish your sentence, screaming as you felt your core tighten and release all at once, your body going limp, squeezing your toes and closing your eyes tightly. Hoseok held your waist, pulling your body to him again, hugging you and stroking your hair while laughing with satisfaction.
"Twice, baby? You're being so nice to me." He kissed your shoulder lightly. "Think you can get one more?"
“Fuck, yes.” You stated, pressing your lips to his and hugging him around the neck as you moved your hips again, this time starting faster and harder, with his hands cupping your ass and helping you to ride. "I want you to cum on me, Hoseok."
"If you keep moving like this, I will." And it was what you needed to increase the speed, this time you ran your hand behind your body, throwing your body back a little, holding the back of his neck while the other hand went down to his balls, massaging. And he swore, bringing his fingers to your clit again. “Fuck babe, you’re so good. On Monday we're going to do a blood test, and when we prove to each other that we're clean, I'm going to fuck you so hard and I'm going to come so hard inside you that you will be marked by me forever, fuck."
And the sweat was running down your body, as was his, glistening in the light that came from outside the car. You could feel him coming and you could feel that burning in your core, you were ready to come one more time and you wanted so much for him to fill you all over, until not a drop was left. You just wanted to be his. It was everything you ever wanted.
"Fuck, I'm...." And he grabbed your body, making you stop moving, his cock pulsing inside you, your walls feeling every inch of him, his fingers stimulating you, making you come again, this time not having the strength to move anymore, your body going numb. You hugged each other, your head on his shoulder and his against the seat, so tired and out of breath that you waited a good few minutes for either of you to say something. Who needed drugs to ease the pressure when Jung Hoseok was there to make her come?
"I think we should go back." You whispered, your face against his neck as he stroked your hair. "Everyone must be waiting for us to give up on the bet."
"Keep them waiting, bunch of assholes." he whispered back. "Those bitches made you think I didn't want anything to do with you when I really only wanted you. Let's go to my house, take a shower and rest so we can have a whole day of trick or treat, in my bed, of course." He laughed and you lifted your head, looking at him. "And if you want, of course. "
"This will be the best Halloween of my life."
all rights reserved © katebacks | 2018/2022 — no reposting and/or modifying of any form on any medium is allowed. no translations allowed.
#jung hoseok x reader#jung hoseok x you#jung hoseok smut#jung hoseok angst#jhope smut#jung hoseok#bts smut#jhope x reader#jhope#bangtanarmynet#thekpopnetwork#houseofddaeng
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“Why can’t we love each other” Ch.2
Human!bully!Aonung x Reader (Highschool AU)
Warnings: None!
It seem like he’s getting more and more annoying by the day but… he can be.. endearing?
Part 1 Part 3 Part 4
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It’s been a few weeks since you and Aonung’s first encounter. What you thought would be a “one time thing” of your first incident has become a common part of your daily schedule. He used to just crack a couple funny insults in the hallway as you walked pass each other, but now he’ll find you at your locker or outside of classes just to walk with you and make some rude comments, most in a teasing manner.. but you do admit some of them do hurt your feelings. Now you don’t just take them, obviously you insult him back. Most of the time feeling as though you win your little bickering sessions.
~~~
During your time here at school though you have made quite the abundance of friends, even meeting some of Kiri’s siblings and growing quite fond of them. You met Lo’ak because he asked to cheat off of your homework during one of your classes, and Neteyam being in the grade above you, met through Aonung surprisingly. They’re both in the same grade and he offered you to join “The Sully Family Study Sessions” when talking about how some of the quiz questions didn’t make much sense. You also had some other acquaintances like Roxto, he’s usually always around Aonung but you two met through Kiri when he’s occasionally sit next to her at lunch.
~~~
-present day-
~~~
Sleepover.
Tsireya invited you and Kiri to a sleep over. She sounds very excited, but surprisingly she’s never hosted one and really wants the two of you to come.
“You all should come to my house on Friday for a slumber party, it will be so fun. I’ll make snacks and we can watch movies and paint our nails and do hair..” she was still going on talking about everything she wanted to do for activities, it sounded really fun but you had to ask your mom before anything.
“I’ll see if I can go, I’ll have to ask my mom first though!” You gave her the honest answer not wanting to get her hopes up but not shooting them down either. Kiri added on saying “Same I have to ask my parents, but as long as we host a sleepover not at my house I’m willing to go.. I have too many siblings that’ll butt in if I bring guest.”
~~~
-time skip-
~~~
When you got to Tsireya’s house (which thankfully you mom let you go) you were a little nervous, this wasn’t your first sleep over… but seeing Aonung outside of school made you excited. You didn’t know why but you’ve always felt like you had a little crush on him.. NOT that you had one.. he only made your heart flutter every time he’d walk with you to class, or you’d get giddy anytime he’d look at your eyes, but he’s a big bully you could never love. You shook those thoughts away knocking on the door.
Thankfully for you Tsireya opened the door and Kiri was already inside setting down a popcorn bucket.
“Welcome to my house Y/N!! I’m so excited you’re here, Kiri only got here like 10 minutes ago so you didn’t miss out on anything, please come in! I’ll show you my room where you can set your things” you smile saying your greeting to them and follow Tsireya upstairs while Kiri picks the movies you’ll be watching downstairs.
When you got up there you walked by a room wide open, it was kinda messy but not too bad, you assumed it was Aonung’s room since you walked passed it.
Entering Tsireya’s room, it was very tidy and neat compared to her brother’s, she had a candle on and had lights and some plants decorating it.
“Alrighty this is my room, you can set you stuff down here and I’ll be downstairs, come down when you’re ready!” She left the room heading downstairs when you placed your belongings down. You heard a flush coming from the upstairs bathroom and a sink running, you started to semi panic hoping it was just her mom or dad, but to your dismay you see Aonung pass by the room.
He catches a glimpse of you and makes a U-turn back to where he saw you.
You stand there a little awkwardly and wave saying hello.
“Oh you finally are here. When Tsireya said she had guests I assumed you were one of them. Of course she invites the weirdest friends she has here.” He states
“Whatever, just try not to bother us too much yeah?” He rolls his eyes
“Me? Please. Just keep it down and we won’t have problems yeah?” He said mocking you. Now it was your turn to roll you eyes.
You shoo him off and he lifts his hands up walking backwards into his room smirking, then closing the door. You sighed in annoyance shrugging your shoulders.
~~~
Later that night you couldn’t sleep, you didn’t really know why but you’ve always had some trouble in new environments when it had to do with going to bed.
So you got up making sure to stay quiet as you exited.
Waking through the hallway you felt a presence watching you. Though you ignored it walking down stairs, hoping you’d get tired out by walking around a bit, their house is pretty big. As you reach the kitchen you hear a “Ahem” and jump turning around seeing Aonung.
“Eywa! You scared the shit out of me” he laughed looking down at your figure.
“What are you doing up walking around? Couldn’t sleep?” He said obviously sarcastically but you nod you head
“As a matter of fact, yes, I could not sleep.”
He clicked his tongue sighing. He motioned you to follow him, and you did.
You both walked up to his room, he pulled up a chair from his counter sitting on it pointing at his bed so you can sit there, that obviously being the more comfortable option. You decided to speak up being a little confused but also being not so sure you want to be on his bed.
“I don’t know there might be some undiscovered diseases on there”
He looked at you unamused
“Just get on the bed weirdo”
You go up to the bed, it actually being quite clean, while you lay on it he grabs a remote putting on the tv for you two to watch.
“I put on *favorite tv show* because you never stop talking about it when I see you with my sister” He sounded annoyed, but you find it quite sweet that he paid that much attention.
“Aw you actually listen to me when I talk?” You say making fun of him
“It’s not like i can’t, you’re so loud that i can barely hear myself think when I’m in a 100 mile radius from you.” He retorts, you laugh and he smiles a little.
Throughout most of the night goes by like a blur, you guys talked and watched shows for a while until you ended up falling asleep on his bed.
When you woke up in the morning you weren’t in Aonung’s room but rather in Tsireya’s sleeping where you were originally at. You wondered if he’d carry you here, more over if that interaction was even real.
Soon when you were leaving because your mom was picking you up, you were saying goodbye to everyone when Aonung came downstairs walking up to you. Leaning in your ear he whispered
“I had fun last night” you looked at him in shock. Raising his head he said
“You’re a little lighter than I thought you’d be hm?” You pushed him playfully
“Bye Aonung.” You waved him off leaving the house
Smiling to yourself all of the way home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
#ao’nung x reader#aonung x y/n#aonung#aonung x reader#avatar ao'nung#avatar x reader#atwow#tsireya#kiri avatar#avatar tsireya#atwow loak#human!au#neteyam#jake sully#avatar the way of water#neytiri#tukitrey
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Olive Bough
Grim reaper/death!Chris Motionless x unnamed, gender neutral character
Content Warnings: language, abuse, domestic violence, death, angst, alcoholism
Word Count: 2.4k
Author's Note: PLEASE READ THIS: I really debated writing this story at all, let alone posting it. It's based heavily on a poem I wrote in college, which is one of my favorite pieces of media I've written. The way death (Chris) is portrayed in this is also heavily inspired by The Book Thief. This is a lot darker than any other fic I've written so far, but I really felt like I should write it. I don't even feel like I did the idea justice, but who knows. Y'all are seeing a piece of my soul with this one. <3
The day had an air of finality to it. The kind of day where you can’t really picture another one coming, but you can’t place why. A solemnity, I suppose. I had just clocked off from work, waiting for the bus. The sun was low in the sky, melting off the mountain line and onto my skin so it could rest. My eyes felt hollow, the skin protecting them was thin and weak much like my bones. A sharp hiss of air alerted me to the bus I hadn’t seen coming. I waited for the doors to screech open before climbing the stairs, fishing my bus pass out of my pocket as I did so. I trudge to the middle of the bus, sliding into the musty seat and leaning my head back with a heavy sigh. I look to my left and see a girl with a backpack at her feet, earbuds wedged in her ears, bobbing her head to an unknown melody. A college student. I should have a backpack at my feet, I should be running myself into the ground with theses and slideshows. I check my phone, opening my banking app to check the balance. My heart aches. Soon. I turn my head to the dusty window, everything blurring past like a zoetrope.
Eventually, it slows and the familiar greenery of the downtown park comes into view. I stand, bracing myself on the chair in front of me as the bus jolts to a stop. I trod down the steps and onto the sidewalk, the sun barely draping over the rocky cliffs. I proceed down the crumbling path back to home. The evening breeze tangles itself in the overgrown bushes and I plug the hole in my jacket pocket with my fist before it can dance its way in. The trailer park peeks around the corner and I enter through the fence, trudging along the gravel until I travel the rotting steps of the stained white trailer home. The paint is flaking and the stair railing is armed with exposed nails. I shove my key in the lock, opening the door with a sighing creak before clicking it closed behind me. I kick my shoes off next to the mud caked boots by the door. He’s home. I take three steps before the violent sound of a door being thrown into a wall halts me. A quick current of adrenaline stabs through me and my heart is pitched into a panic, but I don’t move. Heavy footsteps thunder around the corner as a sweaty, precarious figure stumbles into the main room.
His pace quickens and I take a short step back before being thrown into the wall next to the door. I ricochet off the surface, but a calloused forearm pins me back to it by my chest. He leans in and the smell of pungent rot and body odor permeates around him, invading my nose. As he snarls out his words, his beer belly pushes into my abdomen.
“Where’s my fucking money?” His eyes are bloodshot, watery, and wild. I turn my head so my cheek is pressed against the wall and my eyes turn down, staring at the musty carpet.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. A curled fist strikes a myriad of colors into the side of my head and I yelp.
“Speak the fuck up.”
“Dad, I don’t know!” The last syllable of my reply trembles as I’m shoved harder into the wall and the wall trembles with me.
“There’s five dollars missing from that jar over there on the counter. Do you wanna tell me where it went or do you wanna keep getting smacked around like a pussy?”
I choke on a sob. “I didn’t have enough cash for lunch I was gonna pay you back with my tips the second I got home I swear, you always-!” My rambling is cut off by a blow to my stomach and I gasp for air. His hand crushes my wrist between us and I cry out as he blows more of his intoxicated breath between his fat, stubbled lips.
“I’m fucking tired of you takin’ my shit.Takin’ my money, takin’ my space. I’ve fucking had it!” He bellows, accentuating his last sentence by hurling me around his body and back into the trailer. I stumble, feet scraping the floor and my heart plummets as I fall. I register what’s about to happen right as my head smacks the iron rim of the coffee table, then follows my body to the floor with a wet thump.
I feel numb. Crimson tattoos my vision and I take a rattling breath. Dark gray static overtakes the blood pooling beneath my eye and narrows until all I can see is the coffee table leg in the foreground of a shit brown couch. I hear a deafening nothing in my ears as the static overtakes all of me.
* * *
I feel cold, rigid. Like waking up on the hard floor of a tent after a chilly night of camping. I’m on my side, and it’s dark. Well, it’s more of an emptiness; like being surrounded by thick clearness. A fog, I suppose, and it has stained my vision. My head is dazed and I start to tremble. I expect to feel my heart rate increase, but there’s nothing there. No warmth, no beating. I try to take a breath, but my lungs have vanished. My airway is empty; filled to the brim with a lead-like weight, I am permanently holding my breath. I can’t move, save for my eyes and I flick them around desperately to find anything to anchor myself to.
And there. In the distance. There’s a glow, a shadow surrounded by a fuzzy, warm yellow tinted light. It’s out of focus, but growing bigger, getting closer. A man. He comes into focus and everything about him counters the aura he portrays. His hair is long and black, matching the shade of his lipstick and color on his eyes. He has piercings decorating his lips and tattoos painting every inch of his skin. He crouches down beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder, and I can see his eyes now. They’re kind. A soft mossy brown that seems to luminate in the darkness shrouding me.
“Shh, it’s ok now. I’ve got you,” he whispers as his hand trails along my arm. His touch leaves a soothing warmth that spreads throughout me. It drips into me and I close my eyes. It fills the emptiness where my heart and bones should have been, supporting me. I feel him gather me in his arms, lifting me into a sitting position. In his embrace, the fog starts to dissipate leaving only the glow of his candle like warmth. I open my eyes and look up at him.
“Are you Satan?”
He chuckles. “No, I’m not Satan.”
I take in his appearance with an even more bewildered expression. “Are you God?”
“No, no, I’m not God either.”
“So, who…?”
He takes a breath, sitting down in a cross legged position in front of me. “Think of me like an olive bough. Your olive bough, a sign that there’s hope after your previous life.”
Fear spreads suddenly throughout me. “So I’m dead?”
The man gives a sympathetic nod that makes my chest heave. I suppose I had known, but the confirmation sealed my suspicions. I knot my fingers in my hair, shaking. “No, no, no I was so close. I was so close. I-” I sob as a tear blooms in my eye, sliding down my cheek like rain. Through my tears the man seems to flicker like an aurora. He watches me with sad eyes before reaching out to brush away the tears with a feather light touch.
“I know,” is all he says. It’s simple, just two words. And yet, there is so much unsaid that eases my mind. I sniff wetly and exhale through my mouth. He brings me back into his embrace, holding me to him. The black sweater that adorns his body is comfortable against my cheek and I cling to it, inhaling staccato breaths followed by long exhales. Somehow, I feel at peace here with this strange man, my Olive Bough. I cling to him like a leaf clinging to a branch in a storm, afraid that if I let go the fog will come back to consume me.
“Is there any way you can send me back?” I sob.
“Would you want to go back?” I think back to the musty trailer housing my drunken father. To dreading the walk home from work everyday, trembling in my bed as I hear my father stumbling around, and to never quite having enough money to sustain myself.
I shake my head against his chest, crumpling in defeat. He tightens his grip around me, his cheek pressing against the top of my head. More of his warmth seeps through the crown of my head and into my mind creating a pleasant fuzzy sensation. The tears that haven’t already been absorbed into his sweater start to dry. I hiccup softly and bring a hand to dab at my puffy eyes and he pulls away slightly to look at me.
“Why don’t you tell me a happy memory you have?” He suggests as he tucks away a wet, stray piece of hair stuck to my cheek.
“I don’t really have that many,” I sniff.
“There’s got to be something. It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate, just something simple that makes you happy.” I look down at his tattooed hands, thinking hard. I sniff and chuckle under my breath before answering.
