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clipartdinosaur · 3 months

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Griddlehark Fics

I have read an absolutely insane amount of Griddlehark fanfics in the past few months so I figured I could make a like...list of all of my favorites that I bookmarked. I'm not sure if anyone will use this but if anything it will be for my own self-indulgence LOL. Just a heads up, this list WILL contain spoilers up to Nona the Ninth, so proceed with your own discretion. Anyway here we go!

(♥︎ = favorite!)

Short (<15k):

"By the Sword" by JeanLuciferGohard (2.6k)

The Reverend Daughter of the Ninth, Necrosaint, Ascended, the greatest bone adept in an Age, does one push-up, and collapses. Harrow does not beg for her cavalier. Harrow rakes her hair back and snarls, “Nav, I am going to unzip your cranial sutures. One by one. And zip them up again sideways.”

"Your Necro Questions Answered" by Magichorse (8.8k)

Syndicated columnist "Nav the Cav" offers a sympathetic ear to cavaliers across the galaxy and dispenses practical, no-nonsense, real talk advice on how to properly manage and care for your necromancer.

"A Lesson in Bones" by Magichorse (3.8k)

One of the laboratory trials at Canaan House compels Harrowhark to swap bodies with her cavalier. What will Gideon do with the power of the most talented bone adept in generations at her disposal? Nothing good, probably.

"Visions of Gideon" by tothewillofthepeople (13k)

Oh my god they were roommates...

"true love's kiss, or something equally nauseating" by corpsesoldier (4.6k)

She was where she needed to be. She was going to pull her necro out of this godforsaken tomb, end the game of musical bodies they were playing, and then everything would be all right. Harrow would be alive. And Gideon was going to give her shit for approximately the next myriad for not just taking what she’d offered and saving them a whole lot of trouble.

"The Big Warm Dark" by decalexas (haelstorm) (2.7k)

Gideon Nav knows how to swing a longsword, brandish a rapier, bridge the gap between life and death, punch the dead in the face, and maybe overthrow an Empire along the way. What she doesn't know how to do is reach for the girl who made all of this possible.

"carrion comfort, despair (not feast on thee)" by NotAFicWriter (5k)

Some time after Alecto wakes, Harrow and Gideon finally have a moment to speak to one another. Hearts are bared. Teeth are bared. Intentions are bared. It all comes at great personal cost (emotional honesty).

"never exhale all the way" by pigflight (1.2k)

Harrowhark paints Gideon's face.

"such an almighty sound" by CountingNothings (10k)♥︎

“I need you to marry me,” Harrow says, a propos of absolutely nothing that Gideon can see. And, uh, okay, this is not what childhood best frenemies say to each other upon discovering that both of their graduate programs have weird residence requirements. “What,” Gideon asks, “the fuck?”

"A Handsomely Dangerous Thing" by zoicite (1.5k)

Had Harrow ever looked at Gideon and felt pride before? Surely not. It sat like a tumor in her chest, a cancerous lump that had grown where it did not belong.

"How it didn't happen" by Nary (1.5k)

"How did you lose it?" Coronabeth asked, more softly than her sister's shrill voice. The group assembled at Canaan House barely knew her, and yet here they were, asking the most irritatingly personal questions, and acting as if they were being kind and thoughtful by prying into her secrets. "I dropped my pen into a vat of acid and reached in to grab it without thinking," Harrow said dryly. Coronabeth recoiled, screwing up her pretty nose. Ianthe looked unsure whether to believe her or not. Their meatslab of cavalier just stared blankly. "The Daughter of the Ninth House was blessed in this manner from her birth, as a symbol of her strength and power over the mysteries of necromancy," Ortus interjected. Harrow glared at him. "Oh," Coronabeth said, an expression of disgusting sympathy on her flawless face. "But then you would never have known who your soulmate was!" Harrow's glare intensified. "My soulmate is bones."

"Halcyon Nights" by Morike91 (10k)

It was hard to tell what was worse: feeling the full warmth of those unguarded honey eyes fall on Harrow, or watching them narrow in recognition and contempt, their warmth now hotter with something else. “What can I get you?” It has been at least four years since Harrow last heard the voice of Gideon Nav, but it was still as familiar as her right hand.

"I completely fucking hate you" by ClaraZorEl (7.5k)

In the coming weeks, Harrowhark learns an unfortunate great deal about Gideon Nav. The kind of porn she likes, the number of bread rolls she can fit into her mouth at once, that she always leans too heavily on her left leg when she fights but can do fifty-seven push-ups in a row without stopping, that her biceps rates 11/10 on the scale of good biceps, that her laugh rumbles like an army of skeletons, and most importantly, that she can’t fucking stand her. Gideon Nav is so grating that Harrow has no doubt she will be her undoing. OR Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been invited to Canaan University's ball. But to successfully represent her house, she needs a cavalier, and unfortunately, her only option is her least favourite barista from her least favourite coffee shop.

"A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them" by pipistrelle (7k)

"In the end, she poisoned Ortus; so it was Harrow Nova who walked out to the shuttle a half-step behind the Daughter of the Ninth, the chain of Samael Novenary wound about her offhand wrist, the black blade of the Ninth at her side."

"The Only Prayer We Know" by pipistrelle (12k) [Part 2 of "A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them"]

It's like a bad joke: two cavaliers (alive) and two necromancers (one dead) walk into a rebel faction of humanity, looking for a new life -- in every sense of the phrase. What they find is each other, and (in some cases) themselves.

"The Flames of Hell Are Warm" by silverapples (7k)

In which Harrow is a repressed evangelical Christian and Gideon performs burlesque in a lesbian nightclub. Feat. nipple pasties, chewing gum, and a steaming mug of gay coffee (wake up and smell it, Harrow).

"Necro Business" by rnanqo (1.6k) ♥︎

“Gideon,” you said carefully, “I will need to examine your mouth. Various structures, primarily the jaw, but also the lingual muscles—the tongue—” You stopped there. Your cheeks were going red, probably with indignity. “Yeah,” I said, a bit too loudly, “yeah, sure. Do it.”

"Holy Cross, Alaska" by softieghost (10k) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Harrow meets Gideon. They go through it together.

"my love will be your armor" by TheKnightsWhoSayBook (2.3k)

"The princess has a right to bestow her favor on whoever she wishes to win a match," Gideon tells her. "Are you going to?" "Why would I? I don't want to marry him," Harrow answers bitterly. "Do you want me to win?" Princess Harrow will be engaged to the winner of the tournament, and her only champion is her useless bodyguard Sir Gideon Nav, who isn't going to save her. Unless...?

"The Meaning Of The Word" by pipistrelle (8.4k)

Harrow, along with a good percentage of Canaan University's necromancy students, has the flu. Gideon has a lot of feelings that she is in no way equipped to handle. It's a tough week.

"(i shine only with the light you gave me)" by sashawire (1.7k) ♥︎

God prods, gently, “Even just starting with their physical description, and we can go from there.” “Imagine,” you say, from somewhere outside your body, “the worst shade of orange you’ve ever seen in your life.” * Harrowhark receives her saintly title.

"i will learn to love the shears" by corpsesoldier (4.7k)

The avulsion trial left Harrow's hair in a sorry state and Gideon offers up her expertise with a blade. Or, Gideon gives Harrow a haircut.

"The Titty Texts: A Work of a Stupendous Titty Nature" by EleniaTrexer (3k)

Gideon accidentally sends Harrow boobs. And then just keeps on sending them.

"can we start over?" by breeeliss (10k)

Gideon needs a tutor. Harrow needs someone to get her out of college gym class. All in all, a pretty straightforward arrangement to make with your ex.

"Dark Mode Enabled" by senseoftheday (12k)

Tech Company AU in which a certain Sales bro with no filter decides to ruin Harrow's life (and feature roadmap) by initiating the cross-functional project from hell. At least, Gideon has the decency to work remotely, and Harrow's new office crush makes some pretty great coffee.

"deconsecrated graves" by emotionsandphenomena (4k)

Gideon and Harrow got out of the cult they were raised in. Okay, what's next?

"settle up in heaven" by liesmyth (3k) ♥︎

“Isn’t this arrogance, Harrow?” Kiriona says. “Think you could fix what God couldn’t?”

"Quoth the Maiden" by Sarsaparilla (10.9k)

The bold outlaws Nova Hawk and Gideon meet for the first time on a narrow log-bridge. But is it really their first meeting? Or: what if Robin Hood and Little John were both lesbians?

"twice in a blue moon" by sinshine (8.7k) ♥︎

Gideon snapped out of her depressing reverie and blinked at her. "That's a really good idea." "Obviously," said Harrow, and it was only a little bit condescending. "Step one, sneak out of the party. Step two, acquire the necessary items at a store. Step three–" Harrow gestured vaguely at the deer in Gideon's hands– "And step four, profit." [G&H rush to fix a smashed snow globe that Dulcinea made so that Cam doesn't kill them before the clock strikes midnight at their NYE party. The fact that Gideon is back in her hometown after a long time away and she and Harrow have unresolved romantic tension is secondary and definitely won't be a problem.]

"It Came From Planet Slut" by LockedTombMemes (8k)

Well. Evidently going undercover to an Idan society fling in order to deliver a message to a high-profile BoE agent was a tits-out kind of look.

"Apostate's Yuletide" by sinshine (12.6k)♥︎

Gideon raised one eyebrow comically high. She smiled easily, erasing any hint of the anxiety that Harrow might have sensed. "What's with all the questions today?" Harrow huffed indignantly and fidgeted with the blanket draped across her lap, worrying the frayed hem with her fingers. "I thought your ego would appreciate the interest." "Yeah, but it's weird coming from you. I'm used to you monologuing, not playing twenty questions." "Perhaps it's a Christmas miracle," suggested Harrow, with an expression so absolutely devoid of joy that Gideon couldn't help but laugh. [Harrow and Gideon burn down a church on Xmas.]

"when it's over" by Adertily (2.5k)

Harrowhark had sworn to herself to live to see the girl in the locked tomb awaken. Alecto has risen. Now God is dead, along with everyone who had ever been dear to her - and Gideon has returned as a distorted creature. The war is over. Harrow wishes she could be too. Or: A character study based on Harrow's suicidal ideation and Gideon's determination to never run anywhere unless she absolutely has to.

"Supernova Bloom!" by sinshine (13k)

"It's just for a week, and then you never have to see me again," said Gideon. "I don't have time to find anyone else." And, "Please." Slowly, Harrow took her hand off the door and cautiously turned around. Gideon watched a dozen unspoken questions flicker across her face. She voiced none of them, but eventually settled on an expression of grim resignation. "I suppose I could suffer you for a week." [Gideon needs help getting her new flower shop ready for the grand opening. Harrow needs cash.]

"I still need your teeth around my organs" by sinshine (7.8k)

Although she was a beloved Daughter and a talented necromancer, Gideon's greatest vice was that she dearly loved to fuck around and find out. Knowing this, perhaps it shouldn't have been as shocking when she lifted one of Nova's hands, flipped it over, and kissed her palm. [4 times Gideon kisses Harrow, 1 time Harrow kisses Gideon]

"cuckoo, cuckoo" by sashawire (1.2k)

What Wake gives it is not a name. To do so would be a moronic, unnecessary cruelty. But she does deign to give it the microscopic dignity of a title, a goal, a purpose. Bomb. Eighteen years later, in the rubble of a once-sacred home, Harrowhark Nonagesimus reaches up and touches Gideon Nav’s grit-covered, blood-rimed face, splits a laugh like the world is ending, and calls her “flower.” * Six times God's unwanted daughter was nicknamed, and once she wasn't.

"my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear" by sashawire (<1k) ♥︎

Gideon chomps into her tongue as hard as she can convince herself, stifling a very dignified squawk. Her eyes water, Emperor’s left tit that fucking hurts, but—it works. Blood weeps from the bite marks, creeping down the back of her throat, up into her nasal cavity, staining her teeth. Okay. She has blood in her mouth. Blood that, somehow, needs to get into Harrow’s mouth. * Step #6: Consume the flesh.

"fifteen percent concentrated power of will" by surreptitiously (9k)

Teaching someone to do a push-up is a love language, when that person is very annoying.

"GHAZAL WHERE I'M BEGGING YOU TO TOUCH ME" by igneousbitch (12k)

You had your body and I had mine, and it was a miracle. Your hands against my face were a miracle. The rest of your meat attached to your hands was a prayer answered and a promise broken, but we were flush and gasping and alive, and Harrow—I really thought you might’ve kissed me then. But I felt it happen. The way your breath suddenly stilled, and your body locked up beneath mine, remembering. How with splintering gentleness, you pushed me away. “I’m so sorry,” was the second thing you said upon waking. The first thing had been my name. Stranded in a safehouse on an Edenite moon, Gideon and Harrow try to put themselves back together.

"catch you on the flip side, sugar lips" by corpsesoldier (4.9k)

Maybe if Harrow's brain runs enough scenarios, she'll find a way to keep what she's lost.

"hand to heart, I swear" by corpsesoldier (5k)

Gideon has a broken heart, and there's only one necromancer who can fix it.

Medium (15-30k)

"If you're doing it right you'll break their ribs" by almostnectarine (22.4k)

"How do you know Nonagesimus has gone somewhere dangerous?" asked Isaac. "Have you wired some kind of alert system?" "It's, uh. It's on the schedule," said Gideon. "I just... forgot. Because of the bread." Nobody was convinced by this, least of all Gideon. "It's a Ninth House thing," Gideon went on, backing away with increasing desperation. This was a slightly more plausible explanation, if only because nobody wanted to look too closely at what fell under the awful skeletal-ribbed and rotting umbrella of Ninth House things. "Gotta go—!" And she was out the door, gone. But it wasn't a Ninth House thing, except inasmuch as it was happening to the only two representatives of the noble and decrepit Ninth House on this quite literally godforsaken rock. Gideon knew Harrow had gone somewhere dangerous—knew that Harrow was back in the lab where they had only just completed a horrible trial—because she could see it, clear as day: an awful overlay on her vision of that terrible dangerous room and a pair of terrible dangerous hands drawing some kind of ward next to the plinth. The hands were definitely Harrow's. This was definitely a problem.

"If Home Is Where the Heart Is (Then We're All Just Fucked)" by JeanLuciferGohard (17k) ♥︎

When Gideon Nav gets a call that her ex-girlfriend, who never bothered to change her designated emergency contact, is in the hospital, she goes against her better judgement and responds. Everything after that just gets more complicated.

"blue gray green lavender" by smolranger (29k) ♥︎

Laser Radial sailor Gideon Nav just wants pass her classes, win a few regattas, and keep her head down. FJ sailor Harrowhark Nonagesimus has grand plans to qualify for the Olympics, preserve her parent's legacy, and save her home town. Despite the ties binding them together, the two have kept their college lives carefully separate for two years. But when Harrow's helm, Ortus, suffers a concussion mid-way through the fall season, their carefully separated lives collide. Harrow needs someone capable of taking Ortus' place for the remainder of the season or her Olympic dreams — and Canaan College's entire sail team — are in peril. And Gideon is her only option.

"Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" by zoicite (24k)

Harrow and Gideon and times they have (and also have not) shared a bed over the years.

"Disney World, Florida" by softieghost (24.6k) [Part 2 of "Holy Cross, Alaska"]

After the events of Alaska, Harrow thanks Gideon the only way she knows how: devotion. -- Chapter 3: The journey concludes. More confessions.

"we've got a good thing goin' " by sinshine (14.6k) ♥︎

“Not to sound ungrateful, but being here makes me wish that you had left me for dead,” said Harrow. Gideon had been staring hard at the face of the fountain’s statue. She was pretty sure that it was carved in the likeness of Naberius himself, but she didn’t want to say it out loud and make it true. She shook her head and turned to Harrow. “Leaving me to live out eternity in your bony sock puppet of a body? Hard pass.” Palamedes and Camilla shared a look. It was the mutual understanding of two people who had been trapped in close quarters with the bickering of Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus for far too long. [Team 69 hide out in Babs's vacation home. Because it's not like he's using it anyway.]

"Cake by the Ocean" by zoicite (15k)♥︎

Okay, so the thing was, Gideon had always been shit at plans. She knew that. Everyone knew that, but this--she really didn’t think it would be this hard! Gideon’s voice was like the least memorable thing about her. Bargaining her voice for a well-shaped set of human legs--that really should have worked in her favor.

"careful fear and (un)dead devotion" by sinshine (23k)

[Gideon and Harrow wake up back in their own bodies but both of them are missing large parts of their memory. Camilla tries not to kill everyone.]

"who ya gonna call?" by igneousbitch (24k)

“Fret not, honeybun.” Gideon shook her red hair out of her eyes, belligerent. “I’m not totally sold on your whole skepticism thing.” “Well,” Harrow said, ignoring the nickname. She turned to the rest of the room, clearing her throat politely before addressing the empty air. “Ghosts, if you’re real, give us a sign. Make a noise. Move something. Send a shiver down our backs. Whisper softly into Nav’s left ear—” “I seriously fucking hate you.” - (Casual sex and paranormal investigation. Not necessarily in that order.) (or: the Buzzfeed Unsolved AU in which Gideon is ready to fight a ghost, and Harrow just wants to be haunted.)

Long(>30k):

"Beneath a Blue and Foreign Sky" by zoicite (35k)

Harrow has a decision to make.

"A Heart Full Of Sutures" by Rohad (40k)

All Gideon wanted was to get outside and ride her motorcycle. No part of that plan had included eight weeks in Canaan Medical Center with a broken Pelvis and the meanest little doctor this side of the eastern seabord.

"Midnight at the Mithraeum" by zoicite (66k) ♥︎

It'd been two years since Gideon Nav gathered her wine key and her gaming license and escaped The Locked Tomb, a speakeasy-style cocktail bar managed by the hateful Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Now, dealing tables at The Mithraeum Hotel & Casino, things were really looking up. So when Gideon scored a date with the most beautiful showgirl in the Gilded Halls of Ida, the last thing she expected was to wake up married to her old nemesis and former coworker. The story starts the night of Gideon's date and alternates between the events leading up to the wedding and the weeks that follow as Gideon tries to navigate life married to someone who claims to want nothing more than to forget she exists.

"Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" by pipistrelle (90k)

Being the journal of Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus, chronicling the journey of the Emperor's warship Cenotaph on its hunt to slay an immortal Resurrection Beast. Or: the Moby Dick crossover AU that nobody asked for.

"The Darkest Night, The Brightest Light" by eternaleponine (50k)

Harrowhark has known for a long time that her home's financial situation is dire, and not getting better. She has plans to fix it all, but can't implement them until she turns eighteen in a few months. When her parents announce that the best (perhaps only) way to save Drearburh is to marry off its heir, Harrow realizes the timeline has changed and she needs to take action now to save her home... and herself. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. Enter Gideon Nav. Detested foe, and Harrow's only hope.

"putting your fist through a thick sheet of glass (i know you don't want to)" by oretsev (46k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus and Gideon Nav have always been at each other’s throats, and the animosity has only intensified since the death of Harrow’s parents. But when a car accident leaves Gideon without any memories of her past, Harrow sees a chance at the clean slate she’s wanted for years. Becoming involved in Gideon’s recovery assuages some of the guilt, but as she and Gideon become closer and increasingly involved in each other's lives, Harrow worries that some of her secrets may be more than she can atone for.

Ongoing:

"semi-charmed kinda life" by strangedelight (182k+) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Gideon asked questions. Harrow surprised her with answers. They reached an agreement; they decided to be smart, to be patient. Gideon made a promise, Harrow gave her one in return. Wait and see. OR the year is 1994, and Gideon and Harrow leave their small town for life in the city. OR team 69 roommates au only this time it's the 90s

"Intern the Sixth" by apocalypticTaco (33k+)

ADDRESSING THE HEIR TO THE NINTH HOUSE, OR PRESUMED EQUIVALENT: PALAMEDES SEXTUS, HEIR TO THE SIXTH HOUSE, PRESENTS HIS COMPLIMENTS TO THE NINTH AND REQUESTS A FORMAL ARRANGEMENT WHEREIN HIS MASTER WARDEN AND CAVALIER APPRENTICESHIP UNDER THE NINTH FOR FOUR YEARS IN EXCHANGE FOR THE SIXTH’S SERVICES. *Details to be discussed. Please turn to back page. Timeframe variable. Services and agreements variable upon the Ninth's request. An internship of this caliber is highly unprecedented and likely unheard of, but any information valuable to the Ninth and into the Tomb will remain undisclosed upon request; Primary experience and study is required as the Master Warden has already decided upon such being his final thesis prior to his end studies. No takebacks, no denials. Pleased to meet you. Palamedes Sextus, Heir to the Sixth and Master Warden and Camilla the Sixth, Cavalier Primary and Warden's Hand of the Library

TO THE MASTER WARDEN: FORMALLY REJECTED.

"What's Eating Gideon Nav?" by labyrinthineRetribution (40k+)

After a miserable fifteen years at Blessed Saint Anastasia's School for Girls, Gideon's luck finally changes.

"We Have Always Lived in the Apartment" by labyrinthineRetribution (171k+)

John looks up from his Jack and Coke in drunken curiosity. "What's with the face, Harrowhark?" he asks, genuinely concerned. "Contrary to popular belief," Gideon butts in, "her face just fuckin' looks like that, bitch." She tends to use "bitch" as liberally as commas when off her ass. "You're piss drunk," you shoot back. "And you, my good bitch, are just as contemptible as the day you clawed your way up from Hell." - It is Harrowhark Nonagesimus' birthday, and it only gets worse from there.

PWP (basically):

"I'll hold in these hands all that remains" by corvidlesbian (6.5k) ♥︎

“Do you want me to try?” Gideon said. “What?” “You got all hot and bothered without me trying. Do you want me to try?” Their newfound habit of cuddling gets interesting.

"sting of a wasp" by brightbolt, imperfectlyctor (42k) ♥︎

"You’re a virgin,” Gideon said, testing it out. "Huh." Harrow didn’t like the sound of that huh. She knew Gideon’s noises, and that was a thoughtful, sinister huh. That was the same huh she’d made before putting canned tuna in Crux’s work boots. Her eyes narrowed. “What.” Gideon cocked her head to the side. “Is there a reason you’re waiting?” There was no judgement in the question— only genuine curiosity. Perhaps it was this that made Harrow more inclined to answer. “I don’t have the time to look for someone new,” She shrugged. “And my available pool is… somewhat limited.” “Well,” Gideon said, with just a hint of conspiracy in those glittering golden eyes. “If you ever want to change that, you have my number.” What? What? Harrow blinked. “What?” Or: the five times Gideon and Harrow successfully bone, and the one time they don't.

"Suckle, Honey" by zoicite (7.9k)

“You crave my juice,” Gideon accused. “I do not crave your juice.” “Fuck, you do though. You went off to explore that study alone, without your cavalier, using a key that I nearly gave my life for, and then you snorted some powder that made you crave my juice! Harrow. I never would have let you sniff powder from a ten thousand year old jar.” This was untrue--Gideon probably wouldn’t have noticed Harrow breathing in a puff of jar powder until it was too late--but it sounded like something Camilla Hect might say, so Gideon went with it anyway. Camilla definitely would have stopped Palamedes from accidentally sniffing old as fuck Eighth House jarred juice addiction powder.

"Five Times We Hatefucked and One Time We Didn't" by rnanqo (8k)

“Fuck you,” you said. “Fuck me yourself, you coward.” You ran a hand through my hair, fisted it, and pulled my head up. From here I had a spectacular view of your weird blown-out seething expression, like I was the worst thing you’d ever seen. Also a view up your blood-crusted nostrils. Choice. “Maybe I will, Griddle,” you said. “Maybe I will stop fucking you over and start fucking you." Gideon and Harrow realize, abruptly, that their hatefucking is no longer hatefucking.

"a call to motion" by groundedsaucer (coasterchild) (10k) ♥︎

Harrow and Gideon watch a porno.

"put her canine teeth in the side of my neck" by stranded_star (8.8k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus is getting a PhD and a divorce. Against her better judgment, she goes out to the bar to celebrate and meets an incorrigible, absolutely ripped salt-and-paprika butch who takes her home and gives it to her good. To her horror, it's the best night of her life, and she sneaks home with her tail between her legs. Harrow has more important things to worry about - like raising her daughter and building the next stages of her career. But when her daughter's favorite teacher, someone named Griddle, turns about to be the Gideon she met at the bar, she's forced to contend with allowing herself (and her daughter) to find the happy ending she never thought they'd have. Featuring MILF!Harrow, Teacher!Gideon, and a very amused Camilla Hect.

"The Wound That Swallows" by seelieunseelie (7.8k)

Harrow can make out an uncomfortable amount of detail about Gideon’s body beneath. Powerful, strong as ever, yet somehow vulnerable for its supplication below Harrow’s. “Are we gonna get this over with?” Gideon says in a voice softly scratchy. She blushes then when Harrow sits on the edge of the bed. “It will hurt,” Harrow says. “Yeah,” Gideon says. “I think I can handle it.”

#holy shit this is way longer than i thought it would be #uhm i literally gave myself a headache i sat here for like 3 hours doing this #that being said if you have any fic recs lmk LOL #griddlehark #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #tlt #tlt fic #tlt fanfiction #griddlehark fanfic #rec #long post

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allysunny · 5 months

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Pls pls pls friends to lovers with an ass load of pining!!! I love the trope where literally everyone but her can see that he’s in love with her and they’re basically dating without the title. She’s in love with him too but a little more guarded/scared. They have fun traditions like a book club, and Bruce gives her the princess treatment. Pls pls pls, I’d literally love you forever if you wrote this

Obliviously in Love | Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Words: 15k words

Warnings: Friends to lovers, pining, two idiots in love but way too blind to see it, Alfred being a very sassy butler (I love Michael Cane sm), possibly OOC Bruce (I've never written for him before), some angst, love confessions, Christmas! and mistletoe, eventual romance of course! Not beta, we die like Harvey Dent.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! Sorry for the delay, but as I told you, uni was kicking my ass. I'm back now, and hopefully I'll be able to write a lot!

So, this is my first Bale!Bruce request, and I'm so excited, but at the same time I'm super, super nervous because I've never written for this man in my entire life? I love this trilogy so bad and even rewatched all the movies as I was doing this, because I wanted to make sure I got him right. Sure, he's a vigilante and a billionaire and a supposed playboy, but he's also just a man, and I sort of wanted to explore that.

There's so many layers to this man, it is insane. If there's anything OOC about him, please do let me know. I swear to god I tried my best, and I hope you like the finished result.

This is my longest word so far - I'm so sorry! It was supposed to be kinda short and sweet but I just ran with it! I don't know if it was for the better or worst, but I hope you guys like it nevertheless. Again, I'm sorry if it's somewhat OOC, I tried to get everyone's personalities just right. I'm scared of not doing these movies justice. I also took some liberties with this - Bruce and Rachel don't have feelings for each other, Bruce often goes to charity galas, etc. Small things.

Also, it's set somewhat in between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight!

Anyways, enjoy!

Bruce Wayne was a lonely man.

Not that he minded, really.

Ever since he was a child, he knew most people were after him and his family for the money. Family friends cashing in favours done ages ago, things as small as having once lent his father an umbrella, women pretending to befriend his mother to accompany her whenever she went shopping, kids at school getting closer to him only to get a peek at the famed Wayne Manor and all the wonders it hid inside.

He'd rather be alone than have such leeches around him, surrounding him like vultures, waiting for an opening.

Kids who'd mocked him would apologise profusely days later, having learned about his family, offering their friendship. Once Bruce made it clear he had no intentions of inviting anyone to his place (he was just shy, really), they'd take back their so called “friendship”.

He was better off without such people.

They were few, the people he could trust. And even those he called his “friends”, he didn't trust completely. His childhood best friend, Rachel, had grown up and busied herself at the DA’s office. She reached out to him after he’d returned after all those years in training, but she was a busy woman, and Bruce had found a new passion himself – patrolling the streets of Gotham dressed up as a bat. They would talk often, but it simply wasn’t the same. They were still friends of course – childhood could link two people – but he’d changed, and so had she. No matter how well they got along, they were changed people.

So, he was back to square one, with no people to truly confide in.

There was, after all, a reason only Alfred knew of his secret identity.

No, Bruce Wayne wasn't a stranger to loneliness.

He preferred the peace and quiet of his home office to the loud ambiences of the parties thrown by pretentious people who wanted to pass by as charitable, and found that sometimes, being by himself was a better option.

Bruce Wayne could count with his hands how many “friends” he had, and how many were simply greedy bloodsuckers trying to get to his fortune.

All but you, though.

Never you.

Bruce met you a few years ago, at the bakery you used to work at.

He wasn't a regular - hell, he didn't usually eat at places like those. Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, dined at the best restaurants - a truth universally acknowledged.

But after being stuck in traffic for about thirty minutes (he'd sent Alfred on a makeshift vacation, having miraculously been able to convince the old man to take some time for himself), he decided to exit the cab and go for a stroll.

It'd been a stressing day, with about a hundred reports coming in for him to sign at Wayne Enterprises, the prototypes for his new motorcycle had proved to be a failure, and he was simply exhausted. A walk would do him good, clear his head.

That's when he walked by the bakery, noticing the colourfully decorated cupcakes and pastries on the shelves. The pastel-coloured frostings seemed far too pretty to eat, and curiosity got the best of him, compelling him to go inside and purchase one.

That's when he first saw you.

You took a while to take his order, quickly informing him you were working all by yourself. One of your coworkers was in labour, the other on vacation. You were baking, cleaning and waitressing on your own.

Bruce was surprised, to say the least. You were taking over each station, keeping calm even under pressure and tending to each task diligently.

When asked who baked the frosted treats, you smiled and told him you baked those yourself. Apparently, it was your first time exposing them, the owner of the bakery finally giving you some leeway to try your own cakes and sweets.

“No one's tried them yet, though,” you said, sheepishly. “People don’t really want to try anything new. They’re scared my food is going to suck. I keep telling myself they’re just scared of change, you know. To keep my spirits high.”

“I hear that,” Bruce replied. If he knew anything about people, it was that they were all terrified of the unknown. “It’s Gotham – what can you do? You bump into lunatics every other day. I’ll have the one on the shop window, the one with the pink frosting.”

Your eyes sparkled then, and Bruce swore he’d do anything to see them shine again and again.

“Really?” you asked, a hopeful smile playing in your lips.

“Absolutely. It looks good.”

You gave him an enthusiastic nod and went to retrieve the cupcake, placing it on top of a small place along with a fork. He paid for the treat along with a cup of coffee and sat down on a nearby table.

Unlocking his phone, he found a few messages from Alfred, asking him if he hadn't burnt down the Manor yet. Sure, maybe he couldn't cook nor clean nor take care of himself that well, but that didn't warrant a fire brigade to go check up on him, now did it?

Burned to the ground, he texted back in a joking manner. All that's left are the red slippers I gave to you last Christmas. Hadn't you lost them? It's a miracle.

Alfred replied just as quickly.

Should've let them burn too. Hideous things.

Bruce chuckled, assuring his trusted butler all was well, and locking his phone once again.

If he looked from the corner of his eye, he could see you, nervously chewing on your lip while you looked at his plate expectantly.

Right, he thought. The cupcake.

Bruce tasted the coffee first, deciding it was far better than whatever he was drinking at his office, and slowly cut the cupcake with his fork (because why would he use his hands). HIs eyes widened once he finally bit into it.

It was good, really good. It tasted like strawberries - not that artificial strawberry flavoured crap he was sure was in most of the food out there - actual strawberries.

The frosting was sugary, but not too much that it became nauseous, and the mix of flavours melted in his mouth.

You’d approached him, breath hitched as you awaited his verdict.

“So?” You asked, after a while, giving him an apologetic smile. “How is it?”

“It’s good.”

“Really?” You graced him with the brightest of smiles, holding onto your little notepad. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Way to go, Bruce. Not corny at all. You’re the man.

Pulling the chair next to him, you sighed in relief and sat down.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me. I was so scared no one was gonna like them.”

“The people of Gotham are idiots if they don’t want to try these.” He took another bite of his cupcake and your smile only got bigger.

“Well, you said it. It’s Gotham. Even something as simple as a different coffee order will get their panties in a twist. Look at how everyone reacted to that Bat guy. He takes out a few criminals and cleans the streets, and suddenly he’s the bad guy?” you inquire.

“Bat guy?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know! Bat guy! They’re calling him the Batman. You’ve probably seen him on TV. Black cape, black cowl, black, well, clothes?”

“Ah,” he nodded, “The Batman, yes. I might have heard of him.” Might have. “What’s his deal anyway? I think the police are calling the guy a criminal.”

You scoffed, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. “A criminal? The guy’s doing a better job than most cops. I think they’re just jealous. And pissed that someone’s not up for briberies.”

Bruce nodded, before turning to his cupcake. You thought what Batman did was right. He brimmed with pride.

“I don’t know – he sounds like your typical Arkham resident to me. Dressed like a bat, running around with a black cape?” It was practically wired into his brain by now, the way he attempted to detach his Bruce Wayne persona from his Batman one. Even if he’d just met you, even if you seemed genuine, he couldn’t help but keep up the façade. “They should probably lock him up.”

“That’s nonsense!” you exclaimed. “He’s the only one willing to do something right for this city. The only one who’s not being compensated by turning a blind eye to criminals like half of the GCPD are. The streets are safer with him around.”

So, he made you feel safe.

Well, not him – Batman did.

Bottom line was, he made you feel safe.

And wasn’t that the reason for all of this? To make Gotham a better place? To clean the streets, to give people some hope in amidst all the chaos and darkness? Wasn’t that his goal – to give Gotham citizens their city back to them, and allow them to live unruled by fear?

“Anyway - I’m sorry, here I am, sitting next to you while you probably want to eat by yourself. Gosh, I’m so sorry. Taking care of the shop by myself makes me feel a tad lonely.” You gave him another apologetic smile (although this one did not reach your eyes), and got up, hurrying behind the counter.

For a few moments, Bruce sat in silence, eating his cupcake, and sipping from his coffee. Good stuff – nothing like the ones Alfred prepared for him, but still good.

When he glanced back up, he watched as you quickly washed some dishes, brow furrowed in concentration. He took you all in, the way you carefully rinsed every dish, ensuring it was stable on the tray nearby before moving onto the next one. Once or twice, you looked up, observing the city through the windows. He saw you sigh softly and get back to work.

To say he was intrigued was an understatement. A big one.

It wasn’t only that you were strikingly beautiful – that helped too, quite a lot – but there was something more to you that Bruce couldn’t really pinpoint and wanted to get to know more of. He was tired of fake people. Of all the fake smiles and fake laughter and fake parties and having to pretend he was someone he simply wasn’t. It was all for the greater good, sure, but hiding behind a mask was draining. No one knew that better than Bruce Wayne.

Before he realised it, he’d stood up, placing his plate and cup on top of the counter. The soft “clack” of it made you turn around and your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh – “ you mumbled. “It’s okay, I usually just do that.”

“Lifting a cup and a plate won’t kill me, I assure you.”

You chuckled and took the dishes, turning to the sink.

“You’re not at all like what people say.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not like they describe you,” you said with a small shrug. A strand of hair fell from behind your ear and Bruce’s hand twitched slightly, perhaps wishing to tuck it back himself.

“So you know who I am?” he asked, a curious smile forming in his lips. He wasn’t expecting to be completely ignorant of him – hell, it’s impossible to be unaware of his existence when you live in Gotham.

“I have a television and friends who love gossip magazines. It’s preposterous to think of a person who hasn’t come across your face, considering it’s slapped in nearly every tabloid ever.” You chuckled, soaking his plate. “And there was the matter of your credit card – I thought American Express was a myth.”

Bruce remained silent, which prompted you to go on.

“Everyone says you’re an arrogant jerk – “ The words come out of your mouth before you can process them, and he chuckles mentally, finding the way you stumbled over your words quite amusing. “I mean, that’s what they say – I’m not saying that you’re one, I just – I’m just repeating what’s been told to me. Anyway, yeah. You don’t seem like that at all.”

“And what makes you say that? We’ve spoken for all but five minutes,” he cocked an eyebrow, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You think for a while, gripping the towel at your hands and shrug again.

“I don’t know.” You turn to him. “Call it intuition, but I just felt like you were being genuine. I mean, you don’t have a bazillion models hanging off your arms – and it looked like you walked all the way here. No fancy sports car like the ones in the magazines either.” Another shrug. “You just seemed like a random guy when you walked in. No fancy titles whatsoever.”

Just a random guy.

Sometimes it felt like such a thing was unattainable for Bruce.

In front of the cameras, he had to be spoiled, rich, reckless playboy Bruce who bought hotels on a whim, hung around with hot models and spent his money on useless luxuries such as cars and yachts. When no one was watching, he had the weight of Gotham in his shoulders as Batman, sacrificing his mind and body every night just to make sure his people were safe.

It was impossible for Bruce to be just a random guy, no matter how much he wanted to.

But the way you said it – like you truly believed it – made him think twice about it.

You weren’t grovelling at his feet. Nor were you pretending not to know him as many others had done, in order to appear mysterious and different, and therefore catch his attention. No, you were just being you – or what he hoped was you. You knew who he was, admitted to seeing his face and knowing of his affairs, but that didn’t stop you from treating him like a normal person.

Just a random guy.

“Or maybe I’m just biased because you liked my cupcakes.” There it was again, that lovely smile of yours.

And you were funny too.

“I’ll admit, that was my tactic all along.” Bruce allowed a hint of playfulness to tint his voice, and your smile widened at that.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, just Bruce.”

“Alright then. Your secret is safe with me, Bruce.” You smiled and went back to cleaning the counter. (You half expected him to leave without saying a word – why’d a billionaire entertain your company for more than a few minutes? – and were surprised when he stayed.)

“I’m sorry if I’m crossing a line here, but,” he started, “Would you like to join me for lunch one of these days?”

You eyed him curiously and cocked your head to the side, giving him a cheeky smile.

“Me? Really?”

“Exactly you.”

“Why? I don’t exactly belong with your people, Bruce – whoever they might be.”

“I was actually just hoping I’d get some free cupcakes.”

At this, you snorted out loud, covering your mouth with your hand. The other clients in the bakery looked at you with a slightly disgusted face, and it only made you laugh louder.

Once you stopped giggling (and after having wiped some tears from your eyes), you nodded and turned to him.

“Alright, fine. Lunch sounds great. Although – I’m sure you’re followed everywhere. And I don’t really want to be the latest gossip magazine cover.” You crossed your arms. Bruce nodded in understanding. After all, he knew how troublesome the media could be, especially when they were looking for any crumbs that might get them any insight into someone’s life.

(Un)fortunately for him, they couldn’t see past the playboy persona.

“I’ll take care of that – don’t worry.” Was his honest response. “Let’s say it’s easy for me to… become invisible.”

You leaned against the counter, smile ever so present.

“And how are you going to do that? Gonna wear a cap and sunglasses? A wig? Do we get to wear disguises? Maybe you could wear a mask!” Funny.

“I’ll just leave the American Express at home. Do you think that new Pizza place everyone’s been talking about accepts hundreds?” Bruce joked.

Your snort resonated through the bakery again, and the couple that had glanced at you earlier left, shaking their heads and muttering something about “decorum”.

The rest was history.

You and Bruce had become inseparable from that day onward.

Turns out that around you, he could be just a random guy, like he always wanted.

He started going to your bakery more and more, and convinced your boss to let you experiment with your cupcakes however you wanted.

“How the hell did you manage that?” you asked him, mouth open in wonder. “She told me I had full control of the menu! Two weeks ago, she said she didn’t want to try my sweets!”