“One time when I was a kid, before everything went to shit, we visited the Oregon coast. I couldn’t have been older than six, so I only remember bits of it. We rented a trailer and stayed right on the beach. I mean, it wasn’t much of a tourist type beach. There wasn’t any sand, just rocks, and it was really cold. But it was nice. It was really quiet and I was able to run right up to the shoreline to chase the seagulls and throw rocks into the waves,” I smile and laugh at the memory, another tear slipping down my face. He laughs softly, offering his kind smile as he listens. “We went and saw the cliffs too. It was really green and there were some jellyfish that washed up on the rocks. I’d never seen a jellyfish before then, it was really cool.” My words settle and we sit in momentary silence before I ask the dreadful question.
“So, do I get to go to heaven?” I’m scared of the answer, gripping the hem of my shirt without looking at him. He takes a breath and pulls away a little more, holding me at arms length.
“I’m sorry, but… it doesn’t really work like that.” I look at him warily, my eyes filling with dread and he hurries to explain. “It’s not the kind of heaven you’re thinking of is what I mean. It’s not really a place. It’s more of… a feeling.”
“I don’t understand,” I shake my head, trying to comprehend what he means. The man thinks for a moment before answering.
“You know when you’re watching a sunrise and that first warm beam of light hits your face? Or when you finally drift off to sleep after crying for hours? It feels like that.”
I think of those moments, trying to imagine it. “Does it feel like you holding me like you were?”
He chuckles, rubbing my arm. “Yeah, I suppose it could feel like that too,” he says softly.
“I don’t really have any family or friends, who will I see there?” His expression turns solemn and compassionate again.
“You won’t see anyone. You won’t see anything really. Essentially, you melt into a feeling.” My eyebrows furrow and my chest flutters with anxiety.
“Well, will I ever see you again? No one’s ever been this gentle with me,” my eyes start to waver and I blink quickly to dissipate the tears. “I don’t want to be alone again, I really like being here with you. It feels so nice, I’ve never felt that before I-” he shushes me gently, taking both of my hands in his.
“I’ve always been with you and I’ll always be with you. I’m the only thing that’s ever been certain in your life, the only thing you could ever hope for that will, without a doubt, come true. I’ve been there all those times your father has wandered home drunk and every time you’ve held a blade right on the verge of giving up. I’ve been there, waiting to catch you. Every time. I’ve been waiting to hold you like this and let you know that everything is ok. That I’ve got you.” He smooths his thumb in circles over the back of my hand, gazing at me with more empathy and kindness than I could muster in a lifetime. “It’s going to be ok, I promise,” he whispers, barely audible. I nod, blowing out a breath.
“Do you have a name?” I ask. I want to have a name I can think of that will conjure up his image in my mind. A tangible word to pin his being to.
“Not exactly.”
“Can I give you one?”
“You might get too attached to me if you give me a name.”
“I already am, besides you said you’d always be with me.” His mouth twitches up.
“Then if you’d really like to, go ahead.” I think for a bit, analyzing him.
“You look like a Chris.” His smile widens and he lets out a breathy laugh.
“Chris it is then. I like it,” he says, squeezing my hands and falling silent for a moment. “Are you ready?” he asks gingerly. I shake my head, holding tighter to his hands. “I know.” He pulls me back into his embrace. I cling to him again as I bury my face into his neck and try to memorize the feel of him holding me.
“I don’t wanna leave,” my voice shakes. Chris keeps one arm tight around my back, trailing the other up to tenderly pet my hair.
“Don’t think of it as leaving, think of it as moving forward. Things will only get better, I promise,” he whispers into my ear. His affection seems to surround me, drawing me impossibly closer to him. The sunset of his aura absorbs my senses and everything else starts to fade away. I don’t feel my limbs anymore, there’s no stiffness, no pain. I can’t see the fog anymore, only warmth. With no heartbeat to keep track of time, I sit in the feeling and drift away.
Tags: @abiomens @rumoured-whispers
#motionless in white#miw#miw band#chris motionless#chris motionless fanfiction#chris motionless x reader#miw fanfiction#chris cerulli#fanfiction
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makeup - for the single-word fic prompt!
Thank you so much for the prompt!!!!!!!!
Aki shouldn’t be here.
She should be off with the Scions, helping them with… Well, she doesn’t exactly know. But she should be there, at least as motivation, or whatever Minfilia said she needed her presence for last.
In the aftermath of the Crystal Tower, that’s honestly all she’s been able to do. Sit quietly at a table while people either look at her with pity or praise her for past deeds. Depends on how much they know, and who thinks they can get away with speaking to her when she’s so obviously not in the mood for chatting.
Aki’s pretty sure she had a meeting today, or needed to watch over some new recruits training, or something like that. But instead, she’s sitting on her aunt’s bed while they engage in some “girl time.”
“So, you’ll let me paint your nails, right? They’re so long!” It was technically a question, but Aki knew Cecelia meant it more as a statement.
“Oh, are my nails not fun to paint anymore?” Constianne teased as she leaned against the wall. “Suppose I’ll just paint them myself from now on.”
“Shush! Aki’s been gone for months!” Cecelia gave her sister a pointed glare. “Besides- I know that’s an empty threat.”
Constianne sticks her tongue out at Cecelia, and they continue their sisterly banter while Aki watches.
Its… Nice.
Aki is sure that both of them know that something’s wrong with her, but they certainly don’t show it. They know better than that. The two of them act like they always do, even if Aki doesn’t engage as much. They don’t give her knowing looks, they don’t ask about her time away from home. They let her set the tone, and they keep it the same until she switches things up again.
It’s nice, not to be treated like a stray kitten that people are afraid to scare off. Her aunts just treat her the same as they always do.
“Here, make a sign, won’t you?” Cecelia passes Aki a piece of paper and a marker. At the top, ‘No boys allowed!’ is written in big block letters. “So we can make our girls night official.”
Aki cracks a smile. “Like old times.”
“Duh!” Constianne pushes herself off the wall, taking a peek at the paper as Aki starts making silly drawings of Lucien and Florian.
After a few minutes, Aki hands the paper to Cecelia. “Write ‘Amil welcome’ at the bottom, please?”
Constianne raises her brows. “Amil?”
“He wouldn’t want to come in anyway,” Aki shrugs. “But if he did, I think some sparkly eyeshadow and bright lipstick would look quite nice, don’t you think?”
At that, her aunts laugh. Something about this makes the weight Aki’s been carrying for months ease.
“Your wish is my command!” Cecelia giggles as she writes it down. She walks to the door, opens it, and tapes the sign to the door.
“Alright, where do we start?”
The morning is quiet. Too quiet.
Lucien isn’t one to turn down any peace he can get in this house, typically. But with Aki home… The silence typically means Constianne has looped everyone she could into coming up with a prank to play on him. And as much as he wanted to cheer Aki up, he was NOT in the mood to have his clothes dyed an obnoxious shade of orange again.
He moves quietly, tip-toeing up the stairs. He’d like to catch them in the act, if possible. He opens the door to his room quietly and is shocked to see everything looks exactly how it should.
That must mean they’re planning something more like a glitter bomb- the most annoying of Constianne’s pranks.
He cursed under his breath and continues moving. When he reaches the door with the “No boys allowed- Amil welcome!’ sign, he presses his ear to the door.
He’s entirely shocked at what he hears. Instead of the usual chatter and sounds of chaos, he hears… Snoring? That can’t be. For all their faults, most of the family are morning people with a habit for causing chaos as soon as they rise.
He opens the door carefully to take a peek, and he’s even more shocked to see Cecelia, Constianne, Aki, and… Wait, is that Amil? Is he wearing bright green makeup?
He rubs his eyes. How in the seven hells did they talk the cryptid in the family to not only join them, but stay long enough to have neon green lipstick put on him?
Well- Lucien knows his duty, now. The others have to see this.
#v time bb#thank you so much for the inspiration for the first fuc i’ve written in months <3#fic. im too lazy to fix that lol#i’m quite rusty#so if you see errors… no you don’t.
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In the Painted Desert (Anetra x Sasha) - Athena2
Summary: Sasha rides into the town of Redemption seeking revenge in a shoot-out tournament. Anetra is also part of the tournament, and the two of them confront ugly truths together.
A/N: I had this idea a few months ago, but never attempted it. While having writer’s block on another fic, I started this and it somehow came together quickly. This is an au of the movie The Quick and the Dead. I did change some things, especially to make it a bit less dark. You also don’t need to know the movie to read this (I do recommend the movie, it’s really good, and also the main character’s wardrobe is amazing). Thank you so, so much to Writ for beta-ing this and encouraging me along the way, you’re incredible. Also thank you Mar for letting me talk about this with you and for gushing over Sasha in cowgirl outfits with me. I really hope you like this, and please comment if you like!!
Dust kicks up under Biscuit’s hooves as he carries Sasha through the Nevada desert. It’s settled on her long black coat, caked under her nails since her last wash just this morning. Everything is brown earth and steel-gray sky for miles, only an occasional cloud to break it up. Dry and desolate and desperate. Feelings she knows too well. It’s another world, and it’s proof of how far she’s come.
The town of Redemption rises out of nowhere, almost a mirage among the dirt. If she can even call it a town. One main street, a tall clock tower with strips of wood hanging from its frame, a chapel, fifteen shops and houses on each side of the street. And at the end of the street, a looming mansion, watching over everything.
The reason she came here.
The mansion is the reason she came, but she can’t just march in through its ornate door that costs more than the town’s houses. She has to be patient, wait for the right moment. She’s waited for 25 years. A few more days can’t hurt.
—-
Sasha’s throat burns from a day’s ride with just her canteen, and she ties her horse to a post outside the saloon. She washes up at the water pump, sighing in relief at the cool water. She gives her horse some, and he drinks greedily. She dabs some on the back of her neck, refills her canteen, adjusts her hat, and enters the saloon.
The scuffed doors swing open to announce Sasha’s arrival. The saloon is no different from others she’s visited: dark wood floors covered in scratches, wobbly chairs and rickety tables, gruff patrons playing cards yellowed with stains from years of beer. Whispers follow her, but that’s no different either.
“What’s a lady like that doing here?”
“That ain’t no lady,” another voice hisses.
“She’s beautiful,” a meek voice whispers, barely audible. Sasha’s eyes fly to the woman who she suspects said it, and the woman flushes and looks away, so she probably did.
Sasha strides past the voices to the bar, the gun at her hip grounding her. “A beer, please. And a room.”
“Forty cents.”
She slides over the money, and the bartender passes her a glass of amber beer and a rusty key. “First door on the left,” he says, motioning to the stairs.
Sasha retreats to a table in the corner, watching everyone’s eyes finally leave her and go back to their cards. She sips her drink and massages the cramps from her legs, sore and burning from days of riding. She waits, until the doors swing open, and John Herod enters.
She hasn’t forgotten his face in 25 years.
The saloon immediately quiets, every head turning to look at him in anticipation. He carries a chalkboard, which he sets up by the bar.
“It’s time to officially open the dueling tournament. Rules are as follows,” Herod continues over the crowd’s murmuring, “Anyone can enter. Anyone can challenge anyone, but challenges can only be made the day of the duel. Sixteen participants allowed. The duel ends when someone yields or dies. Winner gets five hundred dollars. My name is first, so who’s next?”
She knew he would enter. It’s an annoying way to get revenge, but it doesn’t matter how she gets it. Sasha sits back, still waiting, as men rush to enter, as other patrons insult their shooting skills. The woman who noticed Sasha earlier quietly gets her name put down. Anetra. Sasha notices her all the more now, because no other women are entering.
When the board is nearly full, Sasha stands. “Put my name down.”
“No ladies allowed!” One of the men yells.
“Twenty minutes ago you didn’t want to call me a lady at all,” Sasha says, crossing her arms. “Now I can’t enter your tournament because I am one? Which is it?”
“If I’m allowed to enter, she should be too,” Anetra says, that meek voice from before stronger now. Her dark eyes carry a hint of mischief as she shoots Sasha a small grin. “You said anyone can enter. We have to be fair.”
Herod stares at her, eyes narrowed. There’s no way he could recognize her, Sasha tells herself.
He finally sighs. “Fine. What’s the name?”
“Sasha.”
He scribbles it down and goes back to the rest of the crowd. Sasha takes a deep breath and decides to head to bed. She’s not in the mood to listen to drunken chatter all night, but she allows herself a stop at Anetra’s table.
“Thanks,” Sasha says, “for standing up for me.”
Anetra looks at her in awe, softening the scar running through her eyebrow. “Of course.” She grins, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’ll be the first to tell you my father’s an asshole.”
“Your father?” Sasha chokes out, staggering back. She can’t see any of Herod in Anetra’s face. His sharp cheeks don’t compare to her soft, rosy ones; his cold blue eyes pale in comparison to her warm brown ones. There’s not a single trace of him.
“Unfortunately,” Anetra whispers.
Anetra obviously doesn’t like her father, but Sasha can’t do this. She mumbles something about being tired and runs upstairs, collapsing onto the thin bed.
Anetra might hate Herod, but it’s nothing compared to the hate Sasha has for him.
Because Herod killed her father.
—-
Tiny beams of sun fight their way through the cracked window shutters. Sasha sleeps through them as long as possible, and the sun is high in the blue-gray sky when she finally wakes. She combs through her dark tangles in the bathroom’s dusty mirror. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes—which has been normal for this journey—and with her gun still at her hip, which has been normal for 25 years.
She braids her hair, changes into a clean white shirt, and goes downstairs for breakfast. The fights begin at ten, and the saloon is packed. Sasha picks at eggs and bacon in the corner, telling herself she’s not looking for Anetra. She does look at the chalkboard, though, and nearly chokes. Her duel is first, against someone named Gus. Apparently she wasn’t allowed to pick her challenger, and they gave her the first round to throw her off.
It won’t work.
Sasha’s gun is an extension of her hand, the trigger like one of her fingers. Just before ten, she and the mass of people head outside. The townspeople line the street, while Herod presides over them, instructing Gus and Sasha to take their ten paces.
Sasha takes her spot, boot heels digging into the dirt. She pulls her coat back and sticks her right leg forward, hand hovering over her gun in its holster. Silence falls in the seconds before the clock’s chime. She hears the clink of coins someone’s betting, hears the scrape of the dirt when someone moves. And then—
The clock chimes, and Sasha’s hand is around her gun before it stops. She aims and shoots in the same instant, getting Gus in the arm and sending him to his knees as the crowd screams. His hit toward her passes over her shoulder.
“Do you yield?” Sasha calls. She doesn’t want to fire again, doesn’t want to kill anyone she doesn’t have to.
“I yield.”
The crowd roars in surprise, and coins change hands. At least a few people bet on her; that’s something.
“Who’s the next fight?” Someone asks.
“Frank and Anetra.”
“Anetra’s not even here!”
Herod sighs. “Someone go get her, that good-for-nothing is probably still asleep in that stupid barn.”
Sasha’s feet head towards the barn behind the mansion, out of her control. She doesn’t know why she’s going, why she cares, but there’s something about Anetra. Something about her dark eyes.
Half of the barn is devoted to three horse stalls, while the other half is enclosed. Sasha knocks on the door.
“Come in.”
The door creaks open into a tiny room, with dressers on one wall and a bed against the other. Anetra’s in bed, also still in her clothes from last night, black shirt showing off a butterfly tattoo on her chest. She’s not asleep, but she’s curled on her side and staring at the wall with eyes so lifeless they barely qualify as awake either. They carry none of the fire and mischief they did last night, and Sasha misses it.
“Drink too much last night?” Sasha tries to joke, but those shadows under Anetra’s eyes—shadows of a sleepless night, not a hangover, Sasha knows the difference—make it hard.
“This happens sometimes,” Anetra says, like she’s used to it. “I feel too…heavy when I wake up. Doesn’t make sense. It’s easier to let my father think I’m sleeping. I always get up eventually.”
Sasha nods. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but she does understand; she knows the weight that settles in her chest, knows how hard it is to pretend it’s not there. “Your fight’s next, you know?”
“Fuck.” Anetra pinches the bridge of her nose. She groans and sits herself up, movements slow and heavy like she’s raising a building.
“Have you eaten?” Sasha asks.
“No.”
Sasha digs in her bag and passes Anetra her canteen and an apple. Anetra’s collarbones are too sharp, Sasha notices with a twinge of worry.
“Why are you helping me?” Anetra asks around munches of apple. A little life returns to her eyes as she eats, though her body still sags.
“I should ask myself the same thing.” Sasha smiles wryly. And she could ask. She hasn’t had it in her to help anyone in a long while, and there are people she’d pick before her enemy’s daughter. But God, Anetra’s eyes are pleading for help. “I don’t know. You seem like a good shot. It’d be a shame for you to lose your first duel to a forfeit.”
“Did you fight already?”
“Yes.”
“Did you win?”
“Yes.”
“I knew you would,” Anetra grins, and though Sasha might hate her father, she doesn’t think she can hate Anetra.