“I’m very persuasive,” he replied, biting into a banana flavoured muffin – one of your more recent experiments. “It’s a bit chunky. Kind of bland, doesn’t melt on your mouth like the others do.”

“Yeah, I think I went overboard with the flour…” you mumble, writing something down on your notepad. “Anyways, how persuasive can you be? This woman has drunk the same cup of coffee for like, 40 years. She hates change.”

“Let’s just say I worked my regular Wayne charm.”

At that, you rolled your eyes and hit him with your towel but couldn’t hide the smile that graced your lips.

He’d stop by every day after work, eager to try out your new recipes and have a nice chat. It was freeing to have someone he could call his friend, with whom he could have conversations that weren’t about his job, his money, or his other affairs. It felt nice to be able to share things with you, things he couldn’t find it in himself to share with other people.

It took him a while, but he eventually told you things about himself. Slowly.

He told you about his parents, how much he looked up to his father and how he adored his mother. He told you about his childhood, playing in the gardens of his Manor or watching his father fiddle with the stethoscope, hoping one day he could make a difference just like him. He told you how sometimes he would just watch his mother apply makeup in her face, marvelling at how beautiful she looked. Other women of the high society always looked like they had this world and the next worth of makeup on their faces, but his mother was able to enhance all her natural features with a simple eye pencil or some lipstick.

“Makeup shouldn’t be used to turn yourself into something new,” she’d once told him, applying some sort of clear powder on her face. “Just to complement the beauty you already have.”

He found it easy to relate to that. Not the makeup, necessarily, but the whole “turning into a new person”. Batman was no different than him, nor was he someone different. He just brought out Bruce’s biggest desires, to keep Gotham safe.

In return, you told him about your childhood. About your first years in school, your friends and family. You told him about your passions, your wishes. How you wanted to travel the world and read as many books as possible. How you liked to laze around some Saturdays but couldn’t stay home and just had to get up and leave in others.

Bruce found the duality in you quite entrancing.

Some days, you’d be running around the Manor, goofing around with Alfred, and whipping up new recipes with him, the both of you jamming to old jazz that played on the radio – Alfred had been teaching you swing, and you enjoyed spinning around the room with him as lively tunes played.

(In fact, Bruce had walked in on you and him dancing a few times, and couldn’t help but lean against the doorway, watching and you laughed loudly and tried not to fall whenever his butler spun you around.)

It also went without saying that Alfred was over the moon now that his master no longer seemed to be alone. You might only be one person, but the Manor came alive whenever you were in it, and he relished in knowing Bruce finally had someone he could trust besides himself.

At first, Bruce thought of you as a friend. Someone he could confide in, someone to have a good time with and relax. But as weeks turned to months, he found himself developing stronger feelings. It wasn’t about “having fun” and relaxing anymore, it was now about seeing you, making sure you were alright, listening to your every thought and feelings.

He thought it was normal, though. After all, aren’t friends supposed to care for each other and be eager to spend time together? After all, it had been a while since he had friends. At least ones that spoke to him on the regular, that were there for him. This whole thing was new to him. So, he kept these feelings hidden, convinced they were nothing but the norm, enjoying whatever silly activities you engaged in.

You two had, after all, your own little rituals.

You loved reading – always had, and believed to continue doing so until you were dead and buried. And despite not having a lot of time to do so, Bruce did too. So, it wasn’t long before you two created your own little book club along with Alfred.

You would prepare a batch of cookies, Alfred would make some tea, and Bruce would wait by the fireplace in the living room, since there was really nothing he could contribute with but his insight on the books you were reading.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked, taking a sip from his tea, and placing the mug on the coffee table by his feet.

“I think it was terrible.” You replied.

Bruce nearly spat the drink in his mouth.

“Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said – it was a terrible book.”

“I think you’re the first person ever to call The Great Gatsby a ‘terrible book’.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Alfred, who was intent on hearing whatever you were going to say next. He too was quite curious, but he had an inkling he knew where you were going with this.

You just shrugged your shoulders and brought your legs to your chair, sitting on top of them. You felt at home in Wayne Manor. Bruce had told you to make yourself comfortable after the third time you visited, and you wasted no time in doing so.

“Jay Gatsby is one pretentious motherfucker,” you say.

“Language!” Alfred tutted.

“Sorry – I meant; Jay Gatsby is one pretentious douchebag.” You bowed your head towards Alfred and the butler nodded in acknowledgment.

“Wait – why?”

“Are you kidding me?” All you could do was scoff. “Gatsby is an obsessive narcissist, an egocentric pathological liar who cares about no one else other than himself, and much probably, a psychopath.”

Bruce was perplexed. Very much so.

“I – I – well. I see.”

“And the way he objectifies Daisy throughout the whole book – he doesn’t even love her! He loves the idea of her. He’s a jerk.”

Bruce couldn’t even interrupt you, because you were on a spree, gesticulating with your arms and talking fast.

“But let’s be honest here, it’s not like she loves him either.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Of course not! She’s a shallow, materialistic, spoiled brat and I can’t stand her!” You finished your little speech by taking a bite out of a cookie and crossing your arms.

“Huh. Right.” Bruce said, grabbing his copy of the book. “Well, I thought it was a great book. And I don’t think Gatsby is any of the things you said.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I think he is a misunderstood soul.”

You scoffed. Again.

“He’s a misunderstood ass – “

“Language – “

“He is Alfred!”

“Yes, but you aren’t, and I would like to keep this household clean, for dear Master and Missus Wayne’s sake.” He replied casually, giving you that look you’d learn to interpret as “do not test me you silly little baker, for I am British and have the high ground”, and to which you just stuck your tongue out.

Bruce ignored the both of you and continued.

“And, well, I think he truly did love Daisy.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, no, and here’s why, he did everything for her.”

“Name one thing.”

“Well, he waited five whole years for her. I think that’s rather romantic. He went great lengths to impress Daisy and win her love. The parties, the money, his whole persona – it wasn’t him, but he did it all for Daisy.” Bruce explained calmly. Alfred looked at him with raised eyebrows and just sipped from his teacup quietly.

“Bruce, the whole thing was a circus.” You reached in front of you to grab another cookie and took a bite out of it, missing the way your friend’s gaze dropped to your lips and then returned to your eyes in just a millisecond. “He was just showing off.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce said, “But perhaps he was just trying to be someone worthy of her. I’m sure love can make people do crazy things.” He wasn’t one to talk. It’s not like he knew what “love” was. He’d crushed on Rachel as kids, but that’s all it was, a silly childhood crush.

Perhaps the love he had for his city could count. He did do crazy things for it. Dressing up as a bat was an example.

You nodded your head a few times, pondering his answer.

“Maybe, yeah. But I don’t think so. If he loved her, he should’ve just said it. There was no need for all the show.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows once again. A very you-ish reply. He was enjoying this immensely.

Bruce replayed her words in his head. He should’ve said it. Surely, it wasn’t that easy. Jay Gatsby wasn’t your average man. He was a mystery. He had secrets and things he needed to hide. It wasn’t as easy as just walking up to Daisy and telling her “I love you”. It wasn’t that simple. “You think so?” he asked.

“Well, yeah! Absolutely – I mean, why complicate things?” you replied. “He should’ve just dropped the luxuries, the parties, he should’ve just stopped with all of the eccentric millionaire thing, looked her in the eyes and say, ‘I love you’. Simple.”

"Absolutely! I mean, why complicate things? Just look someone in the eyes and say, ‘I love you.’ Simple.”

“Simple, huh?”

You nodded, taking another sip from your tea – you drank it sickeningly sweet, with lots of honey, while he preferred one or two spoons of sugar.

“Yeah. Simple. No need for the fancy parties, and mysterious acts. Just be genuine.”

“That’s an interesting perspective,” he mumbled. “But sometimes people have reasons for not saying what’s in their hearts. Sometimes they must hide their feelings.” It was true. You didn’t know he was Batman – you couldn’t. He needed to keep you safe. All you knew was that he worked a lot, plenty of times exhausting himself and arriving home super late. It was for the best.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, which earned him a curious look from the both of you.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Please, do continue,” he said, gesturing for you to go on.

You gave him a weird look but simply turned to face Bruce once again.

“Reasons? Like what?”

Bruce couldn’t look you in the eye now. He shrugged and got suddenly very interested by the coffee table by his feet.

“Fear, maybe. Fear of what might happen if they open up. Fear of losing someone precious.”

You hummed, “Well, in my book, it’s always better to be honest and take the risk. Life’s too short for illusions. If Gatsby had just said it, maybe things would’ve been different. Who knows? But I still think he was one pompous son of a bitch.” You leaned back in your chair with a smug grin and finished the rest of your tea.

Alfred just excused himself and made his way towards the kitchen.

You certainly did bring some life into this once empty house.

You were lazing around in a Sunday afternoon, mindlessly scrolling your phone as a rerun of a show you liked played on TV. Even after a few years, it could still get some laughs out of you, and you’d look at the screen and smile.

All of a sudden, the couch dipped next to you.

Bruce had jumped over it, and landed next to you, sitting down comfortably, as if parkouring around Wayne Manor was something he did on the regular.

“Shit! Holy – Bruce!” You nearly jumped out of your seat, clutching your chest. Sometimes you wondered if Bruce wasn’t some sort of ninja. Being able to hide himself and be so silent wasn’t normal, and at times, to be frank, a little bit creepy.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and turned to you.

“Friday night, charity gala, you and me,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if he’d simply asked you what the weather was like outside.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the Carringtons are throwing a big party this Friday. It’s supposed to be this big fundraiser. The profits will go for new police facilities. As if those corrupt idiots needed them…” He sighed. “And clearly, Bruce Wayne must attend. And, as expected, he has to bring someone.”

You whined and threw your head back in frustration. You’d been to a couple of galas with Bruce. Most of them were dreadfully boring, filled with fake people whose only purpose there was to flaunt their money and pretend to care about whatever topics seemed most controversial. You hated them. The fake smiles, the gross men leering on you, the women shamelessly throwing themselves at Bruce (not that you minded. After all, you two were just friends. It just made you uncomfortable that they were so forward about his advances. Clearly, he wasn’t alone. He had you. Could they not see it? But of course, you two were just friends. Which meant you weren’t jealous. You just felt sorry for them, and extremely uncomfortable whenever they looked at, spoke to, or touched him. Duh.)

“I can’t go.”

Bruce grimaced.

“Why?”

“I’m busy. Sorry Bruce, I have plans.” What a liar.

Your friend smirked and nudged his head towards the kitchen.

“Alfred checked your schedule – you’re free for the next two weeks.”

Your jaw dropped and you looked back at the kitchen, where Alfred innocently prepared a few sandwiches.

“Damn him! I swear that man must’ve been a British spy!” you muttered, shaking your head.

“So, are you coming with me?” Bruce pressed on.

“I can’t – I have to return some videotapes.” You replied smugly.

Bruce gave you a dry laugh and threw a pillow in your direction, which you failed to dodge.

“Very funny. I’m serious – I can’t go by myself. Look, I know what this is going to sound like, but the Carringtons are only doing this to show off. They don’t care about the police; they want to show Gotham just how rich their grandfather’s money has made them. They’ve been around for years and never once donated – why now?”

“Just because you have to go, doesn’t mean that I have!” you too threw a pillow at him, but as always, his reflexes were on point, and he managed to catch it mid-air.

“Look, you’d be doing me a huge favour.”

“I have literally nothing to wear.”

Bruce gave you a blank stare – that excuse did not stick anymore, not after he’d bought you a different dress for each party he had taken you to (“Think of it as a thank you gift”, he said).

“Just take a model. Or an actress. Or some other celebrity. You know me Bruce, I don’t belong with those people. They’re not my crowd.” You grabbed another pillow and prepared to throw it at him.

“I can’t stand another night of pretending to spend my free time buying hotels and yachts.” Bruce said your name softly and you let your guard down, lowering your arm. “It’s not me, and you know it.” You looked into those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to have soften – those eyes of his always made you melt, and you often found yourself saying yes to his every whim.

You pondered your choices.

He could take a model or an actress. The headlines would love speculating who the hell was Bruce Wayne messing around with this time. He’d have to pretend to be someone he was not for a whole evening – though you didn’t know why; only that, for some reason, he had a reputation to upkeep – and the next morning you’d wake up and seethe as you watched the shots paparazzi got of your best friend and some random floozy slobbering on top of him.

Or, you could go with him. It’d be a pain in the ass to pretend to like all of those people and to interact with those phony idiots who thought money was worth anything and would try their best to snake their ways in Bruce’s close circle. But you’d spend a nice evening with your friend, wear a pretty dress, drink some expensive champagne and be able to laugh at everyone else with him. There were worse fates than that, you were sure.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll come with you.”

Bruce did a small “yes” gesture with his arm, and then grabbed a nearby pillow. “Now, where were we?”

“Oh – OH don’t you dare, Bruce Wayne!” You lifted your arm once again, but before you could throw the pillow in his direction, he’d grabbed your arm and pulled you to him. You fell on top of his body, hands on either side of his head as they bore the weight of your body. Your face was inches away from his, and all you could do was stare into those brown eyes that had you so weak.

You blinked repeatedly, before quickly getting up. Your cheeks were flaring up and you grabbed your phone, standing up from the couch.

Bruce, on his end, was speechless. He watched as you stood up, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I – I should go. I need to… yeah, I gotta – I gotta do something. I’ll see you later.” You mumbled, and within seconds, you were out the door.

When you were gone, Alfred left the kitchen and walked towards the couch where Bruce was sitting, still silently staring at the wall.

“Is everything alright, Master Wayne?” he asked, although he didn’t really need an answer. He knew exactly what was going on with him. After all, he’d raised this boy like his own son for years.

“Yes,” Bruce cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, yes, I am. Everything’s fine. How about those sandwiches you were making?” He tried changing the topic, but it was too late.

As Alfred walked back to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but think that he should probably schedule an optometrist appointment for his master. After all, one can’t help but be concerned when such a smart, capable man was so blind to matters of the heart. Almost as blind as a bat, one could say. He’d keep this joke for later. Bruce would hate it. Even better.

Funnily enough, Alfred wasn’t the only one who thought Bruce was blind to his feelings.

In fact, it seemed like everyone could see how smitten the Wayne billionaire was with you.

When you two went out, he would look at you with this sparkle in his eyes, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

You walked into the party, arm linked with his, and it was as if the whole world stopped to look at you two.

Everyone knew about your existence – it wasn’t the first time you accompanied Bruce to parties – Bruce Wayne and his close friend. Friend. Yeah, sure. If the glances he stole were any indication, the Wayne heir was nothing but completely enamoured with you. In fact, it was incredible how much he’d changed. His whole attitude changed when he was accompanied by you. No longer was he the reckless billionaire who drank too much and humiliated himself, but the elegant man who liked to engage in conversations (as long as the topics were interesting) and had a heart of gold.

Yes, everyone seemed to spot the change in demeanour whenever you two were together.

“Bruce!” A voice could be heard from the distance, and Rachel Dawes made her way towards the both of you. She smiled and spoke your name once she noticed you were the one accompanying her childhood friend, before hugging you. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you here!”

You hugged her back and gave her a genuine smile. You’d met Rachel before more than a few times – she was a lovely young woman with a great sense of justice, and you were sure she was going to do great things for Gotham’s wellbeing. You also enjoyed her company greatly, since she had once told you all of the embarrassing stories about Bruce’s childhood. “I had no idea you were going to be here!”

“Yeah, well,” she looked around and smiled, seemingly looking for someone. “I was just as surprised as you were.”

Then, a very familiar face emerged from the crowd, calling out “Rachel!” and walking to her side.

“There you were – you left so abruptly; I thought something was wrong.” The man said, before turning to look at you and Bruce. You took him in. Dirty blond hair and a familiar cleft chin. You furrowed your eyebrows, before it finally clicked in.

“You’re Harvey Dent – I’ve seen you on TV before,” you said, and he smiled in acknowledgement.

“That would be me, yes.” He put forward his hand, and you shook it, introducing yourself.

Harvey then turned to look at Bruce, extending his hand to him.

“And you must be Bruce Wayne. Rachel talks about you a lot.”

Bruce shook it and nodded.

“Hopefully she hasn’t disclosed everything about me, otherwise I’d be ruined.”

The two men chuckled, and you took that opportunity to look at Rachel. You looked from her to Harvey, opened your mouth and wiggled your eyebrows, earning a laugh from her. Rachel moved to your side as Bruce and Harvey spoke about Gotham and took your arm.

“Well, well, Miss Dawes. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” you asked in a hushed tone, still wiggling your eyebrows up and down. “How’d you meet?”

“At work. Harvey is running for district attorney. One thing led to another, and…” she trailed off, and you nudged her torso with your arm.

“And now you’re shagging future attorney Harvey Dent. Look at you go!”

Rachel covered her mouth with her hands and supressed a scoff.

“You’re unbelievable, and I never want to hear those words coming from your mouth ever! It’s just a casual thing, we’ve only gone on a few dates. Besides, you’re the one attending a charity gala with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. I think every woman in this room has you on a death list.”

“Pftt,” you waved your hand dismissively, “You know we’re just friends. Nothing for those women to be jealous about.”

“Ah, I see. You’re just friends.” Rachel nodded, feigning seriousness in her voice.

“Yes, we are. Stop with that face!”

“What face?”

“That face you always do,” you motioned towards her face, nearly pouting. “We are! And that’s the end of the discussion! I don’t even know why we’re talking about my non-existent relationship with Bruce when you’re probably going to be First Lady someday – this is huge.”

Rachel swatted you with her purse and returned to Harvey’s side before giving you a cheeky smile – it felt nice to have a girl friend you could talk to in these scenarios. Usually, it was just you and Bruce, which, however pleasant, wasn’t the same thing as having a girl in there. You were happy to catch her off work – Rachel seemed like a different person at the office. While there, she maintained a strong and serious attitude, you were happy to see her when she had no work business to worry about and could simply be a girl with you.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much of your time, Mr. Wayne,” Harvey said, shaking Bruce’s hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet Rachel’s oldest friend.” He then turned to you, “And a pleasure to meet you too, Miss.” “Likewise,” you replied.

Bruce nodded.

“Of course. I’ll be sure to send you a nice bottle of Chardonnay when you’re elected district attorney,” he said in his best careless billionaire voice, and nodded at Rachel before the two walked away. “Who would’ve thought,” he muttered to you, beckoning a butler who was carrying a tray of champagne glasses close to him.

“Well, I think they’re lovely together,” you smiled and grabbed a glass, smiling once the liquid hit your lips. Champagne was always welcome.

“Well, you think everyone looks lovely together. You’re a sap.” You laugh at Bruce’s comment and hold onto his arm. He brings you close, absentmindedly, and the two of you walk around the party, occasionally being stopped by the average donor.

After eating some entrees and mingling with the guests, soft music started to play and ring throughout the room. You looked up, pleasantly surprised, and tugged at Bruce’s arm.

“Come on,”

You didn’t have to tell him twice – he was growing tired of pretending to share the same interests as these vile people. He wanted a respite from keeping the charade up, so he gladly took your hand and led you to the middle of what had become the dancefloor. You two weren’t the only ones in there, a couple more pairs having decided to dance.

Bruce gently held your waist and pulled you close to him, his other hand coming to lift yours.

“Thank you,” he spoke, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes glued onto the two of you.

“I could see you were about to actually punch that man right in the face,” you chuckled, looking at the person in question. He was a middle-aged man who could probably stand to lose a few pounds for the sake of his health, who was trying to talk Bruce into introducing him a couple of models. You just had to come to the rescue, because Bruce actually looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. Thankfully, he was a good actor and simply promised the man he would surely hook him up with the woman of his dreams.

“I think it goes without saying I’m not introducing jack shit to him. I’m pretty sure he’s assaulted his female employers. I should have someone investigate it.”

“My, my. Bruce Wayne, ever the White Knight.” You smiled, and you could swear that for some minutes, the entire world faded away as the soft melodies of Camille Saint-Saëns filled the air.

He snorted at that but did not say anything.

The two of you kept dancing. You found looking into his eyes extremely hard, so you avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead at behind his shoulder continuously.

“I still haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight,” Bruce finally broke the silence between you two, and you returned his gaze. He’d bought you a floor-length black John Galliano gown with delicate lace trim and a bias cut, and you had actually screamed into your pillow once you saw it – it was far too pretty.

“Thank you,” you reply, brushing some invisible dust from his shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Bruce lowered his voice and looked you in the eyes, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“I mean it. You do look stunning.”

The two of you stopped dancing for a few moments, and you were unable to look away from his almost magnetic gaze. Time seemed to stand still, and you gripped his shoulder tighter, to make sure you were real, and he was real, and this whole ordeal was real.

He was just about to speak again, when you were interrupted by a loud, shrill voice.

“Mr. Wayne! Oh, what a pleasure to have you here!”

You quickly pulled away from him as Catherine Carrington, a woman in her mid-40s with long, blonde hair approached the both of you and placed two loud kisses on either side of his cheeks. You looked away, trying to figure out how to properly breathe again, and fanned yourself with your hands.

Harrold Carrington, Catherine’s husband walked to her side and shook Bruce’s hand, far too interested in talking to you. You stifled a laugh – whoever was in charge of his wig had tone a terrible job, because it was clear as day his hairline was receding, and the hair he had on was fake.

“Ah, you must be the mysterious friend everyone has been talking about. We’ve seen you around a few times, haven’t we Miss? But I don’t think we’ve properly met – I’m Harrold Carrington. And may I say, you look splendid this evening.”

None of the Carringtons seemed interested in their spouses. Catherine was fawning over Bruce, and Harrold’s eyes lingered far too long on your exposed collarbone and cleavage. So much so, that you turned from him uncomfortably. Bruce was quick to notice your discomfort, and pulled you next to him once again, wrapping a protective arm around your waist.

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep your eyes on the lady’s face, as opposed to her chest, Mr. Carrington,” he said with a smile that you could only identify as fake, and that smug voice he used when he was feeling particularly cocky.

All of the colour drained from Harrold’s face, and he stuttered, trying to form a coherent sentence – which he failed miserably. “I – I, well – I wasn’t – I would never! I – I was just –“

Bruce faced Catherine once again and gave her another fake smile.

“Lovely party Mrs. Carrington. Very nice of you to raise money for the Gotham Police Department. Very charitable, indeed. And the champagne is just splendid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I heard someone was eating caviar, and it’s not a real party without it, now is it?”

Effortlessly, he brought you away from the couple.

Once you were out of sight, he looked at you with a worried expression.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah – he was just creepy. Shit, I hate galas.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruce sighed, before shaking his head. “How long have we been here for?”

“About two hours.”

“How about we ditch at three? I think it’d be a crime to abandon this party now. Especially when you look this dazzling.”

He was giving you that look once again, the one you couldn’t quite decipher, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Bruce, on the other hand, was freaking out. You looked lovely, even more so than usual. He’d been dancing with you, and all was perfect, and then that hag Catherine had to go and ruin everything.

Was it too much to ask for a quiet dance with his friend?

Friend.

The word tasted wrong in his mouth.

No, you weren’t his friend. At least not anymore.

He thought about your dance moments earlier. How you’d held onto him, far too shy to look him in the eye, lips slightly parted and eyes sparkly. He thought of how easily you leaned into his touch and how he liked having you by his side.

He thought of how much he enjoyed spending time with you, how much he laughed in your presence, how free he felt when he was with you. He could be himself, something that he felt he couldn’t be anywhere else. You were his safe haven. You were everything.

It was that night Bruce Wayne realised he was in love with you.

One time the both of you went out to do some Christmas shopping.

(“In November?” Bruce had asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Christmas sales have already started! And I bet everyone’s going to start super soon, so we need to get to it!” Was your reply. Bruce could only sigh and agree, like he always did when it came to you.)

Besides, it was the first Christmas you’d be able to spend together after 2 years of friendship. The last two had Bruce way too busy with his company (at least that’s what he told you. In reality, he had been tracking down a few criminals who’d been wreaking havoc days before.

The main point was: after two years of being friends, you would finally get to spend Christmas together. It’s not that you’d suffered those Christmases without him; you had friends and family. But you wanted to spend the holidays with who you now considered to be your closest friend.

Bruce, however, wanted to spend Christmas with the woman he was in love with. He hadn’t found the courage to tell you – not yet. He was afraid of ruining things, of hurting you. So he kept silent, relishing in the friendship the both of you had.

Approaching the mall, you had a small list in your hand, filled with names of everyone you wanted to buy a gift for. He had around five people in mind, so he did not need all those preparations.

Once you were in the crowded mall, Bruce would hold you close to him, shielding you from everyone who might bump into you. His hand would respectfully be in the small of your back, and if he needed you to get out of someone’s way (people who refused to look up from their phones were the worst), he would slide it to your waist and gently pull you towards him.

You’d stopped at a beauty store, wanting to buy a new skin care package for your closest friend at work – heavens knew how badly you needed her to keep you sane – so you’d asked Bruce for his opinion on a myriad of perfumes.

“See, I like this one, but I think the smell is a bit too strong,” you mumbled, squeezing some of the hand lotion’s sample on your hand and applying it there. “Here,” you reached your hand to him, and nearly all the air was sucked out of your lungs when Bruce carefully reached for it, holding your pulse in his and bringing it to his face. His lips nearly brushed against your skin as he took the smell of the lotion in, and at least a dozen of women who were shopping nearby swooned.

Bruce let go of your hand just as gently and you blinked a few times, trying to wake up from your little trance.

“It is a bit strong, yeah. You mentioned she’s got a sensitive nose, so maybe something less floral?”

You were quick to nod and walk away, afraid he’d notice the way your cheeks heat up and your pupils dilated.

Once you turned away from him, focusing on the other hand lotions, he sighed, still feeling a buzzing sensation in his hand. It was as if he could still feel your skin against his, and he had to shake his head to return to the task at hand. Control yourself.

At a clothing store, you held up different sweatshirts next to him, asking for his opinion on a gift to your father. He gave you his earnest opinion, and insisted on carrying all your bags once you were done.

“Bruce – come on, I can carry them. I’m not a baby,” you’d told him, sighing in exasperation.

“Just allow me. You’re still picking up things left and right, it’s better if I carry these for you.”

You two checked out a jewellery shop – you’d been saving up to buy your mom a pair of earrings, and while you busied yourself looking through rows and rows of pairs, looking for the one you had your eyes on, Bruce quickly excused himself, and turned to a shop helper.

Approaching the counter, he placed the delicate pair of pearl earrings next to the cashier, glancing around just to make sure you weren’t paying attention to him.

“Would you like these to be gift wrapped?” The cashier asked.

“Yes please.”

Bruce continued glancing around. You too were speaking to a shop helper, pointing to the delicate pair of gold earrings you wanted to get.

“A gift for a special someone?” The cashier asked once again with a polite smile. Bruce wasn’t dumb. If he were anyone else, this would be a regular, standard question asked by shop clerks to keep a friendly conversation going. But he’s not just anyone else. He’d noticed the way the woman had glanced him up and down with a wishful expression and could bet all his money that if he were to reveal more than necessary, then she would turn to any gossip magazine as soon as he was out the door and spill whatever nonsense she thought it was going on.

He gave her a curt nod, paid for the earrings (now neatly placed inside of a box and wrapped with a pretty red ribbon), and returned to your side, hiding the box inside his jacket’s pocket.

“Did you find them?” he asked once he got to your side, and if it were anyone else, you would’ve jumped, but by now you were used to Bruce. You seemed to lean into his side and smiled, looking at the pair of hoops the shop helper brought to the counter.

“Yeah – she’s gonna love them! I was super scared they’d be sold out Bruce, I’ve been working my ass off to get these. I’m so proud of myself,” your smile was contagious, and Bruce found himself bringing you closer to him by the waist and giving you one of his super rare smiles. Once again, every woman within a five-mile radio sighed, basically eating him up with their eyes. It was no secret Bruce Wayne was a handsome man – not to mention Gotham’s most eligible bachelor – but to see him act so affectionate in public was a completely different thing, and it was clear more than woman had gotten jealous just looking at you.

(Their boyfriends were not happy with the way said women ogled Bruce up and down.)

“I’m proud of you too.” Bruce replied. It was true. You were a hardworking woman, and he beamed with pride at your accomplishments.

Of course he didn’t tell you he bribed the store to keep the earrings stored until you came along to buy them – he wasn’t about to let someone snatch the thing you’d been working so hard to get – but it didn’t matter. You’d earned it.

You grinned at him and reluctantly broke free from his hold.

“I’m gonna go pay for these, meet me outside?”

He nodded and walked outside of the store, hand coming to pat the box inside of his pocket. They’d look incredible with his mother’s pearl necklace, that’s for sure.

He carried your things to the limo, and upon arriving to the Manor, he distracted you with promises of hot chocolate and marshmallows, before handing Alfred the little white box and telling him to keep it a secret. The rest of the evening was spent with the two of you discussing presents, drinking your hot chocolate, and watching some Christmas movies as the wood in the fireplaced cracked piece by piece, enveloping you both in a cozy warmth.

Later that month, the two of you were sitting at an expensive café, having a few treats, and talking about your Christmas shopping. Although the place was very fancy and its prices had shocked you, so had the quality of their food.

“This is garbage,” you said, eyeing the cupcake on your plate. “Holy shit, who baked these? It feels like I’m chewing on a brick!”

“Yours are much better, yes,” Bruce agreed, taking his own cupcake, and looking at it carefully. “And that’s this awful taste?”

“I think she added lemon juice, but it doesn’t work in this recipe, not at all. You’ll see, it’ll basically nullify the sweetness of it, and the whole thing is just gonna taste like one sour cupcake. Gosh, people pay their rent’s worth of money for these?”

Bruce could listen to you talk for hours on end. The way your eyes lit up when you found a topic you were interested in, and how genuinely passionate you were about your hobbies. Your genuineness was something he praised and found himself looking for more and more. In fact, one of the reasons he’d taken you to this specific café was because he knew the cupcakes sucked – he’d eaten there before. He just wanted to hear you talk about them.

An old woman approached your table, wearing a Santa Claus had on top of her head, and a few Christmas related pins on her waitress apron.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, no thank you, we’re fine.” You replied, returning it «.

“I see. Well, I’d just like to say, it’s a real gift to see such precious young love.” The woman gestured at the both of you, and your cheeks flared up. “This city can be so dark and gloomy sometimes; it warms my heart to know that love still prevails on top of all. You two are such a lovely couple.”

“We’re –“ you coughed, trying to clear your throat. “We’re not – we’re not a couple.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, we’re just – we’re just friends!” you were quick to correct her and refused to meet Bruce in the eye.

Oh, right. Bruce. He was staring at the old woman, completely lost in thought. This woman thought you two were a couple. Did you look like it? And why had you shut her down so quickly? Did you hate the idea that much? Would it be so terrible if the two of you were to date?

“Oh, I am so sorry then, my apologies!” the waitress was quick to apologise. “It’s just – you two look rather lovely together. I’m sorry for the intrusion.” She walked away and you covered your cheeks with your hands, trying to mask the sudden blush that had overcome you.

Bruce, on his end, was still staring at where the woman had been. Did you two look like a couple that much? He wouldn’t mind it. No, not really, he wouldn’t mind being a couple with you. He could finally drop that stupid playboy persona, be one step closer to his real self. He could protect you and always keep you safe and closer to him. He wondered what it would be like to wake up to you every morning and be greeted with that dazzling smile of yours. Would you ask him for five more minutes in bed? Act all grumpy until you had your morning coffee? Would you drag him out of his bedroom to start the day and be productive?

“Shall we go?” you interrupted his thoughts, placing your now empty mug on top of your plate. “It’s gonna get dark soon, and I wanted to see the Christmas lights.” Your voice was lower, still tinted with some nervousness. Bruce snapped out of it and nodded, walking towards the counter to pay the bill.

While he was gone, you made your way to the bathroom and splashed some water on your face, to wake yourself up and hopefully cool down.

Once you were ready, you walked out of the café, strolling the streets of Gotham.

Sometimes it surprised you how pretty your city could be. Sure, there was chaos and corruption, and most of the times it was a fucking shithole, but it was still home, and the tall buildings and bright lights could still take your breath away.

You and Bruce walked side by side. You were still far too nervous to look at him, so you kept your distance. Bruce, respectful as ever, remained by your side, refusing to touch you until you gave him permission. As you were looking at the prettily decorated shop windows and houses, he could see the way your body shivered and trembled.

That’s what you got for refusing to bring a jacket because, “your outfit looked far too pretty to be hidden behind a coat”.

“Cold?” he asked.

“N-no. Not at all. I’m fine. I told you; these tights are really warm.” Your voice was trembling, and your teeth were close to chattering. A part of Bruce wanted to see you fight for your case just a bit longer, while the other just longed to envelop you in his arms and keep the cold away.

“Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure the tips of your fingers are turning blue.” He said with a smug expression.

“No, I’m fine.” You replied, nodding eagerly. “I told you; I wouldn’t be cold. I’m not.”

Bruce just nodded and kept walking by your side.

After a few minutes, it was far too obvious you were freezing. Your body was trembling, your teeth were chattering, and he was sure he could see your lips becoming a dark shade of purple.

Wordlessly, Bruce began to remove his jacket.

“What are you doing?” you asked, turning to him in confusion.

“Preventing you from catching pneumonia,” he replied, handing it to you.

“N-no, T-that’s not n-necessary, Bruce. I’m fine. I’m n-not cold. I’m f-fine! See? Just p-peachy.”

Bruce had faced criminals and villains and corrupt cops, and they’d all lied to him at one point or another. None was as bad as you.

He gave you one of his “I told you so” looks, and you nearly pouted, spreading your arms as he helped you put the jacket on. Almost instantly, you felt warmth spread through your body and sighed in relief. Bruce also removed his scarf, and carefully wrapped around your neck, hands lingering on your face for longer than necessary when he brushed a few strands away from it.

“Better?” he murmured.

You looked at him through your lashes. He was close. Very close. So close, that you could hear your heartbeat hammering on your chest. You gave him a soft “mhm” and he returned to your side, keeping a respectful distance from you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked him. It made you feel terrible – it was freezing in Gotham, and you’d taken his only sources of comfort.

“I’m fine – believe me. I’d much rather have you not freezing on me.” He replied.

“Are you sure? It’s very cold.”

“I promise.”

You nodded and continued your silent stroll.

Suddenly, while crossing the street, some careless motorbike showed up out of nowhere. You shrieked in surprise, and froze in your place, closing your eyes in fear. A pair of strong arms pulled you away, and you collided with a strong figure. Bruce was holding you close, cursing the driver under his breath. Once you looked up to you look at him, he turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking all over your face to make sure you were unharmed.

“Yeah – just – that dickhead –“

“I know. It’s like you can’t trust anyone with a license these days.” He muttered. It hurt to part from you. It was like you were made to stand next to him, body slotting perfectly with his. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, giving you space, but was surprised when you held onto his arm, like you usually do.

You looked at him, silently asking for permission, which he granted. You scooted closer to him, and he smiled.

The two of you continued walking through the streets of Gotham, making comments on the architecture, the lighting, the people. There were small stalls selling all sorts of trinkets and goods, a sort of small Christmas market, and you smiled as you saw kids running around with balloons or cups of hot chocolate. It was dark and gloomy, but once again, Gotham could be so very beautiful.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady?” An old vendor asked, extending a pretty rose in your direction.

“Oh, no thank you – “ you mumbled, shaking your head, but Bruce was quicker.

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking the flower in his hands. He handed the man a bill (and surely a big one at that, because the man’s eyes widened, and he stared at it for quite a while before thanking Bruce profusely.)

Bruce turned to you and handed you the flower.

You weren’t sure if it was from his jacket, or if your whole body had simply decided to set itself on fire. You took the flower and brought it up to your nose, the intoxicating smell of it filling your senses.

“Thank you,” you said, still looking at it. No one had ever bought you flowers.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady,” he repeated the old man’s words, and continued walking with you by his side, but not without hearing the old man say something about how “beautiful it was to see love bringing people together”. You didn’t seem to have heard it, but Bruce did, and he smiled.

It was Christmas Eve, and you were in Wayne Manor, having dinner with Bruce and Alfred (whom he begged to take a seat at the table with the two of you). There was wine and plenty of food, and the three of you had a great time, sharing funny stories and anecdotes and just enjoying each other’s companies.

You had promised your family to visit them the day after and were dead set on spending the Eve with Bruce.

After dinner, you sat near the fireplace, talking about books, movies, and whatever silly topic that came to mind. You, with your legs comfortably spread on the couch, Alfred on the big chair, and Bruce on the floor, by your feet. To him, that was the closest he had to spending Christmas with his family, and wondered if his parents would’ve enjoyed your company. Of course they’d have, he thought, you’re perfect.

After the three of you had played a few games (Alfred had won at charades, his Batman impression making you laugh for five minutes straight), you stood up announcing that, since it was almost midnight, you wanted everyone to open their gifts. It was more about you giving yours away than opening them, really – you were quite proud of the gifts you’d bought and wanted Bruce’s and Alfred’s reactions as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright, alright, me first! Here – Alfred, these are for you!” You handed him about five different packages, and he looked at you with a fond expression in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to, Miss.”

“Well, but I did. I need to spoil my swing partner, don’t I?”

He smiled at your antics and slowly opened the packages, one by one. Inside, there were a few woollen sweaters with matching-coloured ties.

“They’re really warm, you know. And it’s real wool – the quality of these is amazing! And you can even wear them without the ties, for a more casual look. What do you think? Do you like them?” you asked eagerly, hoping to get the response you wanted.

“I do, Miss. Thank you. These are lovely.”

You beamed and hugged him tightly. “Promise? There’s a receipt somewhere if you don’t like them – but I just thought they looked so cool and they were so pretty and the fabric is so soft, and – “

“Yes, Miss. I promise. Thank you. These are splendid.”

“Well, since we’re spoiling Alfred, I don’t really want to get left out.” Bruce joked, before reaching for an envelope sitting on top of the Christmas tree (decorated by the both of you on the first of December, thank you very much.) He handed his butler the envelope and sat back, awaiting his reply.

“So, you’ve finally decided to get rid of me.” Alfred said, looking at the contents of the envelope intently.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a few weeks.” Bruce replied smugly. “If anyone deserves a vacation in this house, it’s you.”

When Alfred didn’t reply, Bruce raised an eyebrow, worry starting to pool in his stomach.

“Alfred? Is everything okay?”

Alfred sighed and shook the envelope in his head.

“A ticket to the Maldives, Master Wayne? You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Bruce grinned, nodding. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do indeed, but, if I may express a tiny complaint…”

“Of course, Alfred. You can always speak your mind.”

“You’re a bit of a cheapskate, Master Wayne.”

You burst out laughing, nodding along with Alfred.

“A cheapskate. I see. And why is that?”

“After all I’ve done for you, three weeks of vacation seems a bit stingy, don’t you think?” Although he was saying this, he had a smile playing in his lips. Clearly none of it was serious.

“It’s not like I can function without you Alfred. Can’t have you enjoying too much time off, now, can we? You might remember just how fantastic life is outside this place and never return. You’ll be here forever. You’ve changed my diapers when I was born, and you’ll change them when I’m old and gray.”

“I knew I should’ve never accepted Thomas Wayne’s job offer back then.” He muttered. But he then turned to Bruce and gave him an earnest smile. “Thank you, sir. This is very thoughtful of you.”

After that, it was his turn to give you your presents. He gave Bruce a (very expensive) bottle of wine, that he expressed “wanted it to be opened on a very special occasion” with a wink – which made Bruce clear his throat and change the subject. You received a burgundy scarf he’d brought from his latest trip to England, from a shop you’ve expressed your admiration for a few times.

“Holy – oh my god! This is incredible, I mean, look at it!” You hugged him tightly and wrapped the scarf around your neck, not caring that it was far too warm inside the Manor for you to require a scarf.

“Well, now, it seems to be getting rather late for me,” he announced, standing up.

“Oh? You don’t wanna stay here until midnight?”

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, Miss. I’m quite tired. I’ll be retiring for the night.”

“Alright, Alfred. Goodnight.” Bruce said with a curt nod.

“Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss.”

You’d turned away to investigate your scarf once again, you missed the look Alfred gave his master, which made him sigh and look at you fondly.

“Alright – now it’s my turn! I need to go get your gift, just wait in here!” You were quick to stand up and disappear into the hallway. You’d been gone for a few minutes, so Bruce went after you, wondering if everything was alright. He bumped into you near the grand staircase at the entrance, and you jumped.

“Christ – you need to stop scaring me like that!” you reprimanded him.

Bruce chuckled, and you shook your head.

“Anyway,” you mumbled, presenting him with a small black box. “This is for you. I know it’s not nearly as fancy as the ones you already have but – well, it’s Christmas and it’s the thought that counts, is it not?” There was a certain nervousness in your voice, Bruce could feel it.

He gently took the box from you, and opened it, revealing a fancy looking black Hugo Boss watch. His fingers trailed the screen and the expensive leather strap.

“I know you have a ton of those, but I thought, hey, this one’s special, this one’s from me!” Before you could keep on with your nervous ramblings, Bruce brought you close, hugging you tightly. You smiled against his chest and wrapped your hands around his torso. This was nice. This was comfortable and familiar and nice.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair, and you almost melted at the cadence of his voice.

“You’re welcome.” You replied.

When you two pulled away, something caught his eye. Looking up, he realised the both of you were standing right underneath a few branches of mistletoe. You followed his eyes and blushed furiously, your whole body heating up.

Bruce said your name and you turned to look at him, feeling as light as a feather.

“Look, I – there’s something I would like to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Bruce thought of all you’d been through together. Laughter, tears, giggles, and scowls. You’d had great times, reading books, walking around, spending time together, and bad times, when he blew you off, choosing Gotham city at night over you. He thought of all he told you, all he trusted you with.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoy spending time with you,” he began.

“I enjoy spending time with you too.” You inched closer to him, hands still on his chest.

“You’re amazing, and I’m so glad to have you in my life. You see through my charade. I can be myself when I’m around you.”

He thought back on the charity gala, on you wearing that lovely black dress, dancing with him. He thought of holding your hand and pulling you close to him to keep you safe. He thought of your sparkly eyes and delicate lips, and how much he could stare into the former and how badly he wanted to kiss the later.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about how badly he wanted to always be with you. How much he’d love to wake up next to you, feel your skin against his, be able to shout from the rooftops that you’re his and his alone. He thought about dropping to one knee and seeing you walking down an aisle wearing the prettiest of white dresses. He saw a lifetime with you, side by side.

“What I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about Batman.

How he’d have to cancel date after date after date, prioritising the black suit over your relationship. He thought of you getting worried sick when he got home late, frowning as you looked at his scars and bruises. He could see it vividly, how you’d cry and beg him not to leave you, to choose you over the city for once in his life, and how he’d leave you to cry all of your tears as he put the cowl on.

“Is…”

“Is…?” You pressed further, eyes dropping to his lips.

He saw argument after argument, saw you screaming at him, accusing him of not loving you. He saw nights spent in the couch, because you were far too angry to let him in your bed. He saw your sad eyes welling up with tears in the middle of romantic dates after he’d told you he had to go because the bat signal was shining in the night sky. He thought about someone finding his identity and going after you first and foremost. He saw you tied up in some random chair, mouth gagged and tears running down your streak as some criminal tortured you to get to him.

He saw your lifeless body inside a coffin, skin devoid of colour, eyes closed, to never open again, and how he’d spend the rest of his life hating both himself and his mask.

He thought about Bruce Wayne, and Batman.

And he realised you couldn’t possibly love both.

“Is… You’re a great friend. Thank you.” He squeezed your arms in a comforting manner and walked away, leaving you wide eyed and speechless under the mistletoe.

Later, he’d gift you the first edition of your favourite classic novel and wish you goodnight with a polite nod of his head, going up to his bedroom.

Before he went to sleep, he locked the pearl earrings and his mother’s necklace inside his drawer.

Things were awkward between you two. Your friendship with Bruce was still there, but he was sort of distant. Your weekly book club meetings still happened, and he still dropped by your café to drink coffee and try new cupcake recipes, but everything seemed to have changed after Christmas Eve.

So, you tried to move on with your life.

A few weeks after Christmas, your bakery started to work with a new supplier, and you quickly befriended the delivery guy, Tom. While you started to look forward to his visits more and more, it still did not feel the same as when you were with Bruce, and you felt guilty for hanging out with him.

One day, Bruce came in for his regular cup of coffee and a cupcake and found you smiling and giggling at a guy at the counter. His first reaction was to punch the guy to next Sunday, but thankfully he calmed down and approached you with a polite smile on his face.

“Hey there,” he greeted you, not sparing Tom a single glance.

“Oh! Hey Bruce – this is Tom. He’s the delivery guy from the new supplier.” Tom’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realised the Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him and tried his best to shake his hand nonchalantly.

“I’ll be right with you,” you told him, and continued your conversation with Tom.

Fucking Tom. Who even was this guy?

And why were you smiling so much? What the fuck did he have that Bruce didn’t?

Most likely, it was what Bruce didn’t have that make a difference – a mask, a secret identity, a promise made to Gotham.

After you were done chatting with the delivery guy, you placed a cupcake and a cup of coffee in front of Bruce, but instead of sitting down with him, you returned to the counter and resumed your conversation.

Bruce cursed himself mentally.

On Christmas day, after you’d left, Alfred had asked what happened.

Bruce told him everything. How he couldn’t be with you because of Batman, how he couldn’t risk your safety and life, how he pushed you away.

Alfred lectured him, telling his master that his mask was going to be the end of him, but Bruce refused to listen and went to the batcave to busy himself and get his mind off you.

As he looked at you now, radiant and smiling at someone else, he realised that he might’ve made a big, big mistake.

It wasn’t long until you two started dating. It was casual, nothing too serious, but Bruce still seethed on the inside. He found himself staring at you for longer, hands lingering on yours whenever he touched you, and his heart ached more and more whenever he saw you with Tom.

You seemed so happy with him.

Seemed.

Because the truth was, you weren’t doing as well as Bruce thought you were. Tom was a nice man, yeah, but there was something off about the whole thing. He was good looking, yes, and very kind. He listened to you and made you, his priority. He was a dream. But there was just one problem, he wasn’t Bruce.

When you two went out, you often found yourself wishing it was Bruce’s arms wrapped around you. When you two went shopping and you decided to go try on a few hand lotions, Tom simply bent over to sniff your hand, and you were brought back to that time last November when Bruce held you with such gentleness, you nearly melted.

Tom always reminded you to bring a jacket, and you did so diligently, unconsciously put off by the idea of wearing his. He’d once given it to you, and it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t wrap it around you securely, he didn’t brush the hair away from your face, he didn’t look at you the way Bruce did. He was an amazing guy, and you liked him.

But that was it.

Still, you kept your relationship going, hoping your feelings would change.

After all, it’s not like you had ever felt anything for Bruce, right?

He was just a good friend.

You enjoyed spending time with him, sure, but that was it.

So, you looked forward to every time the two of you hung out. And your heartbeat quickened every time he was near. You couldn’t get your eyes off him. You easily got angry or upset whenever other women looked at him, and even more so when he entertained their advances. You longed to have him hold you in your arms.

But that was all normal, right? It just meant you were great friends.

You mind goes back to Christmas Eve, and the way he hugged you. Standing under that mistletoe, there was nothing you wanted more than to kiss him. You remember looking at him and wishing so bad that he would lean down and press his lips against yours. Just friends don’t kiss.

And that’s what you were to him – just a friend. He’d say that himself.

So why were you so heartbroken?

Looking at an empty coffee mug, it suddenly hit you like a train.

You were in love with Bruce Wayne.

And he didn’t love you back.

So there was no need to feel guilty over going out with Tom, right? Even if you didn’t particularly want to kiss him and didn’t want his hands around you when you two went out. Even if you were reluctant to introduce you as “your boyfriend” and had more than once ditched him to stay home and rethink your life decisions.

Even if when the two of you went out on dates, you barely paid any attention to him, focusing on the times you’d sat down with Bruce over a drink and just laughed your asses off and spoke until the crack of dawn.

Even if you didn’t really love Tom.

Yeah. No need at all.

On a lovely April afternoon, you were helping Bruce do some spring cleaning. You were both wearing some casual, old clothes, and helping Alfred to make sure the Manor ended up spotless.

You were currently in charge of the spacious living room, carefully placing picture frames on top of the coffee table so you could clean the fireplace. You looked at the framed memories. Pictures of Bruce as a child, or with his parents. There was one with a young Bruce standing on his father’s shoulders, and another one of him hugging Alfred.

You smiled to yourself. What a cute kid, he was. He seemed so happy.

There were pictures of him with Rachel, knees scraped and clothes dirty from the mud, and some with you. Your gaze lingered on those.

There was one framed selfie with the two of you, faces full of flour and whipped cream. You’d been teaching him how to bake, but the whole ordeal ended up in a small food fight – which he’d won. You chuckled at the memories of trying to teach Mr. “I’m far too rich to cook because I have people to do it for me” how to measure cups of flour, and break eggs. You’d held onto his arms and guided him to make sure he got the measurements just right.

Something inside of you flared up the memory.

The other picture in your hand had been taken at the Carrington gala.

You were wearing your pretty (and extremely expensive) black dress and were smiling at the camera. You were leaning into Bruce’s touch, who was holding you close by the waist. Instead of looking at the camera, he was instead looking at you.

Somehow, tears had clouded your vision.

How you had loved dancing with him. Being held by him as if you were the only person in the world he cared about. Your fingers traced his figure in the picture, and a tear fell down your cheek, falling on top of the glass.

“Hey, are you done with the fireplace?” You jumped at the voice behind you, and dropped the frame, which fell on the floor and broke into a million little pieces.

“Shit!” you mumbled, quick to crouch and try to pick up each glass shard. Bruce was quicker though, and made his way towards you, pulling you away from the soiled floor.

“No, get away from this, you might get hurt. I’ll call Alfred and – “ he looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Tears were streaming down your face, and you couldn’t look away from the mess you had made. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked back a sob. “I’m so sorry – I broke it.”

“No, no. It’s okay, we’ll just get a new frame.” Bruce assured you, hands resting on your shoulders.

“No – fuck – it’s not okay! None of this is okay!” You cried, and he pulled you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

“It’s just a frame. We’ll get a new one. And we’ll clean the floor.”

You cried in his arms for a while, until your sobs subsided into quiet sniffs. Bruce didn’t really know what to do, so he stood there, holding you tight. He’d never let you go.

After a while, you broke the silence.

“I – “ sniff, “ – I broke up with Tom,” you mumbled.

Bruce’s expression was one of surprise. Really? Why would you though? You two seemed happy.

“I… I don’t really think I liked him…” you continued; voice muffled by his chest. “I think I was dating him simply because I wanted to forget you…”

What?

He looked at you, but you refused to face him, face pressing harder against his chest.

“I’m such an idiot, Bruce… Everything was fine, and then I went and fell for you… And now our friendship is going to be ruined, and I broke your picture frame…”

Bruce held you tighter. You fell for him?

“I’m sorry, Bruce… I’m so sorry – I promise I’ll fix this. I – I’ll stop loving you and we can go back to being friends, and – “

Bruce used his thumb to lift your face up and looked straight into your eyes. There was nowhere to run. You were trapped, and so was he.

“You love me?” he asked, voice as soft as you’d ever heard it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say those words out loud, so you opted for nodding.

“But – Tom –“

“Tom was a distraction,” you sniffled, “And I feel terrible about it. But I didn’t really like him. I just wanted to forget about you.”

“You love me,” Bruce repeated, using the same thumb to rub circles on the skin of your cheek. His gaze fell on your lips.

He had two choices. He could let you go once again. He could walk away from you, tell you he didn’t love you back. He could watch as you eventually moved on with your life (this time for real) and protect you from having to choose between Bruce Wayne and Batman.

He could give up the love of his life forever.

Or he could kiss you. He could tell you how he felt. He could trust you with that darker side of him, and you two could figure it out along the way. He could take it easy. He could bare his heart and finally tell you how you felt.

Two sides of him fought against each other, but ultimately, one was stronger.

He bent down and took your lips in his, sliding his hands up to your face to cradle it.

You were surprised to say the least, but pleasantly so. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back with vigour, tears of happiness falling down your cheeks. How you’d wanted this. And now, it was finally happening.

When you two parted for air, Bruce refused to let you go, standing mere inches away from you. His nose nuzzled yours, and he whispered a quiet, “I love you.”

You don’t know wat surprised you more. That he’d say it, or that you said it back.

“I love you too,” you smiled, pressing yourself against him and kissing him once again.

Bruce wrapped his arms around you, attempting to convey all his feelings for you in a simple kiss. All the longing, the love, the desire, the friendship. Everything he couldn’t find the words to say, he poured into that kiss. And you smiled, accepting all his confessions, all his words.

“Well, it was about time, don’t you two think?” Alfred said from across the room.

You jumped and just stared at him, embarrassment overtaking you.

“Yes, I’m talking about you two. Do you know how bothersome it was to see you moping around and sulking because you hadn’t kissed her on Christmas Eve, sir?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I – You wanted to kiss me on Christmas Eve?” you turned to Bruce and gave him a soft smile.

“I did. I really did. I’m so sorry I didn’t.” he replied, before looking at Alfred. “Could you please leave us alone now? I don’t really recall paying you to mind my business.”

“You don’t pay me enough not to, sir.” The butler replied with a cheeky grin and that “I have the high ground, for I am British and old and wise” smug look of his. “I am glad to see the both of you are finally getting along. If you need me, I’ll be cleaning the Manor, since no one in this house does it.”

You laughed and faced Bruce once again, cupping his cheek.

“I thought you didn’t even like me. I mean, on Christmas…”

“I’m sorry about Christmas. I really did want to kiss you, it’s just… There are things about me – things you don’t know. And I’m afraid of telling you because I don’t want you to get hurt.” He replied, hand coming up to touch yours.

“You can tell me anything Bruce, you know it. Right?”

He nodded, and hugged you close one more time.

“I do. And I love you. I really mean it.”

Bruce could hear the smile in your voice when you replied.

“I love you too.”

For once in his life, Bruce Wayne did not feel completely alone. On the next room, he had his trusted butler, who had raised him as his own and acted like a parental figure all these years. And in his arms, he had you. The love of his life, the woman he loved the most in the world.

Holding you close to him, he knew he could trust you, no matter what. He knew you’d accept him, because if anyone would, it was you. And he would cherish that forever.

Later that night, a small white box was taken out of a locked drawer and placed inside of his pocket.

Bruce led you to the same spot you’d been on Christmas Eve, handed you the small box, and after carefully placing the necklace around your neck, finally kissed you.

There was no way he was ever letting go of you.

A/N: And that's it! I hope I was able to do both this trilogy and this request justice, I was really worried about it. I wrote most of it in one sitting, you have no idea, I just kept on writing and writing and writing and when I realised it, it'd gotten kinda long and out of hand.

I also hope this Tom character wasn't useless? I mean, he sorta was, he was just a plot device, but I hope he didn't feel rushed or whatever.

Anyways, I hope you guys liked it! I really do!

Have an amazing day, everyone! <3

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight fanfic #nolanverse fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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upsidedownwithsteve · 9 months

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [15K] PART TWO OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

tw: mentions of pregnancy, slight steddie.

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Five weeks.

You didn’t see Steve for five weeks. Not for lack of looking. The Lake House was astoundingly quieter with the loss of the youngest Harrington and his friends, the bar empty, the Macallan well stocked and poker nights were taken over by the older generation. You didn’t see him on the golf course, nor in the spa. He didn’t frequent the smoking lounge and you didn’t see him at the bar. Gone was his maroon BMW from the parking lot and on the one, stupid occasion where you’d swallowed all your shame, you drove past his townhouse after a late night shift and you weren’t sure if you were disappointed or relieved to see it sitting in the dark, empty.

You hadn’t exchanged numbers that night, still, the radio silence was infuriating. But hey, at least he wasn’t just plain avoiding you.

Which you realised when he waltzed in one Tuesday before lunch service, more tanned than ever, white shirt sleeves rolled up, tan trousers perfectly tailored. His eyes were on you immediately, his hair longer than you’d last seen him, like he’d been so busy he hadn’t had time to get it cut. Strands of it fell into his eyes and he swept them out of the way with a grin as he approached the bar. More so a smirk, really. And it irked you, his smirk, his pretty brown eyes, his perfectly messy hair, his sunkissed skin and don’t give a fuck attitude.

He leant on the bar like he owned it, elbows pressed to the wood, hands clasped in front of him so the gold ring glinted in the afternoon sun. He didn’t say anything, he just waited, watching as you finished polishing a wine glass and put it back on the glass shelf.

You cleared your throat and didn’t bother to smile, but the voice you spoke in was very much reserved for customer service. “Good afternoon, sir. What can I get you?”

You watched as Steve’s eyes flashed a little darker, amused and something else. He let out a soft laugh, like he thought you were funny. Like he thought your cold indifference was hilarious. So he played along, sliding onto one of the suede stools. The bar room was somewhat empty, most of the members either gathering for lunch in the sun room or soaking up the last of the warm weather on the golf course. It was quiet, and the tension between the two of you could fill the entire manor.

“A Macallan, please,” Steve answered, just as politely.

He was still watching every move you made, eyes raking over your legs, the fit of your dress over your hips, the swell of your ass when you turned and reached up for the bottle of scotch. You smiled, a sardonic press of your lips that didn’t meet your eyes when you asked him, “would you like ice with that?”

Steve really laughed then, but there was an edge to it that told you were getting under his skin. If he wanted to leave the country for over a month after blowing your mind in his fancy living room like it was no big deal, well— you could pretend you don’t care. Or better yet, didn’t even remember him.

“No ice,” he said and before you could pour, he waved his hand for you to stop. “Actually, you know what? I’d prefer the forty year. You have that right, honey?”

You did. But it was in the back, behind a heavy, locked door. The forty year old scotch could go for thirty thousand dollars a bottle. You tried not to look surprised, or worse, impressed. So you nodded instead and told him, “of course, sir. Please bear with me.”

But when you left the bar to walk towards the door that was marked ‘employees only,’ Steve was behind you. You watched him lean against the wall as you fumbled with your key card, pressing it once, twice - fuck - three times against the pad before it buzzed. And when you pushed the door open and Steve caught it, slipping in behind you, your cold indifference turned to anger.

Who did he think he was? Did he think he was that untouchable?

“This is employees only,” you hissed at him, panicking at the thought of someone else - god forbid, your boss - catching you in the hallway with him.

Like they’d be able to tell you’d gone to his late one night, that you’d stood and stripped for him in front of his big fireplace and bigger TV, like they’d find out he’d put his mouth on you and made to you come harder than anyone else ever ha—

But Steve just sighed, a long suffering thing that made your hackles rise up that little bit higher. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Honey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He brushed past you, hands in his pockets, walking down the corridor towards the locked room where the high value liquor was kept. “No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Now, come on.”

You didn’t want to obey, you didn’t want to do as he said. But you were at a loss. He looked so good and smelled so nice, clean and like the ocean, like sunscreen, like he’d just stepped off the plane from whatever Italian city he’d been hiding in and came straight to you. So you didn’t say anything, you just straightened up and let the clickclickclick of your heels fill the silence as you edged past him again and walked towards the door.

He didn’t let you reach it before he started talking again, a lazy drawl that matched his slow walk, an effortless thing that suited his linen trousers and effortlessly rumpled shirt. Even the lock of hair that fell across his forehead looked artfully placed.

“Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve been?”

You clenched your jaw. “No.”

You heard him laugh and the sound made your hand slip from where it tried to remember the combination for the door. He was so sure of himself, so sure and so confident that you’d spent the last five weeks thinking of him and where he was and what he was doing and who he was with—

“So rude today, honey. You don’t want to hear about the business deals I secured? The money I made?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. You kept your back to him, body stiff, mind positivity empty as you tried to recall the fucking code. You could sense him getting closer, body heat crowding yours, his cologne, his scent, like he’d bottled an Italian summer and sprayed it all over himself.

“No,” you repeated. Blunt, short, cold.

“What if I brought you back a present, wouldn’t you want to know then?”

He was behind you now, a towering presence, intimidating even when you weren’t looking at him. His chest brushed your back, a solid, warm thing that you wanted to melt against. But you kept yourself strong, hoping he couldn’t see your shaking hands as you tried another series of numbers. Steve’s hand came up to your neck, sweeping away the hair there, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin.

The keypad beeped at you in protest, another denied entry.

“You’re not like the other girls, are you, honey?”

You braced yourself, waiting for the speech about how you were different from the others, better in whatever way Steve deemed appropriate. Prettier, maybe. Smarter, quirkier, some kind of compliment that was supposed to make you preen for him.

Steve tsked and moved closer, his nose brushing the nape of your neck. “No, you don’t want my money. You’re not interested, huh? You don’t want the cash, the presents, no diamonds, no five thousand dollar shoes. You don’t want the cars or the houses or the yachts or the ring on your finger, huh?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer. Steve’s little speech didn’t go the way you assumed. The boy spun you suddenly, backing you into the wall as he took your chin in his hold, heated skin between a finger and his thumb, his nose and lips trailing over your cheek, your temple. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. You waited.

“No, honey, you just want fucked, don’t you?”

His lips were at your ear, trailing over the shell of it and you couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered, heading lolling back until it thudded against the wall. You were breathing funny, your body boneless. How did you fucking get here?

Steve grinned even though you couldn’t see, teeth on your jaw instead. He took your hand from where it lay limp by your side and brought it to his crotch, cupping it between his own and his cock, the hard length of him pushing against his slacks and your small hand. “You just want this, right?” His teeth nipped at you and you scrunched your face in pleasure, lips parting. “Tell me.”

You folded, a new kind of girl from the one that stood at the bar, brushing him off and pretending you couldn’t recall the way you came on his tongue. You nodded, brows knitted together, like you were ready to beg. Maybe you were. “Yeah,” you answered breathily. “I want it.”

Steve kissed your cheek, a sweet thing, a sudden and shocking touch. “Want what? Wanna hear it, honey, c’mon.”

Heat rushed through you, clinging to your cheeks, your neck. You squirmed, embarrassed and turned on, even more embarrassed that you were throbbing at his words. You blinked at him. “Want your cock,” you whispered.

“Smart girl,” he cooed. “Clever girl. Such a good fucking girl.” Steve let go of your chin, used his fingertips to brush your hair back and draw a line down your jaw. He pressed another kiss, to your chin this time, a fleeting thing that you tried to chase. You wanted to taste him. “That’s better isn’t it? So much better when you play nice. Where do you want it? Hm? Wanna suck it for me, honey? Want to feel it down your throat?” Steve tsked, his voice low and controlled despite the filth he was muttering against your cheek. “No, no, you want it inside of you, right? My baby wants fucked, right?”

Baby. My baby. It didn’t feel like a pet name, not really. Not like the way he said ‘honey,’ like melted candy on his tongue. No. This felt like ownership.

You were throbbing from the inside out, your brain buzzing, a white noise kind of sound that tuned out everything bar Steve’s voice, his words, that awfully fucking pretty cadence that made you feel like you were one step away from getting in trouble. You don’t know why you loved it, why it made your toes curl, your lips part and a whine get stuck in your throat.

“Fuck, Steve,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails scraping over his shirt, creasing the expensive linen. You didn’t care. “Yeah, please, I want that.”

“Oh, it’s Steve, now, is it?” The boy laughed a little meanly, grabbing at your hips to turn you for him, your chest pressed to the wall as he made sure your ass stayed popped out for him. He traced the pretty arch of your back, rocked his dick against the curve of your ass cheek and squeezed. “I think I preferred ‘sir.’ Made you sound so much more agreeable.”

You just moaned. A sound you’d never heard yourself make, an animalistic thing, wrecked sounding and it made Steve beam. “Oh honey, you’re filthy, aren’t you? You’d let me fuck you right here, wouldn’t you?” His hands found the hem of your dress and cool air hit the tops of your thighs as he started lifting it up.

You didn’t care. You didn’t fucking care.

Your cheek was pressed to the wall, Lake House green paint under the press of your palms and you remained pliant for Steve, back arched and legs spreading a little, ready for him to pull your underwear to the side and slip his cock inside of you. You wanted it, you needed it—

“I’m not gonna fuck you here, pretty girl, not yet.” Steve was at your ear again, whispering against the shell of it, his fingers grabbing a handful of your ass under your dress as he squeezed and pulled at the dough of it. “Gonna take my time with you for that. Going to make sure I ruin you.”

Disappointment washed over you like a bucket of cold water. It was sobering and his words made you whine, a desperate noise that the staff corridor of The Lake House should never have heard. You turned on your own volition, gazing at Steve with heavy lidded eyes and you were pleased to see he looked the same. Cheeks pink, lips parted, his chest moving a little quicker than before. You remembered the way he’d taken charge that night, how he’d just assumed you’d come home with him after the poker game, how he’d sat in front of you, sprawled on his big sofa as he watched you take off your clothes for him.

How he’d told you to.

And then he’d made you come undone, unravelling against his mouth as he whispered dirty things to you, leaving you fuzzy and hazy as he dropped you home, seemingly unaffected. You wanted that power back, you wanted to see him too far gone to remember how much money he had in the bank.

So you pressed your palms to his chest and smoothed down his shirt collar before you dropped to your knees in front of him. It should’ve been a submissive thing, most people would assume it was. You, kneeling below the rich man, the man who had wealth and connections and an entire legacy built on just his name. You, the girl who was paid to serve him from behind a bar, pouring drinks that you’d ever be able to afford, on the floor in front of him.

But when you looked back up at Steve, his cocky expression had changed to one of awe. Genuine surprise showed in his eyes, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he blinked at you, dreamlike, hazy, fuzzy. Just like he’d made you feel. You brought your hands to the front of his trousers, finger teasing the button there before he slumped forward a little and braced his hands on the very wall he’d pushed you up against. He nodded, mumbled something that sounded like ‘please.’

Victory.

You looked back at the door you’d come through, no windows in the wood, but still thin enough that could hear the grand piano playing in the dining room, the distant tinkling of china teapots against porcelain teacups. Anyone could walk in. You’d get fired. Or worse.

The button popped under your finger and thumb, and the zipper whispered in the quiet when you tugged it down. Steve groaned, a heavy, hot sound that made the slick between your thighs worsen. He was leaning over you, head bowed between the arms that held him up, his full lips pink and parted as he stared down at you. You waited for some sort of instruction, an order, some filthy kind of praise but instead, he just watched.

Powerless.

You flattened a palm against his cock, hard and warm under the cotton of his black Calvin Kleins, your other hand braced on his thigh. You looked up, one brow raised, a silent question even as the solid length of him kicked up against your touch.

“Yes,” he rasped, nodding. “Yeah, honey, go ‘head.”

You worked fast, the rest of the club a far away murmur behind the locked door as Steve’s heavy breaths took over your senses instead. You dragged the band of his underwear down, his cock slapping up against his stomach. He was huge, thick and long and hard to wrap your fingers around and you hated that he had another reason to walk around acting like he fucking owned the world.

But you wanted the power back and you grasped him in your fist, pumping him against your palm as he tried to stop his hips from bucking forward. You wanted Steve like putty, yours to play with, you wanted him to fall apart as fast and as hard as he made you.

So you skipped the teasing, leaning forward to lick a broad stripe across the head of his cock, salt on your tongue and he swore, hips jerking when you opened your mouth and let him slide past your lips. You worked quick, heart racing from the adrenline of sucking someone off during working hours, hidden in a place you weren’t supposed to be. This was stupid, it was so fucking stupid but the stretch of your jaw around Steve’s cock was delicious, the sounds he was making even better. He was gasping your name, his voice hoarse, his eyes barely able to stay open but his lashes fluttered and he made sure he watched the way his cock disappeared in and out your mouth, over and over again.

Your nails scratched at his thighs, making him hiss, your free hand pumping the length of him that you couldn’t nudge into your throat. It was wet and messy, a filthy thing that made his brain malfunction ‘cause you were looking up at him the whole time with big, doe eyes and your pretty, little dress was splayed over your thighs. You looked like sin, you looked like his own personal wet dream and you were tracing your tongue along the underside of his cock as the head of it hit the back of your throat and—

“Oh my god,” Steve growled. One hand fell from the wall to grasp your head, not pushing, not guiding. Just twisting into your hair and holding on for dear fucking life. “Oh, fuck, m’gonnacome.”

It had barely been five minutes and a new sort of determination flushed through you. You were soaked, inner thighs wet from the heat of Steve’s stare, from the weight of his cock on your tongue and god, he was tipping his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair as he realised you were doubling down on your efforts and not pulling off.

“In your mouth, honey, yeah?” His voice was a little higher, breathier, so much less than controlled that it ever had been. “Gonna come in that pretty mouth, that smart, little mouth, hm? Please? Gonna swallow it all for me?”

You hummed in agreement, refusing to take you lips away from him, bringing a hand to cup his balls as you worked your mouth around him, rolling them in your palm. Steve twitched against your tongue, hips jerking forward as he gasped out everything from a prayer, to your name, to a curse. He came hard and sudden, his jaw hanging slack as he stared down at you, watching with a greedy sort of awe as he spilled over your tongue. You made a show of it for him, lips parting and mouth open as you pumped what you could out of him, letting him see it cover your tongue before you swallowed.

And as he stood, barely keeping himself up, breathless and speechless, you tucked him back into his trouser, soft and spent. You stood primly, caged between his arms as you smoothed down your skirt and met his gaze. He looked a little wild, a little wrecked and he swore under his breath when you licked your lips, using your thumb to politely swipe at the corner of your mouth, like a lady at high tea, not a girl who’d just sucked the fucking life from him.

Neither of you spoke. You weren’t sure Steve could. So you ducked under his arm and walked away, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as you tried to make sure he couldn’t seen the way your legs shook. Chin high, smile victorious, you didn’t look back before you slipped out of the door and out to the bar. It took a while for Steve to appear, face still a little flushed, but he’d brushed back his hair and smoothed out any wrinkles in his shirt, his trouser buttoned back up but his eyes gave him away.

They were glittering, trained on you as he came through the employees only door like he owned the entire building.

He didn’t care that you were serving Mr and Mrs St. Clair there afternoon martinis. No, he walked right up to the bar and tapped his fingers on the wood, vying for your attention. You gave it easily, gaze on Steve instead of the cocktail shaker you were filling with ice.

“What time do you finish?” He asked, voice still rough.

You swallowed tightly, eyes flitting to the older couple who weren’t paying you much mind. Not when their drinks weren’t ready yet. “Seven,” you told him.

Steve nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

—————

That’s how it went.

No labels, not much talking - not about anything too serious anyway, like the future. Just a whirlwind you couldn’t really call a romance because Steve Harrington had fucked you in every room of his house, every car he parked in his too big garage, but he’d never kissed your lips. You’d found that Steve didn’t really do sweet unless it came with some kind of condescending tone that made your toes curl, surprising you on the odd occasion with a sudden fondness that even shocked him. But still, no kisses. He’d kiss you everywhere else, forehead often resting against yours as you both caught your breaths, his cock still inside you. You’d feel his nose bump your own, a soft touch, an intimate thing. But he’d pull back when you’d lift your chin a little, mouth searching for his like he hadn’t just been gasping into it.

He didn’t really hold your hand or call you his girlfriend but he knew your favourite wine, an expensive Chardonnay he liked to buy you by the crate, along with flowers you hadn’t even seen before, colourful blooms that looked like they belonged in a magazine. He’d place his hand on the small of your back when he took you out to restaurants, cocktail bars full of business men that only he knew. Away from Hawkins, always in the front of one of his cars, each one faster and shinier than the last. Dining rooms with chandeliers and low lights, pillar candles on white table cloths and five forks each.��

He showed you off, surprising you with silk dresses and red bottomed heels that you told him off for, but Steve would kiss your neck, your bare shoulder and whisper how he wanted to take the pretty dress off of you later, how he wanted you in nothing but Louboutin’s. His touch was possessive, dirty, sometimes surprisingly caring, a gentleman that opened your car doors for you, who pulled out your chair for you to sit.

But no, he never kissed your lips.

And when he was spending days and weeks in Rome, Milan, Cannes, New York, Los Angeles, Singapore, St. Martin, well. When was there time to talk about relationships?

Steve Harrington was private jets and brand new Bentley’s. He was a special edition Rolex and had his family's name outside Hawkin’s city hall on a gold plaque. He was silk, leather, polished shoes and freshly ironed shirts. Gold, suede, expensive cologne, yachts in Monaco, a villa in the hills of the French Riviera. But he wasn’t your boyfriend.

No. He was thousand dollar bottles of whisky, business deals in San Tropez, a private beach club in Marbella. He was parties. He was the party. Cocktail nights with the elite, a grown up rager in someone's mansion, where chandeliers swung from ornate ceilings and the stairs were painted in gold leaf, littered with coked up rich kids who were using daddie’s hundred dollar bills to fill their noses.

Like the one you were at now, the thumpthumpthump of far away music still managing to reach you three floors up. The entire house was filled with art, a gallery more than a home and twenty something year olds made the place look too messy, black ties loose around men’s necks as girls walked around the marble floors barefoot, bottles of Moët clutched in their hands, each one looking for someone else to fuck. Grecian statues were thrown like footballs, busts of women from too long ago used as something to take a line off of and there were five people in the pool outside, naked, drunk, all taking turns touching each other.

It was debauchery at its finest. At its richest.

It was Eddie’s idea.

He’d invited Steve who’d then picked you up in a car you hadn’t seen before, a deep green Camaro with tan leather seats. It was already late, later than you’d like to have left for the beginning of a night out but Eddie promised a good time and the possibility of a new business venture for Steve.

The house had been an hour out of town, nestled off into the countryside between a forest and a lake, the long driveway spot lit as it led to the huge brick manor. You’d walked through the door behind Eddie, Steve’s hand on your back as he coaxed you inside and into the chaos. Music, bodies, champagne flutes overflowing on a round table in the foyer, marble flooring, tapestries on the walls, spilled glitter on the stairway and money littering a desk, poker chips on the floor.

No one greeted you, no one looked at you. But someone slapped Steve on the shoulder and Eddie shook a guy's hand, a bag of white powder exchanged for a rolled up wad of cash. No words were said. So Steve grabbed a mottle of Moët from a tabletop and took your hand, only to lead you up the stairs and Eddie followed, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he winked at the girl on the landing that you all had to step over.

An empty room, champagne bubbles, two men.

The bed was huge, a canopy style thing with too many pillows and with gold stitched quilts. Red drapes and low lights, a thick carpet that you dug your toes into when you slipped off your heels and then fell onto the mattress. Eddie followed, tipsy, boisterous, laughing as he did. Steve lazed in an armchair in the corner, long legs splayed out in front of him as he sipped from the bottle, his eyes on the way the hem of your dress slipped up your thighs.

“How does Steve’s little friend like the lifestyle?” Eddie asked you, grinning. “Is the Moët to your taste, sweetheart?” He was teasing and you knew that, teasing in a lighter way than Steve would because he was smiling and his eyes were kind, his cheek pushed to the bedding as he waited for your answer.

You took the bottle from Steve and let the bubbles slide down your throat, the fizziness tickling the roof of your mouth and it wasn’t sweet enough. Still, you took it greedily, wetting your lips before you dropped the empty bottle onto the floor with a thud. “I prefer Chardonnay, but it’ll do,” you joked back.

Eddie laughed and then hummed. He appraised you thoughtfully before his eyes flickered to Steve, dark in the dim light. “Oh yeah, Mr Harrington was kind enough to buy you a whole case of it, huh? I saw the order, sweetheart don’t get flustered.” Eddie reached out to brush a stand of your hair away from your face and from the corner of your eye, you saw Steve sit up a little straighter. “He’s real nice, isn’t he? Likes to spoil a pretty girl like you.”

“Eddie,” Steve’s voice was a warning.

“Right?” he continued, nodding at you like you’d agreed. You simply watched him from the bed, breath hitching a little when he propped himself onto one elbow so he could look down at you, one finger tracing up and down your forearm. “Jewellery, flowers, nice dinners, nicer dresses,” he trailed off, plucking at the strap of your black dress. “Pretty things for pretty girls. He doesn’t kiss you though, does he?”

The air was sucked out of the room and Steve bristled. “Eddie.”

Eddie ignored him. He tutted sympathetically, pouting at you. “He hasn’t, has he? He never does, some weird rule he has.” You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. But you gasped quietly when Eddie traced a finger over your bottom lip, tugging at it gently until he let it go and it fell back into place with a soft ‘pop’. “Such a shame.”

He pulled away slightly to look back at Steve, who was sitting forward in the chair now, his elbows braved on his knees as he stared at Eddie with a dark expression. Like he was waiting. Warning him. But he didn’t say anything, so Eddie turned back to you.

“D’you know that Steve and I share things?”

You shook your head, wishing you had the sense to sit up, to collect yourself, to pull the hem of your damn dress down because the warm air that was trapped inside the room - between these two men - was heating up the skin on your thighs.

“Yeah,” Eddie explained. “Shares, stocks, cars… girls.” He leaned down again, nose bumping against your temple as he whispered theatrically into your, loud enough for Steve to hear. “He likes me more than Hargrove, you see.”

You could hear a pin drop.

“Do you think he’d let me kiss you, sweetheart? I bet he would.” Eddie was on his hands and knees now, crawling over you, hovering just above, hands braced on either side of your head and he grinned at the way your pupils grew a little bigger, a little darker. Both of you turned your heads to the side, your cheeks pressed to the expensive Egyptian cotton and you both looked at Steve. You weren’t sure what for. For a scolding, for a fight, for approval.

“C’mon, Harrington,” Eddie broke the silence. “She’s not your girl, is she? You gonna let me taste her? Seeing as you don’t? Bet she’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

Steve let out a huff of breath, his eyes flashing as he gripped the arm of the chair too tight. He sat back into the leather, shoulders stiff and lips in a straight line. “I know how she tastes, Munson, trust me.”

The way they spoke about you like you weren’t there made your skin tingle, an electric current that ran through your bones and you were buzzing, fizzing - but that might’ve been the champagne. But still, Eddie continued, playing Steve until he was flushed in the face with an emotion you couldn’t place.

“Yeah but those lips look pretty fucking biteable,” Eddie whispered and he ducked his head down, nose brushing yours, lips parting when yours did on instinct. “Could eat her up. Like a little peach, huh?”

Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t stop it. He just sat and stared, cock stirring in his trousers because this is how these parties went and this wasn’t the first time he’d watched his friend take the girl he’d brought on a bed. In fact, this was tame compared to the other nights, lines of coke and whisky on a bedside table, his cock buried in some strange girl's mouth as Eddie took her from behind, shirt buttons ripped open and matching red lipstick on both their chests.

This was different. It felt different.

But still, he stayed quiet.