—-
The gun is warm in Anetra’s hand, and she feels like herself for the first time today. There’s a moment, when the silver handle with its etched flower designs settles into her palm, that the world disappears. All the weight in her chest lifts, and all the thoughts in her head disappear. For one small moment, she can breathe, feel the air around her. She often finds herself chasing the peace of that one moment.
She slips her finger through the trigger and spins it around a few times, loosening up her hand—and maybe wanting to impress Sasha a little—before sliding the gun back into its holster. She adjusts her stance and looks down the street at her opponent. Frank is the town barber; his hands are steady, but not as fast as hers.
She nods as the clock hand twitches towards the 12. Years ago, Anetra discovered that the clock makes a ticking noise a split-second before the chime sounds. She can only hear it if she focuses as hard as she can, and shooting always brings out her focus. She stands still, ears alert, until that tick hits the air. Then she draws and fires, swiping Frank’s leg, because she doesn’t want to damage his arms or hands.
“Do you yield?” She asks.
Frank rises to one knee, takes in her gun, and nods.
The crowd cheers and argues over their bets, and the moment of peace is gone. She doesn’t enjoy the parts after, doesn’t enjoy the blood or destruction. But sometimes she can take a little destruction for that tiny moment of peace.
“I was right.” A voice is suddenly at her side, sweet and rich like the rare honey her father sometimes gets from the nearest city.
Anetra turns to see Sasha, and her heart leaps. A few strands have escaped her braid and frame her soft cheeks, and her light green eyes are as entrancing as the marbles Anetra used to play with. She watched them spin for hours, trying to see how long she could make them go.
“About what?” Anetra asks.
“You are a good shot,” Sasha says, and Anetra flushes at the praise no one’s ever given her.
“Thank you.”
Sasha nods, and heads toward the saloon.
“Wait.”
She turns back, eyes curious. “What is it?”
Anetra leans in. “For your next fight. The clock makes a tick noise before the chime. If you listen closely, you can hear it.” Sasha’s face gives away nothing. “I’m not trying to trick you. Think of it as a thank you for this morning.” It’s the only thank you she can think of for Sasha’s help. Help that’s never really been offered.
Sasha’s face still gives away nothing, but her hands loosen. She has nice hands, slim and fast, callused from a life of shooting yet still clean. “Thanks, kid,” she says.
Anetra tips her cowboy hat. “Of course.”
—-
The first round of duels continues all day, a mess of cheers and gunshots, and starts again early the next morning. After the morning’s second one, Anetra doesn’t think she can watch anymore, can’t take the noise. Besides, her father’s duel is next, and she doesn’t want him to catch her disappointment after he inevitably wins.
Sasha is tucked into the corner of the saloon again. It’s deserted inside, with everyone watching the duels, but she’s still drawn in tight, reminding Anetra of a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike if someone threatens her.
Only fools play with rattlesnakes, but then again, Anetra’s father always tells her what a fool she is.
“Hey.” Anetra approaches slowly. “If you want to get away from everything, I have a place I can show you.”
“I can’t,” Sasha says, though she looks like she wants to.
“Oh. That’s fine.” Anetra tries not to seem disappointed. What did she expect? Sasha’s just here to compete in the tournament and leave. She’s good with her gun, with enough mystery around her that Anetra imagines her living some life of adventure, going from town to town and winning duels. Anetra’s life is in the dust of Redemption. It’s not like she could offer anything to Sasha.
Anetra tips her hat and walks away, just in time to see her father raise his arm in victory.
There’s a frustrated sigh behind her, and Sasha is standing up, face as pale as a sack of flour, hat clenched in her fists. Anetra is wondering if she should help when Sasha darts up the stairs, her uneven steps creaking over the wood.
Anetra steps back outside, where her father’s opponent is on the ground, unmoving.
Her father always shoots to kill.
—-
Sasha collapses on the bed and turns her hat over in her shaking hands. Each breath burns, like her ribs are being squeezed between steel plates.
This isn’t going how she planned it.
In a perfect world, she would have rode into town, thrown open the mansion door, and delivered revenge in one sweet kiss of a bullet. But that would have carried questions and consequences, jail at the best and death at the worst.
The tournament was a way in, an excuse for putting a bullet between Herod’s eyes without anyone thinking twice. But the tournament rules are making it hard to get to him, and the waiting is making Sasha’s rage harder to contain. Her anger is a living, pulsing thing, and each minute of waiting, when he’s in reach, is straining at her skin, threatening to tear her apart.
And she hadn’t thought that seeing Herod, gun in hand, would stab her in the heart all over again. She hadn’t thought it would make her twelve again, trembling and crying and knowing she wasn’t supposed to do either of those things, she was supposed to be strong—
She gives up on the hat and holds her gun instead. It never fails to calm her. It’s her father’s gun, and she can settle her fingers over the handle and pretend she’s touching his hand, a ghost clinging to the metal. Weapon and comfort, past and present. A reminder of him, and what she lost. A reminder of what she’s been searching for since, a reason for existence hanging at her hip.
The air comes in easier as she squeezes the gun. Tomorrow morning, she’ll challenge him. By tomorrow night, this can all be over, and the thought thrills her as much as it terrifies her.
—–
Sasha doesn’t sleep that night, because every time she closes her eyes, it’s 25 years ago. She watches the moon instead, and runs downstairs as soon as the sun takes its place.
Herod is having a shot at the bar, and for a second, her hand twitches toward her gun. She could end it now. No tournament, ro rules, no waiting. Just a second and her father is avenged. But one last time, she’ll play by his rules.
“I challenge you,” she says, pointing at him like she’s marking out the target for later.
He doesn’t flinch. “Well, you already have a challenge waiting, I’m afraid.”
“What do you—”
“You’re mine,” a deep voice cuts her off. It’s one of the men from the saloon, with tattoos up both arms. He licks his lips. “No lady is beating me.”
Sasha’s hands clench into fists.
“It’d be cowardly to deny his challenge,” Herod says.
“Fine.” She stews in the corner while Herod stays at the bar. She watches the bartender bring him a jar of that week’s earnings, and Herod takes a handful of coins and bills from the top. His tax, probably; stealing money from each business is why he has a mansion and they don’t. It’s just another piece of coal on the fire of her hatred.
The rage calms slightly when she heads outside and sees Anetra spinning her gun to warm up. She’s up first; one of the local men challenged her, and she accepted. She takes her position, and the man takes his. Sasha joins the crowd, standing in silence while they talk. She really watches Anetra this time: her stance is solid, maybe a hair too wide. Her hands are quick, especially when she twirls her gun.
In the heartbeats it takes for the clock to chime the hour, Sasha has time to worry about Anetra losing, and to find that she doesn’t want her to. Just like she didn’t really want to tell Anetra no when she invited her riding yesterday, but also didn’t know how to say yes.
Then the clock chimes, and Sasha knows she was foolish to worry.
Anetra’s fast, with good control over her aim. Maybe a little too much control, too much thinking. You couldn’t think too much about the bullet’s path or try to control it in a duel. You had to just release it and trust that your instinct was right.
Anetra’s opponent yields after she shoots him twice, but his shot swipes her left arm. The tear in her black sleeve reveals muscular, tan skin, slashed by an oozing cut.
“You’re good. I’d hate to go against you,” Sasha says to her.
“Thank you.” Anetra blushes as red as she did last time.
Sasha motions to the blood trickling down her arm. “You should get that looked at,” she says, unsure where the concern is coming from. Why does it matter to her if Anetra bleeds all over the place?
“It’s just a graze.” Stoic and stubborn. Maybe she cares because Anetra reminds her of herself.
“Just trust me. Is there a doctor here?”
“Yeah, Loosey. I’ll go.” Anetra nods to Sasha before going over to a woman with blonde hair, who ushers her into a house.
Sasha shuts Anetra out after that. Her duel is next, and she needs to focus, since her opponent keeps yelling about how she’ll never beat him.
She takes her stance and prepares to prove him wrong. She remembers Anetra’s tip, and trains her ears to the clock’s gears. Now that she’s listening for it, high above the crowd, above the breeze, there’s a tick. Her hands darts toward her gun, firing at the man. It lands in his thigh but he won’t give up, running at her even though it’s against the rules. His bullets rain on her, and one tears the skin on her left arm. Sasha ignores it, just fires another shot that sends him down.
“I’d yield, if I were you,” she says calmly. “I still have four bullets.”
“Not yielding till I kill you, you bit—”
She fires a warning shot between his legs. “Yield.”
“I yield!” He howls, and the crowd cheers.
Sasha’s work is done. “Thanks for the tip about the clock, kid,” she says on the way by Anetra. She knows her a little, but Anetra is too much to say, somehow. Kid is easier, a little affectionate without the emotion of a first name. And Anetra blushes every time she uses it.
Anetra nods at her arm in concern. “You should have Loosey fix that.”
“I’ll bandage it myself. It’s just a graze.”
“I’ve heard that one before.” Anetra gives a shy grin as she nods to her own bandaged arm.
A smile cracks its way across Sasha’s face, and, against her better judgment, she agrees.
—-
Anetra’s father is fighting when Sasha returns. The duel reaches its inevitable conclusion, and Sasha is pale again, her shoulders moving frantically like she can’t get enough air.
“Everything all right?” Anetra asks.
Sasha nods. “Can we go to that place you mentioned? I need some air.”
Anetra doesn’t hesitate. They climb on their horses, and the town of Redemption disappears behind the dust they kick up. After fifteen minutes, they reach the clearing. It’s as close to a forest as you can have in the desert, with rows of cedar trees spread across the dirt. Sometimes birds fly overhead. Anetra’s been coming here since she could ride; she breathes in the desert stretching before her and lets herself believe there’s more than Redemption, more than her father’s harsh words or the Bible passages she has to hear every Sunday, more than the people who avoid her because they fear her father. It’s quiet here, and everything is easier. Breathing. Thinking. Being.
They settle at the base of a tree, and Anetra can’t stop marveling at how close Sasha is letting her get, a rattlesnake uncoiling. Hopefully it’s not a trick, but she doesn’t think Sasha would do that. She might be quiet, and there’s a cold fire in her eyes when she’s dueling, but Anetra doesn’t think she would harm anyone without cause. There’s kindness in her, even if it’s been damaged and buried like gold in dirt.
“Do you live around Redemption?” Anetra asks.
“Don’t really live anywhere.”
“Are you on the run? Do you go to places and win duels?”
“You ask a lot of questions, kid,” Sasha says, but she doesn’t seem mad; there’s a hint of a smile on her face, like she’s trying to remember how to do a full one. “I’m not some shootout hero, or anything. And I’m not on the run. But I am running, I guess.”
“Running from something, or to it?”
Sasha bites her lip. “Both, maybe.”
Another answer in as few words as she can manage. As efficient as winning duels with one bullet. But Anetra digs through her words, understands that she’s running from something in her past, and maybe trying to run to a new future, but is stuck somewhere in the middle.
Anetra nods. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running even though I’m not moving.”
Sasha sighs. She leans against the tree, knees still drawn to her chest. Anetra points out the desert flowers, a hawk that flies by, and her knees lower until they’re stretched out in front of her, just inches from Anetra’s.
Sasha may not be a big talker, but she listens, when no one really listens to Anetra, and soon she tells stories about the town. When she mentions the time a horse ran through the saloon, Sasha actually laughs, a low, rich laugh that seems to surprise her as much as it does Anetra.
A tumbleweed twists across the dirt. It barely makes a sound, doesn’t even kick up much dust. Anetra tries not to think of if they’re alike.
“Do you ever feel like that?” Anetra asks before she can stop herself.
“Like what?”
“Like you could just float away, and no one would notice you left, or remember you were ever there?”
Nothing lasts in the desert. Sun strips the color off wood, leaving nothing but faded white. Dirt devours the remnants of her bullets, the only thing she’s good at. Wind erases the footprints. Time passes through with the power of a sandstorm. Anetra can’t even remember her mother’s face anymore. If the town of Redemption disappeared, no one would notice, or remember. Just like no one would notice or remember her.
Sasha doesn’t answer. Maybe she’s sick of Anetra’s questions. She’d wanted to come here to get air and quiet, after all, and Anetra kept asking her things. They stay quiet until the sun begins to set, bathing the world in a deep orange, and they get on their horses in unison.
“Anetra?” It’s the first time Sasha’s said her name, and Anetra burns as fiery as the sun.
“Yes?”
“I would notice. I would remember,” she says, and it’s the answer to every question Anetra’s heart ever had.
—-
When Sasha gets back, a letter on her bed distracts her from the dizzying thoughts of Anetra, and how she makes Sasha lighter than she’s been in years. Thick paper, blood-red wax seal with the letter H. She tears it open.
Herod is inviting her to dinner, to celebrate her reaching the last four fighters.
It isn’t an invitation you refuse, not when Herod has two armed guards outside the mansion. Maybe it’ll be a chance to investigate, learn more about him in the hopes it exposes a weakness.
And Sasha would hate turning down a chance to wear her dress.
—-
She pulls on her dress like a suit of armor. Deep red, with a lacy corset and ruffled skirt. It was the first dress she ever bought, and even in the narrow mirror of the dress shop, it felt like she was truly looking at herself for the first time.
His guards pat her down before she enters. She holds herself rigid, squeezing her eyes shut at the memory of how his guards had grabbed her last time, hands digging into her arms as she yelled and kicked, but couldn’t escape.
The mansion’s dining room is just as opulent as the outside, with a tall fireplace and a long table bearing two gleaming white plates. A glass of wine sits at Sasha’s place, but she knows better than to drink it.
“Will Anetra be joining us?” Sasha asks, making the first move. She doesn’t know how to do fancy dinners, especially not with her enemy.
Herod shakes his head. “No, she prefers not to dine with me. I don’t mind. Less chance of her embarrassing me.”
“Your daughter’s a good shot.”
“Daughter.” It’s between a laugh and a scoff, filled with contempt, and Sasha waits. He’s a man who loves to talk, and if she waits, he’ll say more.
“You know, the year before her birth, my wife and I were sailing the Pacific. We met lots of men. Men who had a certain interest in my wife.” He sips his beer. “I don’t even think she’s mine. Makes her disappointments easier, I suppose.”
Sasha can only nod. She doesn’t think Anetra is his either—there’s simply too much good in her to have come from him. Sasha hopes that somewhere, at least, Anetra’s mother had been able to enjoy a moment with someone who cared for her.
Sasha pretends to take a sip of wine. “Is your wife still—”
“Oh, she passed from an illness. At least,” he adds, eyes glowing, “that’s what Anetra and everyone thinks. But the truth is I simply don’t hold for disloyalty.”
Sasha’s hand creeps down to her gun, hidden among the dress’s fluffy skirt. The bullets inside aren’t enough for Herod and what he’s done. He killed Sasha’s father, and casually admitted to killing his wife, because nothing will ever be done about it.
“Why are you here?” He asks suddenly. “I’ve never heard of you entering duels anywhere.”
Sasha forces her shoulders to unclench, taking a slow breath. “I was passing through another town and heard there’d be a tournament here, with big prize money. That’s all.”
“Right.” She can’t tell if he believes it or not. “You look…familiar. Your eyes do, anyway. They’re an unusual shade of green. I swear I’ve seen that shade before.”
She hides a shiver, and her hand shakes around the gun. He’s too close. He doesn’t have the truth, doesn’t have all her pieces yet, but he has enough to know they don’t fit. Enough to be suspicious. “Ex–excuse me. I’m sorry to leave so soon, but I–I’m not feeling well.”
She staggers out of the dining room, but he moves with her, hand clamping over the bandage on her arm. His cold eyes roam over her trembling body, a piece of meat he’s about to devour.
“Who are you?” He asks. His eyes look her over again, but he releases his grip and lets her go.
She shakes all the way to the saloon, then crawls into bed and curls into a ball. Her arm still burns with his handprint, a hand he’s been using to strangle her heart for 25 years. That grip will never leave unless she does what she came here for. If he won’t take her challenge tomorrow, she’ll just beat whoever she needs to, and take him in the championship duel. He isn’t escaping her. Never again. She falls asleep with the gun cradled to her chest.
—-
Anetra doesn’t sleep that night, the orange light of the sun filling her with energy. She spent the day with Sasha, and thoughts of her race around Anetra’s mind. Sasha had talked to her much more than she did to anyone else, as if she trusts her, knows they’re similar somehow. Anetra knows it’s stupid, but something about Sasha draws her in like a horse pulls a carriage. She wants to be around her, wants to do anything she can to get her beautiful face to soften and smile. Wants to feel that funny tingling in her stomach, somewhere between thinking she might be sick and the light-headed freedom she gets riding her horse. No one has ever made her feel that way except Sasha.