“You just want a kiss, don’t you?” Eddie cooed as he kept close, nuzzling his nose to your cheek, making sure his lips brushed across your when he moved to the other side. Your hands curled around the outside of his thighs where he kneeled over you, keeping him there, holding tight. You could see Steve out of your peripheral. “Pretty thing like you just wants some lovin’, I know it.”

Then slowly, as if allowing you - or Steve - to stop him, Eddie moved in, kissing your top lip before moving to your bottom, a barely there thing before he was kissing you properly, mouth pushing against yours. He angled his face so Steve could see, so the other boy on the armchair could watch the way he parted his lips and opened your own with his tongue, licking into you in a way that made your back arch. Steve watched the black silk of your dress - the one he bought you - meet Eddie’s shirt, matching colours, black as midnight. Ink on skin, moving against a stranger's sheets. Nipples pebbling against the material as Eddie dragged one of his hands down your sides, lifting your arm up and keeping it above your head so he could drag his fingers down the side of your breast, the material pulling tight over your skin.

He followed the curve of it, made you gasp into his mouth and then he was groaning, whispering something about how sweet you were, his tongue sweeping over your own before he was ripped away from you.

Steve had Eddie by the scruff of his shirt, hauling him off of the bed and you until he staggered into the other boy, grinning like this was all the funniest game in the world. You were panting, lips still glossy from Eddie’s kiss, eyes wide with shock because Steve was pulling himself up to his full height, shoulder squared, chin tilted up.

His nose almost touched Eddie’s.

“S’wrong, Harrington?” Eddie whispered. He was goading, excited, too amused. “She’s not your girl, right?” Their chests touched but Eddie didn’t back down, still grinning, curls mussed from where he’d lay on the bed with you, your gloss smeared across his own lips, a pretty pink that matched the flush across his cheeks. “You normally don’t mind sharing, dude, what’s the problem?”

Steve’s nostrils flared and he was breathing a little heavier, gaze flickering to you as you sat up and smoothed down your dress, your hair. Part of you wanted to get between the boys, soothe whatever was about to start, but something inside of you wanted to hear what Steve had to say. You stared back at him, feeling too hot, too exposed but you waited, gaze hard on him.

“Quit playin’, Eddie,” Steve warned and he took one step back, standing in the middle of you and the other boy. He looked flustered, a little put together than he normally did, his eyes dark and his cheeks heated, his back too stiff and he shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the way they were balled into fists. “I’m not in the mood.”

But Eddie kept smiling, hands held out in front of him as if he were surrendering but he continued to smile, eyes shining as kept talking, voice lilting. “Poor thing just wanted a kiss, man, only giving her what you don’t. Sorta mean, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t say anything, you just watched as Steve glared and Eddie grinned, the room filled with something more than faded music, empty champagne bottles and all the leftover bubbles. Tension fizzed in the corners, it made the walls crack and split, it made your chest turn a little too tight.

“Like I said,” Eddie gestured to you, eyes flirting up and down your frame appreciatively before turning back to Steve, “s’not like she’s your girl, is she?”

The thump of a bassline from two floors down, faint splashes from a pool outside the open window, the smash of a glass. But silence from Steve.

“Am I?”

Your voice sounded so much smaller than you wanted it to but you stared at Steve as you watched his jaw tense and flex. He closed his eyes and said something under his breath, something you couldn’t hear, pressing his thumb to the corner of his eye before he faced you.

“We’ve, uh,” he swallowed and reached for another cigarette. “We’ve spoken about this, honey.” He said it calmly, casually, like you should’ve known better.

But you had spoken about it at all. Not really. Steve’s silence said more than words and when he only pressed kisses to your cheek, to the insides of your thighs and side of your neck, you’d finally gotten the hint. Steve Harrington didn’t get attached. He didn’t do relationships. He was too busy, and spent too much time between too many cities, too many countries. Steve Harrington had yachts and cars and penthouses and villas. But he didn’t have girlfriends. Not just one, anyway.

You should’ve known. You had known. But hearing it aloud made it hurt that little bit more. So you nodded as if you agreed and when Steve lit the cigarette and let it hang between his lips, you stared at the floor as he stared at you. Then he was nodding towards the door and expecting you to follow him.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t move. Eddie chuckled, a dark thing that made Steve glare at him but he looked over at you, cigarette between his fingers as it turned down quicker than he could smoke it. “Honey, let’s go.”

You still didn’t move.

So Steve looked at you and then he looked at Eddie and scoffed, waving a dismissive hand before he left the room and left the house.

Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

You didn’t hear from Steve for the first few days after the party.

Four days went by without seeing him and honestly, that was okay with you. He stayed away from the clubhouse, even when you saw Billy and Eddie in the lounge, Jonathan at poker nights, Steve wasn’t with them. You saw his car around town now and then, passing the maroon BMW as you drove home from work late at night, watching its tail lights speed away in your rear view mirror. You wondered if he had another girl in the front seat, someone else he called honey and fucked on the living room sofa.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You knew this would happen, you were just stupid enough to let it. You knew you’d get your heart broken, you knew you’d be the one left hurt. Because despite Steve’s proclivity for showering you in gifts and sex, you did have fun with him. He was sweet when he wanted to be, when he took off his suit and tie and shut off his pager. The business calls would stop and he’d forgo the expensive wine and designer shoes in favour of bringing a bag of your favourite chocolate, a dollar from the gas station and more appreciated than he realised.

There had been a night he’d taken you his kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you with an intensity you’d never felt from him before, his forehead pressed to yours, his soft murmurs falling into your open mouth.

“Eyes on me, honey, keep watchin.”

“You’re so pretty, y’know that? Could stay inside you all fuckin’ night, Jesus Christ.”

“There she is, there she is, look at you, huh? Fuckin’ perfect at takin’ me.”

It had made you feel giddy, fuzzy, coming on Steve’s cock harder than ever and after he slid out of you he ran you a bath instead of taking you home. He didn’t join you like you asked, scoffing at the idea of lavender bubbles and water hot enough to scald him but he did sit on the tiles, shirtless and with his hands in the tub, fingers trailing over your water slick legs. He told you about the places he’d been, beaches and cities, the towns he’d think you’d like. And in the candle light, at three in the morning, with no one else around, Steve told you that he’d have to take you one day.

You’d hummed, pleased, heart racing at the idea of something coming from all of this. Not a free holiday, but someone to be with. A boyfriend, maybe, a partner. Someone who loved you as good as they fucked you. You weren’t deluded, you knew this wasn’t love. Not yet. But this handsome man came to the bar one day and decided that you were going to be his in some way or another. He wined you, dined you, spoiled you. Fucked you the way you asked and looked at you with stars in his eyes every time you got on your knees for him. He didn’t want you kissing anyone else, even when he couldn’t bring himself to kiss you.

There were times you thought he would. Times he looked at you like he wanted to, needed to. Straying closer and closer to your lips every time he kissed you goodnight, a lingering thing on your cheek that you wished you could bottle up and keep. He’d let his lips graze over you when he fucked you, pressing you into the cushions of his couch because even taking you to his bed was too intimate, too much like a relationship. So he’d fuck you slow in his living room, in the glow of the fireplace with the red wine forgotten on the table as he lost himself in it all, mouth skimming over the planes of your cheeks, the slope of your jaw, the very fucking corner of your bottom lip, like that wasn’t as bad as letting him bend you over his mattress.

Steve Harrington told you that he didn’t get attached, but you weren’t able to promise him the same.

So your crush gave way to anger, a frustrated annoyance that made your blood simmer when you left work one Wednesday evening, autumn settling over the town as you wrapped your jacket around you a little tighter and headed to your car. Except Steve was leaning against the hood of it, a dozen red roses clutched in one hand. He didn’t look nearly as put together as he normally did, but you thought he was twice as pretty. Still tanned, forever sunkissed even as the leaves on the trees started to fall, dressed in a pair of jeans and an old Harvard sweater. He didn’t go to Harvard, didn’t need to, but he looked every part the preppy boy you would’ve fallen in love with if you’d made it to college.

He looked softer but still as confident as ever as he stayed lounging against your car, like he was waiting for you to come to him. Instead you rolled your eyes and headed to the driver's side of your old Volkswagen, ignoring him as you passed.

“Wow, you’re just going to pretend I’m not here?”

Annoyance flared inside of you at the sound of his voice, unapologetic with a touch of entitlement. You scoffed, turning to the boy only to glare and you opened the drivers door so you could throw in your purse. “Most people would start with an apology, Steve.”

He pushed off the front of your hood and came to you, flowers held out as if to say ‘this is the apology.’ You could smell the flowers in the air, fresh and a vibrant red, overflowing from his hand and you could only imagine the price he paid for something that would wilt and die in a few days.

“You actually have to say it, you know.” You challenged him, eyes meeting his, unblinking, unwavering. Time spent with the richest man in town had given you some confidence of your own, an unflinching boldness when faced with stares in restaurants, whispers in crowded bars. “I don’t want your gifts.”

“Honey,” Steve tried, reaching for your hand. You moved back, out of his reach. He tried another approach, softer, sweeter. “Baby, c’mon. I’m sorry, alright? I am. I shouldn’t have acted like that at the party.”

He was right, he shouldn’t have. So you nodded but kept away, standing stiff and tense as you decided whether you should ask what you wanted to. You crossed your arms, a protective stance, and tried to sound braver than you felt. “Why wasn’t Eddie allowed to kiss me?”

Steve stared at you before he scoffed, setting the roses on your car roof before he shoved his hands into his pockets. His face became passive, a mask, a shield, the one he used on business calls and during luncheons with shareholders in his fathers companies. “So that’s what we’re doing now, huh? Kissing other people in front of each other?”

You could feel your frustration rising to the surface, bubbling and simmering and ready to explode out of you. “Why shouldn’t we? You said it yourself, we’re not together. I’m not your girlfriend.”

Steve avoided the question, eyes flashing instead and he swiped a hand over his face, through his hair. “Honey, please, like you wouldn't throw a fit if I took someone out to dinner, hm? If you found out I’d been taking someone else to nice restaurants and—”

“How do I know that’s not happening already!” You shot back, almost too loud. Mr and Mrs Lewinsky were walking arm and arm to their Mercedes, glancing over to the corner you car was tucked into. Thank god it was dark. You turned back to Steve, face heated. “You leave, like all the time. You’re gone for days and weeks, all over the world with villas and hotel rooms and penthouse apartments. You expect me to believe you don’t have a girl in every city? There’s not another me waiting for you on your living room couch in New York? Monaco? Italy? France? Oh, I’m sorry, do you maybe let them into your bed?”

Steve swore, looking around the parking lot as more people started to flood out now that dinner was over. Valets were moving cars down to the door and you could hear the voice of Frederick bidding guests goodbye. He held his hand out, “give me your keys.”

You stared at him, face screwed up. “What?”

“I said,” Steve repeated calmly, “give me your keys and get in the car.”

You scoffed, “no, I’m not going anywhere with you. And you’re not driving my fucking car.”

“I’m not having this conversation here,” Steve muttered and his voice was annoyed. “Either get in and let me drive or I’m marching you across the lot to my own car and you can wave to your boss at the same time.”

Annoyance pricked at your skin, a thousand needles of anger that made your back stiffen and your eyes narrow. “You drive like a fucking formula one wannabe,” you hissed, but still you threw your keys at his chest and marched round to the passenger seat, not caring to see if he caught them or not. “You fuck up my wheels, you’re buying me new alloys, Steve.”

Steve threw himself into the driver's seat and laughed meanly, lifting the bouquet of roses and throwing them into the backseat. Petals scattered everywhere. He slammed the door with the same amount of aggression as you did and once you were seated, he turned to you and smiled too sweetly. “Honey, I’ll buy you a new goddamn car, okay? Put your seatbelt on.”

You sat, stubborn, arms crossed and staring out the window. Your seatbelt remained unfastened. Steve revved the engine and despite the headlights stopping them from seeing who was behind the wheel of the beat up old Volkswagen, they were still staring.

“Stop it,” you hissed. “Just, get us out of here, god.”

“Seatbelt,” Steve repeated. You didn’t move and he tutted. “Where did my good girl go, huh?” He leaned over you and you remained passive, even when his breath was on your jaw and his hand slid around your hip as he did the belt for you. “You used to be so good at doing what you were told.”

“I’m not your girl,” you reminded him, smiling in a way that was anything but friendly. You felt dead behind the eyes, nothing but annoyance when you looked at Steve right then. “Remember?”

Steve grunted, swearing under his breath as he pulled away too fast and the wheels screeched as he sped out of the clubhouse parking lot. He hit sixty on the country roads at the back of Hawkins, screaming past the lake before he pulled off the road, just as you were ready to tell him off. He parked up in an empty lot, nothing but dirt and trees and a view of the water tower in the distance.

“There’s no other girls,” he said, breaking the silence. It was easier not to yell in the dark, in the closeness of the front of the car, where everything felt intimately softer than before.

“What?” You scrunched your face, mostly in disbelief as you tried to recall what you had yelled at him before he drove your car away from the scene.

“There aren’t any girls in other cities. There’s no one fucking waiting for me in Monaco, or, or Cannes, or L.A, no one, okay?”

You scoffed, disbelieving and you unclipped your seatbelt so you could lean against the door, facing him. Steve was still gripping the wheel with one hand, another swiping tiredly over his face, but for what it was worth, he looked sincere. But still, annoyance and the lingering feeling of rejection clawed in your stomach, an awful, ugly thing that made you sneer.

“Whatever, you really expect me to believe that? The front page of the Hawkins Post ran a damn article about how your new yacht had a mirrored ceiling in one of the bedrooms.” You laughed meanly, sadly, hoping your voice didn’t crack. “Okay, Hugh Hefner, excuse me if I don’t buy your bullshit.”

Steve groaned again, a long suffering thing and he pulled at his sweater sleeves, rolling them up his forearms until his watch face glinted in the light of the moon. “Fine, okay, yeah, I used to! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

No, it wasn’t.

“Had a girl for each damn arm, alright? But I haven’t— I haven’t—” Steve swallowed and you watched the harsh way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the furrow in his brow deepen. He didn’t look at you when he said, “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

It was a surprise, that was for sure. And what was even more startling, was the fact that you believed him, you truly did. Gone was the businessman facade, the smooth tone of voice that made you call him Mr Harrington. Instead there was a young man in front of you who was doing his best to make you understand.

“I don’t do relationships, honey, you knew that,” Steve said and he sounded almost sad. “I don’t kiss girls and hope they fall in love with me, I don’t bring them home and take to my bed and let them believe we’ll wake up together in the morning and fuckin’ cuddle.”

You blinked away tears, angry, upset, frustrated tears that burned the corners of your eyes. You sniffed, annoyed, venomous. “Fine. I’m far from declaring my undying adoration for you Steve, don’t worry. But you don’t then get to decide who I get to kiss if you don’t wanna do it yourself.”

Steve stiffened then, turning to you with an angry flash in his eyes and hard set to his jaw. He narrowed his gaze at you and shook his head. “Don’t test me, honey.”

You scoffed, defiant. “Whatever. Take me home, you can walk back to your car.”

“I’m not done talking,” Steve frowned and he couldn’t believe it when you simply laughed and got out of the car. He jumped out after you, bewildered at the sight of you walking through mud and the littering of fallen leaves in your clubhouse uniform, heels and all. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Walking,” you shot back, “what does it look like!”

“Get in the damn car,” Steve said your name and it sounded like a warning, “it’s pitch fuckin’ black out here.”

You didn’t turn around though, arms crossed right across your chest because you’d left your coat in your locker like an idiot. “Then I’ll find a pay phone, call for a ride. Maybe Eddie will come get me.” It was a cheap blow, but it did exactly what it was supposed to.

The sound of heavy feet marching up behind you, a hand on your arm to stop you from moving and then Steve was in front of you, face scrunched in anger, in frustration. He held your shoulders, slipped his wide hands down the length of your arms until he eased them from your chest and held your fingers between his.

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Steve asked, his voice a little louder than it had been earlier. He seemed to unravel slightly, a panic in his tone that you’d never heard before. “I— I take you out, I treat you good, right? But you presents ‘n’ pretty things, fuckin’ flowers and shoes and dresses and take you to restaurant openings, parties and, and—”

“I don’t want any of that, Steve!” You yelled, eyes wide. You felt too hot despite the cold night. “I never wanted any of that! I didn’t ask for it.” You blew out a breath but you didn’t drop his hands. “I appreciated it, all of it, I did. I do. But I didn’t need any of that! I enjoyed being with you.”

Steve shook his head at you, lips parted and a look of confusion on his face. Like he’d never been told such a thing before. “So, so what? You want Eddie? None of that, but you want Eddie, is that it?”

You huffed, head thrown back in exasperation and you counted to three, staring at the stars blinking back at you in the night sky and you wondered what you were doing here, you wondered what cruel twist of fate led you to sit down with Steve Harrington that night in the lounge.

“No,” you eventually said, calmer than you’d sounded before. “No, I don’t want Eddie. God, Steve, I wanted you, alright? This whole time, just you. Not your money, or your cars or your houses or anything else. Just you. I wanted to hold your hand and go on dates. Somewhere stupid and lame like the movies, or, or a drive through for a cheap burger and shake. I wanted you to kiss me goodnight and kiss me good morning and maybe, I don’t know, have sex with me on a mattress like a normal couple.”

You sniffed, willing away the tears that came with your speech. You weren’t prepared to cry over a man who didn’t want you the way you wanted him. But you watched Steve’s expression fall, a crumpled thing that made him look young and boyish. He dropped your hands only to move closer and cup your face instead, his thumb soothing over your bottom lip like he could will your upset away. You watched his gaze fall to your mouth, following the movements his thumb made across the seam of your lips like he wanted to put his against yours. His lips parted and he looked pained.

“I’m not asking you to fucking marry me, Steve, but god, why won’t you at least kiss me? Am I that much of a throw away toy for you that you won’t even—”

“Because if I kiss you, I’ll fucking fall in love with you, okay!” Steve barked out, sudden and rushed and panicked sounding. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath, letting his hands fall to your neck, his head falling forward. “God.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

“You don’t think I know I can get any girl I want?” Steve laughed and it sounded powerful, it sounded like money. “Honey, I walked into the club that day and saw your pretty face and knew I was fucked.” Steve lifted his head so you could see him again, lips parted in surprise at his admission but he just smiled. He brought a hand back to your cheek, smoothed a thumb over the apple of it, down the line of your jaw. “So I told myself I could just have some with you, see how good you looked without that uniform on, maybe spoil you a little and whatnot.”

“You’re a pig,” you told him but you didn’t move away.

“I know,” Steve shrugged. “Wasn’t looking for a wife honey, I just loved the way you got all huffy with me, how sweet you’d get when I got my hands on you.” Steve dragged his thumb down your neck, pressed lightly and watched the way you tilted your chin up for him. “You’re just so fucking pretty.”

“But then you had to get under my skin didn’t you? Thought about you all the goddamn time and couldn’t look at any other girl without seeing your face instead.” Steve tsked, walked you backwards until you were against the side of your car and pressed against him. “Hated it at first, you know. Tried to stay away for longer than I needed to, but shit, got back into town and went straight to the club to see you. There you were, pretty as ever and chewing me out for being gone too long, callin’ me Mr Harrington like you knew it would get me so fuckin’ hot for you.”

Steve grinned when you whined, a knee jerk response to the way he was sliding a hand around your upper thigh, up under the hem of your dress and your head hit the door of your car with a dull thud. “Ate at Michelin star restaurants all ‘round the world, honey, but I’ve never tasted anything as good as you, you know that?” He was on your throat now, mouthing up it, licking a line along your neck until he could nip at your jaw. “Want you, all the time. Just you. It drives me fucking insane and I dunno what to do.”

You felt the fight leave you and you hated yourself for it, feeling weaker every time Steve put his mouth on your skin and his nose was pressed to your cheek now, one hand in your hair and the other squeezing at the dough do your ass under your dress, pulling up the hem of it to expose you to the cool air and it was all filthy. It was all exactly why you entered into this whole situation in the first place. Steve Harrington - money and family name or not - made you feel like you were on fucking fire.

So you grabbed at him, tried to fight back in other ways, with fingers in his hair so you could tug him down and let him latch his mouth to your neck. He scraped his teeth along the column of it, groaning when you pulled meanly. Steve swore, licking over the bruise he’d marked you with, a pink-red bloom on your skin that would remind you of him even days later. His nose bumped yours as he leaned down to you, crowding you against the car and up against his chest and you were panting, waiting for it, feeling the way he let his nose graze yours, a teasing back and forth that left his mouth hovering over yours.

“Get in the back,” Steve whispered and it was a quiet order, a soft demand, one that you knew you’d bend to because you were soaked, clit pulsing against the lace of your underwear, and shit, Steve knew that too.

But it didn’t mean you weren’t going to make him work for it.

“No,” you argued back. You didn’t mean it, this was foreplay. This was everything that got Steve a little hot under the collar, the way you played pretend and tried to get your own way. “You can fuck me here, ‘gainst the door.”

Steve laughed and he pressed the sound into your cheek, teeth against your skin and he pushed a kiss there, a smattering of them as his hands went back under your dress and he pulled down your underwear with the tips of his fingers. He let them fall to the ground, not bothering to pick them up.

“Get in the car, honey. Front or back, you decide, but either way you’re gonna ride me, okay?” Steve told you and that big, bad businessman voice was back, the one that made your toes curl and your cunt ache. Sweet, syrupy, demanding. He brought a hand between your thighs and cupped you, groaning at the heat and the slick that coated his fingers as he swept them through your folds. “She’s missed me,” he cooed, not asking but telling. Like it was a fact.

“This is the last time,” you told him and it felt like you were trying to tell yourself that too. “We don’t want the same things, fuck—” you were cut off on a gasp when Steve circled your clit, his gaze heavy and dark as he leaned in and let his forehead touch yours. “S’all gonna end in a mess.”

“In the car, honey,” Steve reminded you, neither agreeing or arguing with your words. There wasn’t any point. You both knew this wasn’t the end. “C’mon, be a good girl for me.”

So you stepped out of your underwear and left them lying, like some sick white flag, a symbol of surrender as you pushed Steve away and opened the back door, sliding over the seats as Steve joined you. The door clicked shut and silence took over, the dark and heavy kind that came with the late night, the one that carried a special type of tension and it filled the whole space, it fizzed and crackled in the air between you and it made you fucking breathless.

You watched with a tight chest as Steve sat back in the middle seat, already looking wrecked, his hair a mess from your greedy fingers. He spread his legs as much as he could in the tight space and he nodded to his lap, where you could already see the outline of his dick pressed under the denim. “Sit,” he said.

Not feeling as ready to argue anymore, you listened to the throbbing between your legs and obeyed, the top of your head grazing the car roof as you slid onto Steve’s lap, thighs spread over his in a way that made you burn that white-blue type of hot, because your dress was too short and your underwear was still outside. He could see everything when you looked down, hem of your uniform flirting too high, the dirty spread of you on display. Even in the low light he could see you shine, wet and ready, all for him.

But Steve kept his hands on the seats, practically lounging as he tilted his head back to look at you from where you were perched on top of him. He studied you, like a piece of art he was ready to buy. His eyes found yours before his gaze dropped to your nose, your cheeks, the line of your jaw, the slope of your neck. Then he found your lips, parted and wanting, the tip of your tongue peeking from between as if you were just dying for something to taste.

Maybe his fingers, you liked that. The heavy feel of them on your tongue so you could suck on them while he fucked you slow. Maybe his neck, right where it met his shoulder, that almost always bruised piece of skin that you bit down on when you came, riding Steve’s cock somewhere you shouldn’t and you had to keep quiet. Maybe you wanted his dick, too big to take all of it, but the stretch of your jaw and the hot slide of it over your tongue made you rock your hips against nothing, especially when Steve was feeling extra sweet and swept his hands over your face when you sucked him off, thumbing at the corners of your full mouth as he told you how pretty you looked.

But he offered none of those. No. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “what do you want?”

You looked at him, a question mark on your face, just able to see the shine of his eyes and the strong lines of his nose and jaw in the dark. His hands remained by his sides. “What?”

Steve smiled, just a small thing. “I said, what do you want?”

“You,” you answered shyly, only after a beat or two of quiet. You kept it deliberately vague, leaving it to the boy to decipher if that meant sex or more. Or both. “I want you, Steve.”

“You don’t want my money,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. He knew that already. “Not interested in where I could take you, what I could buy you. No,” Steve's voice grew warmer, softer, fond. “Told you before, didn’t I? I know my girl just wants fucked.”

You squirmed, nodding. Because if this was the last time, you’d make sure you enjoyed it. But then Steve did something even more unexpected. He let his hands settle on your thighs, still a little cold from being outside and you hissed at the slide of them going upupup. He didn’t touch your cunt though, didn’t let his fingers play with you like he usually did.

“C’mere,” he asked instead. “Close your eyes, yeah?”

Your brows stitched together at his request. You were hardly a stranger to blindfolds and surprises, but this didn’t seem like the time or place.

“You trust me?” Steve whispered and his gaze was on your lips, waiting.

It didn’t take you long to nod, because yes, despite it all, despite Steve’s issues with… commitment, you did trust him. You believed him about the other girls, about everything.

“Good girl. Close your eyes,” Steve asked again and you did.

The car seemed smaller with one sense gone. Eyes shut and Steve so near. You could feel his warmth, the way he moved into you a little more, closer than before until his breath was fanning over your mouth and chin and his nose was bumping yours. Your stomach tumbled.

“I can’t promise you anything,” he whispered into you. You could feel his lips moving, a barely there ghost against your own. His touch felt like a secret. “I don’t know how— how to be someone’s boyfriend. I’ve never done that. But I can try, if you’ll let me.”

You weren’t sure when your own hands had moved but they were fisting the front of Steve’s sweater. The letters for Harvard crushed in your palms and you were holding on for dear life.

“You said this was the last time,” Steve murmured and you wanted to open your eyes, you wanted to stare him down and challenge him but you did as he asked. You kept your eyes closed. “Is this the last time, baby?”

Baby.

“Or are you gonna give me a chance? I’ll do my best for you, I swear, I’ll try,” Steve’s mouth was moving over your cheek, kisses pressed there between each word until he was mouthing along your jaw and chin and you were weak, sitting on top of him and feeling like you could melt. “I’ll try for you, honey, don’t wanna lose you. Don’t want you with someone else.”

He was talking faster now, like there was an urgency there that wasn’t before and his hands were skimming up from your thighs to squeeze at your waist before his palms were cupping your jaw and pulling you to him. His lips touched yours, only just and you gasped like you’d been burned. Steve kept you there, panting hard, his own eyes closed now and his brow furrowed.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered and his voice cracked. Gone was the businessman. He smelled like mint toothpaste and cologne, like sunscreen. “We can stop this here and I’ll let you go and we can pretend we never met, if that’s what you want.”

You only clung to him tighter, one hand trailing blindly up his neck until you could pull at the longer hairs there and hold him. You made a noise of protest, tears lining your lashes as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut tighter so they’d stay in. You shook your head, nose brushing Steve’s, lips moving over his so, so briefly.

“I don’t want to stop.”

You weren’t sure what you thought your first kiss with Steve Harrington would be like. You’d thought about it a lot, sure. But it was usually in the heat of the moment, when he was inching inside of you, hips slapping against your own, your fingers tight in his hair and whispering filthy things to each other. You thought he’d kiss you like that, hard and fast and messy, with a dirty lick of his tongue. But Steve moved slowly, almost shy. He hesitated as he brought his thumb over your cheek, a brief touch before he was closing the gap and meeting your lips with his.

It was slow, careful. Soft. A gentle thing and Steve exhaled shakily, his breath fanning over your cheek as he tilted his head and let you press closer. His lips parted, tongue swiping over yours as the kiss deepened and when you let out a soft noise of appreciation, the boy groaned and his hands fell to your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer still.

Once he started, it was like he couldn’t stop.

Steve pulled away only briefly for you both to suck in a breath, his lips finding yours again until the kiss turned into the kind you’d thought about, a messy, dirty thing that had you whining into his open mouth, tugging at his hair until he let you swallow each groan. Steve’s eyes were closed when he spoke, chest heaving, words a low, rough rasp and his hands were under your dress now, fingertips skimming up the inside of your thighs until you were squirming.

“Want it, honey? Yeah?” Steve was mouthing over your jaw, kissing at your cheek as you panted, pulling at his belt buckle until you could free his cock from his boxers. He sounded drunk, wrecked. “That’s it, good girl, c’mon, take it. S’all yours.”

Steve let his head fall back, resting on the back seat of the car, eyes hooded as he watched you. You didn’t waste any time, pulling at the button of his jeans until you had enough room to free his cock. He was already hard, leaking for you, his breath hitching when you wrapped a small hand around him and pumped once, twice. You swiped a thumb over the tip, dragged the slick back down the length of him and leaned in, intent on making Mr. Steve fucking Harrington, business man, millionare, poker winner, car collector, fall apart for you.

Your nose slid against and your bottom lip brushed his, a teasing thing that you managed to not give into, even when Steve's lips chased yours. He’d made you wait months for a kiss, he could wait another minute or two. You pumped his cock again, fisting it a little tighter, the way you’d learned that he’d liked. He was quick to pant into your mouth, lips catching yours when he titled his chin up for you.

“Tell me it’s mine,” you coaxed, voice low and sweet, just the way Steve loved to speak to you. You palmed his cock, voice sugar. “Tell me this is mine.”

Steve’s hands swept up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin, grip bordering on too tight, a possessive touch. He was breathing heavily, the windows in the car starting to steam up, condensation running tracks down the glass. “S’yours,” he slurred, drunk sounding, softer than ever. “S’your cock, honey, promise.”

You couldn’t wait any longer, rutting yourself against Steve’s thigh as you touched him, foreheads pressed together, lips catching against each other and it pulled a moan from both of you when you raised up on your knees. Dirty, wet noises filled the car as you ran the head of his cock through your folds and Steve dragged your dress up, pushing the material over your hip so he could watch you sink down onto him, taking every inch.

He helped you bounce, up and down, up and down before you started a lazy roll of your hips, grinding down against the boy until you were pulling on his hair and whining into the crook of his neck. It was all too much and Steve’s hand grabbed at the nape of your neck, hand fisting in your own hair, bordering on too tight but he brought your face back to his, eyes half lidded as he gazed at you and pleaded: “shit, honey, kiss me? Kiss me, please, fuck-- m’gonna come.”

His neediness made you groan, a pitchy, breathy noise that Steve soon swallowed, your lips melting between his as he caught you in a kiss, open mouthed and possessive, teeth and tongues as he came. His hips bucked up as you rode him harder and the boy let go of your hair to cup your jaw, his free hand falling to rub at your clit with two fingers, white hot pleasure shooting up your spine. You fell into him, letting Steve catch you and you kissed him, eyes glassy, squeezed shut, your mouth on his as you both came hard. You felt Steve’s cock twitch, spilling into you as he kissed you, chest heaving against yours and as your hips slowed, so did his kisses, softer, kinder.

“You okay?” he breathed, breath fanning over your lips, your cheeks, your gaze blurry and unfocused. “Baby, you with me?”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

You nodded, nose knocking against his but you didn’t dare pull away. You didn’t want to. And by the looks of things, Steve wasn’t ready to let you go either. His hands soothed over your hair, pushing back the stray strands that clung to your damp forehead, your warm cheeks. He was still inside of you, softening only slightly, a mix of you both spilling over your thighs. It was dirty, filthy, it was the most tender thing you’d experienced with him.

“So good,” Steve breathed, cheeks flushed, his eyes shining. He looked drunk, he looked as gone as you felt, his hands roaming over you, touching every piece of bare skin he came across, palming greedily at your hips, your thighs, your ass. He dotted a line of kisses from your neck to your cheek, nosing there until you lifted your chin for him and kissed his lips, sighing as you did. “So fuckin’ good for me, all the time, huh? My girl, fuck, you’re so pretty, so, so pretty.”

You lazed against him, soaking up his touch, his words, the insane feel of his lips over your skin, your throat, chasing your lips until you pressed into him, opening your mouth when he did, tongues brushing over each other in languid strokes. Steve kissed like he fucked, like he wanted you to feel every part, like he wanted you to remember it for days.

“Come home w’me,” he murmured into your lips, never leaving them, never stopping his kisses. Steve whispered between words, hummed happily when your hands clasped his cheeks, when your fingers trailed over the stubble on his jaw. “Come back to mine, please. We can talk ‘bout everything. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, I’ll wake up beside you. Please.”

Your heart stopped at the idea of it all. The intimacy you hadn’t been given yet. The thought of Steve talking to you about something as serious and long term as a relationship. No dropping you home after five orgasms, kissing the back of your hand as he dropped you at your apartment at three am. No running off to an airport, no flights, no meetings, no business calls to interrupt.

“You can’t cook,” is what you said, voice muffled by his shoulder, the way your face was buried in the crook of his neck.

Steve scoffed, laughing even though you could hear the nerves there. He nosed at your cheek until you emerged, a hand wrapping gently around your neck, thumb pushed to the underside of your chin so you’d meet his gaze and the sincerity there took your breath away. You were still on his lap, his softening cock still inside of you but neither of you made the move to unravel from the other.

“I mean it,” he whispered and in the quiet of the night it was like you could hear his heartbeat. A thumpthumpthump that rattled the air between you, but fuck, maybe that was your own. “Come home with me, honey. I wanna-- I wanna make this right.”

-------

The next morning, Steve woke you up with his lips on your cheek, a soft, cautious thing that you leaned into even half asleep. Your bare chest pressed to his, your legs stretching out alongside the boy’s. You turned, arms needling around Steve’s neck so you could find his lips with yours, mouths searching, needy, suddenly desperate even with half closed eyes.

“Morning,” you murmured.

“Mornin’, honey,” Steve whispered back and you couldn’t see with your closed eyes but the boy was smiling, soft and proud and fond.

You were right, the night before, in the car. Steve didn’t cook. So after a shared shower where you let Steve hook your leg over his shoulder and kiss at your cunt until you came on his tongue - his eyes on your the entire time, his nose squished all pretty against your pussy as he came in his own fist, the waterfall shower raining down on you both - Steve took you out for breakfast.

Dressed in a pair of his running shorts that you had to roll up and one of his hoodies that had a tiny Yves Saint Laurent logo on the chest, you were relieved to find a pair of sneakers in your trunk. You’d mumbled that you’d looked ridiculous, but Steve had just used your embarrassment to kiss you again, hands on your cheeks and pulling you to him in the driveway.

He got to take his car instead of yours, only because you got to choose where to eat.

So Steve Harrington drove you both from his three story townhouse in his shiny BMW to a Mom and Pop’s just out of town. He held your hand across the parking lot, held the door open for you and plucked at his sweater collar to pull you in for a kiss over the table, red leather seats sticking to his expensive jeans. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t complain, didn’t mutter about missing out on eggs benedict and caviar at the clubhouse because here, he got to kiss you all he wanted.

And it was worth it, to watch the way you softened for him, feet against his under the table, sharing a strawberry milkshake that didn’t really go with the hashbrowns and bacon you’d ordered. It was worth it, to leave his pager at home, to ignore the incessant beeping, emails pinging in his office about flights, meetings, business deals, money, shares, stocks.

Steve was realising it was all worth it, to have you.

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Three Years Later.

The sway of the boat made you feel weightless. A miracle really, considering how heavy you actually felt. The italian sun warmed your skin, mostly bare from your bikini, straps slipping down your shoulders as you lay flat on a lounger, sunglasses covering your eyes from the harsh blue skies above.

The water was the same colour, the gentle lap of the ocean on the sides making you sleepy. The bustle of the city was barely heard, Monaco in the distance as the yacht bobbed just outside of the harbour. Despite its size, The Smart Girl hardly had anyone on board. You were on the deck, catching the last of the day’s sun, with a few staff members milling around. And Steve? Steve was in one of the rooms he’d made into his office from home, a big oak desk taking up most of the space and he’d sit for hours taking calls, pouting at you from the open door as he tried to coax you in to sit on his lap. You’d always refuse, stretching out on your lounger, bikini top riding up, giving him a show until he could string enough words together to make an excuse to whatever big shot millionaire was on the other end of the line.

“There’s my baby.”

The lounger dipped as Steve pushed a knee to the cushion, crowding over you, leaning in to greet you with a kiss, tasting like aperol and oranges. You hummed into him, salt on both of your lips from the sun, the sea. Steve kissed your cheek too, moving down to nuzzle at your neck as his hand skimmed over your belly, the slight swell of it making your red bikini bottoms stretch out.

“And my other baby,” Steve cooed cupping your growing tummy.

“You said an hour, tops,” you complained but there wasn’t any heat behind it. It was hard to be annoyed about Steve leaving you to your own devices when the Mediterranean sea was rocking you to sleep. “No more business, right?”

Steve smirked at your bossiness, nodding as he leaned back down to ghost some kisses along your shoulder, he nipped at your jaw and hummed. “No more business, honey. M’all yours.”

The trip was supposed to be a babymoon of sorts, even though you were only a few months into your pregnancy and you were sure Steve would whisk you off somewhere else warm and sunny as the months passed. But he’d promised no business, no meetings and when the chance to join a conference call with the owner of the city's most prestigious club arose, Steve caved.

“I’ll buy you somethin’ pretty to make up for it,” he’d told you and you’d tried to act huffy but after three years together, the man saw right through you.

“How’d the call go?” You asked him, eyeing him greedily as he popped some buttons on his shirt, the white linen falling open to show off sunkissed skin, the gold chain around his neck.

Steve slipped his sunglasses from his pocket onto his nose, made sure to wink at you over the frame of them so you knew he saw your appreciative gaze. He stretched out next to you, one of the staff members appearing - Paul - with a tray of lemon water and glasses as he got comfy. “It went well,” he smiled his thanks to Paul and gave you a class, coaxing you to drink up. “We scheduled another call for when we’re back home to iron out some details. I told him my pretty wife would have me thrown overboard if I took any longer.”

Steve grinned when you frowned. “I wouldn’t do that,” you mumbled. “I’d just yell at you for a bit.”

Steve leaned in, still smiling, nosing along your jawline as his hand plucked at the flimsy strap of your bikini. “You know that would just get me all hot, right?”

You rolled your eyes and tried to hide your smile in his neck, tipping it back to let Steve kiss the skin there. He still smelled like he did when you first met him, the same expensive cologne, sunscreen and the Italian countryside. “You make me sound so bossy,” you murmured, meeting him for a kiss.

“You are,” Steve whispered, his hand back on your tummy, his thumb running over the bump in soft circles. “M’whipped, remember?” He held up his other hand, the band on his ring finger glinting in the sun.

“You complained when Eddie said it,” you teased.

“That’s ‘cause Eddie’s a dick,” Steve shot back but it was light hearted. “Speaking of, I promised him we’d meet him for dinner when we got back. I know it’s not your favourite but—”

“The clubhouse?” You groaned, pouting. “Really?”

“He loves the steak tartare there, honey, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I was fired from there—” you reminded him, voice surly.

“You’re a member there,” Steve quipped back. He kissed your palm, over your knuckles, lips grazing the diamond on your finger.

“—after my boss caught you going down on me in the ladies changing rooms,” you continued, cheeks still hot at the memory even if it was years ago. You’d never forget the expression on Frederick’s face. “I can’t look that man in the eye, never mind order dinner from him.”

“Fun times,” Steve smirked. “Don’t you love being able to click your fingers at the man who made your life hell? Order the most expensive champagne with all your money?”

You whined, a fake complaint as Steve manhandled you into his lap, letting you lie between his legs, your back resting his chest. He was warm from the sun, strong, solid. “I don’t click my fingers at anyone, Harrington. It’s rude. And it’s not my money, I’m unemployed. I’m basically a leech,” you pouted up at him, all faux dramatics.