She heads to the saloon at first light. She needs to get there first to challenge Larry, because otherwise, she’ll be facing Sasha or her father. Larry is the only one she knows she can beat, but it’s more than just her tournament standing. If she loses now, then maybe she really is the failure her father says. But if she gets to the final, maybe it’ll be enough for her father to tell her she did good, for the others to stop avoiding her. It’s a stupid thing to want, a childish thing to want. But she can’t help it.
The saloon is bustling when she gets there, and her heart sinks.
Larry is at the bar, along with her father, and Sasha. Sasha. She’s in a loose white shirt and a cream vest embroidered with tiny blue flowers, like the red ones along the hem of her long black coat. Brown waves flow from her cowboy hat, and Anetra can’t look away.
“I challenge you.” Sasha tells Anetra’s father, eyes cold as steel.
“No, you don’t,” Anetra’s father says calmly. “I’m fighting Larry. You’ll be fighting Anetra. To the death. If you refuse, I’ll shoot you both myself.”
Anetra’s heart erupts in her chest. “But those aren’t the rules!”
“My tournament, my rules.” Her father looks at her with disgust. He’s faster than her, though she hates to admit it, and she doesn’t even see the hit coming until his palm collides with her cheek. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stagger, doesn’t react to the burning red pain. “Don’t disrespect me again.”
Anetra nods.
“Fuck your rules.” Sasha is raising her gun, pointing it at Anetra’s father. “I’ll kill you here myself.”
Her father’s face holds firm, but he motions for his guards, who enter the saloon and point their guns just inches from Sasha’s face. Sasha doesn’t even flinch.
“Would you give your life to kill me now?” He asks Sasha coldly. “All you have to do is kill Anetra today, and you can kill me in the finals. If you can, of course. You won’t have to die for it.”
Veins pop out in Sasha’s hand as she squeezes her gun. Lines cut through her clenched jaw, and beads of sweat drip down her forehead. She finally lowers her gun, and the guards lower theirs. Anetra’s breath erupts in a painful gasp as her father leaves.
“Sasha?”
Sasha stares right at Anetra, but Anetra doesn’t think she’s seeing her. Her eyes seem like they’re somewhere else, their usual sharpness now a dark room with a dim candle.
“Sasha?”
Anetra wants to touch her, but she’d never touch an animal if they were in this state, and though it’s not a fair comparison, it’s better to be safe.
“Sasha?”
She finally nods, though Anetra doesn’t think it was to her question. After a few seconds, Sasha’s eyes settle, like the light returned.
“I want to kill him,” Sasha rasps, “but I don’t want to die for it.” She takes off her hat and runs a shaking hand through her hair, and Anetra thinks part of her is still trapped in that place her eyes went to.
“Maybe we should forfeit,” Anetra says weakly. “I don’t want to kill you.” Sasha has shown her kindness no one ever has, and Anetra didn’t feel so alone around her. She can’t kill her.
“I don’t want to kill you either,” Sasha says, voice soft. “But he’ll kill us if we don’t.”
“What are we gonna do? I don’t want to kill you. I don’t even think I could. But I don’t…I don’t…” I don’t want to die, she can’t say around the lump in her throat. But what’s the use in telling Sasha? She doesn’t want to die either, and the only way to live is killing Anetra. Sasha could just walk away, and put her bullet in Anetra tonight.
But Sasha stays.
“Kid, I have an idea. It’s not great, but it’ll do.” Sasha’s eyes flicker toward the sheets of steel behind the bar, ones the owner uses to cover windows in a storm. “How good is your aim?”
—-
The minute hand creeps so slowly the clock might be broken. Sweat tickles Anetra’s neck as she watches, eyes on the clock so she doesn’t have to see Sasha down the street.
If Anetra misses…
No, she won’t miss. She spent the morning practicing with Sasha, adjusting her stance and learning to trust her aim. She has to do this.
Sasha looks so small, so far away. Anetra’s fingers hover over her holster. The clock hand inches forward, and Anetra hears that tick first, her hand reaching her holster as the chime starts. She draws her gun, its warmth like an old friend in her palm, aims, and fires. Sasha’s shot whizzes by her shoulder—God, she’s fast—nearly a second before Anetra’s shot strikes.
Anetra watches the rest unfold numbly, like it’s happening in a dream and she’s powerless to move or stop it. Sometimes she feels that way even when she’s awake. Her bullet slamming into Sasha’s chest. Sasha collapsing to the ground, blood pouring between her fingers as she holds her chest. Loosey standing over Sasha and pronouncing her dead, then carrying her away while the crowd murmurs. Her father’s hand on her shoulder, saying he didn’t think she had it in her, and realizing that she never wants to do anything that will get his approval again.
After the crowd has dispersed, Anetra slips away and knocks at Loosey’s back door. She opens it and ushers Anetra in quickly.
Sasha lays on a cot in Loosey’s back room. Her shirt is stained with the red paint she’d used for blood, but the deep shades of purple on her chest, and her tiny winces, aren’t fake. The thin piece of steel Sasha hid under her shirt might have stopped the bullet from killing her, but it didn’t completely protect her like Anetra thought it would. She suspects Sasha left that out on purpose. Sasha tries to sit up when she sees Anetra, wincing again, but Loosey stops her and eases her back down.
“Are you hurt? Is she hurt?” Anetra frantically looks from Sasha to Loosey.
Loosey shakes her head, spreading the paste she uses for pain over Sasha’s chest, and Anetra looks at Sasha’s freckles instead of her bruises. “Bullet didn’t break the skin or any bones, but she’ll be sore as hell for a while.”
“I’m fine. I just hope this paint comes out of my shirt,” Sasha says, with a wry smile that finally makes Anetra believe she’s okay.
“Oh, I’ll get it out,” Loosey sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Faking deaths. Fixing bruises. Cleaning clothes. God, I don’t get paid enough for this.” She finishes with the paste and wordlessly passes it to Anetra, motioning to her cheek. The faint red print her father left there doesn’t sting anymore, and Anetra sets the jar by Sasha’s cot.
“Can I stay with her tonight?” Anetra asks Loosey.
Sasha had planned to stay here tonight, so there would be no chance of anyone seeing her. Anetra stayed here once, when Loosey stitched the cut on her eyebrow, making no mention when she wiped tears as well as blood from Anetra’s eyes, no mention when the glass she pulled from the cut matched the beer bottles her father drank. Loosey gave her a lot of whiskey for the pain, and all Anetra remembers after that is watching shadows dance along the ceiling, everything fragmented and scary with only one eye to see from. Even now, the room is still creepy; its only window is blocked by a gnarled old oak tree with branches that click on the glass. Besides, isn’t it better if she stays nearby for Sasha? She could get thirsty, or the pain could get worse, and she’d need someone. And going home means she might run into her father.
Loosey sighs yet again. “You can stay on the other cot, just don’t let anyone see you. Try and get that one”—she nods towards Sasha—“to take it easy, if that’s even possible. And don’t keep me up all night if you talk!” She retreats to her own room, mumbling, ���I really don’t get paid enough for this.”
Anetra drags the cot closer to Sasha and settles on top of it.
“You don’t have to stay here.”
“I want to,” Anetra says firmly. Sasha’s used to being alone, but Anetra is too. She knows how the loneliness becomes familiar, all you’ve ever known. How pushing people away becomes second nature.
“Did it work?” Sasha asks.
“It worked. Everyone thinks you’re dead. The final match is tomorrow. Me versus my father.” Saying it out loud makes it real. It’s not just her name beneath his on the chalkboard. It’s his gun staring her down as coldly as his eyes do, and Anetra shivers. “He—he’s gonna kill me, Sasha.”
“Hey, he won’t, remember? That’s the plan. I won’t let him hurt you.” Sasha’s voice is soothing, but Anetra is still shaking.
“I think he planned it.” Anetra doesn’t realize how much she believes it until it’s out loud. “I think he organized the tournament so I’d face weaker opponents, and put us against each other so you would kill me. And if you didn’t, he would. Then he doesn’t have me ruining his name anymore.”
“I—”
“Do you think I’m right?” Anetra asks shakily. She doesn’t know what answer she wants. If she wants Sasha to disagree, say that her father is cruel, but couldn’t do something this horrible. Or if she wants her to agree, to see that her father is as horrible as Anetra thinks.
“Given what I know about your father, I’d believe it,” Sasha says cautiously.
Anetra nods. She doesn’t know if she would’ve preferred the other answer.
“But tomorrow it’ll be done. I’ll surprise your father in the duel, and take him out.”
Anetra nods again. She should feel something about planning her father’s death, but there’s nothing. Just a grim determination where her heart should be. Maybe she should kill her father herself, but she’s grateful Sasha is doing it for her. Grateful to have the gun in someone else’s hand, for once. Sasha doesn’t seem bothered by the planning, but she does feel something about Anetra’s father. Anetra remembers the rage in Sasha’s eyes, a fire that could burn down the desert as she challenged him. A fire of pure, personal hatred. But why does she hate him so much, when she doesn’t even know him?
“Sasha,” Anetra begins, “why is this the plan? I’m grateful you’re willing to fight my father, but you’ve wanted to fight him this whole time, haven’t you? Why?”
The light in Sasha’s eyes dims. “I…I can’t talk about it.”
“Sasha—”
“I can’t.” She sighs. “I’m gonna sleep. I’m really tired.”
Despite the dark shadow under Sasha’s eyes, Anetra knows it’s a lie; Sasha wouldn’t admit to pain or exhaustion even if she was passing out from them.
But if she doesn’t want to talk, if her shield is in place, there’s nothing Anetra can do except grab the blanket Loosey keeps in the cupboard and lay it over Sasha.
—-
The sun burns.
It speaks to a bright day, a happy one. Not the one happening in front of Sasha like a nightmare, while she cries and tries to pull herself from the grasps of four men.
The man named John Herod and his men had tore into town like a tornado, announcing that he had purchased the land and rounding up anyone who disagreed. Sasha’s father fought him, his marshal’s badge gleaming in the sun. Herod overpowered him, made him stand in the dirt with his badge raised.
Sasha doesn’t know what’s going to happen.
Herod strides over to his men. He nods, and Sasha is released, only for Herod to stand her ten paces from her father. He puts a gun in her hand. It’s too big, too heavy, and her arm sags under its weight.
“I’ll tell you what,” Herod says cheerfully. “If you can shoot the badge, your father lives. You have my honor. Three shots.” He’s already laughing, he’s expecting her to fail; she’s scrawny, small for her age, the victim of teasing from the other kids in town.
She hefts the gun and tries to aim the way her father taught her. She doesn’t want to look at him, and maybe it’s good she’s crying, because the tears conceal how small he seems, how far away. Like she’ll never reach him again.
“It’s all right, kid,” he tells her. Not even the nickname—the only one of his that she liked, that didn’t make her feel wrong somehow—is enough to calm her.
She takes the first shaky shot, and misses by a mile. The second is no closer. She aims the third—
“Sasha!”
Sasha shoots upward with the speed of a bullet. She gasps for air, ignoring the burning pain in her chest. She blinks until her father fades and is replaced with the tiny room around her, the worried face in front of her.
Anetra.
“You were having a nightmare,” Anetra says.
Sasha can only nod and wipe the sweat from her neck, willing her heart to slow. She finally sighs and leans back.
“Sasha, whatever you’re hiding, please tell me. You can trust me.”
“I can’t.” How can she tell Anetra what her father’s done, why Sasha wants to kill him?
“Everyone always lies to me. I know my father thinks I’m not his. I know people whisper about how my mother died. Please don’t lie to me too, Sasha. Please,” Anetra says, hastily wiping a tear.
Anetra didn’t cry when she got shot, or when her father slapped her. The only time Sasha’s seen her cry is now, when she wants Sasha to trust her. When she wants to understand Sasha, help her any way she can. If Sasha lies to her, she’s just as bad as the others.
So for the first time, Sasha lets the truth out.
“I’m sorry. Sasha, I’m so sorry.” Anetra’s hand fidgets, like she wants to hold Sasha’s but is stopping herself. Sasha takes a breath and reaches over, lets Anetra take it. Her hands are rough but warm, and Sasha relaxes.
“It’s fine.” Sasha steels herself. “I’ve spent twenty-five years trying to find your father. He—he took my life. He took my life, and I need to end this. I missed those shots that could’ve saved my father. I won’t miss this one.”
“Those weren’t your fault.”
Sasha shrugs. Sure, Herod might have taken back his word and killed her father anyway. But the gun was in Sasha’s hand. The bullets of freedom and life wasted, and it was her fault.
“It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. I don’t know if you believe me, but maybe someday you will.” Anetra is so calm, so kind. A cool wave of water after days in the desert.
“You aren’t going to talk me out of it?”
“No.” Anetra bites her lip. “He’s never been my father. He’s killing this town. He raises the taxes he takes every month. Everyone’s afraid of him. He’ll destroy it all if you don’t. And if you don’t, I think you’ll destroy yourself.”
Anetra looks at her deeply, and Sasha knows she understands. She understands the long nights hugging a whiskey bottle, chasing oblivion in every bitter drop. She understands the days that didn’t feel like days at all, because they were spent staring at a ceiling. She understands the ache in your legs from running, even if you never went anywhere, but running just the same, because you had to keep moving, clinging to life with everything you had.
Sasha rises from the cot, holding her chest. “Let’s go.”
—-
Anetra looks too small as Sasha watches her get in place for the duel. Her leg is trembling, and it awakens things in Sasha she thought had long gone. A warmth in her chest, reaching into her stomach. A burning desire to keep Anetra safe from anyone who would harm her. A lightness tugging in her heart at all the questions Anetra asks, the stories she tells.
Sasha’s doing this for her, and her father, but she’s doing it for Anetra too. To loosen some of the grasp Herod has on her heart too.
Time is passing; Sasha fires her gun into the air, and the crowd screams. The noise only grows as she steps into the street.
“Herod,” she calls, “you owe me a duel!”
He staggers backward, hand shaking as he lowers his gun. “Wh—You’re dead!” He screams, pale as the moon. “You’re dead!”
Sasha shrugs. “If I was, it didn’t stick.”
She meets Anetra, squeezing her arm lightly and sending her into the safety of the crowd while her father is distracted. It’s just Sasha and Herod now, and her body is on fire.
“Who are you?” He demands.
“You know who I am.” Sasha throws her father’s badge. It lands in the dirt, and she watches Herod’s eyes light up as he realizes.
“But you’re not—you were—”
“Name’s Sasha Colby,” she says. “You stole my father from me. You stole my life from me. And now I’m taking yours.”
He’s quick, she’ll give him that, and is reaching for his gun. But she’s faster this time. The gun caresses her hand, a hug from her father as she fires. Her aim is strong and true, whistling right between Herod’s eyes and sending him crumbling to the dirt.
People are gasping, talking, running, but everything melts into the background, like Sasha is hearing it all underwater. She doesn’t even know she’s falling until the pain of her knees slamming into the dirt pierces through the fog, but only for a bit.
She did it.
25 years of waiting. 25 years of running after Herod. Running for a place her father wouldn’t haunt her.
Maybe someday those missed shots won’t hurt anymore. Maybe someday her heart will lose the weight of that day. She’ll be light, no anger or rage or shame to hold her down. But there’s also the enormity of those things fading, leaving behind a space she doesn’t know how to fill. Without those to weigh her down, what if she simply floats away? Finding Herod has been her purpose for over half her life. A reason to get out of bed and keep fighting.
She’ll have to find a new reason.
“Sasha, it’s okay.”
It’s Anetra’s voice, and the warmth around her is from Anetra’s arms. She can’t remember the last time anyone hugged her, and she leans into it.
“You did it. You’re okay.”
Anetra’s words fade, but their comfort stays, and Sasha just stays in the dirt and lets Anetra hold her.
—-
Light is fading, but Redemption is still celebrating. It was small at first, grins from people who always seemed carved out of stone. Now beer is flowing, a guitar is strumming, and people are dancing in the street, celebrating a life with room to breathe. A life without Herod.
Sasha smiles at the celebration as she prepares her horse. She could stay, but leaving is the best thing. She needs to make her own way, find what’s next now that the weight is starting to lift.
She’d left a letter for Anetra, saying that she needed to go. They’d gone to the barn after the duel, falling asleep as exhaustion took over. Sasha woke first and took her time writing the letter, telling Anetra how much she means to her. How she’s made her think things can be good again, someday. But Sasha doesn’t know where she’s going, what she’s doing—doesn’t know if she knows how to stop running—and she can’t guarantee safety for Anetra. Leaving her here—leaving the note—is the only way Sasha can keep her safe, and not hurt her more than she’s already been hurt.
Sasha’s checking her saddle one more time when hooves clomp down the street.
There’s Anetra, bags packed, leading her horse by the reins.
A warmth rushes over Sasha—relief. Maybe some part of her hadn’t wanted to leave. The part that delayed leaving as long as she could, checking and re-checking her saddle in the hopes that Anetra would wake when the bed got cold.
“Did you get the letter?”
“I did,” Anetra says, “and I don’t want it.”
“What—”
“I want to come with you. Please,” Anetra’s voice is so sweet, so sincere.
“I can’t give you anything,” Sasha says.
“I don’t want anything.”
“I can’t give you a normal life, I mean. This isn’t some story, you know? We don’t ride off and have perfect lives. I’m not a hero, I don’t know where I’m going, and I’ve been alone for a long time.” What she said in the letter is true—she can’t guarantee Anetra’s safety, can’t give her a perfect life.
“I’m not asking for some perfect life,” Anetra says. “I’m just offering my friendship.”
Friendship. Someone to ride with, talk to, share things with. Friendship with someone who’s been through this with her, who knows her. Maybe being alone together is better than being alone apart. Maybe they could fight the loneliness.
“There’s something about me…I don’t belong here.” Anetra sighs, eyes intense with the feeling of being wrong that Sasha remembers from childhood. “If you say no, that’s fine, and I’ll stay. But if you say yes, I’ll ride with you as long as you’ll have me.”
Herod might have been destroying the town, but he was destroying Anetra too. Hurting her on the inside and the outside. He might be gone now, but Sasha knows how strong memories can be, and this is no place for Anetra to stay.
“I’d like you to come with me,” Sasha says, flooding with warmth at how true it is. “I’d like that very much.”
Anetra smiles, and she tips her hat again—if Sasha had a dollar for every time Anetra did it, she could buy the damn town, she thinks fondly—before kneeling and kissing the back of Sasha’s hand. The warmth travels into her face, until she’s as warm as the sunset.
They mount their horses, and the sun glows as they ride off into it.
#rpdr fanfiction#anetra#sasha colby#anetra x sasha#s15#loosey laduca#western au#lesbian au#angst#hurt/comfort#athena2#tw violence#tw death#tw mild implied transphobia#concrit welcome
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The Demon Siblings, Chapter 1.
Next
Rating: T
Original Characters
Chapter 1 Trigger Warnings: Parental Abuse, not shown but implied.
Story as a whole loosely based on @yusuke-of-valla Demon Fam Au.
One night, Yuna went with her Mother Ivy for a business deal, and for better or worse, that night changed her life forever.
Chapter under cut
A Contract Gone Wrong
10 years ago, Yuna:
“Alright, we’re here!,” Mom announces making me wake up from my nap as she parks the car outside of a somewhat old looking church, “Yuna sweetie it’s time to get out!”
“Ah, coming mom!” I agree trying my best to wake myself up and stay awake, easier said than done given that it’s well past my bedtime.
“Okay, let’s get a move on, don’t want to keep my client waiting.” Mom states as she takes my hand and we walk inside the church. Apparently someone wants to commission Mom for a painting but they wanted to meet up here for some reason, and because it’s late and Mom couldn’t get a babysitter because everyone’s afraid to go outside with the Demon barrier being weaker so she’s taking me along.
Still, I have my sketchbook at least and once we’re inside the church it does look very nice so I can hopefully just draw while I wait for Mom to talk to her client. But….
“Mom, are we here early?” I ask a bit confused because I can’t see anyone else in here.
Mom smiles before answering. “Don’t worry about it sweetie, they just said they’d meet me outside, you just wait in here so no demons will try to get you, okay?”
“Okay but…. Are you sure this is a good idea being here this late?” I’m sure this is just nothing, but…. Something is giving me a very bad feeling about this.
Mom smile turns somewhat aggressive as she replies. “Normally no, but this is life changing money this client is promising, it will me fine, so just stay in here and don’t cause a scene, got it?”
“Got it.” I agree making Mom nod approvingly as she goes back outside, but I can’t shake my nerves so I go and sit by the door so I can hear if something goes wrong.
“-so once you sign here and here, we have a deal.” A male voice that I don’t recognise says outside the door, and I’m assuming it’s Mom’s client.
“Ah perfect, but can I give it one more read over first?” Mom asks and I guess the man agrees cause I barely hear the crinkling of paper being passed over, and after a minute of silence I hear the sound of pen hitting paper.
“The contract is now sealed,” the man states as (I think) Mom hands the paper back, “now then- wait, that’s not your name written there.”
“Contract never said it had to be my soul that I gave up.” Mom replies sounding smug- wait soul?!Is… is Mom bargaining with a demon?!
“What-?! Oh the hells it doesn’t, damn it your majesty I though I told you to take this to Seth first to make sure there’s no loopholes,” the demon replies with exasperation, “fine, I guess a deal is still a deal, but you do know the soul has to be nearby for me to take it right?”
“Oh I know, and she’s just inside there.” Mom answers-!! Inside…. I’m the only one in here…. Is she…. No, no way…. She wouldn’t, would she?
Creaking the door open a bit to not draw any attention, I see Mom with her back to the door looking at her nails like this is boring, along with the still exasperated Demon who’s a guy with black hair, blue eyes with slitted pupils, along with cat ears, claws and double tails (a Japanese Nekomata I think if I remember from my Demon studies correctly) and wearing a fancy suit. He also looks me in the eye after a moment but instead of any anger or ‘I am going to eat you’ he just looks at me with pity.
After that the Nekomata glares at Mom like he’s trying to burn her with an eye blast. “Oh you are a monster, fine then, if this is the type of parent you are then the kid will probably be better off in the Hells anyway.” With that the demon snaps his fingers-!!
“Fire!! Fire!!,” I yelp as I’m surrounded by flames which gets Mom’s attention, “Mom help me!! Please!”
“Now Yuna, you remember that you promised you’d do anything to make me happy,” Mom tells me with a smirk on her face, “well this will make me a lot happier, so just be nice for the demons, okay?”
“H H Huh…?,” I stammer not knowing what to say as Mom walks away, “w wait, Mom-!! AGH!!!!!”
Fire fire oh god!! It’s not hurting at least but why am I surrounded by it?! Thankfully it goes away after a minute…. But I suddenly have much bigger problems because now I’m in some kind of throne made of obsidian and gold?!
What…. What’s happening….?!” I manage to ask while struggling to breathe, I don’t know if it’s because of the stress, the air, both or something else but what is going on, and if this is a dream I want to wake up!
“Child, I know this is stressful but calm down.” the Nekomata demon tells me as he rubs my back a little, and while it helps me breathe it doesn’t help my stress.
“A Are you going to eat me….?,” I ask while pinching myself and hoping this a dream but unfortunately not, “all my t teachers day demons eat people….”
“Okay first of all that’s only the flesh demons, 95% of us don’t do that,” he assures me, “and secondly, my boss who your ‘mother’ was supposed to give her soul to but gave yours instead, she’s a big softie for kids so you’ll be alright, I promise.”
“O Okay…. But…..,” I struggle to get out as now I’m starting to cry, “why… why would Mom do this…? I I was good, I I did everything right and w when I messed up I fixed it…! W Why would Mom s send me away…!”
“Because some humans are worse than any demon down here,” the demon tells me while handing me a napkin to dry my eyes with, “some people are so selfish and power hungry they’ll hurt anyone, even innocents to do it. This isn’t your fault child, alright?”
“I I guess…” I… I’m still not entirely convinced. I have to of done something wrong for Mom to do this, when she gets mad it’s always my fault. But before I can think of anything I get distracted by two pillars of fire appearing in the room and a pair of people coming out of each.
The first one has a demon woman with blonde hair, red eyes, pirate clothes and has a golden tail and matching scales on her face, and she’s accompanied by a boy slightly older than me with somewhat dark skin and neat brown hair and eyes.
The second one meanwhile has a demon man with dirty blonde hair with blue eyes, fangs, red face markings, horns and a Japanese style outfit so I’m assuming he’s an Oni, and he’s with a girl also a bit older than me with braided pale brown hair and maroon eyes.
“Ah- what?!,” the boy yelps as the two demons look confused, “w what’s going on here?! Where am I?!”
“I’m assuming the Burning Hells,” the girl replies looking freaked out but probably the calmest out of the three of us, “which isn’t good but honestly I’m surprised my Father didn’t do this sooner.”
“Okay, we’ll unpack that later,” the Oni states as he pulls over the pirate and the Nekomata, “why the hell are there kids here, the ones we were negotiating with were adults.”
“Well, I don’t know about you two,” the Nekomata explains while pulling out a piece of paper and the two kids go over to me nervously, “but the boss forgot to send the contract for loophole checking so the one who I was sent to signed her daughters soul away instead, that shy blue haired girl over there.”
“!! H Hi….” I stammer still feeling very nervous about all of this.
“Wait, they can do that?,” The pirate asks as they pull out a piece of paper and read it, “oh fuck you’re right.”
“Glad to know incompetent law makers aren’t just an earth thing.” The girl quips shocking me and the boy and the three demons laugh.
“How are you so calm about this miss, our parents sold us to hell!” The boy yelps panicked.
“It’s Ayra, Ayra George, so don’t bother with the miss thing please. And my father never gave a damn about me, and he’s power hungry as hell,” the girl replies, “so I always kinda figured it would either be I get out of the house or he’d sell me off, either to a devil or an orphanage.”
“Um…. Since we’re introducing ourselves, I I’m Yuna….,” I awkwardly introduce because I should probably at least be on good terms with the kids I’m in this mess with, “a and I’m in the opposite boat, I was always being the best I could be, and I I thought my Mom cared about me but…. I want to say I guess she didn’t but I can’t shake the feeling I did something wrong….”
“Hey, what did we say about this, don’t blame yourself child, okay?” The Nekomata reminds me and I nod even if I’m still not entirely convinced.
“The cat guy is right,” the boy agrees, “and I might as well introduce myself as well. I’m Henry Oliver, and I…. Well, I noticed my Dad was becoming more distant lately but…. I didn’t think it was because of this, so I guess I’m in the middle of the ‘saw this coming’ spectrum? I’m sorry I just have no idea what to do right now.”
“Don’t worry kid, I think we’re all confused right now, but we’ll work something out” the Dragon assures him with a toothy grin and I see she has very sharp teeth, “oh, I’m Ryoko by the way! And those two are Akio and Mahiro respectively.”
“Greetings.” The Nekomata, Mahiro, states politely with a small bow meanwhile the Oni, Akio, awkwardly waves, I suppose he’s a bit shy.
Before anyone else can say anything else though, the door to the throne room swings open (and me and Henry hold onto each other in panic) and in comes two people.
The first is a teenager girl with messy black hair with red tips, along with blood red eyes with black sclera, pointy ears, horns and a tail as well as a pink red and black gothic styled dress.
The second is a woman who looks very similar to the girl, but is easily the tallest person in the room, and is wearing a red, gold and black dress, pure black hair that’s long and messy, one eye covered with a gold wrap and the exposed one is bright red with black sclera, and even longer tail and horns.
“Alright, I have arrived, where are those new souls-?!,” the woman declares before spotting me Henry and a surprisingly calm Ayra and looks frustrated, “guys, why the hell are there three eight year olds here?”
“A Actually I’m seven….” I mumble hoping what Mahiro said about the boss being a sucker for kids is true.
“As for what happened boss,” Mahiro explains while handing the woman 3 pieces of paper, “there was a loophole in the contact and the signers sold their children’s souls instead of their own. This is why I told you to have Seth double check the contracts first.”
“Ugh, jackasses, and I’ll remember next time,” she groans before turning back to us, “and kids, I’m gonna explain what’s going on here. First of all, welcome to the Burning Hells, wish the circumstances were better but oh well. And before you ask no I’m not gonna take your souls or do anything to you, you’re kids and your parents swindled all of us so don’t worry about that.”
“Oh, um, thank you madam.” Henry states awkwardly.
“Just call me Aravni,” she tells us all with a smile, “now, normally I’d send you all back no problem, however your parents just sold your souls away so like hell I’m sending you back to them, so, do you have any other relatives?”
“Not that I’m aware of/Nope/I was adopted and Mom is the only person from my adopted family that I know.” Henry, Ayra and myself answer making Aravni and the other Demons in the room look at each other in concern.
“Okay, that’s out,” Aravni states after a moment as well as a bit of face wrinkling, “how about plan B, kids, how would you like to stay here instead?”
“….. What?!” All three of us ask because, yeah, what?!
“Aww, don’t freak out kids,” the teenager says cheerfully finally joining in-Agh she’s picking us up!, “things down here are great! Plus staying with Mom in particular means you get a nice house, good food, and most importantly, yours truly as a big sis.”
“Raquel calm down you’re scaring the kids!” Akio yelps as he runs over and helps us all down and is it just me or do I feel a bit dizzy.
“Aww come on Aki I was just being friendly.” Raquel replies with a toothy grin.
“Yeah well can your friendliness come with a warning next time please….” Ayra mumbles looking even more dizzy than me so we both just lean on each other while Henry just looks baffled.
“Ehe, yeah, those two are a bit much, especially together, but you get used to it.” Ryoko assures us with a wink.
“I believe we should confirm if they want to stay first before you say that Ryoko.” Mahiro chimes in making all the demons, even Aravni, pout.
“Well, I don’t know about you two,” Ayra states, “but it looks like our options are either here or an orphanage, and I’ve already been to the latter and I know it isn’t good, so unless just being down here will kill me then I guess I’ll stay.”
“Don’t worry, it’s totally safe for humans, it’s been a while but we’ve had some stay for decades before,” Aravni assures her as she and Raquel get excited, “now, what about you two?”
“Well…. If it isn’t any trouble then I suppose so?” Henry agrees albeit looking noticeably less sure then Ayra- wait why is everyone looking at me now- oh right.
“I…,” I say not knowing for sure but sighing as I realise no one will really miss me back on the surface, “I guess….”
“Alright, hi five kids!” Ryoko tells us and after the three of us look at each other awkwardly for a moment we all return it and I crack a smile despite myself. I don’t know what I did to make Mom send me here but, whether I deserved it or not, maybe I’ll avoid making those same mistakes here.
“That’s the spirit,” Aravni tells us all with a smile, “now, as much as I’d love to give you three the tour myself, me and Mahiro have to go talk to Seth, not only to get the loopholes out of these contracts, but also to make sure this get’s formalised. I’ll be back in like an hour though, promise!”
“Later Mom!,” Raquel says cheerfully as the two demons leave before smirking, “alright new siblings, we have an hour to screw around and find out until they’re done, how’s about a kitchen raid?!”
“Um, by raid, do we mean steal food or actually raid it?” Henry asks looking curious and like he’s not opposed to either option.
“We do the latter sometimes, but for now let’s stick to the former,” Akio explains with a small chuckle, “you kids need some cupcakes.”
“He’s right, and here’s your warning,” Raquel agrees before picking us up again-!!, “now let’s get going-!!”
“FIRE!!!!” Henry screams as he hides by pressing into me for dear life because Raquel has fire coming out of her back!
“Huh, oh, these are just my wings,” she explains like this is normal, “all Noble Demons get fire wings, but unless I actively want to hurt someone with them they don’t burn, promise.”
“Beautiful…” I blurt out cause now that the panics over and I’m getting a better look at the pink, yellow and red flames they do look lovely.
“And awesome.” Ayra agrees also looking impressed, and after hesitating Henry uses his free hand to phase it through the flames, and after a few times and it seemingly not hurting he smiles brightly.
“If you think that’s awesome, I got something to show you kids tomorrow,” Ryoko adds as she and Akio start running with Raquel flying after them, “now come on, let’s go!
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This is Me Trying (Mike's Version) (byler): 3
word count: 6,996
warnings for this chapter: none really, ngl. just very honest and open conversation. but same as all the other warnings in previous chapters, just be cautious if you see anything that may trigger you. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3
in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.
The world buzzed with static around me, each second feeling like an eternity. Time stood still, just like the day I took off my watch. My hands were shaking, the anticipation inside me about to explode like fireworks. I balled my hands up into fists and put them in my sweatshirt pockets, but immediately pulled them back out because I could feel my palms getting sweaty.
I glanced around, and saw the nextdoor neighbor taking her dog out for a walk. I raised my hand in an awkward greeting, and she smiled back at me. I watched her run further and further away until they were out of my line of sight; a minute had definitely passed by now. I turned my attention back to the door, and lifted my hand again, going to knock one last time.
But then, before I was able to, Will opened the door.