Steve snorted at your words before leaning down, skimming his lips over your hairline, his hands, wide and warm, cupping the swell of your tummy. “You’re not unemployed, you’re on maternity leave. And studying. No woman of mine is working while she’s growing our baby,” he kissed your nose when you tilted your chin up to him, smiling. “And what’s mine is yours, Harrington,” he shot back.

“Your woman?” You raised your brows at his words.

“My favourite one,” Steve whispered. He was still all charm, even after the years had passed. His voice grew softer then, fingers trailing up your ribs. “Can’t wait to take you home - both of you - get settled, build a crib, paint a nursery.”

“You’re not building a crib,” you laughed, eyes shining. It was easy, it was wonderful, being this is love. This happy. “Have you even held a hammer before, Steve?”

He responded by nipping at your neck, enticing a squeal from you, a choked laugh. “You’re incredibly rude, Mrs Harrington, I’ll let you know I have, actually.”

You turned in his arms, kneeling between his thighs and you watched as his eyes darkened, gaze trailing over the way your breasts pushed out, the way your thighs pressed themselves together. “That’s not important,” he answered tartly and he grinned when you snorted.

The new house back in Indiana was modest, by Steve’s standards. But he’d let you choose, a family home that was built in the 1800’s with big, bay windows, original cornicing and a fireplace in each bedroom. A perfect family home, with more rooms in it than you could’ve ever imagined having.

It had been easier than you’d thought, to get here. With Steve Harrington, married and with a baby on the way. Not that you’d expected it, not back then. But weeks turned into months and months turned into years, your first anniversary sailing by without much issue. There were arguments, forlorn phone calls when Steve left for business and you had to work, shouting matches when the boy came home and tried to get you to quit work altogether, ‘cause you didn’t need a wage when you had him, right?

But he was quick to compromise, when it came to you. Kissing away your upset, swapping expensive gifts for genuine apologies, your favourite flowers that came by the handful instead of the boxes of hundred dollar bouquets made by someone else. Was he smug about it when the job at The Lake House came to an end? Sure. Too smug, maybe, considering he gave a half assed apology to Frederick with your lipstick trailed across his cheek and jaw. But he supported you - celebrated you - when you got a new position in a paralegal’s office, picking back up your textbooks that you once had to abandon.

There was a big bed to share now, a wardrobe that held both your clothes, suits and silk dresses, your old sweaters, Steve’s knitwear that was practically all yours. Your toothbrush next to his, your vinyls next to his record player, a stocked fridge with all the ingredients for his favourite meals, ready for you to reach him how to cook. There was sex, holidays, hotels, more sex, nights on the sofa with blankets and movies, a diamond, Steve in the driver's seat in the parking lot of that Mom ‘n’ Pops diner, the ring clutched between his shaky fingers as he told you how much he loved you. A pregnancy test, staring back at you both from the bathroom vanity, a year after the wedding in Cannes, the honeymoon in the Maldives.

Unplanned, yes? Unexpected, definitely. Did it make you both overwhelmingly excited? More than you could express.

Steve took your chin in his hand, pulling you in, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip, his eyes growing softer when you kissed at it. “Are you happy?” he whispered.

“With you?” you answered, smiling. “Always.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington oneshot

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bluemerakis · 5 months

Text

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ I’m the guy mothers warn you about, the son they’re afraid to have ❞

⇀ Word count: 15k words (sorry ☠️)

Guess who finally mustered up the courage to write a Coriolanus Snow fic, and holy shit, this might just be the longest once-off I’ve ever written.

My dear @quicksilversg1rl , this fic goes out to you 100x over. I hope this makes up for the fact that I couldn’t put Tom under your tree ☹️ I hope that it’s enough that I put him in your dreams instead <3

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WARNINGS:

dom!coriolanus, some out-of-pocket makes-you-go “wtaf💀” Coriolanus moments, smut, swearing, possessiveness, manipulation, toxic relationship, choking, pet names, degradation, edging, lots of italics and dashes (sorry I was feeling myself (not literally you sicko) ), masturbation, unprotected sex, cockwarming, dryhumping/wethumping(?), fingering/fisting, oral sex f receiving, the therapy you’ll need after reading these warnings

‼️DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THE ABOVE-MENTIONED WARNINGS‼️

SYNOPSIS:

Coriolanus had always known you held potential to win the games, from the day he’d laid his eyes on you at the 10th annual reaping. You were the key he’d been missing all these years, and how he saw almost every opportunity unlocked by your presence at that year’s hunger games.

The secret of how he’d risen into power? The answer was much simpler than anyone had expected. You. Sure, Coriolanus had done his fair share of treason and murder to contribute to his status, but it was your victory that had granted him access to the Plinth fortune and made his ambitions possible. He wasn’t a man that liked to share credit, but he thought your performance in the games a worthy enough candidate.

To show you just how thankful he was, he’d invited you to live with him after the games, for however long you pleased, and he’d made it his mission to show you all the pleasures the Capitol and his lifestyle had to offer. He liked having you near him at all times, and he liked it even better when he was inside of you.

What he didn’t like, though? When you flirted with other men, especially when it served to get a rise out of him.

Coriolanus Snow doesn’t like sharing, and he doesn’t tolerate disobedience, either. You’d learn that lesson the hard way.

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Coriolanus was a man bred for purpose, like his father before him, and it was a purpose he often reminded you of—a means to keep your neediness at bay, to tame your urge to be at his side every waking hour of the day, a ploy to remind you just how little value you posed to him outside of a night of fleeting pleasure. He marvelled in the opportunity to make you feel insignificant, a false promise too-quickly forsaken the moment your existence captured another man’s desire—a man that wasn’t him.

In the midst of a party he’d rather not have attended, he watched you from a quiet corner of the venue hall, conversing away with a man he hadn’t had the displeasure of meeting just yet. He didn’t know whether you were honestly that painfully oblivious to the desires of the man before you, who clearly wanted nothing more than a taste of one of the renowned hunger games victors, or whether you had deliberately struck up a conversation to get a rise out of Coriolanus.

But when his eyes narrowed on your hand that reached to move a strand of your hair back to the security behind your ear, he knew then exactly which particular game you were playing.

You always did that when you felt subconscious—when you knew you were being watched. It was a tell that Coriolanus had come to identify the more time he’d spent observing you. He’d needed to—it was necessary in order to know the truths you would not tell him. Not out loud, at least. But now, he was pretty fluent in your body language, in more than one way.

He watched you tilt your head to the side in the slightest manner, an act that often sent all the conservativeness of men toppling over the edge. Your lip suctioned into a concentrated bite as you offered small, attentive nods—you were getting him to think you’re interested in what he has to say, pretending not to notice the way his eyes traced your lips and occasionally flickered across your peeping breasts.

The sight stirred an anger in Coriolanus, his fingers tightening around the glass of wine clutched in one hand. He lifted the wine to his lips, taking a sip as though it would somehow quench the imminent fire that threatened to take control of all reasonability. He couldn’t let you get a rise out of him, not in public where he had an image to uphold. Goddamn you and your games, he hated being the one to play it. That had been the fate of you and the districts, not him—Capitol-born and rich beyond imagination. Was this his retribution to pay? Sentenced to your little games after all he’d brought upon you?

You moved a hand to caress the man’s shoulder, offering a sweet giggle. And then there it was, the slightest glance in his direction, fleeting but an obvious beckon for attention. Coriolanus clenched his jaw as you purposefully turned your back on him, his eyes boring into your exposed shoulder blades, framed by a dress that paraded all the right aspects of your body—a dress he’d picked out for you. He hadn’t gone through all that effort to make you look so ravishing, only for another man to enjoy it. It had been for him, a reminder of what his prize would be after enduring this insufferable party.

He’d planned to rip it from you, as mercilessly as he could offer, to toss it onto the floor and you onto the bed, naked and accessible to whatever he desired. However, you seemed hellbent on denying him a good night. He watched you reach for the man’s hand, your motion suggestive as you tugged on him and began to lead him away from the mayhem.

Coriolanus knew exactly where you were taking him.

He watched you weave your way through the dancing bodies, the music falling into the background as he trailed your every move—the way the man blatantly admired the curve of your ass. What an unacceptable circumstance, to think his favourite toy was not his own limited edition—one only he could afford to play with. After all, why had he endured the battlefield of this unfair life to claim a reward that promised power and money and control, only to feel so helpless in his infatuation over you. He hated what primal need controlled him, rendered him incapable of letting you go.

What had it all been for? The poison, the betrayal, the heinous crimes he’d committed—all to prove that he bore no seal of humanity, felt no obligation to love, until you came along, making him look the fool each time you batted a devious lash or wrung those perfect lips around suggestive words. Each time you spoke was like fragments of an enchantment, slowly being made whole and taking its magical toll on his entire being, beginning to claim everything he was—making him obsess, making him weak.

The day he’d gotten you as his tribute, you’d had been nothing more than a mission—a means to secure a prize that would set him for life. But there had been something about you, something that had drawn him in like a sudden whirlpool, now he couldn’t escape the obsession you’d cursed him with. He’d never before felt the burden of caring about another person’s life, needing to know what they were up to at all times.

Coriolanus recalled seeing you for the first time, the day of the reaping, after the tributes had been transported to the Capitol. He remembered seeing you thrown into the zoo display—the way you had instantly found your feet and ran a hand through your hair, made unruly by a rough and sleepless night. Your brows were knitted closely together with unmistakable anger, a look that promised vengeance to the Capitol despite the silence on your lips. Your dress had been made ragged to match your hair, evidence that the bats had showed no mercy toward your pretty privilege. Maybe it had been your looks that had drawn them in, after all.

He’d been ready to deem you a lost cause, disappointed that once again, he’d been stuck with rigged odds. He had been convinced that somewhere beneath that shredded fabric on your skin, you bore the kiss of rabies, doomed to die like countless before you. But he’d seen a few of the other tributes, bearing the same tells of their struggle with the bats in their shredded clothes and tired eyes. One of those amongst the suffering had been your fellow district twelve tribute, Morgan Lark, and he had possessed the worst wounds out of all the affected.

It’d been less than a few hours until the wounded tributes started retching up fountains of white, their eyes glassy and their movements frantically lost on them. Yet there you had sat, watching with perfect control and composure as they had dwindled into mere husks of the people they used to be.

Coriolanus knew then that you had been different—stronger, a tribute that might just prove the risk to be worth it. He’d insisted on investigating the cart you’d been transported in, eager to know the truth behind your journey. Had you truly been strong enough to evade the consequences of the bats? The mystery of it all was pressing enough to consume his every thought. He needed to know. His future depended on it, depended on you.

That evening, after much persistence and a bribe that he honestly couldn’t have afforded, he’d gained access to your cart. There wasn’t much to look at, given that it was nothing more than an empty container, without even the courtesy of a blanket. The scene was almost hauntingly familiar, personal. Nonetheless, he’d paced the walls, eyes searching every aspect of the metal, every dent and hole in the floor. He’d found nothing other than a few rusty nails—nothing interesting, that is until he’d picked one of them up and inspected it closer to find its apex crusted with blood.

A few of the nails were identical in their blood-coating, not a coincidence. Coriolanus gathered them up into his father’s handkerchief, almost regretting the decision as the rust stained the symbolic, white fabric. He placed them cautiously into his blazer pocket, scanning the cart one last time before making his departure. He made a beeline to the morgue, where the bodies of the five infected tributes had been placed shortly after their passing. He needed to see Morgan Lark’s body, to know what secret you could have hidden in his death.

Once he’d gained access to the corpse, he’d pulled back the white covering. A strong waft of formaldehyde greeted his senses and burned his eyes teary. He had been surprised that the body was being preserved, though he didn’t doubt that Dr. Gual had plans to somehow extract and weaponise the rabies in the next games. The chemicals had instantly become so overwhelming that he had to pull his handkerchief from his pocket, empty the rusted nails onto the tray and cover his mouth and nose with the fabric to keep his nausea at bay.

Coriolanus studied the corpse, struggling to contain his pressing disgust as he laid his eyes on the shredded flesh. The bats had gone to town on Morgan, leaving little sections of skin intact. He’d mustered up the courage to get close enough to inspect the wounds, noting that the scratches embedded along his body were not all the work of the bats. No, some of them had been too deep of a wound for a bat’s claws to commit. He had a very good idea of the origins of those wounds, his eyes flickering to the rusted nails on the tray.

He knew then that it was not strength or immunity that had protected you from the touch of death, but your keen mind and craftiness with sharp objects. Coriolanus had pieced together a rough picture of what had happened: you’d managed to get close enough to cut Morgan with the nails, ensuring wounds that were deep enough to bleed profusely, which attracted and encouraged the bats to attack him. You hadn’t been so lucky to go completely unnoticed by the bats, hence the disheveled dress, but you had sure as hell been lucky enough to have been spared from their bite.

What a clever girl you were, perhaps too much for your own good.

Coriolanus had to admit that he’d been impressed by your cruelty—your drive to survive. It gave you an edge, a promising reason to win. He liked those odds, you were becoming a plausible risk to him. Just what would you have been willing to do to a tribute you’ve yet to meet, if you’d so easily betrayed a fellow district partner?

As he’d left the morgue that evening, he couldn’t deny the smirk that had wound his lips the entire trip back. He knew then that, for the first time in all his years as a mentor, this might be the year that he’d finally claim the Plinth prize.

What a worthwhile pick you had been. He liked good investments, and you had proven to be the best one yet. You’d taken that entire game, playing it smart, staying lost in the shadows and gathering what scraps you could make into a worthwhile means of defence. You weren’t the strongest or the most skilled fighter by any means, but you were smart, and that was a quality lost on many of the tributes.

They all marched around, boasting their strength as some sort of show of dominance. They thought it made them ferocious, earned them another hour of life, but Coriolanus knew that it only drew attention, that they were stupid in bringing about a speedier death. You had known that, too.

Coriolanus slipped out of his mind, watching as you’d stopped by one of the tables to grab a snack, making a point to be sloppy so that the strange man would feel honour in being able to wipe your lips clean, spurring on his ego and his erection. You had pulled that trick on Coriolanus many times. He hated seeing you provide that same sort of attention to anyone else.

His attention was diverted to a pair of Capitol business men, who had approached him and were attempting to bombard him with pitches he couldn’t have been more arsed to consider, not when he had something more pressing on his mind—not when you had deliberately stolen his attention away.

How incredibly selfish that you should demand his time even when you were not at his side, or laying below him with your legs spread open and cunt practically begging for his generosity. He didn’t tolerate time-wasters of any regard, so he’d ensure that you made up for it.

He lifted a dismissive hand toward the face of one of the men, who fell silent with a look of indignation, but even he wasn’t fool enough to unleash his temper unto the heir of the Plinth fortune. Had Coriolanus known that murdering his best friend would have come with so many perks, he’d have made a point to bring about that particular death benefit much sooner.

He lifted the glass to his lips, draining the rich wine that had been marinating the depths of the glass for far too long. He beckoned over one of the runners, placing his empty glass onto the tray before turning his attention back to the business men.

He offered an insincere dip of his chin. “My apologies, but I’ve more pressing matters to tend to. Please, do enjoy the beverages,” he slipped between their dumbfounded bodies, before adding, “and the women, if it’d please you.”

Coriolanus manoeuvred his way through the crowd, his eyes not once leaving you, even if he had to watch you relentlessly flirt with the other man. Not only were you good with your hands, but you unintentionally weaponised your beauty, too. He had always thought you to possess an innocence that seemed to frame your features, a natural gift that kept eyes focused on the contours of your face rather than on the schemes of your hands. That had always been your advantage—in the games and in your everyday interactions.

It made him angry that you’d remade his mind in this way. No matter how much Coriolanus tried to remind himself of the purpose he’d been bred for, all that he’d done to get to where he was now, all the people he’d carelessly murdered—there was no denying the truth:

No matter what higher, callous deity he claimed to be, he was only just a man, carved from anger and burdened with otherworldly jealously. All because of you.

Just as Coriolanus had managed to push past the last of the dancing bodies that had been blocking his path, he spotted you leaving through the doors, dragging your new pet behind you. His footsteps were brisk as he made for that same doorway, his fists balling at his sides as he stifled the urge to redirect his anger unto the unsuspecting door man. No, he’d best save that anger for you, transform it into something that would make you suffer, as he’d been forced to endure this evening.

He slipped through the doors, instantly greeted by a much quieter atmosphere, the laughter and music of the event muffled behind the now closed doors. Across the room, he saw you slip into the elevator, glimpsing just a hint of a smirk on your perfect lips as the doors slid closed and engulfed his view of you.

Annoyance pricked at his chest, he’d have to wait for the elevator to come back down. That was too much time gifted to you, time that could easily be used to bring you one step closer to coming undressed for that man. He’d never found himself wishing for a stairwell more than he did right now, but Capitol architecture stupidly insisted that stairs were a concept made only for the districts.

Coriolanus trudged his way over to the elevator, running an impatient hand through his hair as he watched the countdown of the various different floors commence on the monitor. His residence was the topmost floor, an expensive suite that the Plinths had gifted him on his day of recognition. He’d been kind enough to allow you to stay in one of his rooms, to have you in his proximity at all times where you’d more than once enjoyed the free luxury of his lifestyle, and this is how you’d repaid him—by bringing other men into his sacred space.

He couldn’t help but imagine what you were up to at this instant. The thought of you trapped beneath the man on one of the sofas overlooking the city made him bite the inside of his cheek—those were the sofas he’d so often pinned you to, forcing you to admire the view as he admired you, demonstrating his praise for your beauty through the actions of his fingers in your cunt.

When Coriolanus had first met you, he had thought you hated drawing attention, especially when it warranted a much speedier death in the games. You’d always been so reserved, so hellbent on silence as you kept a calculating eyes on anybody who wasn’t you. He’d like that quiet air about you, it was a call for guidance, a plea for somebody to claim your trust—he knew he could have given that to you.

But now, Coriolanus could have laughed at that thought.

You, hating attention? What an odd facade he’d so easily been fooled by—but he’d grown smarter since your first encounter. He knew the real truth now. What a glorious night that had been, the first time he’d taken you to bed.

He could still smell the desperation that had trailed from your cunt as his nose burrowed into your swollen and beckoning clit—the way his hands had squeezed the skin of your inner thighs a faint blue in his attempt to trap them against the bed. They’d been so eager to wrap around his neck, to make him prisoner within your euphoria. He’d shown his disapproval by wedging your thighs further apart, an action that earned a shocked moan from you, coupled with a gasp at the growing aggression of his tongue inside of you.

How he enjoyed being the puppeteer of your body, pulling your limbs every which way until you’d been contorted and opened up for him to exploit. You often needed reminding that you were sentenced to his will, made prisoner to his desires.

He could still feel the faint traces of your arousal that had painted pictures across the sharp lines of his jaw, mercilessly freed by the way his tongue had ravished your folds and plucked from you what little dignity and silence you had managed to fashion up until that very moment. No matter how much you’d pretend to feel indifferent to his attention, your body had always betrayed you—it was unashamedly and passionately thankful to his ministrations.

Your pathetic moans still echoed on a loop in the dark corners of his mind—an ear worm he couldn’t discard of, though he couldn’t honestly admit that he’d want anything of the sort. It spurred him on, serving as a constant reminder of his pretty possession, and just how much you needed him—his touch, his validation, his attention. He was the poison-kissed oxygen that you couldn’t help but inhale, fooling yourself that it would somehow replenish the air in your lungs and give you the freedom of living, existing, all the while your every bodily cell came closer and closer to becoming his. It didn’t take much for him to claim all that you were and all that you could be, only the right words and that glorious goddamn night in bed.

He’d completely remade you in his image, branded you with his bedroom generosity, always leaving you with just enough to satisfy, but never enough to last for more than a few hours. You always came back begging for more.

What an attention whore.

At last, the elevator dinged its arrival, the doors opening to welcome Coriolanus inside. He slipped in almost instantly, moving to press the button of the top floor. When the doors finally closed, he became trapped in the air lingering inside, noticing a trace of your sweet perfume. He’d come to admire that scent, thought of it as a way to identify every place you’d been in. But your sweet scent had fused with the musky odour of that strange man, an unpleasant smell that suffocated your own in mere seconds. He could only imagine that same odour plastering itself to your neck and all across your clothes as the man forced himself onto you, enjoying what didn’t belong to him.

After a few minutes, the elevator came to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal two intertwined bodies at the other end of the lobby. You were pinned against the doors to Coriolanus’ suite, the man’s hands wandering beneath your dress and up your magnificent thighs, shrivelled lips sloppily searching the skin of your neck. Your head was tossed back against the wood, eyes sown shut as you let slip the sweetest of moans, a sound that Coriolanus had claimed as his own.

He barged through the elevator doors, the sound of his angered footsteps earning your attention. You lowered your head to him, watching with a playful smile at what was about to unfold. He ignored it, the satisfaction in that grin, the sense of achievement at your ability to control him, have him trailing after you like a dog on a leash. He’d let you have this moment, to savour its short-lived existence because once he was through with this man, he’d show you just how much trouble you’d caused him.

Coriolanus grabbed the oblivious man at the collar of his shirt, too far gone to think with his brain rather than his cock to notice he’d appeared, and plucked him from you. He shoved the man away, who stumbled backwards with his footsteps serving as clear evidence of mild intoxication. The toad began protesting, before his eyes finally found Coriolanus and his lips clamped shut on a look of realisation.

“You come into my house, drink my wine, enjoy my woman, all without a trace of shame?” Coriolanus snapped, his voice gruff with built-up anger.

The man fashioned an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean any offence, Mr. Snow, I swear by it!” His hands made frantic gestures, eager to exonerate himself. “It was her that came onto me, she invited me back here, suggested we get to know each other better—“

Coriolanus lifted his chin, his glare cold as he stared down his nose at the man. “Are you implying that it’s her fault?” It most certainly was, but if Coriolanus had to endure all that had just happened, he intended to have some fun with it.

The man stilled with a look of uncertainty that passed between you and Coriolanus, his hand moving to scratch the back of his head.

“Are you even a man at all, if you’re so easily influenced by a girl that bats her lashes at you and caresses your arm one time?” He had to ignore the irony in that statement; he could’ve almost been talking into a mirror. “You’re pathetic, blaming your lack of control and better judgement on her,” he said, eyes hardening as he took a step forward, the man simultaneously retreating a step with a gulp.

“Go find whatever excuse of a manhood you claim to have in somebody else’s cunt, and don’t let me catch you back in this building. It wont be words that warn you off next time.” His hands clenched into fists at his side, itching to grab the fleeing man and grace him with a well-earned punch—but he wouldn’t gift you that satisfaction, too.

When the elevator doors closed on the stranger, Coriolanus turned to face you. You were picking at your nails busily, as though the entire interaction had bored you beyond interest.

“What were you thinking?” He snapped at you, inching closer to glare you down.

You glanced up from your hands, offering a mere shrug as you crossed your arms and glanced up at him cheekily. “I wasn’t thinking at all, really,” you admitted. “Just wanted to feel some good things.”

Bitterness found its way onto Coriolanus’ tongue. “Do I not make you feel good enough?” He scolded coolly, his eyes searching yours angrily. “Would you rather I call that prick back and have him stick his two expired inches inside you?”

A hint of hurt seemed to widen your eyes, your expression shaped with confusion. “Didn’t think you cared what I got up to,” you muttered, glancing off to the side.

Coriolanus knew that to be complete bullshit, a feeble play at attempting to settle your own insecurities. He knew what you wanted to hear from him—that you mattered to him, that he wanted you to himself, that the mere thought of another man touching you would send him into inexplicable rage. To an extent, those were all true, but not in the way you'd wanted them to be, not in a way he was capable of giving.

He restrained the anger he felt towards you, knowing that he needed to take a gentler approach. You weren't in a state fit to endure his anger, not now. He needed to coddle you, to keep your emotions intact, otherwise he risked losing you. He couldn't have that.

“I care,” he said at last, moving a hand to grip at your chin. He’d forgotten how soft your skin was, it’d been weeks since he’d been permitted to touch you, business keeping him away from your warmth. He moved your face to his, searching between your eyes and your lips. “And you know that I care, too, or you wouldn’t have put on this little display.”

“You don’t care—not really, Coriolanus,” you snapped, your hand plucking his from your chin. “You constantly remind me that I’m nothing more than pleasure to you, an object you love to parade around, so as long as it’s your name engraved on me.”

Correct, he thought, his hand returning to his side. He gazed at you, the cogs of his mind reeling busily as he cautiously selected his next words. He couldn’t be angry with you, not now when you were so fragilely being kept together by emotion. It mattered what he said to you, even if the words weren’t honest. He knew that you needed reassurance, something akin to love to cling to, to keep you satisfied beside him. The condition that came with having a toy he loved to play with, was having to look after it, to ensure it didn’t break or wear with time.

That was exactly what he had to do with you, so he fed you whatever conniving words he could to keep you indulged in whatever illusion you’d had about your relationship with Coriolanus. A necessary evil to preserve his hold over you. He was selfish that way, but you were far too entertaining to let slip, and he did rather enjoy you—your company and your body.

Truthfully, you did have some sort of hold over him, and he’d let just enough of that truth show to control you, to convince you of his love for you.

“In all my years of existing, I've never once felt compelled to share my life with somebody else," Coriolanus told you softly. He moved his hand to return that same rogue strand of hair back behind your ear. "Not until you. I can't explain it, the way the mere thought of you with another man sends me into an unparalleled rage—to think that he could give you something I couldn't. The thought of somebody touching you the way I touch you. . . It's unbearable, unacceptable."

He placed his hands on either one of your cheeks, lifting your head to face him. His words had too easily buttered you up, moulded your face with a look of infatuation. “If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t have followed you all the way up here. I’d have let you fuck whoever you want, whenever you want, however you want. But the fact is, I care—a lot.”

You still harboured a certain look of uncertainty in your eyes, those damned eyes that made him go feral. He could tell that you wanted to believe him, but you had reservations that he hadn’t yet satisfied with his words. He needed to say more, do more.

“Do you see me chasing after any other girl the way I chase after you?” He pressed on, grabbing your face a little more ferociously, just to sell the point. “You’ve consumed me, reduced any ounce of respect I’ve once had for myself to nothingness. I could’ve had you pawned off the Capitol after the games, to do whatever bidding they demanded of you, but I chose to keep you by my side, to spoil you with everything you deserve for winning the games. Tell me one person who’d be willing to do the same for a district nobody that they held no care for?”

Your eyes had grown teary at his words, your bottom lip quivering beyond your control. You had meant to look tougher, Coriolanus could tell, unmoved by his words, but you were only just a naive girl burdened with the need to be loved. So you believed it, every poisonous word dripping from his lips—lapped it up hungrily like a douse of honey, in fact. Perfect. He was gaining back your trust.

You caved into Coriolanus, his hands falling from your face to wrap around your body and keep you against him. His one hand curled around the nape of your neck while the other wrapped around the small of your back, so perfectly shaped to accommodate his arm. How could he be convinced that you were not made just for him, when every aspect of your body seemed to be carved just for his touch? The hand on your head began to move with rhythmic strokes across your hair, his lips moving to place a kiss on the crown of your head. He rested his chin where he’d placed his kiss, as though sealing in the sensation, before he spoke up.

“You were incredibly selfish tonight,” he murmured. You pulled back subtly to glance up at him with slightly furrowed brows, and he lifted his chin from your head to gaze back at you impassively. “You put me through hell, making me watch as you flirted with that man, touched on him all over as you promised him sex. Do you think that was fun for me?”

Your eyes glinted with a hint of guilt, your lips parting with a soft no.

“No,” Coriolanus agreed, his eyes undeniably annoyed as he glared at your guilt-ridden expression. His fingers ventured along your back, finding the zip to your dress, the only thing keeping your body prisoner in the fabric. He tugged at the zip, harshly at first, his need to punish you poking through his actions, but he had to refrain from that for the time-being. More slowly, he began to pull the zip down your body. “I think it only fitting that you should be punished for your little games, don’t you agree?” His eyes flickered back up to yours coolly, almost challenging you to disagree.

The fabric of your dress grew loose on your body, the straps beginning to slide along the slope of your shoulders. You glanced up at him in silence, not wanting to admit the words, but the neediness on your expression told him that you were all game for your punishment—not that it ever was something unpleasant. Coriolanus was always generous when it came to putting you in your place.

“Glad we’re on the same page, dove,” he said, the dress releasing your body at last. It pooled onto the floor around your heels, leaving you barren save for the bra suffocating your breasts. He glanced down at your lower half, faintly surprised to find that you’d neglected the courtesy of wearing any underwear.

"Was this supposed to be an apology?" He asked, glancing back at you through a charming smirk.

A smile broke through onto your lips. "I thought it'd make undressing me quicker," you replied, lowering yourself to remove the heels from your feet. You were glad to be free of that hell. They made your calves look good, but they were torture on your feet.

"Well, aren't you considerate?" Coriolanus responded, then paused before adding. "So you knew how this night would end, with you and I nothing but a sexual amalgamation?”

"It was more of a hope,” you replied as you straightened yourself up.

Coriolanus' constraint gave in at your insinuations, his hand moving to caress your cheek, his eyes lowering to your perfect lips that he craved to taste in that very moment. You reached up to deliver the unspoken need onto his lips, but he kept you grounded with a hand around your collarbone. "You're not kissing me with those lips," he told you. “Not after that prick has wiped his saliva all over you.”

His hand left your body to reach into his blazer pockets. He pulled out a key, his hand snaking around your waist to slip the key into the door hole. His face was intentionally leaned close to yours, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of concentration as he struggled to unlock the door, and because he could smell the man’s cologne clinging desperately to your skin. He’d need to take care of that before the evening could proceed, it was a detrimental hinderance to his cock. At last, the doors gave in with a loud click, and he pulled the key from the lock.

He leaned back with a curt beckoning of his chin. "After you,” he said, placing the key back into his blazer, his eyes not once neglecting yours.

You gave him a long stare, almost daring to be disobedient before you clearly thought better of it. You bent over to collect your dress and your shoes before turning to push the doors open. Coriolanus dropped his attention to your ass, which practically begged for his approval as it bounced with your every step. He entered inside after you, closing the doors behind him.

You ventured a few steps into the well-furnished living room of the suite and tossed your clothing onto the nearest sofa, your eyes trained on the glass walls that offered a breath-taking view of Panem. You’d always marvel over the cityscape as if it was your first time seeing it, but in all honesty, it was the fact that the lights of Panem fashioned a different colour each night, and it always seemed to illuminate new buildings and views that you’d never noticed before.

Coriolanus watched you, your hand absentmindedly reaching to hold your elbow as you admired the view—one that you’d already seen countless times before, he thought. He wondered whether you were contemplating your circumstances in this instant, as if the reality of what you’d done had finally started to sink in, and what the consequences to follow would be. He could read you fairly well, but there were still moments that your thoughts were lost on him.

“Are you scared?” He asked, his voice echoing throughout the empty space.

You turned to face him, your hands falling to your side. The lighting was dim, but the amusement etched onto your features were clear. “Scared? I didn’t survive the games only to be scared of you, Coriolanus Snow. Besides, this is hardly our first rodeo. I can’t imagine there’s much more surprises you could spring on me.”

Coriolanus cocked his eyebrows, smiling at those words. He appreciated your effortless wit. Most of Panem’s ladies were annoyingly submissive in their conversation, saying only what they thought he wanted to hear, as though it’d make them more desirable to him. You didn’t need to be told what to say, you just said it, and he was glad for it. Control could be exhausting, especially when he strove to maintain it in almost every aspect of his life. It was refreshing to know that he didn’t have to control your personality, too.

“Good,” he said, inching closer until he could reach out a hand to grab your arm. He turned you around forcefully, cool fingers teasingly tracing the skin of your shoulder as he made his way down to the clasp of your bra. He undid the hook, freeing your breasts from the pretty white lace, before tossing it onto the sofa beside your other discarded items. He turned you back to him, his eyes instantly lowering to the hardened nipples crowning your soft breasts. “Somebody’s eager,” He jested, his voice a soft rumble as his eyes rose to meet yours. “Did you want something from me?”

“You know I always do, Coryo,” you responded, taking your lower lip into a subtle bite.

Coriolanus’s eyes hardened at that nickname. “Don’t call me that,” he demanded. That version of himself had died a long time ago.

Your eyebrows cocked at his tone, your lips momentarily pursed before you asked, “should I call you Mr. Snow instead?”

“Just Coriolanus,” he replied, rolling his shoulders to remove his crimson blazer. Your eyes were stalking his every move. He could tell that you wanted nothing more than to reach out to what little clothing remained on his body and tear it away mercilessly—that you wanted him to take you right here at this very instant. But he was faintly impressed at your patience as you decided against any reckless action, instead opting to wait for his next command.

He folded his blazer and draped it over his arm, his free hand beckoning for you to follow him to his bedroom. “Come on.”

Your eyes followed his footsteps, your disbelief keeping your feet glued to the ground. Coriolanus glanced over his shoulder when your footsteps didn’t commence behind him. Your reaction was justifiable. He’d never once once invited you into his room in all the months you’d lived with him. He knew that you were foolishly thinking that this moment marked an intimate milestone in your relationship, that this act was an attempt for him to show just how much you meant to him.

“Problem?” He asked.

You willed away the dumbfounded look on your face, offering a half-hearted no as you caught up to Coriolanus. As if the sentiment was fragile, you merely walked ahead of him in silence, afraid that one wrong word would revoke the invite.

He trailed behind you as you approached the door to his bedroom. You tossed a glance over your shoulder as you sought out confirmation in your actions. Coriolanus gave a small nod, an encouraging smirk poking through. You smiled back, turning your attention to opening the door. You slipped inside, your attention instantly flying to the furniture that occupied the space. It was modest, very limited to necessities.

The bed, needlessly big, was slightly undone, the comforters left untidy as though he’d just climbed out of bed and the covers half pulled from the pillows—a picture frozen in time. A plate and a mug was stacked onto the bedside table, the previous day’s clothes draped across the sofas near the windows. Your eyes were fixating every detail around the room, as though burning a mental picture into your mind as a souvenir for later.

Coriolanus moved to place his blazer beside his other clothes on the sofa. “Sorry for the mess,” he offered, moving to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. “As I’m sure you know, I don’t usually have the worry of entertaining guests.”

You turned to face him, your eyes lowering to his skilful fingers. “I like the mess,” you responded, making your way over to him. “It feels personal, seeing this side of you—allow me to.” You shooed his hands off the waistcoat, taking his place in undoing the buttons. You glanced up at him seductively, your eyes flickering down to his full lips.

He watched you undress him, slowly but surely, knowing that he could’ve done a much faster job. But he allowed you to take on the role, knowing that it made you feel important, that your body would show him just how thankful you were and how much these little details meant to you. Once you had unfastened the last button, you removed the waistcoat and admired his toned and broad physique, painfully concealed behind his white shirt.

Coriolanus glared at your wandering eyes, wondering whether you were trying to picture him naked. He’d never been fully undressed in all of their little rendezvous, it was something far too intimate for him. And there had only been a few occasions where he’d fucked you with his cock and not his fingers or his mouth. He’d found himself deriving the utmost pleasure when he got to solely focus on how you came undone for him, how powerful his every movement upon you really was.

When your hands moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, he grabbed at your wrist. “Not yet,” he told you. “You still reek of him.” You frowned at his words, your hands falling to your sides in disappointment. “Come with me,” he said, moving past you toward the bathroom. “We’re going to take a little bath.”

Your interest peaked at his words. “We’re going to bath together?” You asked curiously as you followed after him.

“You’re going to bath,” Coriolanus corrected as he reached the large alcove bathtub. He leaned over to turn on the tap. “I’m going to watch.” His hand trailed the many soaps and balms that lined the rim of the bathtub. He’d made it a mission to collect every scented product he could manage once he got his hand on the money, simply because he could, and he liked smelling good.

“Sounds perverted,” you shot at him, crossing your arms as you watched him draw your bath.

He grabbed ahold of a rose-scented oil and began pouring it into the water. “You didn’t agree to live with me because of my normalcy,” he said distractedly. “But because you knew just how much my so called perversion had to offer your pathetic, little, touch-starved body.”

He tossed a glance at you over his shoulder, satisfied by the red gleam that had snuck onto your cheeks. He turned his attention back to the tub, reaching for a bottle of bubble bath. He began adding it to the water, a few droplets reaching up to stain his shirt.

“In any case,” Coriolanus continued. “It’s the least you could do for me after tonight’s shit-show.” He placed the bottle back against the wall, closing the tap once the water had reached an appropriate level. He unbuttoned the cufflinks of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves, taking a few paces back. He jerked his head at you. “Go on,” he demanded.

You unfurled into a dramatic stretch, parading your breasts as you faced him. “Join me.”

He fixed you with an unwavering stare, not so keen to play into another one of your games. “Get in.”

With one last glare, you turned and dipped one leg into the bath, instantly pulling back with a hiss. Your head snapped to face him. “It’s too hot,” you protested.

Coriolanus moved to retrieve a chair from the corner of the bathroom, placing it a few inches from where you stood. He sat himself down, offering a mere shrug to your words. “Good observation.”

“I’m not going to burn myself bloody just so that you can get off,” you spat.

“Then let’s kill some time while we wait for the water to cool down,” he suggested, his eyes once again tracing over every inch of your exposed body with keen interest.

You looked open to his request. “What did you have in mind?”

Coriolanus’s eyes flickered back up to you. “Touch yourself,” he said earnestly. You paused at his words, suddenly looking self-conscious, before you hesitantly began to caress your breasts. He watched your fingers squeeze and grope at your skin, imagining that it were his own hands in their stead, only he’d be a lot less kind in his touch. Your fingers trailed teasing circles around your nipples, further hardened at your own toying and his intense observation.

“Lower,” he ordered, feeling frustrated at your lack of venturing into your lower extremities.

Your eyes glinted at him, a look that seemed to say greedy. Yes, he was. Who could blame him? He’d grown up starving for most days of the year, now he’d take as much as he wanted.

His eyes fixated the hand that lowered in a painfully slow motion across your stomach, reaching that sweet spot housed between your legs. As your fingers began to fondle with your clit, you threw your head back with a pitiful moan. He knew he could’ve extracted a louder sound. He almost felt obliged to take over, but he had to remind himself that you were undeserving of his touch, that you needed to be punished with the urge to feel him, yet be denied that pleasure.

A few minutes of your fondling had passed before your ministrations eventually became too overwhelming to maintain control over your body. You lowered yourself to the bathmat, your hand not once leaving your cunt. You spread your legs open, offering a broader view to Coriolanus. Your eyes were glazed over as you glanced at him. He tilted his head slightly in approval, feeling his own cock growing interested at his view of your pathetic situation.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he praised, noting the way your eyes lowered to his pants. He parted his legs slightly to take the pressure off of his growing erection, eager to hide his arousal. He didn’t want you to notice just yet how much he was truly enjoying this. Your movements eventually became more erratic, incoherent sounds spewing from your lips.

“I need you, Coriolanus,” you managed to blabber out, your tired head resting onto the rim of the bathtub, eyes periodically fluttering closed as you alternated between consciousness and whatever universe of pleasure was found behind your eyes. “Please,” you begged.

“You’ll have me soon,” he said, “when I see it fit.”

“I’ve been good for you,” you protested breathlessly. “I’ve done everything you told me to.”

“You have a lot to atone for,” Coriolanus pointed out, his eyes lowering to where your hand had slowed its movements. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

You glanced at him past your tired lids, but you obliged nonetheless, adding a finger inside of your cunt to increase the pressure. He supposed it was fair, if he had refused to place his own fingers inside of you. He couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto lips as he watched a stream of white begin to trail from your opening, recalling how good you tasted. It was a shame, really, that it would go to waste onto the bathroom mat instead of onto his appreciative tongue. From the sound of your pathetic mewling and your ragged breathing, Coriolanus knew that you were growing close to your high. He didn’t intend for the fun to end just yet.

“I want you to continue until you feel like you’re going to cum,” he told you, though he wasn’t sure you’d heard him past you own noise. “And then I want you to stop just before that happens.”

“That’s mean, Coriolanus,” you managed to say.

“You haven’t seen mean yet, dove,” he said. “Now stop talking and focus.”

Your fingers picked up their pace with a newfound eagerness, the knot in your stomach growing inescapably larger, the urge to come undone becoming harder and harder to contain. Coriolanus wasn’t sure you’d obey his command at this point, you looked too far gone to resume control over your own actions. His eyes narrowed, watching closely at what fate you’d choose to follow. Much to his disappointment, you practiced constraint, your hips shooting up with anticipation, only to sink to the floor as you denied yourself the orgasm.

You glanced at Coriolanus past your teary lashes, a silent request for praise. He heeded your need, rising from his seat to crouch beside your slumped figure. He combed the loose hair from your face, wiping away the beads of sweat that dotted your forehead.

“You’re too good for this world,” he murmured sweetly. He felt as though he could have choked on the banality of his words, but the soft look in your eyes as you gazed up at him made it worthwhile. He nodded to your hand, still resting on your cunt. “Show me how good you felt.”

You pulled your hand from its playground between your legs, creamy white webs entangled on your fingers. They pulled a string along your stomach as you lifted your fingers for Coriolanus to study.

“It almost looks like you don’t need my help,” he chuckled, his hand fastening around your wrist to bring your fingers to his lips. His blue eyes bore down into you as he took each of your fingers into his mouth. One by one, his tongue hungrily weaved around them, claiming your juices from your skin.

You gazed at him with a wild look ablaze in your eyes. “Don’t I deserve a taste?” You said. “After all, I did all the hard work. I deserve to taste the fruits of my labour.”

“You should be modest,” Coriolanus said once he removed your fingers from his mouth. “Nobody likes a brag.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” you retorted lightly, your eyes glinting with exhaustion. “I like you.”

“Mhm,” he offered softly, placing your hand gently onto your chest. He reached his hand between your legs, an action that caused your thighs to stiffen around him. “Relax,” he cooed, pressing his palm into one of your thighs, encouraging you to open up to him.

“Sorry,” you said, easing off the defensiveness. “I’m sensitive down there at the moment.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, gazing at your fragile expression. Fuck, he could take you right here. His fingers moved with caution as they glided along the folds of your drenched cunt, gathering up your cum into untidy clumps. He followed a trail of arousal that had traveled down into the cleft of your ass, pressing a teasing finger into your asshole.

You gasped at the sudden invasion, and Coriolanus’s throat rumbled with a chuckle. He removed his fingers and brought them to your lips. You glanced at his slender fingers, not needing much convincing to take them into your mouth. You turned your attention to him as you began to suck at him suggestively, exaggerating your head bobbing as you made a point to cover the entire length of his fingers.

He watched you with a lopsided smirk, enjoying the whore-like behaviour you so willingly offered him. Now and again, he’d thrust his fingers a little too deep, more than what your throat could handle, which caused you to gag around him. Strings of your saliva had begun to slither down his exposed forearm, pleasantly warm on his skin. He imagined his cock in the stead of his fingers, enjoying the same warmth and wetness your mouth had to offer.

When you’d decidedly had enough of licking his fingers clean, you pulled your lips from him with a characteristic pop. Coriolanus reached that hand over the bathtub, dipping it into the water to feel its temperature. It had cooled down considerably, but it was still warm enough for a worthwhile soak. He withdrew his hand and wiped his fingers onto his shirt.

“The bath will get cold soon,” he told you. “Get in.”

“Is that all?” You asked disappointedly.

“Get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll show you what I’ve got in stock for you.” He straightened up and took a few paces back as you perked with new resolve and found your feet.

He backed up to reclaim his position on the chair, crossing his legs as he watched you. Your back was momentarily on him as you climbed into the bathtub, the water sloshing a welcome. You submerged yourself into the warmth almost instantly, a content groan reverberating in your throat. His eyes lowered to your hand, which had began to spread the foam of the bubble bath across your bare chest and breasts.

“The water’s so good,” you murmured.

“Don’t get too relaxed,” he warned.

“Why don’t you join me, Coriolanus,” you said, your eyes fluttered open as you moved to fold your arms onto the lip of bathtub. You rested your chin onto your arms, glancing at the erection he could no longer conceal. “I’ll take good care of your little cock, that should keep me on my toes.” Your expression beamed at your choice of words, deliberately chosen to get a rise out of him.

Coriolanus merely scoffed at your teasing. He had many things to prove, but the size of his cock was not one of them.

“You sure you could handle me, since you’re still so sensitive down there?” He asking mockingly. He leaned back into his chair, his hand coming up to clench his chin, the other grabbing his elbow.

You tilted your head prettily to one side. “Only one way to find out,” you murmured, leaning back against the wall of the tub as you kicked your foot out and onto the edge. Water splashed partially onto the bathmat, but most had been caught by the bare floor.

Coriolanus lowered his eyes to the puddle. “You’re making quite a mess for someone who’s been in here for less than half an hour.”

“Give me an hour and you’ll see just how much of a mess I can make,” you challenged.

He lifted his chin to face you, his eyes narrowing the slightest. This side of you was something he’d never experienced before; you were a lot more daring, undoubtedly brought on by the importance you felt at being allowed the opportunity to bathe in his bathroom and in his company. He’d like to test just how long you could keep up this illusion of bravery, and how quickly you’d drop it when he had you sprawled onto his fingers.

“Come here, then,” he said, uncrossing his legs and spreading it as an invitation for your thighs.

Your eyes snuck a peak at his hard on before you broke away from your slutty pose and climbed from the warmth of the tub. You took a few steps toward Coriolanus, water and soap slithering down the curves of your body and onto the floor.

You stopped short of his legs. “You’re sure?” You asked, eyes making a point of the shirt and pants he still wore. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with a little less on?”

Coriolanus grunted from a place of impatience, reaching out his hand to grab at your wrist. He pulled you into his lap, rough hands guiding your hips to comfortably straddle his clothed thighs. The soapy water coating your body began to bleed into his clothes, his pants the most affected, but he could hardly be arsed in this moment. He just needed to feel you, needed to use you. His fingers gripped at your thighs, his heavenly blue eyes boring down onto your strained expression as he began to forcibly guide your bare cunt over his bulge.

Coriolanus’s movements set a generous pace, endorphins bolting through your core each time his bulge struck your sensitive clit. The texture of his pants was harsh on your skin, creating a friction that seemed to generate copious amounts of heat—screw sticks and stones, this method of fucking could have started all the fires in the world. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lower half instinctively beginning to cooperate as you rocked back and fourth in sync with his guidance.

Your head came to rest in the chiselled crook of his neck, his earthy fragrance fucking heaven-sent on your senses, further engulfing you in bliss. His throat vibrated against your ear with strained moans, they came as subtle grunts that prompted his hands to speed up the pace. He was so eager to feel you, to settle his drawn-out erection. You winced as his fingers burrowed into the skin of your thighs. He’d neglected all caution in your handling, his need to control your movements overpowering what slither of consideration he’d held for your comfort.

It didn’t take long for the stinging sensation to blend with your pleasure, slurred moans pouring from your lips as you felt cum begin to leak from your entrance. It lubricated the fabric of Coriolanus’s pants, offering some relief from the coarse material. You screwed your eyes shut and pressed your face into his shirt, eager to muffle the mewls of pleasure you seemed to have zero control over. His chest rumbled with a breathy fuck, and you felt his body momentarily convulse with the overwhelming feelings your bodies shared.

You turned your head, your nose brushing against the skin of his neck. Your eyes fluttered open, drinking in the view of his adam’s apple, so prominent and manly. It bobbed as Coriolanus swallowed a moan. You brought your furthest hand forward to hook the side of his neck, pulling him against your lips. He didn’t resist, it’s almost as though he was too focused on his own work to pay attention to your own dealings. You littered sloppy kisses all across his neck, placing extra emphasis around his adam’s apple. You kissed all around the bulge before giving into your thoughts and dragging your tongue over it, leaving a sloppy trail in your wake.

The warmth and wetness of your tongue on his throat made Coriolanus release an unexpected groan, a hand leaving your hips to wrap around your throat. You let slip a chuckle at his action, and he held you out in front of him, his cold eyes glaring into yours as he decided to brutalise his movements. You moaned loudly, the sound strained as you forced it past his suffocating hold on your neck.

“Coriolanus,” you choked out breathlessly, your hands sliding along his broad shoulders. “I need you inside of me.”

“You’ve waited this long,” Coriolanus muttered. “You can wait a little longer.” His hold on your throat grew tighter, your vision starting to blur behind a mixture of fresh tears and your compromised oxygen.

He watched your eyes flutter closed and your teeth clench as you inched closer and closer to your edge, your nails digging through his shirt and into his shoulders, steading yourself against his aggression. His singular hand on your hip began to cramp at his incessant groping and steering, but he was beginning to feel his own orgasm approaching, and that was motivation enough to push through—that, and your whorish desperation.

He released his grip on your neck, the air returning to your lungs as a cough and a splutter. He hooked the nape of your neck and pulled you into the comfort of his shoulder, urging you to rest your tired head there as he finished you both off. With both hands once again firm on your hips, he picked up the pace. He rested his chin onto the crown of your head, his eyes fluttering closed as he allowed the scent of your conditioner to swallow his senses.

With each movement, he brought you down harder onto his cock, craving rougher strokes. The squelching of the cum coating your folds and spreading along his pants was music to his ears, and he gritted his teeth to bite back his ragged breathing so that he could continue to hear the way he’d transformed your cunt. He could feel his own pre-cum trickling from his tip, the warmth spreading along his shaft by the generosity of your wet folds. Fucking hell did he yearn to be inside of you, almost as much as you craved him, but he had to be stronger than his own desires.

It didn’t take long before every nerve tracing the length of his cock began to fire rapid impulses, the prolonged stimulation proving to be too overbearing. His lips parted with strained breaths, the black abyss behind his eyes beginning to birth a cosmos of anticipatory stars. The image built and built until he thrust you one last violent time along his cock, his hips rocking up into you, delivering just the right ounce of pressure before white engulfed his vision.

His grip on your hips loosened, his ears buzzing with the aftermath of his high. He hadn’t even realised that you’d come undone before he had, your whimpers and vulgar pleas lost in his concentration. The only evidence of your orgasm was the new patch of wetness that had marked his pants, a generous mixture of squirt and cum.

Your breathless voice sounded at his ear as you moved your head from under his chin. “I want to feel like that all the time.”

“That can be arranged, dove,” he chuckled hoarsely.

You felt his hand leave your hip, the skin there instantly growing cool. He dragged his fingers repeatedly along the wisps of your hair. It was as though he were petting a dog, only his touch was a lot gentler and more intimate. You allowed your eyes to flutter closed, your lips parting with a content sigh as you waited for the ecstasy of your orgasm to dissolve. You rested your chin on his shoulder, listening to the calm of his breathing, focusing on his hand caressing your hair.

You pulled back to glance at him, his eyes questioning as he returned your stare. Your attention moved to his lips, they looked so soft and plump, not nearly red enough. You’d been robbed of the opportunity to nibble on them, to contort them between your own lips, to taste the wine he’d downed at the party. You didn’t think you’d be properly satisfied until you got your wish. Did that make you ungrateful?

Coriolanus offered a faint smirk, your thoughts loud and clear. How selfish of him, he’d forgotten to kiss you during your little ride. Not a train-smash, he had the entire night to make up for that. His hand on your hair tightened there, forcing you into his vicinity. You wanted to protest at the hairs pulling at your scalp, but you hadn’t gotten the chance, not when his lips silenced yours in a hungry tumble.

He didn’t kiss you as often as you would’ve liked, but when he did, it was always imbued with passion, his movements erratic like he’d been starving and you were the first source of food he’d encountered in days. You got lost in the movement of his lips, the pace so fast that you couldn’t properly match it, though not for lack of trying. You allowed yourself to be swept up in his kiss, accepting that he was in control.

Coriolanus moved his hands to grab ahold of your breasts, his attention marvellously divided between fondling them and tracing his tongue along the inside of your mouth. You moaned into him, the sound muffled and lost to your entanglement. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, offering a sharp nip that caused you to wince in surprise. You felt his lips broaden in a smug smile, his hands neglecting your breasts and trailing a seductive path down your waist to deliver a crisp spank to your ass.

The skin stung where he’d struck you, but he was so quick to soothe the ache with gentle rubbing. The curves of your ass fit so perfectly into his palms. He pulled his lips from yours, not sparing even an instant for you to process his movements before his sharp nose found sanctuary in your cleavage. He littered kisses there before moving to plant a trail around the circumference of your breasts.

“Coriolanus,” you moaned, your head lolling back.

He hummed against your skin, a halfhearted acknowledgement. His hand found its way between your thighs, his middle finger sliding between your labia where beads of your brand new arousal waited to greet him. He slathered his fingers in your juice, lubricating the skin before he slid his finger into your entrance.

Your entire composure collapsed at that, the built up suspense of needing him inside you satisfied at last. Your entrance clamped around him at first, the sensation always forgotten with how few and far apart these glorious moments were spread, but within a fraction of a second, you melted onto his finger.

You nibbled at your lower lip, the bite deepening as Coriolanus’s teeth found your nipple. He alternated between tugging at your hardened buds and swirling his tongue around and all over it, mischievously marking steaks of saliva along your skin. A few seconds later, his ring and index finger joined the party within you.

Your grip on his shoulders lowered down his back, eagerly clawing at the hard and chiselled muscles, but his damned shirt got in the way. You pulled back, Coriolanus’ lips robbed of your breasts. He glanced at you, his fingers continuing their thrusts. Your hands flew to tug at the buttons of his shirt. The first few you’d managed to undo, but you had finite patience for the others, resorting to an aggressive tug that split the buttons from the fabric.

“Are you going to pay for that?” Coriolanus jested lightly.

“I’m sure there’s plenty more shirts where that one came from,” you said hastily, yanking the sleeves down his broad shoulders.

You instantly dove in to kiss at his chest. He’d never been excessively muscled, but he was still strong and toned, his frame broad and absolutely mouth-watering to gaze upon. Your hands wandered along his chest, sliding along his shoulders and down his arms. You attempted to tug his shirt all the way off, Coriolanus aiding your motion as he momentarily pulled his fingers from inside you.

He rolled his shoulders and removed his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. You glanced at his torso, now completely exposed to you. You couldn’t stifle the smile on your lips, thinking that he looked a lot like a male stripper—bare-chested yet still clothed from the waist down, presenting himself on a chair. All he was missing was a sexy dance of some sort.

Coriolanus frowned at your gawking. “What’s on that mind of yours?”

You pursed your lips. “Nothing,” you answered, placing a kiss on his lips. You moved to murmur in his ear, “now If it’s not too much to ask, would you kindly stick your fingers back inside of me?”

When you withdrew to look at him, Coriolanus wore a wicked smirk. “What a slutty thing to say.” His fingers returned to your cunt, but instead of easing his way inside, he opted for his whole hand at once.

You didn’t know whether you were more shocked at his gesture, or the way your cunt had easily welcomed him. His movements were considerably less cautious than before, but you didn’t care about that now, only that he was finally inside of you. You let out a lengthy moan, so eager to verbalise your appreciation. Your hands moved to cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading them together as you tilted your head back.

You closed your eyes and focused on his hand inside you, how each thrust grew deeper and closer to your sweet spot. It’s as though he’d already mapped out your insides, his fingers knowing exactly which way to wander. Gods, you truly didn’t know whether you or Coriolanus enjoyed this more. He kept up a regular pace for a while, and you’d quickly grown impatient and needy for his brutality.

“Faster,” you complained.

Coriolanus slowed his movements, coming to a complete stop. He wholly expected the miserable look on your face as your head snapped down to face him. How could he allow you to think that he was here to serve you, as opposed to you serving him. He wasn’t just going to hand you what you wanted, life certainly hadn’t been that generous with him. No, you’d have to work for it.

“Okay, we can go faster,” he said, cocking his head slightly. You regained a spark at those words, but it quickly blew out at what came next. “But you’ll do it yourself, since you’re unsatisfied with what I’m giving you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—“ you attempted to protest, but Coriolanus cut you off with free his index finger pressing against your lips, his lips fashioned in a hush.

“No talking,” he murmured. “Just get to work.” He beckoned down to your cunt, his hand motionless inside of you.

Devastated at having to do the work yourself, you crossed your arms around his neck, your expression adorably resentful as you lifted your hips and began to ride him. Coriolanus lowered his free hand to rest at your hip, his attention wandering to your breasts. He couldn’t have ignored them even if he tried, not when they were bouncing inches from his face and calling out for attention. Your moans quickly commenced, your hips already starting to tremble with your next orgasm. You tossed your head back, your movements becoming uncoordinated, like your body had already started to give up.

Coriolanus felt your walls begin to clench around his hand, glancing up to glimpse your face. “Look at me,” he called to you. Your head lowered to face him at once, your eyelids drooping. “Are you going to cum?” He asked, and you nodded eagerly, followed by a strewn out moan.

Good, he thought. His hand on your hip began to press against your movements, interrupting the pace you’d managed to get going. Your eyes widened as your orgasm retracted into a dissatisfying gasp, the high that had been building instantly collapsed at your sudden lack of movement.

“Coriolanus,” you snapped, your tone coming across as a whine. You’d become frustrated with his teasing, and your body shared the sentiment. Your clit ached now, exhausted tremors seizing every muscle of your body. “You’re being a dick!”

“No,” he countered, pulling his hand from your entrance. He looked condescending as his eyes flickered across you face. “I’m punishing you, just like I promised. You’re getting exactly what you deserve, but you’re spoiled and used to getting your way.”

You didn’t have anything to retort, so you glared at him in silence, ignoring the hurt that his words had inflicted upon you.

“Don’t pout,” he murmured, wiping his wet hand along your thigh.

Then, without warning, he hoisted you up at the thighs and manoeuvred you bridal-style from the bathroom towards the bedroom. He lowered you onto the undone comforters of his bed, leaning down with you to place a swift kiss on your furrowed brows. He straightened up at the foot of the bed, his hands reaching for your calves.

“You want to cum?” He asked, his fingers wrapping around your legs to pull you down the bed and closer to where he stood. “I’ll make you cum, over and over again.” That was a promise.

Your lips parted with shock, words scattering from your tongue as his hands travelled over yours knees and grabbed at your thighs. He pried your legs apart, exposing your cunt to him. The last view you captured of him was the way his eyes traced your exposed lower half, a barely noticeable smirk pulling at one corner of his lips. Then, his head dipped into you, his tongue flat and rough on your folds.

You threw your head back into the sheets, your fingers instantly curling into the material as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded and preventing you from getting carried away into another universe. Coriolanus was conscious to strike his nose against your tender clit every so often, clearly enjoying the way it sent a jerk through your body. It was like his own personal control-switch to play with. You were too exhausted to limit the noises that you produced for him, so everything came out a loud and blabbering mess. You didn’t ever want to stop being touched this way.

Coriolanus was a clean man. He liked to keep his hair tamed, his jaw void of any developing beard that he felt would deface his appearance. But it had to have been a week since his last shave, you thought. You could feel the faint stubble poking through, grazing your intimate area as he ravished you below. It was the perfect addition to your arousal, adding just enough noise to push you into overstimulation.

You fought the urge to lift your lower half from the sheets, to greedily claim a deeper thrust of his tongue. He wouldn’t take kindly to that, and you didn’t think you had the capacity to endure any more teasing. Instead, you opened your thighs even wider, your hands releasing the comforter to grip at your breasts.

Coriolanus approved of your behaviour, his praise coming in the form of his tongue up your entrance. You let slip a breathy gasp, your jaw clenching at the lightning that seemed to obscure your vision.

“Fuck, Coriolanus,” you drawled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Please—let me cum!”

He hummed against your clit, the vibrations serving as the fucking icing on top of this sex-themed cake. You core knotted, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes screwed shut, the pressure building and building and threatening to spill over as Coriolanus’ tongue picked up the pace. He twirled your clit around, his fingers pinching at your thighs, and just like that, your body released all the tension of the evening.

Your chest bobbed up and down with heavy breathing, not feeling as though you could bear to open your eyes. It’s only when you felt Coriolanus’ warmth withdraw from your thighs that you lifted your head to glance up at him. He straightened up and met your gaze with an impressed look, his perfect lips offering a smile—a genuine smile. The sight set off butterflies in your stomach. He was proud of you and your performance.

“You did well, dove,” he praised.

You beamed at his compliment, words not easily extracted from him. The sheen on his jaw caught your attention, your heart jolting with shame to see him absolutely doused in your juice. It trailed well down his neck and onto his chest, making a point to follow the natural contours of his pecs.

“I’m sorry—“ a hand flew to your mouth, hardly believing that you’d produced a mess of that magnitude.

“Sorry?” Coriolanus mocked, his perfect teeth flashing in a laugh. “Don’t be. It’s a compliment. You show your appreciation like a real woman, just the way I like it.”

You watched as his hands lowered to his red trousers, his fingers moving to undo the button. You glanced back at him in alarm.

“You didn’t think we were done just yet?” He asked, his smile turning wicked as he unzipped his trousers and pulled it down. “I edged you twice,” he explained. “And I’d like to think I’m a fair man. So,” he paused and lowered his underwear, which freed his erection. “I owe you another good time.”

He stepped out from the last of his clothing, towering over your body as he inched his way toward you. “I won’t lie, though,” he murmured once he’d reached your ear. “I’m doing this mostly for me. I think I’ve waited long enough to feel you, really feel you.”

You glanced up at him, your eyes large and pleading like a pathetic mutt begging for scraps. “I don’t think I can take any more, Coriolanus.”

“Did it feel good, what you did just now?”

“It felt like heaven,” you told him softly.

“Then this time will feel like being completely reborn,” Coriolanus insisted, his hand relocating hair from your sticky face. “And even if it doesn’t, you’ll push through because this is your punishment, and punishment is not always meant to be enjoyable.”

You glanced off to the side, hating how much the cold look in his eyes stirred something inside of you.

Coriolanus found satisfaction in the way his words kept you silent. He grabbed your chin and turned you back to him, his thumb pressing into your lower lip before he planted a hollow kiss in its stead. He placed his forearm beside your head, leaning onto that side as his other hand reached down for his cock. He gave a lazy pump across his hard length, a pathetic attempt at spreading his pre-cum. He didn’t need to do any better, not when your drenched cunt offered enough lubrication for him to enter without a struggle.

And it did, without a single hitch, as he pushed himself inside of you. Your soft gasp sounded in his ear, his attention still trained below. Once he was sure he was properly inside of you, he turned his head up and placed his arm on the other side of your head. You felt so warm and welcoming, definitely a lot more relaxed than the previous times he’d stuck his cock inside of you.

He began to thrust, not having much patience to start slow and gradually build up the pressure. This entire evening had been leading up to this moment, the opportunity for him to be in this exact position. He’d spent all of his patience, now he just needed to finish what he’d set out to do. He was pleased to feel your hands snake beneath his arms and take up a hold on his back, that is until your nails suddenly sunk into his skin.

He let out pained moan, his gaze growing fierce at the satisfaction on your face. Two could play that game. He withdrew his length a far way out, his tip almost slipping from your entrance entirely, before he rammed himself back inside with an animalistic thrust. His tip collided with your g-spot, a harsh and sudden greeting to the sensitive area.

You let out a scream, your stomach lifting against him. Before you could process the shock, he rammed into you again, and again, and again. Each time, he returned with the same force, and not once did he fail to miss his target. Your nails in his skin continued to sink deeper, the both of you reduced to nothing more than grunting and gasping.

The bed creaked with every movement, the room echoing with the raw percussion of your skin-on-skin contact. Coriolanus bucked into you with such aggression that he began to moan with every sway of his hips. His hands, trapping your head on either side, slipped behind your head to grip at your hair. He yanked, opening up your neck to him. You moaned as his lips buried against your skin, the tip of his nose flattening into you as his teeth sought out your skin.

His movements became jerky, his teeth gritted as he grunted against your neck. You slipped a hand from his back to bury it into his hair, fastening your fingers around his blond wisps that had turned curly from the sweat of his activity.

“I’m going to cum,” he breathed into your neck, his hand flying to one of your thighs. He pulled it up to wrap around his lower half, his thrusts growing violently needy. “Fuck,” he spat, then called your name desperately. You felt too good, especially now that your walls seemed to clench around him—he knew that you were close, too.

Your second orgasm arrived, the hot wetness pooling around his length. He couldn’t maintain his control anymore. At last, he gave himself over to his pleasure, his movements becoming sluggish as he felt his release inside of you. He didn’t stop his thrusts, not until he felt himself empty every last drop inside of you.

Coriolanus collapsed beside you, his hand finding your cheek and pulling your head against his chest. For many minutes, nobody spoke, each one struggling to regain their breath. His other hand held your lower body against him, keeping his cock secure inside of you. He could feel your mingled juices leaking along his thigh and onto the sheets, a mess he didn’t mind right now.

You burrowed into Coriolanus’ arm, a tired sigh leaving your lips. “Fucking hell,” was all you could manage to say after an ordeal like this. Tonight had been his most brutal fuck thus far.

Your body ached everywhere, and you weren’t sure your swollen clit would ever forgive you for what you’d brought upon it. You supposed it served you right for trying to make him jealous by flirting with another man. You’d never stupidly test his limits that way again, that was for sure. You two laid in comfortable silence, riding out the last of your highs.

“Coriolanus,” you called to him softly, your fingers playing with his. “Do you love me?”

Coriolanus tilted his head down to you, his eyes widening at the sudden question. His lips parted to say something, but he quickly bit on his tongue. It was clear that your need for his attention had grown into something more profound, that you’d started to care about him in more than just what he had to offer your body. He turned his gaze up to the roof. “My position doesn’t permit me the time to love,” he answered carefully.

Your hair shuffled against his arm as you sat yourself up to face him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He turned his gaze back onto you, calling your name softly. “I have goals to achieve in this world. It leaves little time for relationships.”

Your eyes held disappointment. “Then what’s the point of all of this?”

“The point,” Coriolanus said, taking your hand into his, his thumb rubbing comforting circles across your skin. “Is that we keep each other company, offer a comfort that others couldn’t gift us even if they tried. We satisfy each other in ways that only we know how to.”

“So I’m just a source of entertainment to you?” You snapped, attempting to pull your hand from his, but his grasp on you tightened.

“Am I anything different to you?” He asked, his tone level, his cool eyes challenging. “Don’t mount a high horse, not when you entered this knowing exactly what you were in for. I take care of you and I make you feel good—that’s plenty more than you would’ve gotten back in the district and in any other location in the Capitol, for that matter. Would you rather go back to your district, back to a cold bed and an empty stomach with nobody to rely on? Maybe you’d rather I put you on the market for as some Capitol slut looking for her next sponsor. I can make that happen—“

“No!” You interrupted, your hard eyes thawing with a look of horror, like you’d recalled all the terrible memories of your life in the district. It was far from pleasant, a past you’d have liked to forget for good. You had nobody, nothing to return to.

As for the Capitol, you knew that there were infinite weirdos and perverts that would marvel at the opportunity to get their hands on a hunger games victor, especially one that had been branded by Coriolanus Snow more than once. You could only imagine what sort of prize that made you, a collectible to be displayed. The thought made your stomach turn.

“I don’t want that,” you said, your head lowering in defeat. “I just want you.”

Coriolanus’s eyes raked across your figure, so slumped in submission and hopelessness. He realised then just how much he’d broken you, reshaped you into a lapdog that would only eat directly out of his hand. “Good,” he murmured. “I want you, too. Only you.” His free hand moved to cup your chin, tilting it to face him. “And maybe. . . you could teach me how to love.”

Your eyes widened at those words, the hand clasped in his going stiff. He tugged at you, pulling you into him. Your head found its way nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his chin moving to rest atop your head. He continued to play with your fingers, his other arm cushioning your neck and holding you against him. He felt your breathing slow into an easy sleep, your warm breath flushing against his chest. He closed his own eyes, breathing deeply at the sweet scent radiating from your hair. He allowed it to lull him to sleep, mulling over your interaction.

He’d known the truth for years already—that his heart bore no capacity for love. It had saddened him, at first, made him feel as though he’d been formed wrong in the womb. His father had loved his mother enough to bring him into this world—his cousin, Tigris, had loved him, too, to the point where she’d have sacrificed everything to ensure that he’d survived the war. Sejanus, too, had loved him like a brother, trusted him with all that he was, and it had ultimately killed him.

All his life, Coriolanus had been cradled with love, but he’d been forever cursed with the inability to return it. It had taken him years to accept it, until one day, everything had clicked into place.

Perhaps he wasn’t meant to love, not when the world had become a disastrous mess in need of order, in need of somebody to bring it to that stage. He knew then that he could offer the order that Panem needed. Peace came at the cost of blood, and blood came at the cost of strength. Strength meant that love had no place and no say in the hard decisions to be made, for its love that made you vulnerable, and vulnerability was a weakness. He didn’t bear that weakness, and he never would.

As for you? Well, you were somewhat of a complicated matter as of now. When it came down to it—the decision between you and his destiny, he’d choose destiny without a doubt. But for now, he’d keep you close. He’d shower you with attention, spoil you with his touch, offer you everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. And once you’ve lost all worth to him, he’d discard of you.

Coriolanus knew that his path was one headed straight for the top, to claim the title of president of Panem. All that he’d done to get here, everything that he’d achieved up until now, it was all just the beginning. He was glad now—that he could not find it in himself to love anyone. It left him free of any liabilities, gave his enemies not even a fraction of power to hurt him.

For it’s the things we love most that destroy us.

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You MUST know I had to include that iconic line

Anyways, I’m sincerely sorry that this fic is like 15k words. I always tell myself to keep it simple but I’ve literally got no say over what happens once my fingers start typing away. I hope you all have enjoyed this read. I’m not TOO sure how I feel about it, but I think I’ve just gotten to the point where I’ve proof-read it so much that I honestly can’t stand it anymore.

This is my first every coryo fic and it was incredibly daunting to write, considering that he is such a complex character to portray and because I unintentionally resorted to flowing between his and the reader’s perspective, which I usually hate, but shit happens. I’ve never read the books (I am getting them for my birthday yay) so it was difficult to get inside of his mind given that I’ve never trod there before. In any case, I hope that I did his character justice in this blabbering mess, even if I did add my own sadistic twist lmao.

MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVELIES🎄

Your comments & reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you!! ~

I take requests (so long as I’m comfortable writing it) <3

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#tom blyth #billy the kid #young coriolanus snow #tom blyth x reader #coryo snow #coryo x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus imagine #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #coryo smut #coriolanus fanfiction

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heesdreamer · 1 year

Text

AS LONG AS YOU’LL LET ME

PAIRING ➩ heeseung x reader

SUMMARY ➩ prone to a bad reputation and accepting your friends ridiculous bets and challenges, you’re hit with the task to take the virginity of your schools number 1 student

WC ➩ 15k

WARNINGS ➩ um sex

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ no part 2 to this reader sucks most the time sorry.. not proofread but when is my work ever and slightly repetitive if ur a fan of my other works but what can I say i like this trope! this took me forever and not even sure i like it but hope u do

There was something about a challenge that just drove you absolutely crazy. You never cared too deeply for most things, preferring to take a casual approach to whatever life had to offer.

Yet something would awaken in you when presented a challenge, whether as serious as an academic achievement or as stupid as chugging more weekend poison than the frat boy sat beside you. Your skin would light up and your eyes would go hazy and wild at the prospect of competition, of successfully doing something that people doubted you were capable of doing.

It wasn’t any surprise to you when your friends took advantage of this, using your little quirk for their own amusement whenever school days got too slow or weekends started to hit that point of boredom. All they had to do was lay a challenge in front of you and you’d put your all into completing it.

This ended you up in numerous stupid situations, breaking into the locked school during spring break and leaving your mark for your friends to confirm once the doors opened again, flirting with the older cashier at the local liquor store while they stuffed their shirts with cold bottles, even at one point being escorted out of a crowded movie theatre by security after you managed to disturb the peace more than usual.

There wasn’t a line they wouldn’t set and more importantly, there wasn’t one you wouldn’t cross.

You felt it coming most times now, being able to sense the shift in the night and their demeanors before it actually happened. You were sat at some random party they’d dragged you to, smoking on the couch of a dirty living room and paying no attention to the ever changing crowd or the loud bass that was sounding throughout the house.

You sighed softly when you felt one of your friends nudging your side, glancing over at him with low hazy eyes and a bored expression while you waited for him to set tonight’s standard.

Sometimes you wondered if they actually were your friends, if they liked you even a little bit for your personality or if you served more so as an entertainment monkey, a circus animal for when they needed some excitement in their life. You especially thought this now as you watched him turn back to look at the others who were giggling that mean laugh they do often did when they landed on a truly rotten idea.

“I bet… you can’t take that kid home.” He said the words deliberately slow like you were stupid and incapable of understanding a faster pace.

You watched him for a few more seconds, trying to explode his head with your mind before you were following the direction where his arm was raising to point at, a cigarette loosely hanging from his fingers as he shook with laughter.

The kid in question was definitely around your age, potentially even older judging by the few people he was stood around, boys you recognized as some of your seniors at school. You didn’t recognize him however, scanning him for a while to try and decide if he was from a different part of town or if you just didn’t pay enough attention to your surroundings.

It made sense to you immediately why they had pointed him out, why he would be considered a challenge to take home.

He was stood awkwardly against the wall despite his friends clearly trying to get him to have a good time, staying near him and whispering into his ear every few seconds like they were giving him a play by play on what you were supposed to be doing at a college party.

He was clearly attempting to feign casualness, holding a cup that you were pretty certain was completely empty, and taking mock sips out of it every few minutes like clockwork. Behind the facade of his eyes that were scanning the crowd anxiously, you could tell he was extremely nervous and not used to the scene he was sat in front of.

“Oh you’re crazy dude.” Another one of your friends was talking now but you didn’t even spare her a glance, knowing she was just trying to fuel your fire more like she always did. “Him of all people? It’s impossible.”

You wanted to laugh at how obvious she was being in her comments, purposefully throwing the information towards you like you were a starving dog with snapping jaws. You’d already started to feel the competitiveness spark low in your gut the second you looked at the boy despite how annoyed by and aware of their antics you were.

“Just take him home?” You were questioning in a low voice and you finally glanced back towards your friends who were eagerly watching you. “Isn’t that a little tame?”

You liked to up the stakes with them occasionally, making sure they never got bored of you or underestimated just how far you’d take it if given the opportunity and right motivation.

You knew right away you wanted to take this one on, liking the way the boy nervously glanced back and forth or looked down at his shoes every time somebody passed by him and got a few feet too close. His friends were still glued to his side but you could tell they were itching to enter the mass of sweaty bodies, you found it interesting they’d be willing to give up their own enjoyment for their buddy.

“Not challenging enough for you? Shit you’re crazy.” Another one of your friends was laughing and patting you on the shoulder, shoving it slightly so you moved forward a bit on the couch. You shot her a glare and she leaned back with an awkward chuckle.

“Fine then I bet you can’t..” The first boy, who had started this topic of conversation in the first place, was starting up again and you watched him with an uninterested stare. “I bet you can’t take his virginity.”

This caused you to falter for a split second before regaining you composure, cocking in an eyebrow at your expectant friends before looking back towards the boy who was still uncomfortably shifting against the wall. He definitely didn’t want to be here and his little round glasses didn’t do him any favors in the feigning cool department but you weren’t sure where exactly they’d found the evidence to determine he was a virgin.

While he was definitely nerdy and awkward, he was still tall and lean with a handsome face. Plus, judging by the company he was with that was continuing to speak to him in low encouraging whispers, he had a good social circle.

Park Sunghoon and Sim Jake were definitely not losers and absolutely not virgins. You’d heard plenty of rumors about the two boys and a few others that ran with their group, ranging from your schools most established jocks and going all the way up to your class president Yang Jungwon.

“Why do you think he’s a virgin?” You were mumbling as you watched him, regardless if your friends were right or not you had your target officially set.

“It’s pretty well known.” One of the girls was shrugging her shoulders and frowning slightly, leaning against the wall behind the couch. “He’s pretty much a genius and doesn’t have time for that stuff, he’s rejected anyone who’s even slightly tried.”

“You’d know.” She was sneering and shoving an elbow into the boy next to her who started to laugh at her comment and the saddened expression on her face. You glanced at her curiously, slightly surprised she had even attempted with him considering her usual type normally fit your own friendship circles look and attitude.

You looked back over towards the boy and his friend with a raised eyebrow, trying to figure out what exactly you were missing. Why hadn’t you’d seen him before this considering the fact all of your friends seemed to know him and various details about his life?

It didn’t shock you to find him already looking at you this time, you had been staring daggers into the side of his head for almost twenty minutes now and he was bound to feel your gaze on him eventually. He was tensed as he looked at you, more so than he was already and you cocked an eyebrow in his direction at the fearful look in his eyes.

His friends seemed to realize something had caught his attention and they were following his line of sight optimistically. Sunghoon tensed up too slightly when it lead him back to you, still lazily sat on the couch off in the distance surrounded by your friends that almost resembled a pack of hyenas. You knew your reputation probably proceeded you judging by the fact he was starting to shake his head and whisper something to the boy again.

Jake, however, ever the bouncy jock seemed ecstatic that you were watching his friend so intensely and he was carrying a big smile as he leaned in to say something to them, most likely countering Sunghoon’s warning.

You watched him wrap an arm around the boys thin shoulders, patting him encouragingly before dismounting and dragging Sunghoon away into the crowd. This left the boy alone and for a second he took a few steps forward in panic like he was going to follow them but he quickly stopped as they disappeared amongst the masses, looking ten times more awkward now that he didn’t have his bodyguards sat next to him.

He met your eye again for a second before he was flushing again and looking away quickly, eyes shooting to his shoes as he nervously shuffled in place a few times.

Your friends had been talking during this, possibly to you and maybe they were upping the stakes of the bet, but you’d stopped listening a few minutes ago and only noticed they were speaking as you stood up from the couch and left them mid sentence, heading over to where the boy was standing.

You imagined you looked like a wild snake stalking it’s prey, licking your fangs as you slowly slithered closer to it until you finally snapped your jaws around his neck. He seemed to be thinking a similar thing judging by the way his eyes widened with fear when he went to look at you again and realized you were approaching.

You didn’t immediately greet him, leaning against the wall he was on with your shoulder so you could face him. You watched his side profile and scanned down his chest as it lifted and fell with heavy breaths.

He eventually mustered up the courage to look at you and only then did you give him a smile, letting it slowly take over your face as you cocked your head slightly and studied the way his nervous eyes darted all around your features.

“Hi.” Your voice was breathy and sweet but he immediately furrowed his eyebrows and looked away at the sound of it, picking at the rim of his cup that you now could see was in fact empty. “What’s your name?”

He glanced at you again and you realized you’d probably said the wrong thing judging by the fact his anxious eyes suddenly hardened. You assumed that he knew of you enough that you should’ve known him or you’d possibly met before hence his extreme reaction to your question.