I froze, my hand still in the air. I lowered my arm slowly, and took a mental photograph of Will’s awestricken face before I was met with a faceful of door. I should have seen that coming. I leaned my head against the door, exhaling with a shaky breath. “Will… I know I’m the last person you want to see. I just…” I hesitated, digging my nails into my palms. This was likely going to be my first of many fumbles. “This is going fucking splendidly already, Jesus Christ.”
There was no response on Will’s end, but I figured I might as well get everything off my chest, even if Will wasn’t there to hear it. Saying it out loud could probably suffice. “Uh… I guess I should start by saying I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you with my words, with my actions, for being so fucking reckless with my life. I’ve accumulated a lot of regrets over the past few years, but…” here goes nothing, “loving you will never be one of them.”
I closed my eyes with my head still on the door, but jumped back a bit in surprise when I felt a light thump right next to my face. “... Will?”
“I’m listening.”
The faint sound of Will’s voice was music to my ears; low and velvety, with a hint of rasp. My stomach nervously flipped as I cleared my throat, continuing on. “I’ve been a mess without you. I don’t know who I am without you. This is me trying to say…” I trailed off. What was I trying to say? How could I reduce my love for Will into a single sentence? How could I explain myself in a concise, yet bold form that wouldn’t scare Will away? I couldn’t. I was doomed regardless of how the conversation would unfold. I asked Will the first thing that came to mind: “... You ever been to a college party?”
“Yeah, a few.” Will replied.
“Well, I just failed out of school because I went to way too many of them. I just drove here directly from my last one, actually.” I tried to add a bit of humor to my voice, but it ended up coming out sounding pathetically broken. Fumble number two. Fuck it all. Everything was going down in flames. I set my hand on the door, caressing the painted surface as if it were Will’s face.
“But here’s the thing— it’s hard to be at a party when you feel like an open wound. You’re all I think about, and it’s like I can’t… I can’t let go. It’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. And even though you don’t love me, and even if we can never be friends again, I need that closure, Will, and I need you to understand that I won’t move on if that never happens.” I felt the doorknob click below, and I lifted my head up just as the door opened again. Will emerged, tears lining his cheeks. Motherfucking fumble number three. When Will and I were little, we functioned as a unit. When Will was happy, I was happy. When Will would cry, I would cry with him. Now, I felt like I was five years old again, getting choked up at the sight of Will crying, and mentally cursed myself. “Fuck, now I’ve made you cry for the umpteenth time in our lives. What else is new?”
Will crossed his arms across his chest, and looked down towards the ground, still on the defensive. But his voice betrayed him when he said, “No, please don't worry about me. It’s fine. And I…” his voice wobbled, “I’m sorry for slamming the door. I was just so…”
I nodded in sorrowful understanding. “Yeah.”
I took a good look at Will, noticing how Will’s hair had finally grown out of the bowl cut, falling into his eyes in loose copper waves, ending just above his strong jaw. His eyes, even obscured with tears, looked green as ever. I wanted to drown in them.
“You changed your hair,” I heard myself say. Will let out a small smile at that, brushing some of his bangs out of his eyes, along with some tears that had attached themselves to his eyelashes.
“Yeah, the bowl was kind of… archaic.” Both of us began awkwardly laughing while still crying. I had to refrain from thinking too much, because if I did, I'd get all sentimental about how this was the first time I'd laughed with Will in… I couldn’t even remember.
“You like it, though?” he asked. He still sought my approval, after everything. Of course I liked it. I liked Will’s hair no matter how it was cut. But this style that Will was sporting currently had me falling flat on my face; and not literally, for once.
“Yeah, it really suits you,” I told Will, who was flattered at the compliment.
“Thank you. I mean, Mom’s skill set with scissors was… limited, but she tried.” I thought of that one time I'd walked into the Byers household unannounced back in junior year of high school. Will was sitting on a chair in the middle of the kitchen with a literal bowl on his head as Joyce shuffled around her son with a pair of kitchen shears. Joyce was an incredible mom who loved both of her boys unconditionally. Which reminded me…
“How’d you get my number?”
“Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”
“She shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m sorry for letting her give me your number,” I apologized, picking at the nails of my index fingers with my thumbs. “And I’m sorry for calling you on your birthday. I should’ve respected your space.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Will replied quickly, eyes wide. “I was being a total asshole that day. I know this doesn’t excuse what I said to you, but I’ll have you know I’d just failed an English test–”
“Did you not read the material?” I smirked, and Will smiled back up at me, our eyes fully meeting for the first time.
“You know me too well,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat. “But then, when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, my boyfriend at the time broke up with me.”
I gawked at that, my eyes narrowing. “On your birthday? That’s ass.”
Will leaned against the doorframe. “Mike Wheeler, everyone: ex-English major, literary nerd, and author.” I ignored the not-so-subtle roasts in favor of Will’s muscles, which were even more defined than I remembered. Will had obviously become well-acquainted with the gym. My gaze trailed along the divots of his biceps, and my mouth went dry when I realized that Will was wearing… the blue sweatshirt I had sworn had gone missing during senior year.
“But yeah,” Will continued, “leave it to Matt Winters to ruin the one day of the year where I don’t feel like shit. So when you called, I’d just gotten back home. And I felt so guilty for snapping at you and hanging up that I didn’t call you back after the fact, because I was afraid you’d be mad at me.”
“Are you kidding? I could never be mad at you. Ever,” I emphasized. “And we both know I’m not a good person when I hold grudges.”
Will’s strong eyebrows furrowed, and I feared I'd said something wrong, but Will rose up onto his tiptoes, lifting his hand up to my forehead in mock-concern. “Mike, are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Yes. If Will was going to act all flirty and cute and tiptoe-y and forehead touch-y, then we’d need to call an ambulance. Because I was down bad.
“Haha. You’re funny,” I deadpanned at the joke, despite myself.
Will retreated back to his spot in the doorway. “But seriously, I just told you that I have a real live ex, and you’re not mad?” How could I be mad at Will for that? Why would I be mad at Will for that? It wasn’t like I had any right or say as to who Will dated, and if I did so much as judge Will for any romance-related decisions, I'd be the biggest fucking hypocrite to ever walk the earth. I figured I'd come clean to Will about this one. It was the whole reason why I was here, after all.
“Will, I hooked up with four guys…” Should I say this next part? Sure, okay, whatever– “And all of them had the initials ‘WB’.” My focus shifted down to my shoes, too humiliated to see Will’s reaction. But I didn’t even have to see it, because Will giggled. Like, high pitched and adorably. My head snapped up and Will, having gotten caught laughing at my biggest shame, slapped his own hand to his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle it.
“No way,” Will said, his voice still suppressed with his hand.
“Way,” I quipped back. I decided to try something new then, reaching up to Will’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. His beautiful lips were curved into a shy smile.
Will shook his head, crossing his arms again, but not in hostility like he had before. “I don’t believe you.” And all of a sudden, it was August 1989, and we were back in my basement again. Those were Will’s last words to me before he’d stormed out, never to be seen again. And a year and a half later, Will became thoroughly aware of the aftermath, where I’d tried and failed to fill the Will-less void with–
“Wyatt Bowman, Wes Butler, Walker Brooks, Warren Blakeley,” I listed off what I'd endearingly dubbed The WBs™, but now in retrospect viewed as fucking pathetic, and watched as Will exhaled sadly. I tacked the only thing I could think of onto the end of my list to lighten the mood: “... And there was a guy named Elvis.”
Will snorted. “Like Presley?”
“Exactly.”
“Jesus,” Will whispered, running a hand through his hair. I wished it was my hand instead. As I took in Will’s jarred reaction, my world went cold. It made more sense when I shivered, looked up, and felt a few snowflakes land on my eyelids. I lowered my gaze back to Will, avoiding the impending guilt with lighthearted bluntness.
“Yeah,” I concluded unceremoniously, “so, you have an ex-boyfriend, and I have a disturbingly high body count. I think that makes us even.” Will’s lips formed a line, and I diverted my eyes back to the ground. I watched Will’s feet, clad in fuzzy socks and slippers, shift backwards. The moment was finally here; this was the end. We were not, in fact, even; Will was shutting me out for the last time, giving me the closure I'd practically begged for. I lifted my head so I could at least say goodbye properly, but saw that Will was… waiting for me?
“Wanna come inside?” he asked, and I raised my eyebrows in shock. Well, that was a plot twist if I'd ever seen one. I took a deep breath, muttering a slow “Yeah… sure,” and followed Will into his house. I took off my mud-caked shoes at the front door, remembering how much of a neat freak Will was, and imagining his reaction if I tracked the past seven or so hours into the house. I expected it would probably begin with “Michael James.”
Once situated, I took a look around the living room. There were multiple swirly, wooden furniture pieces that I knew Will wouldn’t have picked out in a million years, but he’d still managed to make the apartment his own. Framed movie posters, a black couch, and a few bookshelves were sprinkled modestly amongst the otherwise very feminine decor. I walked over to the bookshelves, which were fully stacked with comic books and picture frames. I peered at one of Will posed with Ivy and Hannah, who gripped onto either side of a metal pole that Will had perched atop his shoulders as he lifted them in a white muscle tank top. I knew he’d started working out. God, Will was attractive. I smiled to myself, moving on to look at the next photo. It was the exact same one I had on my desk, the photo that Jonathan took of me on Will’s handlebars. I felt like crying again, so I looked away before that could happen. My attention was drawn to the ceiling, which was lined with Christmas lights. I guessed the passage of time had thankfully worked in Will’s favor, as well.
“So Kate’s at work?” I asked, and Will whipped around from where he’d been organizing one of his other bookshelves, like he cared about what I thought in regard to his preference of alphabetical versus publisher order.
“How do you know about Kate?”
I hesitated, expression sheepish, “I… I ran into your friends Ivy and Hannah on campus. They’re how I found you.”
Will blanched. “Oh God. What did they say to you?”
I shook my head in reassurance, taking a step towards Will. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I think they were just worried about me, because I was… kind of lost.”
“You didn’t think to get a map?” Will, the little shit, teased as he took a step of his own towards me.
“I had one, Will!” I tossed a hand up in exasperation. “I just… couldn’t read it correctly?” I phrased the last part of my sentence more like a question, which Will must have thought was funny, because he moved a few inches closer to me in order to poke my chest.
“Okay, that tracks,” he grinned, and I feigned offense as I felt Will’s fingerprint burn a hole in my sweatshirt, the fire expanding to scorch my entire torso. Will was close enough that I could hear Will breathing lightly through his nose, and could see the freckles scattered like constellations across his neck. My eyes traveled up a bit to land on the one mole above Will’s lip, and I fought the urge to kiss it.
“Ivy and Hannah said to tell you they said you’re welcome, by the way, whatever that means,” I breathed, and Will processed what I had just told him before bringing his hands up to his own face as he turned beet-red.
“Of course they did.”
I observed Will’s reaction, pushing down the bit of hope that bubbled up inside of me. I hadn’t a single clue of what Will had told his two friends, but the way he reacted made me think that maybe it wasn’t all terrible.
“Wait,” Will brought a hand up to lightly smack his forehead, “I’m so stupid, I should have asked when you first came in.” You’re not stupid at all, if anything I’m stupid, but go on, I thought. “Do you need anything to drink or eat? You look like shit.”
“Wow,” I said as I glared back at Will, giving away my joking nature with a small lift of my lips. “But sure, water is fine, thank you.” Will stood there for a moment in contemplation. I gulped, feeling incredibly anxious as to what Will would say next.
“I’m gonna make you pancakes,” he told me, ambition in his tone. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, yet there Will was, taking on the role of hospitable host. I shrugged, leaving the option up to Will as to if he really wanted to be that kind to me.
“You don’t have to.”
Will was the one who shortened the distance between them this time, taking my much larger hand in his own, intertwining our fingers and gently rubbing his thumb along the back of it. “But I want to.” I felt lightheaded.
“Well, I didn’t say it.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I glanced down at our connected hands as Will spoke again, but I didn’t hear what he was saying. I blinked, pulling my attention back up to Will’s face. How was I supposed to concentrate on what Will was saying when our palms were brushing together with intentionality? And of Will’s own volition, no less.
“Wait, sorry, what?”
“I said, I’ll have some too, if it’ll make you feel better.”
Well, now I had to say yes. I gave in, and Will nodded in approval before letting go of my hand. Those few sweet seconds would have been enough to last me for another year and a half without him, but now Will was making me pancakes. There was no turning back after this. Will headed to the kitchen, turning back when he noticed me standing in the middle of the room and gesturing for me to follow him, chuckling to himself.
Damn Will for being so aware of the effect he had on me.
We made it into the kitchen, and Will headed to the pantry while I hopped up on the counter like when we were kids. Old habits die hard. Will eyed me from where I stood, grabbing the box of Bisquick. He ritualistically walked around the kitchen, grabbing eggs, milk, vegetable oil, and a bowl before setting them all down on the counter. He paused in what he was doing to reach over to his coffee pot, pouring a mug, grabbing the sugar bowl and dumping whatever was left into the mug before handing it to me. I took it with gracious hands. He’d remembered the way I took my coffee. Black, no cream, and a diabetes-level fuck ton of sugar.
“Thank you.” That didn’t even begin to cover how I felt about it.
Will hummed in response as he got to work, cracking an egg into the bowl and whisking it around. “So what have you been up to? I mean, besides hooking up with the entire male population of Indianapolis and failing out of school,” Will asked, and I died a little on the inside. The truth hurts sometimes, Wheeler. Deal with it.
“Jeez, Will. Harsh. Warn a guy next time,” I frowned, sipping my coffee. “I’ve been working on a novel.”
“Ooh, do tell!” Will exclaimed, turning to me as he stirred the batter, the sweatshirt he wore— my sweatshirt— stretching as his muscles flexed underneath the fabric of the sleeves. I set my coffee down next to me and shifted so my hands were squished under my thighs. That way I wouldn’t be able to do what I truly wanted to, which was to grab Will by his waist and shove my tongue down his throat as I ran my fingertips over Will’s arms.
“Um, it’s a mythological coming of age, with a bit of a twist… the protagonist is gay.”
“Ohhh my god,” Will grinned, all teeth. “That is great. I love that.”
I love you, I thought, but held my tongue. “Right? But yeah, I’ve been working on that, and… journaling. A lot.” Well… journaling was a synonym of writing dozens upon dozens of love letters, right? But Will didn’t have to know that.
“Mike Wheeler using a therapist-approved coping mechanism? I’m proud of you,” Will said. I preened at the praise as I pulled one of my hands out from under my leg to pick up my mug.
There was a beat of silence, and Will stood there, his eyes fixed on me for a strangely long time as the pancakes sizzled. I watched Will’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. I was either hallucinating, tripping, or Will was checking me out.
“But what about you?” I asked, effectively snapping Will out of his trance, “Any groundbreaking endeavors I should be caught up on?”
Will shrugged as he plated the perfectly congruent, golden pancakes he’d made. “I’ve been working on this new painting for a while now… it’s a watercolor piece, so it’s kind of out of my comfort zone,” Will explained, turning to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of Canadian maple syrup. I nodded at what Will was telling me, but something else dwelled in the forefront of my mind.
“Yeah, you’re more into oils on canvas, right?” I asked, and Will’s eyes snapped up to meet his, establishing an understanding between the two of them. “I saw the painting,” I remarked slowly, trying my best not to freak Will out or make him feel ashamed of it. “I’ve gotta say, you flatter me, Byers. I am not that attractive.”
Will couldn’t hide his smile. “Shut up. Yes you are.”
Will handed me a plate, and I thanked him as we dug in, the two of us standing at (and sitting on) the counter as we ate. I cut into my pancakes, stabbing a bite-sized piece with my fork and swirling it around in the syrup on my plate. I looked up when I heard a similar scratching noise and saw Will doing the same thing. Will met my gaze, light smile gracing his face as he lifted the fork up and popped the piece into his mouth. I blushed when I realized I’d been staring, and quickly focused back on my own plate. I chewed the piece of pancake I’d cut and confirmed to myself only after one bite that these were the best pancakes I’d ever had. These were pancakes of reconciliation.
I turned towards Will to compliment his culinary skills, which would inevitably be shot down with a humble, “they’re just pancakes, Mike,” only to see Will staring at me already. Will’s eyes jumped from me to the floor to the kitchen cabinet to the floor and back to me all within the span of five seconds. I held his attention this time when I licked my lips, and Will watched intently as the syrup disappeared.
God, I felt like I was in high school all over again; those four years had felt like a romcom movie montage of staring, quick touches, and flirting back and forth. The only difference between those movies and real life was the reserved, cautious nature behind every single stare, touch, and flirtation. But this time around, I noticed, Will seemed more confident in himself, more purposeful in the way he carried and expressed himself. Everything lingered for longer than normal, than acceptable, than usual. It was a promising sign.
Once we’d finished our pancakes and put our dishes in the sink, Will and I headed to Will’s room. There was something intimate about entering Will’s space like this; something sacred, something previously unattainable. That was the dresser that held all of Will’s clothes. That was the desk Will drew at. That was the bed Will slept in. That was the phone Will had used to break my heart.
I admired the dark blue walls, decorated modestly with a few more posters, before I came across Will’s framed Hawkins High School diploma. I remembered that day vividly; after everyone in the Party had walked across the stage and gone back to my house to celebrate, Will had brought all of our friends into a secluded area of the house and told us he was gay. I, who had been head over heels in love with my best friend for over five years at that point, was having a crisis, because oh my God, Will was gay, and the flirting might not have all been in my head. Maybe I had a chance. But every interaction between them following that day was strictly platonic, and Will made sure I knew it. So I withdrew after a while, not wanting to keep stringing myself along like I had been.
“Little did I know that everything would change,” I said more to myself than to Will, but Will walked over to stand next to me, close enough that our arms brushed.
“Why, because I came out?” he asked, looking up at me, who didn’t reciprocate the action, but instead kept staring straight ahead at the diploma, as if it were a portal that would take me back in time to before my world imploded.
“No, not because you came out. Because… because then, I fell under the delusion that I could finally have you.” I looked down at Will then. “But then I fucked it all up in August.”
Will turned his body so he could fully face me before saying, “Okay, I’m confused. I’ve gotta ask. What’s your recollection of that night?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to remember it. Hell, I didn’t want to think about it. But me took a second to reason with myself, because Will was standing beside me, Will was asking something of me, and the least I could do after everything was oblige to Will’s one request. So I told him.
It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and I was lying on the basement couch with my legs hanging off the edge. My eyes were closed, and I wore my headphones which were attached to my Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as I had from the second it fell into my hands back in 1986. I felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. I cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when I registered that it was Will who was entering my space. I always loved when Will came to my house unannounced; there was a certain element of familiarity, of family, of domesticity.
“Mike, we’ve gotta talk,” Will said, his voice a bit edgier than usual.
“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” I sat up, pulling my headphones fully off my head and resting them around my neck. Then I saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.
“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. My eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. Fuck. How on earth did he find them? I thought I'd hidden them well enough. Apparently, I was sorely mistaken, because Will held my letters, all twenty-six of them, all addressed to Will, in his shaking hands. I couldn’t even begin to explain, mouth hanging wide open.
“Dear Will,” the boy with the bowlcut began with a snarl, “when I look into your eyes, I see the rest of my life. Dear Will, why does loving you feel so wrong yet so right? Dear Will, I want you to hold me in your arms forever, because it’s the only place I can truly call home.” I wanted to die. “I don’t know what to… Why the hell are these addressed to me? And why… Why are there so many?”
“Because…” I squeaked out, eyes wide with intimidation, “they were for you. You were never meant to find those, I swear to God.”
“Are you making fun of me or something?” Will snapped, and I flinched. I'd never seen Will this angry before. I stood up then, my face on fire with inferiority from when I’d been on the couch as Will towered over me. Now, I was the one looking down at Will, whose chest was heaving with unadulterated rage.
“Come on, Will! I’m your best friend, and you really thought I’d make fun of you for being gay?” I kept my tone soft, what the Party called my Will Voice™, trying to calm Will down. It worked, at least a little bit, because Will’s breathing became more regulated, and less metaphorical smoke escaped his ears. But his eyes were still a menacing shade of green, his pupils blown wide.
“Well, no,” Will’s voice was lower this time, laced with venom, “but that does not mean you get to fuck around at my expense.” Will could not have been more wrong. I was anything but fucking around. Malice was the last thing on my mind when I thought about Will. When I thought about Will, I felt safe, I felt hopeful, I felt valuable, and I felt worthy. What I felt for Will was pure love, and I'd say it out loud… if I didn’t hate myself so much.
“I poured my heart out in those letters,” I told him, taking a step forward. Will stepped back. “I didn’t write them for shits and fucking giggles, they were genuine,” I continued, following Will as he backed away, stopping only when I had Will caged in between my arms, back against the wall of the basement. Will held onto my wrist, our watches positioned side by side. I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath, collecting myself in preparation for what I was about to say next. Confession time. “I wanted to send them so badly… I just didn’t, because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
I opened my eyes, drinking in the expression on Will’s flustered face. He blinked slowly, lashes fluttering, and fuck, I could hear Will’s heartbeat. I licked my lips. Afraid of what? I’m afraid of the world. I’m afraid of our country. I’m afraid of this town. I’m afraid of my family. I’m afraid of your dad. I’m afraid of myself. But I’m not afraid of you, Will. I’m not afraid of you.
And with that, I leaned down and kissed Will.
Those were the best five seconds of my life, by far. Will’s lips were smooth, yet firm. They were warm. I wanted to kiss Will forever. I allowed myself, for once in my life, to take what I wanted, and moved my hands down from the wall to Will’s hips, gripping them with all of my pent-up passion, holding him close. I felt Will’s hands meet my shoulders, and… he was pushing me away. Oh no.
“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?” What was it with Will thinking everything was so fucking funny to me? I'd just bared my soul to the love of my life, but Will had interpreted everything as simply cruel humor. That was what Will thought of me. I wouldn’t stand for it.
“No, Will, I’m in love with you,” I said in full earnest, grabbing Will’s hand, just like I'd always done throughout the years whenever Will felt angry, alone, or scared. In turn, Will aggressively shook my hand away like it burned him.
“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that, you don’t mean it.” What the hell?
“What makes you think I don’t?”
“I just… you’re…” Will forced his words out in a state of panic, ducking out of my reach as he headed for the stairs. “I can’t do this. Not now.”
“Please don’t go. Hear me out,” I pleaded, getting desperate now. “Will, you’ve got to believe me.”
Will turned around from where he stood, halfway to the basement door, his gaze ice cold. “Well, I don’t, Mike. I don’t believe you.” I took back what I’d thought about not being afraid of Will. I was terrified. I watched Will stomp up the rest of the way, slamming the door behind him. I put a hand up to my mouth, muffling a sob.
What had I done?
I stopped my pacing for a moment to breathe. I'd gotten it all out, and by some miracle, without breaking down. I looked over at Will, who rested his chin on his palm as he sat on his bed, staring into space. “I never got the chance to explain myself. You just… shut off.” Will blinked a few times, looking up at me with that same blank expression, and I wanted to scream. But I didn’t. I didn’t have the energy.
Will breathed out hard through his nose, getting up from his spot on the bed and meeting me where I was at, and placing a hand on my arm. I didn’t move; all this talk about Will abandoning me caused some of the resentment to return. But Will took my chin and moved it so our eyes could meet again. He looked sad.
“Because I had convinced myself that you could never love me the way I loved you. But all of a sudden you were telling me that you loved me romantically and wanted to be with me forever! How can you blame me for being thrown off?”
I shrugged, resigned. “I can’t.” And I meant it; I couldn’t blame Will for being thrown off, because I had gone through the complete opposite, having felt led on and let down. “But you also can’t blame me for waiting so long to say something. I literally hated myself for years for being gay.” Will’s hand that held my chin lowered down to the space between my neck and my shoulder, and he went to reply, but I spoke faster. “And when you came out, I thought maybe I could, too. But then, another part of me didn’t want to say anything, because coming clean about my true feelings for you would’ve destroyed everything we worked so hard to build back up after California.”
“Well, I didn’t make it any easier by keeping you at arm’s length after I came out,” Will said as he ran his thumb back and forth along my sweatshirt sleeve. “I tried to convince myself I was okay with being just friends in order to protect myself, you know?”
“Yeah,” my tone was rough as I crossed my arms, and Will pulled away. Nice going, Mike, you fucking asshole. “I mean…” I softened my voice, “I get your thought process. I just felt so… rejected. And after August, it felt so final. Like, I really thought you had zero feelings for me, and that I had severely misread things.”
“You didn’t. Believe me, Mike. You didn’t,” the words tumbled out of Will’s mouth, startling both of us at once.
I looked down, feeling the beginnings of tears pricking my eyes. “I’m trying to.”
Will reached out to me and pulled my hand up into his own, his fingertips gently mapping out the veins that spread out beneath my skin. “Do you still hate yourself now?” he asked, and I looked up slowly.
“I’m not gonna lie, yeah, I do,” I admitted, playing with Will’s fingers as I spoke. I was not proud of the person I'd become. I relived every single one of my mistakes on a constant loop, with each day bleeding into the next. The shame devoured me like a hungry beast. Every waking moment without Will felt like suffocation. I slowed my movements before confessing something else, something I never thought I’d ever be able to. “But I hate living my life without you even more.”
Will let out a small sniffle at that, and I was quick to comfort him, my hands flying up to cup his face and swipe his tears away. Will leaned into the touch, his voice breaking. “I hate living my life without you, too.”
“Can I…” I hesitated, uncertainty flooding my thoughts, but I swiftly pushed it away. “Can I hug you?” I asked. Will nodded, laughing wetly as he said, “Yes, of course.”
I pulled Will into a tight embrace, warmth filling my body instantly as Will’s head fell against my chest, right over my heart. I could only imagine what Will was thinking, granted the fact that my heart was thrumming at record speed. Will ran his hands up my back, pulling me down slightly by my shoulderblades. I nestled my nose in Will’s shaggy hair, breathing him in. He still washed his hair with the coconut shampoo he’d always used. In order to avoid the temptation to inhale Will’s scalp like a vacuum, I opted to place a feather light kiss there, so light that in the future, only I would remember it happening. As we stood there, our bodies flush against one another, I knew I didn’t need a watch to tell that time as an entity ceased to exist. Will and I held each other tightly as the rest of the world fell away. This was what I had been waiting for. Just this. I finally felt whole again.
I wasn’t sure how long we’d been clinging to each other, or who pulled away first, but I was sure of the fact that both of us were crying. Again. “Goddamnit,” I laughed, practically slapping my sweatshirt sleeve up to my face to absorb the tears that fell there.
“Since when have you been a Frequent Crier?” Will teased, and I remembered that Will had never been exposed to the outcome of my emotional revolution before.
“What can I say?” I continued the bit, “Their loyalty program has really good perks.”
“Can’t argue there,” Will laughed, leaning his forehead onto my chest again as my hands ran up and down Will’s sides. I memorized the feel of Will’s improved physique, trailing my hands upwards until my hands met Will’s chest.
“Also,” I said into the silence, causing Will to twitch slightly, but not enough to remove his forehead from my chest. “The Heart? Didn’t know I was still held in such high esteem.” Will’s hands, which had been resting on my hips, moved forward until they were wrapped around my lower back.
“You’ve always been my heart, Mike,” Will told me, voice steady and sure. “You never really stopped.” I felt my jaw drop, barely able to process what I was hearing. The words that left Will’s lips ricocheted around my brain, and I might have forgotten how to breathe for a minute. I needed Will to pinch me, so he could wake up from this… if it wasn’t real, it would be a nightmare. Instead of asking Will to do it for me, I pinched myself, and felt butterflies erupt in my stomach when I didn’t snap my eyes open to the sight of my bedroom back in Indianapolis. I was still here, in Will’s room, and Will was holding me rather sensually, and I felt so fucking alive.
“So… where do we go from here?” I whispered, and Will lifted his head, an unrecognizable look in his eyes. I backed away, fear slowly entering the peripherals of my mind, all possible worst-case scenarios threatening to cave in on me. I'd gone too far, been too forward, taken Will for granted, given off the impression of an ulterior motive.
“Sorry,” I said, almost a reflex at this point in my life. I always had something to be sorry for. Something to make up for. Something to–
“Me too,” Will whispered, grabbing my wrist before I could get too far. He pulled me back in sharply and grabbed me by the back of my neck, tugging me all the way down until our lips collided. I let out a little noise in absolute shock, but not wasting any time as I shoved my hands into Will’s hair, raising my head as I leaned into the heat of Will’s mouth. While my hands remained pretty central to Will’s upper body, Will’s hands roved me everywhere they possibly could. They lifted from my lower back, up my torso, past my chest, around the back of my head to brush the nape of my neck, through my long hair, then back down to grope my ass. I squeaked into Will’s mouth, and he responded with a low hum of a laugh that sent vibrations through my body and set me ablaze. I lowered my grip on Will’s shoulders to his biceps, squeezing them the way I'd wanted to since Will opened the door earlier that morning. Will broke the kiss and looked up, smirk on his lips. “You really like my arms, don’t you?”
“Yeah, how’d you notice?” I tried to be sarcastic, but ended up sounding breathless. Will pressed a chaste kiss to my lips, turning them around and backing me up until my calves hit the base of Will’s bed. I was sure I had died and gone to heaven.
“You wouldn’t stop ogling. You were being so fucking obvious, it was hilarious,” Will teased, and I whined a little in embarrassment, but Will was having none of it, so he pushed me backwards until my back hit the mattress. “Don’t worry, babe, it was cute.”
Babe. I had thought Will would only call me that in my dreams. But this wasn’t a dream. I watched as Will climbed on top of me, one leg on either side of my waist, and leaned down to kiss me, nice and slow. I ran my tongue along Will’s lower lip, and he let me in immediately. We continued like that for a few minutes until Will lifted my arms up so they were pinned above my head, and I quietly moaned as Will began to kiss down my neck. I smiled at the ceiling. I loved Will Byers, and Will Byers loved me. All was right with the world.But I would have a lot to explain over Christmas.
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Life Eternal
Chapter two: Awakening
Cardinal Copia x Original Female Character
The abyss swallows you whole. When no light can enter your eyes, only the darkness of our Father in Hell can consume you. I remember those words from the book. As promised, being locked in a small black containment for centuries does leave you susceptible to darkened thoughts. Though sleep has consumed me, I have still felt the years pass as slowly as watching the paint of the chapel dry.
I have been trapped within my own mind for too long now, shackled to the confines of my own consciousness. My body has been like stone, unable to be moved or felt. My eyelids, I can feel them. The urge to blink them open comes over me, only to be met with darkness. Feeling is regained within my fingers, they twitch and come to life, next my toes. Life floods back into my stiff bones, a strangled groan leaving my throat as my body struggles against the clostraphoic box.
My hands press against the lid, attempting to push it off, but the lid is heavy, sealed from centuries of dirt and grime. I make a fist, bashing against the lid. “Someone! Please! Let me out!” My voice scratches as I scream, vocal chords lethargic from lack of use, my tongue having lost the ease of speech. I kick and hit the box, loud banging emanating from within. “Please! Let me out!”
“Shut the fuck up!” What? I hear the voice, faint for shouting, but they heard me. There are people here, I- I can be freed. I grit my teeth before kicking again.
“Let! Me! Out!”
The sound of many footsteps grows louder, I continue to thrash, making my presence known. Harsh light strikes down into my pained eyes, I cover them with my hand as they adjust to luminance once again. My spine crackles audibly as I rise from the coffin, my icey hands rubbing together, they are pale and dead.
“The old texts were true…she is here.” The man's ancient voice speaks, milky eyes fixated on my form. His skin is wrinkled like old leather, the markings of a skull painted haphazardly on his face. His robes are intricate, like a noble priest, embroidered in gold.
He stands next to my coffin in the cobweb-filled room. This must be a catacomb of sorts. The stone black walls, dripping candles and well, the coffins. I find myself lost for words, confused. I can’t seem to remember how this has all occurred. I have been in that coffin for centuries, I have felt it, yet I do not know how this began…no, only that I have read a book of the Olde One.
“Can someone p-perhaps tell me what is happening?”
“My child, you have been prophesied for centuries.” A woman speaks this time. Her clothes are strange, unfamiliar to me, though they consist of black and white, yet no dress. Her eyes are circled in coal, hair grey and face wrinkled. Her neck is thin, the skin like paper, revealing her blue veins. They pulse as blood rushes through them, each vessel, even the capillaries, I sense as they fill.
My teeth scratch against the inside of my mouth, my eyes fixated on her pulsing neck, the smell of iron overwhelming my senses as I lurch forward. My arms are quickly grabbed by a man in a mask, I tug against him violently, thrashing to try and break his grip.
“Get Terzo’s ghouls!” The older man shouts, looking at another masked man by the door.
“Get off me!” I hiss, teeth bared, eyes still fixated on her neck, her blood pumping faster now. Two more silver masked men run into the room, restraining me again just as I escape the grasp of the first.
“Careful there, princess.” The larger one speaks, holding my body against his. I hiss and scratch, trying to escape but he is strong, unnaturally so. “I think it’s best you leave now, Sister, Papa.”