“My memories bad baby I’m sorry, just remind me.” You were pouting slightly and cooing at him, shifting closer on the wall so you could reach up and place a hand on his shoulder gently.

He was glancing at it with wide eyes, staring at the way your fingertips just barely pressed onto his shirts fabric, then he was back to looking at your face again but thankfully he had lost the offended look. You noted that you liked how big his eyes were as he peered down at you, still taking those deep and shuddering breaths to try and calm down his nerves at your sudden close proximity.

“Heeseung.” He was whispering out, almost afraid to speak any louder considering how close your faces were now that he had turned his head to face you more directly. You smiled at the sweet tone of his voice and nodded your head in recognition.

“Lee Heeseung.” You repeated back to him, adding on his last name to show him that you did in fact know who he was.

You weren’t lying either as you came to the realization, knowing now why he felt so familiar yet unrecognizable. Lee Heeseung was the top of, not only your class and year, but the entire school and it was no doubt that he’d graduate miles above everybody else. His friend group was full of overachievers in their respective fields and now you understood the presence of the two outstanding jocks from earlier.

He seemed slightly surprised that you knew who he was and he was still watching you with those large curious eyes, gulping a bit when you instinctively curled your fingers into his shoulder like a kneading cat.

You were half expecting him to push you off, to reject you and make some excuse that could allow him to leave, remembering what your friends had said about his habit of shutting girls down early in their advances. It surprised you a bit when he was turning slightly so he could face you more, almost like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it as he took in a deep breath.

Your smiled widened, knowing from experience that you occasionally had a certain addicting aura to you, something that made boys lean forward instinctively or follow you around like a lost puppy.

However your obvious expression seemed to wake him up to your attempts and his face dropped into a small frown, leaning back far enough that your hand was falling from his shoulder and you were losing your smile as you watched him visibly grow uncomfortable. He watched you with a weird expression before he was turning his body again and avoiding looking in your direction.

“Did you need something?” He mumbled out and you frowned at the change in his tone, not as smooth and sweet as it had been when he said his name.

You were shaking your head even though he wasn’t looking at you anymore and trying to think of another route to take since this clearly wouldn’t be as simply as you originally thought it would, eyes lighting up again when you got an idea.

“A tutor.” You rushed out, trying to keep your voice casual and not make it sound like you’d just thought of that on the spot. He gave you a disbelieving look and you nodded in earnest. “I’m serious. I’m flunking bad.”

“Last I checked you didn’t care about school.” He was mumbling and you furrowed your eyebrows at his statement, wondering just how much he apparently know about you.

“Only one more year.” You were shrugging at him and your eyes shot down to his lips and neck for a second before you were meeting his gaze again, trying to hold your laugh when his eyes widened a bit at your wandering gaze. “Time to get serious I guess.”

He didn’t say anything for a few beats and you resisted the urge to push his glasses up his nose as they slowly fell while you talked, watching him take a deep breath as he contemplated what you were saying. You’d never heard of him tutoring somebody before but you also weren’t sure if anybody had ever asked, not paying him much mind once they realized he wasn’t going to do their homework or let them cheat off his test.

He was finally looking at you again with hesitation in his eyes and you offered him another small smile, trying to look as least devious as you could possibly manage.

“If you’re serious we can meet in the library on Monday.” He was muttering and your face lit up which caused him to let out a small sigh.

“Not somewhere more private?” You couldn’t resist teasing him further considering how unnerved he already seemed, touching his arm softly as you purred the words again. He winced slightly at your sudden change of tone but didn’t take a step backwards like he had before.

“I said if you’re serious.” He warned in an awkward voice and you nodded your head in understanding, squeezing his arm quickly before retracting your hand.

“Trust me. I’m serious.”

——

You would’ve thought the world ended judging by the stares you were getting as you entered the library.

It had taken you longer than you originally planned to find it and then make your way to where Heeseung had told you he’d be if you wanted to show up, so now you were going to be a few minutes late. You hoped he would still be there and had planned for the fact you obviously didn’t frequent the building enough to get around swiftly.

Luckily, you caught sight of him the second you finished climbing the stairs to the third floor and your stomach turned in excitement.

It put a damper on your plans for your meeting to be so public but that didn’t deter you much, the familiar buzz of adrenaline running through you as you took in his appearance from a distance. He had clearly gotten there way before your meeting time and he seemed engrossed in whatever text book was laid in front of him, possibly not even realizing you were late.

You were approaching him slowly to see how long it would take him to notice you but he didn’t pick his head up from the book until you were standing in front of him and clearing your throat.

You smiled at him when he jumped in his seat, lifting his head so fast his glasses bounced on top of his nose. He immediately looked awkward and apologetic at the sight of you and you pulled out the seat next to him so you could sit down. He seemed surprised you weren’t taking the one across instead and stiffened up in his seat.

“Hope I’m not too late.” You greeted him casually and turned in the chair so your knees were pointing in his direction and you could fully face him.

“No you’re perfect.” He was shaking his head and peering at you intensely like he was in a daze and not thinking clearly. When you smirked and cocked your eyebrow at his wording he immediately flushed. “I-I mean like… t-the timing is perfect. You’re on time is all I meant.”

You laughed at him softly and he shook his head to himself, turning and sternly facing forward so he didn’t have to look at you as he closed the book he was focusing on and started to pull out the ones pertaining to what you had asked him to help you with. You didn’t pay any mind to which ones he was opening up, not having any plans to pay attention anyways.

He seemed to notice this after a few minutes and he slowly trailed off on his introduction statement when he realized you weren’t even glancing at the books, just watching the side of his face as he rambled on.

He was glancing at you from the side of his eye to really confirm what you were looking at before he sighed softly and turned his head so he was facing you more directly, shying away from your intense gaze slightly. “I thought you said you were serious.”

“I was serious about meeting you at the library.” You explained to him, shrugging softly when he furrowed his eyebrows and sighed again. You shifted your knee slightly so it was bumping into the side of his chair and he glanced down at it, snapping his head back up when he noticed the bare skin of your legs below your skirt. “It’s hard for me to focus.”

“How can I help?” He eventually asked after he took a deep calming breath and the question would’ve sounded sleazy from anybody else, like a sly pick up line. Paired with his gentle tone and earnest eyes though, you almost cooed at how eager he was to help you.

You hummed softly and pretended to think for a few seconds, liking the way he got more nervous and kept fidgeting in his chair with every passing second.

“How about we make it a game?” You were eventually stating, letting your voice come out excited and breathy like you’d just thought of the idea. “Every time I get something right, you have to answer one of my questions.”

He seemed hesitant at this and thrown off like he didn’t expect you to suggest something like that, a game that didn’t benefit you in any way and only served for you to get to know him better. He was eventually agreeing and you smiled softly as you watched him push his glasses back up his nose and try to think of something to ask you.

You liked the first few questions he asked because he was clearly taking it easy on you, stuttering out simple things that were basic knowledge and trying not to look at you when you intentionally got them wrong, wanting to drag out your game and get to listen to his smooth voice more.

When you got the first one right he was taking a second to take another breath before glancing at you curiously, slight fear in his eyes like he was worried you’d ask him something inappropriate or uncomfortable.

“When did you meet your friends?” You were eventually saying and he visibly relaxed although he had a suspicious look on his face like you’d thrown him off with the easygoing question.

“Middle school.” He mumbled out and you nodded softly, putting your elbow on the table and leaning forward onto your hand so you could be closer to him. He flushed bright red but continued with his answer. “We p-played basketball together sometimes.”

Your eyebrow quirked up in surprise at the new unlocked information and for a second you wanted to ask him if he still played but he was continuing on with the next subject question before you had the chance, shifting uncomfortably when you immediately answered it with ease and gained the opportunity for another inquiry about his life.

“Was that your first time at a party?” Your voice was lower now since you were closer and he was watching you intensely, stiffened by the way your eyes went from holding his gaze tightly in yours to watching his lips as he spoke.

“Yeah I guess so.” He shrugged softly but you could tell he was feeling anything but casual. He almost looked transfixed by how close you were getting to him the longer the two of you talked. “It wasn’t yours though.”

You smiled softly at his comment, knowing for sure now that he clearly knew of you and your reputation. You thought it was cute that he seemed unnerved by the mere mention of a party yet you found yourself in the same position as last weekend, just different couches, almost every single night you had available. You wondered if this made him less likely to answer your next question or more so.

He was asking it slowly like he had realized you knew more than you let on, giving you a rather hard one just to test his theory and sighing softly again when you answered it much quicker than it was delivered to you.

“Has anybody ever kissed you before?” You finally asked him something that slightly toed the line he originally expected you to cross.

You were leaning even closer as you said this, voice low and eyes hazy as you watched him. He wasn’t moving but he was watching you closely with that same hypnotized look in his eyes, shaking his head instinctively like he answered you without meaning to and then immediately flushing when he realized that he had.

You let your lip curl into a half smile as you looked at him and neither one of you made any move to continue on with the game, just watching each other in tensioned silence for a few beats before you were clearing your throat to try and catch his attention fully again. His eyes that had fallen down to the lower half of your face shot back up to your eyes and you cocked your head slightly.

Heeseung was trying not to shift away from you out of embarrassment but it got even more difficult when you were moving closer again, your free hand that wasn’t under your chin coming up to rest on his knee. He was suddenly glad he had worn jeans and not shorts despite how hot the weather had gotten in the past few weeks.

“Why not?” You were whispering to him and squeezing his knee softly, watching as it took a second for his dizzy mind to remember what you had even been talking about before to try and figure out what you were referring to. “Why hasn’t anybody ever kissed you?”

He just flushed more red as you assisted him in remembering, repeating the direct words as they fell casually off your lips while simultaneously causing his entire nervous system to light up.

“I’m not sure.” He whispered back, his voice wavering slightly with nerves as the conversation and tone changed quickly. “I-I don’t really know I guess.”

You hummed softly like you didn’t really believe him, thinking about the comments your friends had made about him turning down any advances. You had a feeling that was more about their own advances and judgements about him rather than him just simply being a prude. You felt like your theory was right the more he stared at the way your hand was squeezing around his knee.

“Do you want to come back to my dorm with me?” You were whispering to him suddenly and his eyes were back on yours, widening in shock for a moment before glancing around the empty library like he was worried somebody could somehow hear what you said.

This seemed to awaken him from his spell and he was leaning back a bit, aggressively popping the bubble you had fallen into with each other. You’d crossed the line enough that he was doubting your intentions again and he shifted his leg enough that your hand fell from his knee, landing lifeless on the side of his chair instead.

“For what?” He was asking with a frown and the fact that he was even slightly curious reassured you a bit that he wasn’t fully rejecting your advances, just being cautious.

“I can’t focus here.” You were explaining simply and he glanced around again like he was confused on what you meant, especially since it was pretty much completely silent and empty outside of your whispers to each other. “Too much on my mind.”

He didn’t verbally agree but he was closing the book in front of him and giving you a nervous look that made you smile, knowing he was accepting your offer to go somewhere more private. You tried not to be offended as you walked in silence, even more so because he kept looking over his shoulder like he was afraid to be seen leaving with you.

His anxiety didn’t cease as you crossed the courtyard over to your side of the dorms, if anything it just amplified the closer you got to your room and the more students you passed by.

You didn’t blame him considering you could only imagine the rumors that would blossom from him being seen with you, considering your reputation and overall look, especially since you were leading him back to your room in the middle of the day. It almost made you laugh to see how unnerved he was just to study in private with you.

When you finally got to your dorm, he still hadn’t calmed down and he awkwardly looked around the small room like he was in search of a place to sit. You’d forgone the usual desk and chair most dorms had and instead only had your bed as a resting place, raising your eyebrow at him when you walked past his stiff body to slowly lower yourself onto it, patting the spot next to you.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.” He was shaking his head suddenly and still standing in the middle of your room but you frowned softly at him.

“I don’t bite you know.” Your voice was soft and innocent, teasing him for his assumptions about your intentions and he gave you a disbelieving look before eventually taking a few hesitant steps and sitting as far away from you on the bed as he could possibly manage.

You watched him intensely as he took his backpack off and placed it on the floor, in between his feet. He was bending over to rummage through it and search for the subjects you were previously talking about and you scanned his frame and side profile as he did so, liking the way his turtleneck was stretched and pulled tightly against his back muscles because of his movements.

He was sitting back up and beginning to talk again but you were zoned out as you watched him, trailing down his neck to the way his hands tried to explain the subject to you.

When he eventually caught on to the fact you still weren’t paying any attention, judging by the way he asked you a question and got no response, he looked over towards you and let out a soft sigh when he realized you weren’t even pretending to be looking at the textbooks.

“You’re still not focusing.” He was mumbling to you and shaking his head, closing the book on his lap and picking at the cover with anxious fingers. “I thought you said you’d be less distracted in private.”

“Must be something else stealing my attention then.” You were shrugging and leaning back on your palm so your body was more angled towards him, smiling when his breath hitched slightly when your position made your skirt ride up your legs.

“What do you want from me?” He was eventually asking in a low, nervous voice and you cocked your head at him.

For a moment you contemplated playing the game a bit longer, telling him you didn’t want anything and this was just an innocent study date. You considered what your friends had said about him never paying any mind to any advances or attempts but then you thought again about the way he instinctively leaned closer to you and followed you back to your room despite knowing your reputation and bad habits.

“What do I want from you?” You repeated back to him and he nodded softly, eyes going to your mouth when you kissed your teeth. “Who said I want anything?”

He didn’t say anything for a few heavy seconds, tension in the air almost suffocating both of you as you waited for him to give you any signal that he had fully caught on to your intentions and didn’t mind them. His body language didn’t do much to help you, shifting uncomfortably but still watching you with an intense gaze that kept exploring around your face.

“Y-you.. I’ve heard some stuff about you, I guess.” He was eventually saying and you tilted your head as he played with his fingers anxiously, avoiding looking at you completely now as he brought up the subject.

“What have you heard exactly?” You shifted closer to him on the bed and it caught his attention again, stiffening although you still were a few feet away. “Good things… bad things?”

“I don’t know.” The way he paused, calculated and awkward, made you believe he definitely did know and just didn’t want to say. He seemed to notice you caught on to that and he sucked in a breath before pushing up his glasses. “Just the stuff you do with people.”

“I do lots of stuff with very little people. I’m picky.” You were scooting closer to him again as you said this, letting a purr seep back into your voice and he gave you a disbelieving look.

Heeseung was cute, that fact didn’t pass by you from the second you saw him, but you were a bit taken back by how handsome he looked the longer you spent with him. Despite being awkward and avoiding your eye contact like it was a devious act, his gaze was strong when you held it and he occasionally lifted an eyebrow almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it.

He had a sort of arrogance about him, something he possibly hadn’t noticed he carried. Maybe it stemmed from excelling academically or being desired for his skills, for his brains.

The other side of him, the part that was insecure and fidgeting, letting out small stutters and choked breaths was attractive to you too. You didn’t necessarily have a type, gender or appearance, but you were drawn to the fact he seemed almost drunk every time he looked at you for too long.

“You don’t believe me?” You questioned him when the look didn’t leave his face, doubting the fact that you were apparently picky yet still deciding to obviously flirt with him.

“Jake said you normally go for like.. I don’t know people like you.” He was mumbling out, his eyes still scanning your face mindlessly.

“You asked your friends about me?” You tried to keep the teasing tone out of your voice but he definitely caught on to it, flushing and stammering for a second like he hadn’t meant to give you that much information.

“J-just at the party.” He was quick to explain as he shook his head, glasses sliding down his nose bridge again. “You were l-looking I think and Sunghoon said something about it and I don’t know, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

You ignored the fact he was rambling and attempting to backtrack on what he said, leaning forward off your palm so you were closer to him again. He froze up at the sudden proximity and watched you with widen eyes when you reached over to push his glasses back up on his face, tucking some of his hair behind his ear afterwards.

“I think maybe you’re picky too.” You told him slowly, watching the way his eyes trailed from your wrist that was practically touching his cheek now, all the way up your arm before it was landing back on your face.

“I’m not.” He was shaking his head earnestly like he was trying to convince you and when you raised an eyebrow, he realized he had misspoken in his desperation. “I m-mean.. I guess I am. I just don’t think girls really would get what they want from me.”

He was saying it slow and awkward but you could sense the fact he had been thinking about this a lot. Your mind flashed with how fast he was to answer your questions even when he was feeling awkward, the way he stared at your hand that squeezed his knee in the library.

“What do you think they want?” You were muttering and you could tell by the look he gave you, incredulous and knowing like he already realized you had noticed his behavior, that he wasn’t going to tell you so you finished your sentence for him. “You think they want you to be in charge? To lose your resolve and snap, bend them over.”

He was watching you intensely as you spoke and something flashed past his eyes, dark and heavy but ashamed at the same time. You kissed your teeth again and pet his cheek softly, almost forgetting your hand was resting there until he subtly nudged the side of his face against it.

His skin was hot to the touch and still red like it had been from the moment you’d brought him back to your room, fidgeting with his fingers and not breathing as you shifted closer again so the sides of your thighs were pushed tightly against each others. He only sucked in a fast and panicked breath when your hand traveled down his cheek and stopped at the base of his neck, turning your head at his reaction.

“Such a pretty boy.” You were whispering and your voice shocked the both of you, coming out just as breathy and transfixed as his was previously.

You couldn’t help it as you studied his expression, his big eyes peering at you with hesitance and curiosity behind the thin framed glasses. He was a lot bigger than you but he seemed small and fragile with the way he shrunk in on himself, shoulders pulled forward in an attempt to disappear.

His eyes were going down towards your lips again and when he saw the corner of them pull up into a smirk they immediately left, meeting your eyes in embarrassment.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” You were asking him in a low voice and your faces were so close all it would take is a slight rock forward from either of you.

“I d-don’t know.” He whispered back but his eyes went back down to your mouth as you smiled, telling you he definitely did know. “I’m not sure how.”

“I can teach you.” Your lips were grazing against his as you spoke and a shudder ran through him, his glasses sliding forward again and touching your forehead. “Let me teach you baby.”

He was hesitating for a second but his eyes widened a touch at the pet name and then he was nodding his head, his forehead touching yours because of the movement. You were pushing into him before he could change his mind and he stiffened at the feeling of your lips against his.

He wasn’t lying about not knowing how, completely frozen throughout the kiss until you were pulling back and laughing softly, his eyebrows furrowing in an upset expression at the sound. You kissed him again before he could think too deeply about your laugh and get insecure about you making fun of him, this time bringing your hand up to his face again to try and help him add some movement.

It took a few seconds but he slowly got the hang of it, pushing against your mouth desperately once he realized he could move with you.

You pulled back out of the kiss for a second to look at him, his eyes still shut tight and his cheeks almost as red as his swollen lips. He fluttered his eyelashes open once he realized you weren’t kissing him again and gave you a confused look.

You couldn’t help yourself from pushing your hand off his cheek and into his hair, brushing it back and admiring the way it immediately flopped back into place, soft and fluffy. You were turning your head to kiss him again, a small peck that pulled a little noise from him.

“What’s wrong baby.” You practically cooed at him, adjusting his glasses and watching the way he went slightly cross eyed as he followed your fingers movements.

“Please, again.” He breathed out and you felt a pull in your stomach at the whiny tone to his voice, leaning back into you desperately and seemingly forgetting the resolve he was showing earlier.

You didn’t bother teasing him further, pulling him in for another kiss and letting it deepen quickly this time. He made another noise into your mouth as you did this, half surprised and half grateful when you continued to move your lips together at a slow pace.

His hands were shaking in his lap and you reached down blindly to grab one, bumping against his stomach on accident and feeling it harden at the touch. You ignored it for now and took his hand in yours so you could place it around your body, letting it settle near your back.

You were slipping your tongue into his mouth softly and he froze again, eyes opening for a second but immediately shutting again when you closed your fist in his hair in warning.

He let you lick into his mouth a few times, getting used to the feeling and then he was pushing forward again so he could kiss you deeper. You almost laughed at his excitement but you were stopped by the feeling of his tongue brushing against yours, experimenting for himself what it felt like.

Heeseung let out a low groan that vibrated against you and your free hand slid forward to grab near his knee again, bunching up the fabric of his pants absentmindedly.

You sucked on his tongue for a few beats before you felt his spit dripping down his chin, pressed tightly against yours considering he wasn’t allowing either of you room to breathe. You pulled back just slightly and he opened his eyes to watch you, letting out a gasp when you were turning your head to lick the wetness off his chin, your tongue trailing up until it was back in his mouth again.

His gasp made you smile into the kiss and you could feel his large hands squeezing your side, shifting slightly at the feeling.

When you were finally pulling away to try and take a breath, he was giving you a panicked look and trying to lean in again. Your hand in his hair tightened to stop his advances and he frowned deeply.

“W-why?” He was whispering and his face fell into a pout, an expression far more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him carry.

“Don’t want you to get too excited.” Your tone was teasing and your eyes dropped down to his lap, an obvious tent in his pants although you had barely touched him and just kissed a little bit.

He was clearly mortified and leaning away from you a bit, eyes darting around awkwardly like he wanted to disappear into the mattress. You were petting his hair again to try and soothe his embarrassment.

“Just messing with you baby.” You were shaking your head and trying to reassure him, your hand kneading his knee for a second before sliding up and down his clothed thigh, caressing it gently.

“It’s not funny.” He mumbled back, watching you carefully like he was waiting for you to burst out laughing at him. You frowned again at his hurt tone, wondering what past experiences he had that would lead him to he so defensive.

You were scooting closer to him again and now your legs were hooked over him, thrown over his lap so you could hold the side of his face and turn his head so he was looking at you. He froze at the feeling of your thighs pressed ontop of him but didn’t make any move to scoot away this time, just watching you with a guarded expression.

“I like that you like kissing me that much.” You were whispering it to him and his eyes went to your mouth at the reminder you had kissed. “You make me feel good too.”

“I do?” He sounded breathless at that, eyes opening up a bit in shock as he waited for your confirmation.

“Yeah baby, you’re so pretty.” You kissed your teeth softly and pushed his hair back again, taking in his features and the way he instinctively pushed his head against your palm.

You were kissing him again before he could say anything else, cupping his face in your hands and parting your mouth in shock when he was squeezing your legs, seemingly forgetting they were still in his lap until his big hands made contact with your bare skin.

He was freezing up at the realization he was touching your thighs, your skirt rolling up more to an almost dangerous height and he pulled away from the kiss to stare at you, removing his hands so fast you barely registered that they were there.

“I-I have to go.” He was rushing out and you frowned softly at his nervous tone, not saying anything as he was suddenly scooting away from you and gently placing your legs back on the bed so he could stand off of it without jolting you around.

You wanted to ask him what had happened to scare him off, mouth parting in the beginning of a question but he was throwing his backpack over his shoulder before you could form a syllable, disappearing out the door with a slight stumble that almost sent him flying into your bedside table. You sighed softly at the fact he had completely ran away from you, realizing this would be a lot harder than you thought.

——

The next time you saw Heeseung was the following Thursday morning, despite wanting to immediately seek him out once you entered campus you thought it would be better if you have him a few days to calm himself down and lessen his nerves.

This plan didn’t seem to work considering he immediately stiffened up when he caught sight of you entering the classroom he was sat in, some lecture you didn’t bother checking the subject for, asking his friend Jake in passing where you could find him. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, the front row of course, and tried to avoid looking at you.

It didn’t work considering you stopped directly in front of him, eyeing the small girl who was sitting in the seat beside him until she was glancing up at the feeling of your stare and immediately faltering before getting up and going the row behind.

Heeseung sighed softly when you smiled at her and slid into the seat, scooting the chair slightly so you were closer to him.

“What are you doing here?” He sounded exhausted and completely thrown off, facing the front of the classroom and whispering out of the side of his mouth.

“Am I not allowed to attend a class?” You were whispering back to him, still holding your smile despite the fact he was refusing to look at you.

“So you’re interested in physical anthropology now?” His tone was sarcastic and he finally spared you a quick glance, faltering when he saw your smile and the way you leaned forward with your chin on your palm so you could be closer to him.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.” You were shrugging softly and tapping your foot against his, staring at his clean tennis shoes for a second before looking back at him to see him holding his gaze on yours now.

He watched you for a few beats, you could tell he was holding his breath by the way his shoulders were tensed and then finally releasing in a small shuddered exhale. You raised an eyebrow at him and went to speak, stopping when his eyes dropped to your mouth for a second before he was flushing and going back to staring at the empty chalkboard.

You smiled softly at the realization he was clearly replaying the other day in his mind, more awkward than normal now that you’d caught him zoning out staring at your mouth.

The professor was coming in now and you stiffened slightly, Heeseung’s foot trapped under yours. For a second you considered staying and teasing him a bit further but considering you definitely weren’t supposed to be here and you were directly in the front row, you imagined it would be easier to just leave before you were removed.

You were gathering your bag, slipping the strap back over your shoulder as Heeseung watched you from the corner of his eye.

You leaned down towards him, letting your lips graze against his ear and trying not to laugh at the way a shiver wracked through his body as he clenched his pencil tighter.

“There’s a party tomorrow at Beomgyu’s place. You and your friends should come.” You didn’t give him the chance to say anything about your invitation, knowing he was most likely to decline while in your presence.

You could feel him watching you still as you turned to leave the classroom, waving slightly at the professor who was giving you a confused look.

——

“Wait, you’re actually thinking about going?” Sunghoon was raising a dark eyebrow as he sat up to look at his friend, not paying attention before but now on high alert as he tuned into the conversation. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Dude when has Heeseung ever been invited to a party by a girl.” Jake was rebutting and wrapping an arm around the mentions boys shoulders, shaking him slightly with an excited grin. “And she’s hot.”

Heeseung groaned softly and pushed his friends arm off of him, flopping on the couch and trying not to think too deeply about the reason his jaw clenched at Jake’s wording. He had decided to confide in them after your interaction in the classroom, leaving out the details of what happened in your dorm.

He could hear Jake’s mocking tone now, scolding him for running away from you the way he did.

“Yeah exactly. I mean no offense but do you not find it slightly suspicious that Y/N is suddenly interested in Heeseung?” Sunghoon was speaking slowly like he was worried about hurting his friends feelings, eyeing him carefully.

Heeseung didn’t say anything still, regretting bringing it up at all. He had blurted it out awkwardly after they’d questioned his red blushing face, still replaying the feeling of you whispering in his ear in a classroom full of gossiping peers.

“Hee is a smoke show dude, it’s about time ladies started to notice it.” Jake was shaking his head and pointing a stern finger towards the other two boys who were watching him from the couch.

Heeseung sighed again when his friend turned on his feet and disappeared into his closest, muttering something about making him look as sexy as possible for when he saw you. Sunghoon glanced over at him when he heard the small noise and raised an eyebrow.

“I can tell him to chill out if you want.” He was offering, noticing how tense the oldest boy looked.

“Do you really think she couldn’t like me?” It was slipping out before he even decided if he wanted to say it or not, wincing at how insecure and nervous his voice sounded and hoping Sunghoon didn’t pick up on how totally distraught over this he was.

He knew Sunghoon wouldn’t make fun of him like Jake but he felt embarrassed over being so inexperienced and awkward around girls still. He’d had bad experiences that only his friends really knew about and hadn’t really planned to ever make another attempt until you’d approached him, charming and devilish while smelling sweeter than any person he’d ever encountered.

Sunghoon seemed to finally notice that his protective behavior was furthering his friends insecurity and he sighed softly once more before patting him affectionately on the knee.

“Let’s get you dressed.”

——

Despite only coming to the party to see if Heeseung would come, you weren’t expecting much. You highly doubted he would actually attend or if he did he’d most likely not be okay being seen with you after the stunt you had pulled in the classroom.

So you were you completely, and uncharacteristically, frozen in the middle of the room when the crowd had slightly parted and you caught sight of him leaning against the wall. He was with his two friends again and you could still see the nervous twitch in his hands but his visual had taken a complete 180, almost not recognizing him for a split second.

You were making your way over there before he even realized you were approaching, eyes widening slightly when Sim Jake was nudging him in the ribs to get his attention and nodding his head towards you.

“Your glasses.” You breathed out once you were in speaking distance, almost toe to toe with him and staring at him with slightly amazed eyes. He awkwardly looked to his sides at his friends and Sunghoon cleared his throat before pushing off the wall and waiting for the other boy to join him.

“Hey.” Heeseung was greeting now that they were gone, trying to carry a casual tone despite the fact he was picking at the skin around his thumb.

You scanned down his outfit, tight ripped jeans with a simple black shirt tucked into the belt but he looked nothing like himself, missing his usual sweaters and loose fitted pants. Not to mention the most jarring part, his lack of glasses sat against his high nose.

“Are you… wearing eyeliner?” You were instinctively leaning forward to get a closer look, too invested and intrigued in his new look to realize how little space you were leaving between the two of you.

He stiffened at the fact you were swaying closer to him, your nose brushing against his for a second and your mouth twitched downwards at the fact his glasses weren’t hitting against your forehead anymore. He must’ve misread your reaction between he winced slightly and looked down towards his feet.

“You look sexy.” You blurted out when you realized his insecure expression, your hand coming to grip his arm and trying not to look down at the feeling of his bare skin under your palm, forgetting about his top of choice.

“D-do I?” He was muttering out and then quickly clearing his throat and attempting to steady his expression. “Do I?”

“Can you see?” You ignored his ask for reassurance and smiled a little bit, sliding over so your back was against the wall too and your shoulders were pressed together.

He tensed again at the way you moved away which causes you to furrow your brows, assuming he would have rather you not be all over him in case anybody was starting to pay attention to the two of you. You nudged him softly with your hand to try and bring his attention back to what you were asking him.

“No, not really.” He flushed as he said it, embarrassed to be admitting that he had forgone one of his senses just to look nice.

“You’re not missing much.” You mumbled back to him, looking out into the surging crowd and scanning the faces, some familiar and some empty and blending together the longer you watched. “Other than a few girls eyeing you.”

“Seriously?” He was glancing over at you with an interested expression and you scoffed while turning your head to face him better, eyes dipping down to his mouth for a second before meeting his gaze again. He seemed more relaxed now and he was smirking slightly while looking at you.

“Oh so you’re interested?” You teased him back, liking the fact he wasn’t immediately looking away from you at the soft purr seeping into your voice.

“Not necessarily.” He was answering swiftly and your stomach swooped at the familiar breathiness in his tone.

You were turning towards him more and he was looking at you with low eyes, stiffening slightly when your hand was coming back up to rest against his arm. You were softly touching his skin before dragging your hand down towards his wrist, squeezing it tightly and pressing against the bone there. He squirmed against the wall but didn’t say anything, looking at you with a curious expression that was slowly merging into the one he had after you kissed him.

You could tell he was thinking about it judging by the way his eyes kept darting around your face, seemingly not even realizing the way he was instinctively leaning towards you.

“Who did your makeup?” You were asking him in a quiet tone and it took a second for him to respond, not registering your voice at first considering how transfixed he was by your presence. “Was it Jake?”

He was nodding softly at your suggested answer, looking sheepish again at the reminder of his changed appearance. You were humming under your breath before letting go of his wrist, bringing your thumb up to your mouth and wetting it slightly with a flick of your tongue. He watched you in amazement as you brought your wet digit to his face, carefully cleaning up the messy lines.

Your other hand was also coming up to his face to cup his jaw in an attempt to keep him still so you could avoid poking him. He held his breath the entire time you were touching him, gently wiping your wet thumb along his waterline and giving him a more smudged and smokey look rather than the amateurish lines his friend had attempted.

When you pulled back from his face, he remained still as he watched you with an almost drunk gaze, completely floored by your actions.

“Would you let me kiss you?” You were whispering to him, just barely reaching his ears over the loud music and the crowd talking and laughing but he managed to catch it and he glanced behind your shoulder awkwardly like he was afraid somebody was watching.

“Not here.” He whispered back nervously like he thought you’d get upset. A small pang of hurt hit your chest but you tried to ignore it, knowing your reputation was your own doing and nobody else’s fault.

He hadn’t declined your proposition however and that fact didn’t miss you, grabbing his wrist again and tugging him gently off the wall so he could be dragged behind you as you made your way out of the main section of the house and towards one of the halls. You passed by his friends on the way out and you ignored the glare Park Sunghoon sent in your direction.

You entered a dark room in silence and he was flustered for a moment when you immediately pushed him against the nearest hard surface and kissed him, not giving him any time to panic or hesitate before he was attempting to unfreeze and kiss you back.

The kiss was deep and filthy and you felt a pull in your stomach at the way he dipped down slightly, knees going weak at the feeling of you pressed against him. You pulled back for a second to look at him, only slightly able to see his face in the dark and you almost frowned again at his lack of eyewear.

“Wear your glasses next time.” You instructed him in a breathy tone, stern in your words even as you leaned forward so your front was completely pressed against his.

“N-next time? Yeah.. yeah I will, I promise.” He was nodding earnestly and you smiled slightly at the giddiness in his voice at the prospect of you both continuing to meet like this.

You were kissing him again to try and distract yourself from how cute you found him, how much you liked the way he reacted to you and the charming carelessness he carried once he was comfortable. It’d been a long time since you were interested in somebody but you were going to steel up and remember that this was simply a challenge, nothing more.

He was doing his best to kiss you back and you could feel his chest rising and falling against yours, his hands resting against the wall to try and keep himself standing upright. Yours were traveling down his stomach until you could grab the belt loops of his pants and tug him off the wall slightly, turning your bodies in a circle so you were pressed against a solid surface instead.

He let out a small gasp and pulled back for a second to see where you had moved to, eyeing you curiously when you finally flicked on the lights and he realized you were inside a small bathroom.

You kissed him one more time briefly before raising yourself up onto the marble sink, pulling him forward again by his pants and laughing softly when you heard him shriek a little at the sudden movement. You trapped him between your legs and held his face softly, watching his big eyes for a second before kissing him deeply again.

“You can touch me.” You were whispering into his mouth when you realized his hands were nervously clutching onto the counter, warm mouth moving down to kiss against his jawline.

“R-right.” He was nodding but not making any move to do so, stiffening slightly when you started to suck on his neck softly, one of your hands tangled in the back of his previous styled hair.

When you bit down slightly on his tan skin, he was finally moving. He instinct lurched forward with a groan and gripped onto the closest thing, which happened to be just above your knee. He seemed like he wanted to flinch back once he felt your skin under his hold but he didn’t, taking a deep breath and keeping it there.

“Don’t be nervous.” You mumbled against his neck and you tightened your legs that were around his waist, pulling him closer so he was flushed against your lower half. “It’s just me.”

You were moving your mouth back up to kiss him again and he sighed into, leaning forward against you so you swayed backwards slightly and you felt your head pressing against the mirror placed behind you. He was pulling back to look down at you, staying pressed against you so the two of you were breathing into each others mouths.

“You have no idea how nervous that makes me.” He was speaking in a low breathy tone and your stomach dipped at how dark his eyes had gotten, still awkward but definitely feeling the effects of being around you now.

“I want you.” You tried your best to reassure him despite it not being something you usually ever did, curling your hand in his hair slightly just enough so he could feel the pull. His hand was sliding up from your knee slowly but he completely skipped your thigh, hesitantly placing it against your waist.

He was nodding slowly and surprising you by initiating another kiss, his big hand tightening around your hip bone like he didn’t even mean to do it. You hummed softly against him and spread your legs more so he could keep pressing against you.

You could feel him getting more desperate the longer you kissed, licking into your mouth and letting out small little needy whines while trying to remain quiet in case anybody passed by drunkenly looking for the restroom. When you first rolled your hips against him, he was completely faltering and he released a small shout into the kiss, freezing up at the overwhelming feeling.

You waited for a few seconds before doing it again, trying to encourage him to grind himself against you, clearly able to feel how hard he was just from kissing.

He took a while to follow your silent instructions but the pleasure overwhelmed his ability to think straight and he forgot about his insecurities for just a moment, his hips stuttering into yours as he groaned lowly at the feeling. You were moving your foot up on the counter so your legs were completely spread and tugging his hair again in an attempt to encourage his movement.

Heeseung was hesitantly fucking himself against you, losing focus and completely forgetting about the fact you were kissing, his hand kneading against your side almost painfully. He was pulling his head back away from your mouth and lowering his forehead onto your shoulder instead, more groans falling from his lips.

“That’s good baby.” Your voice was breathy and you were nodding even though he couldn’t see it, your hand holding his hair tightly from where he was resting in your neck. “Does it feel good?”

“F-feels.. fuck.” He trailed off after that and you almost laughed at how wrecked he sounded, hearing him swear for the first time from how overwhelmed he was getting.

You could imagine how he must be feeling, how addicting it would be to go from never being kissed to suddenly experiencing pleasure so intense for the first time. He would most likely do anything you wished here in this lowly lit bathroom, including helping you succeed in winning the challenge.

He was pulling his head up for a second to look at you, eyes watery and affectionate before he was surging forward for another amateurish kiss and you responded quickly, feeling guilty for your line of thinking and deciding that if you were going to win then it wasn’t going to be somewhere this desperate. Despite only being a pawn in your ego filled game, Heeseung was still a person and deserved better than a quick fuck on top of a bathroom sink.

“Let me help you cum and then let’s go back to your dorm.” You were whispering into his mouth, hands moving down out of his hair to fidget with the metal button of his jeans and he was stiffening up.

You looked at him in confusion when he was gripping your wrist tightly, stopping you from unbuttoning his pants and awkwardly avoiding looking at you. At first you assumed he was just uncomfortable with taking it further and you were fully prepared to back off until you noticed how red his neck and face were getting, embarrassment and shame rolling off him in waves.

“Oh.” You accidentally let the exclamation fall from your lips, mouth parting in shock at the realization he had came in his pants despite you not even touching him.

He was backing up from you quickly at the sound and clenching his fist together with anxiety, not looking at you and instinctively bringing a hand up to fidget with his glasses even though they weren’t there. You didn’t say anything for a few seconds out of shock, watching him panic.

“That’s okay.” You were attempting to reassure him but you could tell the damage was already done judging by the disbelieving glare he sent you, shaking his head and biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying to stop himself from crying. “Heeseung, it’s fine seriously.”

He didn’t say anything else but he was giving you a heavy glance, eyes upset and frustrated at himself before he was taking a deep shuddering breath and turning to walk out the door, leaving you awkwardly sat on the counter top still trying to catch your breath.

You unfroze after a few seconds and went to go and follow after him, surprising yourself as you ignored people’s questioning stares at your worried expression as you stood on your tiptoes and tried to find him inside the crowd. You were having no luck and you figured he must’ve just left completely until you spotted one of his friends standing by himself in the kitchen, refilling his cup. You made your way over to him quickly.

“Park.” Your voice was raised so he could hear you over the music and he turned at the sound with a raised eyebrow, face hardening in worry when he realized who it was that said his name. “Did you see where Heeseung went?”

“What happened?” He was rushing out and his face softened in concern, reaching down into his pocket to grab his phone and you assumed he was texting or calling the boy. “What did you say?”

You were slightly offended that he assumed you had hurt his friends feelings before remembering the whole reason you were messing around with him in the first place, leaning over his shoulder to try and see the text message he was sending Heeseung. He glared and turned his phone screen away from your nosy eyes which made you sigh.

“I didn’t say anything.” You spat out at him, glaring back in his direction and crossing your arms. “It’s none of your business what happened but I really didn’t do anything.”

He was sighing and putting his phone back into his pocket. “He’s leaving with Jake.” You were nodding and turning to leave him alone but him clearing his throat stopped you and you glanced back at him in confusion. “Whatever you’re doing, I really hope you’re not messing with him. He’s been through a lot and I don’t know if he could handle it.”