“Yeah, plus she fucking stinks!” The smaller man spits as the old man and woman run through the door. It slams behind them and I am let free. I rush to the door, tugging at the handle but it does not budge. My fingers scratch into the wood, splinters burying themselves into the soft skin beneath. My nails then come to scratch at my throat, the dry need for her blood, the desperation overwhelming.
“The fuck’s up with her!? What was she doing down here anyway?” The little man asks.
“Do you genuinely not pay attention to anything? She’s the lamia.”
He looks to the other, deadpanned for a second. “You know my Latin is shit.”
“She’s a vampire, Dew! You know, you would’ve thought the cardinal would’ve gone on about this enough for you to remember. He loves those prophecies.”
“He probably does but I don't pay attention.”
I finally give up my scratching, sinking down to the floor. My bloody hands wrap themselves in the material of my dress, suddenly the fear and shock of the situation registering as I begin to shake. The largest of the men approaches me, I shuffle back, trying to keep away. “You okay there?” I peek out from behind my hair, eyes swirling with fear as I gaze upon the intimidating, angular mask donning the man’s face. “There’s no need to be scared, we're not going to hurt you.”
“Where am I?” My voice wavers as I struggle to hold eye contact.
“You’re in our church, in the basement…well, more specifically in the catacombs.”
“I…I was in a coffin…w-why?”
“You don’t remember anything?” He asks, his voice drifting, sounding sadder than it had previously.
“N-No…I remember the book…and the pestilence and…oh”
My parents' final breath, choked out, blood filled viscera coating their peaceful, restful faces. The amorphous man, guiding me to the darkness. The hooded creature leading me to the forest. Screams filling the night air, her neck in my mouth, her blood down my throat. The massacre I left for only God to witness. Nails hammering into the coffin lid and then nothing, nothing but His whispers…
“No! No I- that…”
“Can I see the teeth?” He is immediately smacked across the head by the taller, skinner man.
“Dew! Shut the fuck up!”
“Are you thirsty?” The bigger man asks, squatting down to be at my level. I nod, shyly. “Right. I’ll go ask Sister, see what she can get sorted. You two,” he turns back, pointing at the other men, “watch over her. Do not let her out of this room.” He gestures to me to move out of the way and I do so, holding myself back from running through the door as he leaves.
The two other men turn to me, one awkwardly fiddling with his hands. “So…when’d you die.”
“Dew- you can’t just ask her shit like that!”
“I-I’m dead!?” I screech, looking down again at my cold, pale hands.
“No- well, technically yes? I mean, you’re still moving so what does life mean anyway?” The tall one splutters, arms outstretched in front of him.
“Were you like some crazy powerful witch or something? Is that how you got to talk to Him?” The short one asks eagerly, stepping in front of the taller masked man.
My brows knit together, fingers fiddling with the fabric of my dress. “I’m not a witch. I am- was a Shepard.”
“What?”
“My family cared for sheep, we were normal pious people, I don’t know why we were forsaken, I-”
“Did you know Imperator has a secret blood bank!?” The bigger man bursts though the door, clear bags of red liquid in hand. The smell hits my nose, eyes rolling back before I launch myself at the man, ripping into the bag he holds, the divine languid taste dripping down my throat. “Mother of satan…”
“MORE!” He tosses another bag over to me, I pierce it with my teeth, consuming the essence. “MORE!” I growl, coagulated crimson bubbling at the corners of my mouth, sharp white teeth stained.
“I don‘t have any more!” He shouts in protest. I hiss back at him.
“You sure she’s not a fucking demon?”
“Dew, please shut the fuck up.”
“She’s a vampire. She died during the Black Death.” The bigger man grunts.
“Wow,” the smaller man muses, “fucking long time ago.”
“No shit.”
“What is a vampire?” I ask, wiping the blood from my lips.
“See!” He exclaims. “I’m not dumb! She doesn’t even know what she is!”
“DEW! Please- for the love of all that’s unholy, fucking leave. Go ask the cardinal if you have any more stupid questions.” The taller man commands.
“Ugh, fine.” He grumbles, slumping his shoulders before leaving the room, the door locks behind him. I back against the cold stone wall, hugging my knees. I really wish I had an understanding of what has come to pass. My family, they are gone. They have been gone for hundreds of years. So has my village, and all with knowledge of it. The kind priest who gave my parents their rites was the last to see me before…this…at least it was not him who I destroyed. God would not have forsaken one of his holy men. The fire of the candelabra flickers above me. The windy whips of orange lapping up to the ceiling, rising up as the souls damned to Hell would do. Why was I not given this fate, allowed the kiss of death. Instead am I now cursed to live among the living who I must feast on for sustenance?
“He was right though, she does smell.” The sound of the lanky masked man breaks me from my spiralling thoughts.
“I don’t know what we can do about it. We can't take her out of this room to have a shower.”
“What is a shower?”
I see the tall one roll his eyes behind his mask. “Oh fuck, how long is this gonna take to explain.”
“It's not our job, we’ll have to wait for Imperator to talk to her.”
I lower my head, eyes threatening tears, they sting sharply. “I’m sorry for being a burden to you both, I am just very…confused.”
The larger man tilts his head, crouching down before kneeling beside me, a comforting hand placed on my shoulder. “Hey, you’re not a burden. I imagine this is quite scary for you but I’m sure Sister will explain it all to you. In the meantime, I’m Omega, this is Earth, and the asshole that was here before is called Dewdrop.”
I lift my head to look into his eyes. They swirl a strange colour. A mix of brown and red, a strange glow emanating from within them, darkened by the shadow of his metal visage. “Thank you for being so kind, Omega. Could- could you please apologise to those people from earlier, on my behalf…I just couldn’t control myself…it's this overwhelming urge, all I could hear was her pulse.”
“It's probably because you hadn’t drank in a really long time.” The taller man, Earth, suggests. Earth, a strange name.
“I have only done it once. It was a massacre…then I was locked in that coffin.”
“Sounds like a crazy story.” Earth grits.
“You really don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” Omega adds. “Don’t let us pressure you.”
“I will…in time.” I hum to myself, chin resting on my knees. “I do have a question.”
“All ears.”
“How come I have no urge to drink from you or Earth?”
“Probably because we’re ghouls, not humans. Maybe you can't drink from us at all.”
Earth nods. “It's probably a good thing you can't, someone has to be able to control you.”
“Ghouls? Are you- are you demons?”
“Basically.”
“Okay…and this church worships?”
“The one below. He saved you.”
“You must be very special to Him. I mean, we’ve all heard stories of vampires but nobody has ever seen one. Nihil thinks you’re the only one.” Omega adds.
“Nihil?” I muse. “The older man, from earlier.”
“Yeah, he’s been dying to meet you.”
My brows furrow. He wants to meet me so badly? Me? What could possibly be so special about me that a church of the Devil could be so interested in. The mistakes I made, the selling of my soul? Surely I cannot be the only one to meet this fate? This man was so kind, welcoming and I- I tried to kill him. “I…I want to apologise to him, to both of them. Perhaps I will be fine now, you can both hold me back, just in case.”
The thinner ghoul looks towards the other, head tilted to the side. “You think that's a good idea, Omega?”
He breathes deeply. “Maybe not the best idea, but I’m sure it will be fine. We need their help with her anyway, go get them.”
Omega holds a gentle but firm grip on my forearm, calming me from the fear of my uncontrollable blood lust. The large wooden door opens, Earth heading in first to hold it for the two older humans. My other hand reaches to grip at Omega’s, feeling a strange comfort from him as my eyes drift to Nihil and the lady. They walk towards me confidently, not sheepish as I suspected. Although they saw my uncontrolled nature, they do not seem to fear me.
“I-” I begin, breathing deeply to calm my nerves yet feeling no such overwhelming urge to bite the two. “I would like to apologise.”
“There is no need, my child.” The woman speaks, her tone crisp and regal. The two bow before me, causing me to bow back in confusion before omega elbows me in the rib, jolting me back up. The two rise, eyes filled with fascination as they yet again take in my dishevelled form.
“I have been waiting for years to meet you, Vampir. We read of you in the ancient texts. His blessing upon you is…magnificent. Would you not agree, sister?”
She nods, curtly. “His creations are wondrous, I’ll give you that. But yes, we have read much about you.”
“Read about me? I… I’m afraid I do not understand.”
“The Olde one left messages of you through the centuries, predicting your return. It was to beacon a great change. You have the dark one's favour, he will bring us new teachings through you. You have his communion.”
A look of bewilderment strikes across my features. “Do not dump her with all this burden this second, Papa.” The woman grumbles. “She needs time to adjust, time to think. You cannot comprehend the change she is going through. Commune with the dark one can wait until she has at least had a shower.”
“And what might a shower be?”
“…”
“I’ll go get Cirrus.”
#cardinal copia#cardinal copia x reader#ghost band x reader#cardinal copia x oc#papa secondo#papa emeritus x reader#papa emeritus iv#papa emeritus lll#terzo#the band ghost#ghost band x oc#era iii ghouls#era iv ghouls
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WIP Saturday
I posted a wip on my other blog but got something to share here also. Have some stuff from two pieces! One being a little AU ship for Anthea a friend made mention of a kind of variation of it and has been rotating in the brain ever since. I also have some Siberite and Ali getting ready for dinner at Sib’s house. The first one doesn’t have any spoilers, second half is EW related since it’s Thea and we deal with Ancients so that one is spoilers! Other than that I hope you have fun! If ever anyone wants to be tagged just let me know!
Siberite and Ali bonding time!
She can’t though, as much as she’d like too, there’s work to be done and that starts with making it through this dinner. She takes a deep breath letting herself sink beneath the water watching the pink tinted water take on some gray as the grime frees itself from her hair, deep pink joining their movements to the surface as more of the dye washes away to bring forth the natural purple, something her mother will be thrilled with surely. It’s all a ploy, Siberite thinks as she scrubs away the dirt, scabs, and any notion that she’s been spending most of her days fighting the last three and a half Source years, They won’t just give me up that easily. They want nothing more than to keep me home.
She stops, blinking a few times hoping the nail brush in her hand isn’t real, that the pristine shine of her fingers and hands is a trick of the light and when she’s through there will still be the dirt she can never quite get near the cuticles, the tinge of yellow on them from the years of harsh soaps still lingers, and the callouses simply softened will harden once dry. But she knows these habits, knows that when she’s through here someone will be waiting in her room to cut away dead skin, soften her hands even more with oils that smell of lavender, and paint her nails in either a metallic that will match her gown or a neutral color that gives attention to the rings that will adorn her. She will look the perfect Lady down to the minute detail. She will look like herself once more, the her that’s always reflected when she passes the mirrors and looks her combatants in the eye. The image her mother still sees….
The quick rapt at the door makes the water splash with her panic before hearing Katla’s voice, “Mistress Siberite, I’m very sorry to disturb you but you’ve been in there quite a while. Shall I send someone in to assist in your preparations? Perhaps refill your bath with more hot water?”
“No, thank you. I’m just about done actually.”
“Then I shall have freshly warmed towels sent in along with your robe.” Siberite hears the woman walk away, promptly getting back to the last few steps in making herself presentable. As if they were simply waiting outside the door for her, the towels and plush robe are brought in and it takes a few attempts to let the two staff members leave her be, insisting she change fully in her room, uncaring that she’ll have to walk down the hall in nothing but her robe. The steam follows her three doors down until Alisaie’s voice makes her stop.
“I’ve already taken a shower and redid my hair, what more could you possibly need to do?”
Siberite smiles, walking closer to peek through the small opening of the door to see a defiant Ali dressed in a similar robe to her own with comfy casual shorts just peeking beneath it, “Ma’am I’m sorry but Lady Akagane wishes everyone to look presentable. Which means-.”
“Well are you putting my brother through these same inane steps?” The young staff woman stutters, “That is exactly what I thought. Now will you please-.” Siberite steps into the room, trying to hide the smile wanting to break free, Alisaie clearing her throat, “Siberite, I- I didn’t see you there.”
The warrior glances over at the young staff member with a small smile, “I don’t believe I know you, remind me of your name.”
“Shannah, ma’am.”
“Shannah, while it’s lovely to meet you, I do believe Katla could use a few extra hands in the dining room.”
“But your mother-.”
“Will be fine. I’ll help Alisaie.” Shannah looks between the Scions with wringing hands, “I can assure you I know how to do hair and make up to my mother’s standards.” The young woman swallows before nodding and rushing out the door.
“Thank you for that,” Alisaie says, falling back into the chair facing the vanity with a huff, “You would think we were having dinner with a king.”
Siberite chuckles, “That’s not out of the realm of possibilities you know. Come on, sit up straight,” she says, patting the young woman’s back into position.
“Do we really have to do all of this?”
Siberite combs her fingers through the undone white hair that’s gained some frizz with the humidity, “For my mother, yes. She’s very particular and does like to have excuses to dress up and show off.” The small drop of oil spread across her hands and combed through quickly makes for a silky and smooth canvas. She looks Alisaie in the eye through the mirror, “I know you would rather keep your look, but we have to do it up a little differently. Would you want it to still be pulled back and feel a bit like the braid you normally wear?”
“I’d rather not,” she grumbles with a cross of her arms, “but if we must then sure. I trust you to not make me look even more foolish than I already feel.” Siberite gives a small smile, her hands starting to already work on sectioning and braiding as Alisaie watches on. “If I may ask, why did you never tell anyone about how you grew up? None of us would have thought any less of you.”
————————————————
A little Anthea and Hermes meeting more formally for the first time!
“Just….a little….,” Anthea says as they reach up towards the last hanging purple fruit in the coniferous tree, “further.” Their fingers just brush the flesh of it when they hear the scraping of their shoe against bark, can feel as their foot only stands on air with their body following suit. Anthea reaches out, other leg hooking itself around the branch in enough time as their hands fail to grip onto it. Their hooked leg keeps them on the branch as they fall backwards until their head makes contact with something else just as hard, mask flying away. They hiss as whatever they hit exclaims in pain, massaging the now sore area as they open their eyes. Anthea twists trying to find what hit them to no avail, moving on to see if they could get enough momentum to bring themselves back onto the branch, finding that to also be something they cannot do. A groan comes from behind them, Anthea looking around, “Hello? Who’s there?”
Though it hurts their neck they manage to get a glance behind them too find another dressed in the standard black robes, with richly tanned skin and short black hair, looking around. The stranger soon moves to come into Anthea’s view half of his face covered by a white and silver mask, the shadow of a smile beneath it that brings a sheepish one to Anthea’s lips. “Tell me is it a common practice for new personel to be hit in the head from someone that is hiding in a tree?”
Anthea blushes, “Uhm, no. No when people are new, typically there’s some kind of sweets involved. Or well at least in my little section of housing, but I’ve heard others do the same.”
He let’s his smile free, “Then I shall hope for such lodgings. Do you need any assistance coming down?”
“It would be much appreciated.” Anthea scrutenizes him, “If you could simply just stand beneath me, I believe I can find an easy way down.”
“Would it not be easier if I simply held onto your waist?”
“Potentially but I will not force you into such a position when we’ve only just met.”
He laughs, “Seeing as I am offering I find no qualms about it.”
“I suppose that’s true.” They nod, hoping the heat they feel in their face is only from being upside down as he reaches up to grab onto their waist. They find enough footing to allow for their other leg to free itself, his grip helping in letting their desecent be slower. Anthea finds they are still a few ilms from the ground being held up only by the kind stranger. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he says setting them down, Anthea moving for their mask quickly, hiding their features. “What were you doing up there if I may ask?”
“There’s a purple fruit up there,” they say point up to where it still hangs, “I wanted to add it to my garden.”
“Would you not simply make a tree on its own?”
“I find it relaxing to sometimes just grow them from seeds,” they answer with a shrug, “It also can help with research knowing how long it takes for one to be tended to until it produces fruit.”
“I see,” he looks up into the branches and back down the trunk, until he smiles once more, “In that case, allow me.” Anthea doesn’t have time to protest when he’s already made his way up to the branch they had just been hanging from. His height makes the reach for it easier along with his coming down.
He hands it over, Anthea taking it and cradling it to their chest, “Thank you. You mentioned new personnel, are you new here?”
“Yes. My first day actually and I’m afraid I find myself a bit lost.”
“Oh, you are part of that big group from Amaurot, you’ve all just finished your initial training.”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Then as way of apology for hitting you in the head, I shall show you where to go.”
“I would be most grateful for such a thing,” he chuckles.
“First things first, new researchers should remain maskless until you are acquainted with the creatures and the ways in which they roam.”
#anyway! sorry for length but since I post writing slowly I like to share big chunks in case it’s never finished#have fun with them and I hope you enjoy them!#my wip tag#my writing#endwalker spoilers
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