You tried to keep your expression stony, knowing that he was particularly perceptive and he’d definitely catch the flash of guilt passing through you if you let it show even slightly. You didn’t say anything and his eyes grew more suspicious at your silence, shaking his head in disappointment and wandering off before you had the chance to.

——

You showed up to classes early the next Monday, standing in front of Heeseung’s first one of the morning and waiting patiently for him to arrive so you could talk to him.

You caught sight of him not too long after you got there, walking in with Jake and Yang Jungwon. He immediately froze when he saw you and his eyes widened, turning around swiftly to try and go back down the hallway but he was stopped by his friends holding his arms tightly and walking him towards you.

“Delivery for Y/N.” Jake was smiling at you when they approached with him captured and you gave him a sheepish one in return, feeling slightly awkward with the way the other two boys were eyeing you with excitement. It wasn’t like you to get easily embarrassed but you weren’t sure how much they knew about you.

They were ditching him with a pat on the back and a knowing look, disappearing into the classroom and leaving you stood in the hallway with a frozen Heeseung.

“Hey.” You were mumbling to him and he glanced up at you, cheeks already reddening despite the fact you didn’t say anything of substance yet. You were tucking your hair behind your ear uncomfortably and he stiffened up at the realization you were also feeling embarrassed for once.

“I’m sorry.” He was rushing out and shaking his head, looking around the hallway like he was worried somebody was going to overhear him. “I made a total fool out of myself and I get it if you never want to see me again.”

“Heeseung.” You cut off his rambling abruptly and gestured around yourself with a raised eyebrow. “I’m awake way too early and stood outside a class I don’t take… I think it’s pretty clear I don’t mind seeing you.”

He reddened more at that but for different reasons now, complete struck and confused by the fact that somebody as charming and experienced as you would want to spend time with him even after he’d came in his pants like a 14 year old boy. He itched the back of his neck nervously and you watched his glasses slide down his nose, smiling softly without realizing you were.

“Not too happy about being left in the bathroom of a shitty frat party.” You made sure you kept your voice light and teasing despite the actual hurt you’d felt that night, tugging down your skirt and awkwardly pushing past drunk college students to call a cab home.

“I’m sorry.” He was mumbling but he sounded honest, taking a step closer to you at the look on your face and you gave him another smile, reaching forward to grip onto his sweater sleeve before glancing around the way he always did when you interacted.

However this time was different apparently considering he was keeping his eyes down at you, not caring who saw the two of you talking at such a close distance. He felt stupid for last night and being so wary about being around you in public, for doubting your intentions just because you had a poor reputation. You were smiling at him and holding his wrist gently in your hands, forgetting your reasoning for coming here for a moment.

Movement behind him was catching your attention and you moved your gaze around his tall shoulder, freezing completely when you caught sight of a few of your “friends” laughing and snickering meanly as they watched the two of you interact. You were dropping his hand and his eyebrows furrowed, following your line of sight and awkwardly shifting when he saw the people watching you.

“Are they your friends?” He was whispering to you, sensing how uncomfortable you were and also remembering how little he actually knew about you. He was slightly intimidated by your friends and their habits but he’d felt the same about you before he got to know you more, almost waving at them until you were grabbing his arm again to stop him.

“No, they’re not.” You were sternly shaking your head when he looked back at you with a confused glance, remembering them sitting beside you at the party where you’d first talked.

You felt sickness in your stomach when one of the girls nudged the others with her sharp elbow and gave you a knowing look, starting to approach the two of you. You recalled her being the one at the party who said she’d attempted to get with Heeseung before and he rejected her, fearing what her ego and pride would cause her to say to him now.

“Hey Y/N.” She was smiling when she got closer, the others trailing behind, but her grin was mean and telling. She had trouble growing in her eyes and you didn’t like the way she started at the tall boy who was getting more uncomfortable by the second, sending you panicked gazes as he realized her tone wasn’t friendly. “Is it going well then? Did you do it?”

“Wonyoung.” You were warning her with a shake of your head, squeezing Heeseung’s wrist without meaning to. Normally she listened to you well, whether it was because respect or fear, but you could tell she was picking up on the emotion in your eyes and using your rare show of vulnerability to her advantage.

“Do what?” Heeseung was whispering from beside you and you could feel his gaze on you, only asking you and not paying the other girl any attention.

You didn’t respond to him but you sighed softly and squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, stomach turning painfully as you tried to think of a way out of this situation. Sunghoon’s words from the other night were ringing in your head and it was coupled with the soft look Heeseung had given you before kissing you again.

“So no then?” She was pouting and kissing her teeth softly like she was disappointed, a low hiss dragging out and filling the heavy silence that was taking over everytime somebody stopped speaking. “You could always give up you know, if he’s playing hard to get.”

It was clear what she was talking about now and you felt Heeseung stiffen in your hold, you wanted to drop his hand but you couldn’t move your body in fear of giving anything away or seeing his reaction. You could hear his breath catching in his throat in realization and you started to shake your head but he was tugging his arm away from you and taking a few steps backwards.

You finally looked at him and your expression crumbled at the look on his face, partially hurt and disgusted but you could tell he mainly felt embarrassed and humiliated for thinking you actually had liked him, his eyes darting all around and cowering away from the amused looks of the people gathered around Wonyoung like he was afraid of them.

“Hee.” You were breathing out, surprising yourself at how quiet and weak your voice was coming out.

The sound of you talking seemed to snap him out of his panic and he gave you one more heavy look, eyes watery and clenching his jaw before he was turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway.

“He’s missing a class? I guess he’s experiencing at least one of his first times.” She was chiming out and the group behind her let out approving laughs, sounding ridiculous and practiced in a way that made your lip snarl up in disgust.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” You were spitting out at her and shoving her shoulder slightly, fear flashing through her face for just a second before it was hardening back into a mean glare as she sneered down at you.

“Did you forget what you are to us? What you were doing with him in the first place?” Her words were direct and harsh, confirming your initial worries that they hadn’t actual ever cared about you outside of needing some entertainment. “Don’t tell me you actually managed to like him?”

She said it like it was something ridiculous, like he was impossible to have feelings for or rather you were incapable of feeling things towards anybody and you felt sick again at the realization she was right.

You had started to like Heeseung, way more than you had even realized until he was walking away from you and giving you such a broken look. You’d never felt this terrible about hurting somebody before and you would’ve immediately chased after him if it wasn’t for the anger coursing through you keeping you rooted to your spot.

“Don’t talk about him again.” You were spitting at her, taking a step closer and her eyes looked hesitant for a second like she had just realized how serious you were about this. “Don’t even look at him I mean it, all of you. Leave the both of us alone.”

You expected her to say something else, to not let you go that easy but she seemed surprised by how genuinely upset you were, not used to you actually caring about the people or situations they challenged you to put yourself in messy environments with.

You were turning and following down the hallway before you could think about it more, picking up speed until you were almost in a jog although you were pretty positive he was long gone by now. When you pushed outside a cold chill ran through you and you sighed softly at the barren campus, his long legs and habit of running away giving him the advantage.

It was embarrassing how upset you were getting, your eyes watering now as you decided to just head back to your dorm, wiping your teary eyes with your sleeves and keeping your head down incase anybody walked past.

——

A few hours of wallowing in your own self pity and you quickly realized how absolutely idiotic you were, not even capable of texting him and asking to talk considering you’d been so inconsiderate you’d never even asked him for his number. He had little social media which didn’t surprise you and you almost messaged one of his friends out of desperation but decided against it knowing they most likely were already wishing you the worst.

It was extremely rare Heeseung ever missed a class and you imagined they’d been weirded out enough to pry the truth out of him, hating you more than they already had.

You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep, tightly laid in your bed trying to pretend the day hadn’t happened and going over every possible way to get Heeseung’s trust back. You must’ve dozed off considering you were waking up in a jolt at the sound of rough knocks on your door.

You were frozen for a few seconds in tired confusion before you were rushing to get up and answer the door, briefly catching the clock on the wall alerting you to the fact it was the middle of the night. You felt anxious swinging the door open, knowing it must be important if they were here this late but you froze when you saw who it was standing at your door.

Or more accurately, crumpled in a messy ball on your door mat. Heeseung’s large frame was slumped down on the dirty cement and for a second you thought he might be unconscious until he was picking his head up, eyes hazy with big tears streaming down his red cheeks. He let out a small sob when he saw you looking down at him with worry and you crouched down quickly.

“Hee, what happened?” You were rushing out although you had a pretty good idea, your hands coming up to rub his back gently knowing there was no point in attempting to lift him off the ground. “Are you drunk?”

He was shaking his head to say no but you could smell the alcohol rolling off of him in waves, heavy and gross like he’d been drinking for quite some time before ending up at your door. Your heart ached again thinking about him uncharacteristically getting wasted because how badly you’d upset him. “Can you stand up?”

“Why don’t you l-like me?” He was hiccuping out and totally ignoring what you were requesting from him, gripping onto your arms that were still trying to gently rub his back and he was looking up at you with his big round eyes full of fat tears.

“Heeseung.” You were sighing softly and not answering him, patting him on the back slightly to try and keep his attention on what you were originally saying. “Come inside with me and then we can talk, we don’t want anybody to complain.”

He clearly wasn’t coherent enough to comprehend the second half of what you said but he perked up at the idea of being invited inside, using the support of your doorway and your body to stand to his fully height, wobbling slightly as you helped him inside and lowered him down onto your bed. You tried not to think about the last time he was in here, watching him with tired eyes and frowning.

You were reaching down into his pant pockets to try and find his cellphone, feeling slightly sick at the soft cries he was still letting out as he drunkenly lost control of his emotions. You finally found it and pulled it out, swiping up the screen and pleased to see he didn’t have a password set.

“W-what are you doing?” He was mumbling out as he tried to watched you, not able to keep his head still. You sat beside him so he could see what you were doing on his screen, not saying anything when he rested his head gently against your shoulder. “Jake?”

“Yeah baby, I’m calling Jake.” You sighed softly and rubbed his knee for a second, trying to calm down his sniffles before you called his friend and accidentally caused a panic at the sound of him blabbering in the background.

“Why can’t I stay with you?” He was asking and his voice cracked in pain, the smell of liquor on his breath making you wince. “You d-don’t like me.” He was repeating what he had asked you earlier and shaking his head against your shoulder.

“I do like you.” You eventually managed to say, knowing he most likely wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning anyways. He didn’t stop crying but he didn’t say anything else for a few moments, just leaning his weight against you as you held his phone and contemplated what to do. He watched as you pressed the call button and didn’t say anything else.

“Dude, where the fuck did you go?” Jake’s voice was slurring through the phone on the second ring, clearly worried and searching for the older boy. “Heeseung?”

“It’s Y/N.” You awkwardly interjected and the silence was heavy. You could vaguely hear him repeat your name to somebody and you assumed he was telling Sunghoon who it was on the other line. “He was outside my door, I don’t know how he got here.”

“We’re on our way.” Jake sighed back but he sounded more frustrated now, maybe at himself for letting his friend drunkenly crawl back to the person who had hurt him so bad. Heeseung cried harder again when he heard his friends comment from where he was laying against you and Jake didn’t say anything for a second at the sound.

“He doesn’t want to go.” You explained in an awkward whisper, not wanting to get in between whatever agreement they had come to about you.

You knew you deserved the harsh tone of his voice and the prolonged silence over the phone while he decided what to do, holding your breath and waiting despite not being too sure yourself what you wanted his answer to be. He was clearing his throat suddenly and Heeseung perked up at the sound.

“I can drop by in the morning and grab him.” He was letting out slowly and he sounded hesitant, Heeseung nuzzling against your neck contently at his friends words. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah.” You were rushing out before you even realized you were speaking, squeezing the boys knee again when he hugged your free arm that wasn’t holding up the phone. “That’s no problem. Thanks Jake.”

Your words had a double meaning and you had no doubt the other boy had picked up on the relief in your voice, humming softly before whispering a goodbye and hanging up the phone. You kept it against your ear for a few seconds longer before turning it off and placing it gently down on your bedside table, looking over at its owner.

He was watching you with a saddened expression and you gave him a smile that didn’t meet your eyes, eyeing his outfit and lack of glasses.

“I lost them.” He mumbled when he noticed you looking, able to hold contact with you better considering he was wasted and not able to see properly. You felt relieved he had somehow managed to safely get to your dorm in this state, thinking about asking him but realizing he probably didn’t even remember. “Sunghoon said I should try to have fun.”

“Did you?” Your voice cracked as you asked him although you already knew what his answer would be.

“Did you ever like me?” He was ignoring your question and spinning it back on you, his eyes sad again even though he had stopped sobbing after getting confirmation he was allowed to spend the night.

You considered not answering him, already having a difficult time admitting it to yourself let alone telling him so directly. Liking him meant explaining yourself, having to tell him why you had talked to him in the first place and just blindly hope he would trust you enough to believe it had become real for you along the way despite having no reason to think you were telling the truth.

“I do like you.” You told him sternly, ignoring how uncomfortable it felt to express your feelings so directly.

He deserved to know it was possible for somebody to like him, he deserved far better than you and the games you had played with him for the amusement of other people.

“I’m not that drunk.” He was shaking his head, potentially figuring out that you were being so honest under the guise he would forget it all in the morning. “We started drinking forever again, I’m just a lightweight I think. I was just upset.”

You could tell he was under exaggerating a little bit considering how he was still rocking back and forth slightly and his eyes were red and glossy but now that he had calmed down he was definitely more coherent, the alcohol just helping him speak more confidently rather than put him in a totally messy blacked out state.

“Ask me again tomorrow then.” You were telling him softly and turning to face him better, cupping his cheeks in your hands and giving him a sad smile.

He seemed to notice the slight tears in your eyes and the heavy guilt you were feeling for hurting him this bad and he stayed silent for a few beats, watching you like he was trying to decide what to say. His drunk mind had brought him back to you but you weren’t sure if he’d want to stay once he was thinking more clearly.

“And you’ll say it again then?” He was eventually asking you and the familiar hint of insecurity was seeping into his voice again.

You knew you’d made it worse, added onto whatever issues the situations he’d dealt with in the past had created but you felt deep in your heart that if he would give you another chance, if he decided tomorrow this was worth a shot, you’d spend as long as he’d allow you trying to fix the damage done.

“I’ll say it for as long as you let me.” You were whispering back to him and his face softened slightly, lips twitching up in a small grin as he nodded softly and let you wipe the remaining wetness from his eyes.

The two of you crawled into your small bed together, clumsily helping him out of his uncomfortable clothes and not feeling any sensual energy whilst carrying out the domestic act, just laughing together under your breaths as you tried your hardest to get him out of his tight jeans.

You were tucking in underneath your blanket, the unfamiliarity of having somebody in your bed with you being overwhelmed by the comfort his presence brought you, his hair messily sprawled against your favorite pillow and looking at you with low and tired eyes. You weren’t sure if he’d feel this content in the morning, if he only accepted your words because the high in his system or the longing he felt for you due to his own sadness.

But you were happy with your situation for now, knowing that if you needed to do it all again for him tomorrow you would. Continuing on for as long as he needed, for as long as he’d let you.

#enhypen #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfiction #heeseung #jake enhypen #heeseung drabbles #heeseung x reader #heeseung smut #sunghoon enhypen #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #heeseung fanfic #heeseung enhypen #lee heeseung #heeseung imagine #heeseung fic

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lebrookestore · 5 months

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backburner | n.jm (teaser)

Pairing: Na Jaemin x reader

Themes: college! au, exes! au, the situationship vibes are STRONG, angst, fluff, exes to ???, reader is a serial overthinker.

Warnings: profanity, heavy ANGST, kissing, food, underage alcohol consumption and alcohol consumption in general, jaemin is lowkey an asshole, more to be added for the full fic.

Word count for teaser: 580 | Estimated word count: 12-15k

Summary: After three months of ignoring your presence entirely, Na Jaemin saunters right back into your life without so much as single warning, leaving you to once again pick up the pieces of your burning heart.

Notes from brooke: a late christmas present from me<3 i'm back to writing my college aus so i hope all of you will enjoy my pain (literally).

[send an ask to be added to the taglist!]

It was one in the morning when your phone rang.

A sigh left your chapped lips as you glanced down from the screen of your laptop to the device sitting by its side, your eyes burning at the too bright light emitting from your phone. The rest of your dorm was dark, having switched the lights off earlier at the request of your roommate, who had an early class the next day.

Unfortunately for you, you had an assignment due the next day that you had, as usual, left for the last minute. Music played through your headphones as you tried to construct what you deemed a coherent enough essay to submit.

Scrambling so you wouldn’t wake your roommate up, you pushed your headphones off and swiped the call icon across the screen of your phone, accepting it a second before you registered who the caller was. The contact glared at you as if it was mocking you for your carelessness and hastiness, causing you to bite down hard on the inside of your cheek.

Well. It was too late now.

Swallowing hard, you held your phone up to your ear and whispered. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

A breath you didn’t know you had been holding in escaped from your lips, having you shut your eyes and process his voice. It was funny, how just one inconsequential word from a single person could change your entire disposition.

“Jaemin? Are you okay?”

He hummed in response. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I might be a little tipsy though.”

You could just imagine him right then, a glass being gripped loosely by his fingers, leaning against some wall as he spoke to you over the phone. The image was enough that you slipped out of your bed and pacing about your room as quietly as you could, restless.

“Oh. Um, don’t drink too much.”

He chuckled, a sound so familiar yet so distant to you. “I won’t, don’t worry.”

Jaemin liked alcohol, you knew this much. He liked the way it would slowly hit his head and render him more easy going than he already was, causing that pretty smile of his to show more liberally. You were well versed with everything about him, from his walk to the way his eyes would express everything he was thinking, the slightly changes making themselves completely obvious for you,

The two of you had been so in tune with each other. Sometimes, you forgot how easy that made it for it all to fall apart.

“Okay.” You weren’t really sure where you were supposed to go with this conversation anymore. “Do you need something?”

“Not really.”

“Then….then why did you call me?” Bewilderment crept into your voice as clear as day. If you were in front of him right then, perhaps he would have teased you, tucking your hair behind your ear and muttering something about how cute you were.

He stayed silent for a moment. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

You stopped your pacing, coming to a standstill as his words settled over you. In the silence of the night, you were almost too aware of the way your heart rate increased ever so slightly.

Yunjin was right. There was hardly ever a time where your best friend’s advice wasn’t spot on, but this time you found yourself wishing you had complied and actually blocked him like she had suggested you do. Maybe then you wouldn’t have found yourself in such a position.

coming soon. | lebrookestore 2024

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yandere-writer-momo · 6 months

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I had this idea in my head but I just couldn’t type it into a story. Chances are it be well near 15k word or more. So enjoy this super depressing head canon/ short story creation!!

Yandere Baki Shorts: One More Time

Biscuit Oliva x Afab Reader x Regretful Yandere Reverse Harem (Baki, Jack, Hanayama, and Katsumi)

TW: Angst and mentions of emotional neglect

(Your name) is Tokugawa’s granddaughter so everyone tolerated her excessive kindness since they did not want to upset Tokugawa. Though it was no secret he was indifferent to her and often ignored her in favor of the fighters of his tournament. She gave a lot of her nuturing love because she wanted nothing more in the world than to be loved in return. Sadly these men were emotionally constipated so they did not understand her affection and unknowingly took her for granted… she had an inkling that they did not like her but she still tried to cheer them up and encourage them to keep pushing through… despite no one doing the same for her (not even her grandfather)

Hanayama ignored her whenever she made an attempt to speak to him, Katsumi was always ‘too busy’ to spend time with her, Baki complained about Kozue all the time to her and would cut her off every time she spoke, and Jack was just mean. Jack was the most vocal of his distaste for her…

- Jack was the one who pushed her off the deep end. She visited him since he wasn’t at the Baki and Yujiro fight to check on him. And she offers him words of encouragement and support but he shut her down by saying, “Of course I’d get sympathy from someone as pathetic as you. Can’t you get the hint that no one wants you around? Why don’t you just do everyone a favor and disappear.”

She felt her entire world fall apart around her but she just asked Jack if she can just sit beside him for five more minutes and then she’ll never appear again. That she will disappear from his and everyone’s life if he just let her sit beside him for a few minutes. Jack relented so she rested her head on his large arm. He was disgusted by her touch but if it meant she’d leave him alone, then he would do it. Jack had no idea she simply wished for comfort since he himself had never experienced comfort (despite her constant attempts to comfort him since she felt he was the most traumatized).

After the promised five minutes passed, she rushed out of his apartment in tears. She ended up leaving her jacket behind since Jack had cried on it (she used it to cover his face since he didn’t want her to see him cry). He sighed in relief and gets back to watching the fight he believes should have been him

(Your name) was there for everyone in her free time. She was there for Hanayama when his mother died, she was the mediator between Baki and Kozue when they argued, she sat beside Katsumi while he was in the hospital, and she was at the hospital with Jack and even pitched in for some of his hospital bills since he sustained so many injuries… she was a very nurturing light but they didn’t appreciate her. No one cared about her.

None of them ever celebrated her birthday with her and they didn’t visit her in the hospital when she was sick. They didn’t know her favorite food or color. They didn’t know her favorite restaurant or her nervous ticks. They hardly responded to her texts if at all… (your name) was so lonely it wasn’t even funny.

So she decided to go to the family’s rumored well for a wish. An old wishing well from an old scroll she found hidden within a secret wall of the Tokugawa estate. It was written by one of the first relatives who wished for the Tokugawa family to become wealthy. Btu there was a price to pay… but it’s blurred out. Regardless of the unknown danger, (your name) travels up the mountain alone with the old map in hand… to make a wish.

Rather than wish for something selfish, she wishes for her friends- no the people she cared about, to have all their desires come true, but in exchange, she offered the spirit in the well her life. She’s never been touched, she’s still pure. (Your name) could be of value, right? But the spirit pitied her so they had her disappear from the Japan for five years... they wanted her tormentors to suffer the heart ache she had for the rest of their lives

The baki men all have their dreams come true… Shinshinkai dojo became world renowned for the best karate, Hanayama was successful as the leader to his family, Baki became the strongest creature in the world, and Jack defeated his father … but they were without her love and affection for five years… they missed her. They don’t feel like they deserved the success because she wasn’t there to cheer them all on. It all felt empty without the unwavering support of the bubbly (your name). They went insane in their search for her but she disappeared without a trace…

Baki often found himself glance at the stands after a fight in hopes he’d hear (your name)‘s voice cheer for him and sing his praises. That she would run over to him to check his wounds and treat him to dinner. He swore he would thank her this time and he’d give her some compliments himself. He had seen some pictures of her and had forgotten how pretty she was…

Katsumi would often unconsciously reach for a bento box on the bench he usually sat on at the dojo. He missed (your name)’s cheery smile as she handed him a home cooked meal. He swore he would make time for her if she asked to hang out with him. Katsumi would take her to every restaurant and fun date spot she wanted to try if she came back through the Shinshinkai’s doors. Katsumi would spend his time researching date spots in hopes of her sudden return. He wanted to make up for all the broken promises he’s made to her over the years…

Hanayama often found himself glance at the door in hopes she would come in and ask to walk through his rose garden with him. He made sure to add an extra chair in his office so she could sit beside him and talk to him as he worked. Hanayama swore he would listen to her her this time.

Jack is the most distraught. He was the last to ever see her and he still had her jacket… he felt so guilty. He hadn’t moved out his dinky apartment in hopes she would walk through his door again and ask to sit beside him. That she would want to share a meal with him and rest her head on his arm. Jack would do anything for her to come back… she was the only one who wasn’t afraid of him. Jack would give her the effort she deserved if she came back to him

Her memories of her so called ‘friends’ are wiped. She can no longer remember any of them or much about her life at the Tokugawa estate. The spirit sent her off to America where she comes to be under the care of a lonely Biscuit Oliva who had lost Maria. He’s instantly taken with her and he helps her since she seems so lost… he was lost too. And they found each other.

She spent five years by Biscuit’s side, where he spoiled her rotten. She was granted her true wish of being loved the way she deserved. Her true wish was granted and the Baki men paid the price.

Biscuit and her have a beautiful relationship. He talks with her and he listens to her. He remembered every small detail she shared about herself, even ones she did not verbally share. He’s so considerate of her and he helps her build self esteem. Biscuit constantly made time for her and always put his best efforts into making her happy. And Biscuit never stopped giving her compliments about her appearance or of a task she completed that she felt was minuscule. Biscuit claimed everything she did was perfect to him and he’d never change a thing about her. She often found herself crying here and there for no reason… like there was a part of her that finally started to heal

Five years later and Baki went to see Biscuit to challenge him for a fight out of boredom. Baki is shocked to hear such a familiar laugh and he runs into Biscuit’s room to find (your name) and Biscuit enjoying a meal together. She looked so beautiful in her designer dress… like a princess from a fairytale… but she had always been a princess now that Baki thought about it

Baki immediately collapsed in front of her and hugged her knees while he sobbed. He told her how much he and the others have missed her. How they were so sorry for the way they treated her, that she could come home… but she had no idea who he was… she didn’t know him. She didn’t remember him and it sent Baki spiraling. Baki is insistent that she’ll remember if she returned to Japan but she declined his offer. She told him that despite not knowing him, she was happy that his dreams came true

Baki refused to leave the Arizona prison until she returned back with him. She said she would so long as Biscuit can come with her. Baki is so thrilled… but the other men are much worse than Baki. So much worse.

When she arrived at the Tokugawa estate, Katsumi is the first to run to her and pull her into a hug. He’s bawling his eyes out as he hed her body as close to his body as he could. He babbled about his accomplishments and how he wished she was there to see them… that she belonged by his side. She just awkwardly pushed him away and apologized to him because she had no idea who he was. Katsumi went silent in disbelief and at first had thought it was a joke… but Baki frowned at him.

Baki explained to the other martial artists that (your name) completely lost her memories. They don’t believe him at first. Especially Katsumi who kept bringing up memories he had of her being at every tournament and by his side in the hospital. He convinced himself she was in love with him. (Delulu isn’t the solulu)

Hanyama just stared at her while she held Biscuit’s hand for comfort. He’s consumed with jealousy (on the inside) when he saw the way she looked at Biscuit… she used to look at him like that.

Hanayama quietly shared how the last five years of his life was without her and of his feelings for her… Hanayama admitted that he couldn’t date or sleep with anyone since she haunted his dreams since her disappearance. Hanayama kept his rose garden beautiful all year round since she loved it so much. Kaoru wanted to walk through the garden with her and pluck roses with her so she could display them in the compound… Hanayama even had a bench placed in the spot she’d always kneel in the grass in… he would be better for her if she came back to him… Hanayama would marry her on the spot

Hanayama offered her a lot of power, pleasure, and luxuries if she returned to his side but she politely turned him down. (He continued to bring it up whenever Katsumi or Baki weren’t speaking… it was so awkward)

Katsumi then spoke up about the last five years without her and about the true love he held for her. Katsumi admitted he searched for her face in the stands every time he had a tournament and he’d search for her when he was training people at the dojo. He never gave up his search for her. He felt awful for not making time for her and all the broken promises he made. Katsumi vowed to make as much time for her as she wanted if she just returned to his side… Katsumi swore that he would be an amazing husband to her. That he wanted to start a family with her and build her dream house… Katsumi poured his heart out to her with a pink blush on his cheeks. He sounded like he was sharing a dream that would never be in reach (delusional mf)

Baki then shared the last five years without (your name).. Baki and Kozue finally broke up for good a few years back due to their differences. Baki didn’t have the (your name) to help him make up with Kozue or to be his voice of reason. He didn’t have the (your name) to make sure he ate or that he rested enough. He didn’t have her compliment him or congratulate him anymore… he missed her motherly affection. He missed someone being proud of him. Baki rested his head on her lap while (your name) sits beside Biscuit. He kept trying to get her to rub her fingers through his hair but she swatted his hands away

Jack remained silent the entire time. He’s trying his best to remain calm but he looked angry… and he is. He’s so upset that she had been fine this entire time and she hadn’t came back to see him… he doesn’t believe she lost her memories because she’s so scared of him. She was never scared of him before… he wants to talk to her alone. His eyes don’t leave her the entire time while he clenched his jaw

Tokugawa brought up how she was always there for all the men in the room and how everyone had missed her so much but not a single person brought up any memories where one of them had been there for her… she asked if any of them knew her birthday and none of them knew. They were ‘so close’ to her but didn’t even know her birthday…

Biscuit pitched in and shared the date and the exact time of her birthday. The older man gave her a big smile before he began to list off her favorite color, food, and her hobbies. He shared all her quirks and her interests. It touched her heart… Biscuit knew everything about her which caused her to burst into tears .

The men all try to hand her handkerchiefs but she rejected them (she accepted Biscuit’s). She can’t explain to them why she started to cry, but she tells everyone that something within her was so happy… that Biscuit made her so happy.

(Your name) sadly had no desire to get to know any of the guys again because she’s happy with Biscuit. She tells them all that she’s happy they achieved their goals and that she’s proud of them but she no longer has a desire to be a part of their lives. Memories or not, from the way they talked about her, it seemed like she was the one who put in all the effort. Not a single one of them brought up a memory in which they did something for her… and that made her sad. Perhaps it was better she didn’t remember any of them

They cannot accept her rejection. Baki and Katsumi begin to beg and bargain. While Hanayama threatened her family (Tokugawa), but Biscuit held her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He began to try to take her away but Baki blocked the exit. He’s frantic and his eyes are crazy. He began to beg her not to disappear again. “I don’t want to live in a world where you aren’t there… I can’t do it again. Please stay.”

She tells him, “Perhaps that was the kind of world I lived in… a world where no one cared about me until I disappeared. Please live a good life and don’t forget to take care of yourself, Baki.”

Baki broke down and that’s when Jack rushed forward and grabbed her. He hurriedly brought her to the garden at the Tokugawa estate at an inhuman speed while the others all chased after him (especially Oliva)

Jack began to scream at her once they were far enough from everyone. He’s yelling on the top of his lungs while his face turned red and tears all from his cognac eyes. He finally fell apart in front of her after he tried to hold himself together for all these years.

“You do remember! Stop lying… you know who I am and that’s why you can’t look me in the face because you remember our last conversation all those years ago…”

“I swear I don’t remember-“

“You’ve never been scared of me before!” Jack screamed, the blonde ran his large hand through his short blonde locks. Jack tried to reel himself in but the emotions broke through the dam he held together for the last five years. “You’ve never looked at me like I’m a monster!”

(Your name) flinched at his sharp tone, her eyes wide in shock when Jack suddenly fell to his knees and held her hands. The blonde placed his jaw in her hands while he cried. The shouts of the others can be heard as they make their way towards the two of them. Yet it felt like it was only Jack and her left in the world in this very moment.

“I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to tell you to disappear!” Everyone froze in shock when they make it to the outer perimeter of the garden. Their mouths open like a fish out of water at what Jack admitted… he was the reason? He was the reason she disappeared? “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Your name) squirmed when Jack pressed his lips to her hand in a way to apologize. She didn’t know why, but she needed to leave. She wanted to get away from him because he was scaring her. But his iron grip on her hands prevented her from escape.

“You can hit me… you can do whatever you want to me so long as you come back to me. I won’t be mean to you ever again.” Jack whispered into the palms of her hands as he guided her right hand to cup his scarred cheek. “You can sit beside me as much as you like. You can wear my jacket on your head when you need to cry and you can share meals with me. W-we can go for hikes together and you can sit on my back when I do pushups. I’ll do anything for you to be by my side and to not look at me like that.”

(Your name) can only stand there in shock as the giant man before her now appeared to be more like a lost child eager for love than a man… it broke her heart but he wasn’t her responsibility. If he was the reason why she lost her memories in the first place then he deserved her forgiveness the least.

And that’s when all the memories flooded in. The loneliness. The heart break. The broken promises. The constant rejection. She lived such a pathetic life before she was granted a second chance… these men didn’t deserve her. They never did.

“Jack?” Jack perked up at his name, his breath hitched as he clung to the sound of his name leaving her lips for the first time in years. He missed when she spoke his name. To him, she was meant to speak his name… she was his.

“Yes?”

“Do me a favor and forget about me.” Jack felt himself shatter at her words, the blonde now her her hands tightly to his face. His breathing now erratic.

“What?” Jack was in disbelief. He didn’t hear that right… this wasn’t his (your name). There was no way his sweet (your name) would tell him to forget her. She would never reject him. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Forget about me. Treat me as if I never existed.” (Your name) repeated as she tried to move her hands off his face. “You don’t need to have someone as pathetic as me beside you.”

No… no. No. No. No. No. No. She was supposed to forgive him. She was supposed to kiss his scarred cheeks while she happily accepted his apology with tears of joy in her eyes. (Your name) should know he never apologized and that he truly sought forgiveness.

(You name) snapped her hands out of his hold and turned on her heel to leave. She ignored the men who had once constantly let her down now try to gain her affection. She didn’t need these people. She didn’t need empty promises and sweet words… (your name) just needed her lover, Biscuit Oliva.

“I want to go home.” (Your name) told Biscuit with a smile. She took his large hand in her small one and gave it a squeeze.

“Of course, dear. We can do anything you want.” (Your name) rested her head on Biscuit’s arm as he lead her out of the estate. She ignored the screams of her name and the loud begging of Katsumi and Baki.

They never turned their heads for her when she begged for love and when she’d ask to spend time with them… why should she turn hers?

(Your name) finally had the love she always wanted while they had fulfilled their goals… how could they be so selfish to want more?

“(Your name)! Please stay in Japan! We can get married and I’ll take you on dates every weekend!” Baki shouted while Katsumi tried to one up him.

“I’ll take you out everyday and we can get married as soon as tomorrow!”

“I’ll give you the world if you turn around and come to me right this moment.” Hanayama piped up from behind her. “If you don’t turn around, then the Tokugawa family will be no more.”

Tokugawa began to shout out to the granddaughter he neglected for years in favor of these men who didn’t value him. “Please don’t let him do that. You love your grandpa, don’t you? You can be the heir to the Tokugawa family!”

Poor Jack remained on his knees in the garden. His brown eyes dull as he watched her leave with Biscuit without so much as a glance behind her.

For the first time in five years, Jack and the others have suffered a true defeat. All they wanted was one more time.

Just one more time and they’d make it all right… for they could not accept that they already wasted so many chances to make things right due to their own selfishness. They had lost the one love of their lives forever.

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yyunari · 7 months

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CHESHIRE ! — Nishimura Riki (TEASER)

SYNOPSIS. Y/N Cheshire lived her life carefree. Being the daughter of the Cheshire Cat made her more inclined to not take anything seriously and to just have a little bit of fun in everything she does. Whether it was pulling pranks, sneaking up on people, or making jabs at her friends- Y/N kept a Cheshire’s smile on her face. Because of that, she just couldn’t take Chaehyun Cupid seriously when she claimed that Y/N had a crush on Riki Wonderland.

PAIRING. Kitty Cheshire! Y/N x Alistair Wonderland! Riki

(btw im not shipping kitty and alistair i just based them off the characters)

GENRE. Ever After High AU, High school AU, Fluff, Slight Angst

WARNINGS. bad parental relationship, ooc riki umm, expected word count is like 15k yea ik. long fic.

RELEASING. published!

NOTES. if u haven’t seen ever after high it’s ok u can still read this all u rly need to know is that the students of eah r the children of fairy tale ppl like snow white or cinderella and they have to follow the paths of their parents and stuff Yassssss

After sometime, Riki opened his mouth. “I know I already asked this earlier, but why did you come here? You know, to stargaze.” As if he wasn’t satisfied with her answer.

He was right in thinking that her answer wasn’t what she truly wanted to say, but it just felt awkward to give an exact reason. Her relationship with her mom was something she could barely tell her only 3 friends about, let alone someone she barely considered an acquaintance.

But Y/N knew Riki was a reliable guy; she had heard it often from Soul, Rei, and Giselle. And maybe for once she would let herself put faith into another person.

“I’ll only tell if you tell me why you like stargazing.”

Riki blew out a breath in thought. “Hm… I don’t know if I can give an exact reason for that. I was just bored one day and ended up coming across this place. That’s what made me stargaze, but something about it just felt so comforting to me that I wanted to do it more often.” He answered, a soft smile gracing his lips. “But that’s not exactly a good reason.”

“I think it suits you.” Y/N whispered out. “I’m sure you have your own stresses with being the son of Alice in Wonderland. It would make sense that having a hobby like this to come back to is something you enjoy.”

He pondered on it for a moment. Maybe she was right. He then chuckled at this side of her he had never seen before. “You’re a lot more poetic than you let on. Anyways I answered your question, can you answer mine?”

Y/N considered answering it, she truly did, but as much as she wanted to open up there was the side of her that wanted to keep everything inside. Her mother had always told her that vocalizing your feelings does nothing good and only makes people pity you.

One thing Y/N despised was being pitied. It only reminded her of how her mother referred to her as a ‘pitiful girl’ and how she would amount to nothing.

So she slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think I can.”

Riki felt himself beginning to sit up to look at the girl. There was something off about her. The way she spoke to him and the way that she carried herself… she wasn’t acting as she always had. Normal Y/N would be more playful and even mischievous. But now, there was a certain sadness in her entire being that seemed to be throwing her off her rhythm. And it only made Riki more and more curious about her.

“Okay, I get it. You don’t have to tell me.” Riki smiled, before continuing. “I just hope it doesn’t take away your chaotic spirit. You know, I kind of like that about you.”

A sigh left Y/N’s lips at his words. “You don’t mean that, Wonderland.”

“I mean every word, Cheshire.”

Y/N could only roll her eyes before slowly evaporating into the night, using her invisibility and teleportation to finally go back home.

Left lingering in the air was her Cheshire’s smile, which disappeared last and left Riki staring at the wisps of where she had sat only moments prior.

Maybe it made sense that Riki enjoyed stargazing. In a way, there was something about him that was made of the stars. No matter what he did, he always seemed to shine brighter than all the others. There was something about Riki that felt that he belonged up in the sky, giving life to the night and adding a certain glimmer to the auras.

Riki had his own place amongst the sky, and she wished she could be like that too. But after speaking to him, maybe there was nowhere she could have her own place in. Y/N could only wait for the day that she could contribute to a bigger picture, and take a larger part in his story. After all, she had always wanted her own place within the stars.

But for now, all she could do was hope she would become more than just the Cheshire Cat’s daughter.

authors note. postinf this after jay noticed me on his weverse live i am not well. anyways it’s coming 🤓🤓 those 10k words sitting in my drafts r waiting to be released don’t worry babies mommys almost done

permanent taglist. @muhwaa @hoori @yizhoutv @ja4hyvn @carayat @one16core @enhacolor @haerinz @soobin-chois @en-boyz @ohmy-fandoms @yjwonz @yunki4evr @strwberrydinosaur @duolingofanaccount @iichaeyj @eundiarys @ineedaherosavemeenow @chaerybae @bubblytaetae @w3bqrl @xiaoderrrr @jaeyunnsworld @rikizm @teddywonss @gweoriz @dimplewonie @jennaissantes (if u requested to be on my permanent taglist and u didn’t get tagged it’s bc i cant see ur acc, but pls dm me if u want to be in it !)

#enhypen x reader #enhypen riki x reader #nishimura riki x reader #enhypen nishimura riki x reader #nishimura riki x you #ever after high #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen riki #enhypen niki x reader #niki x y/n #niki x reader #niki x you #riki x reader #riki x y/n #nishimura riki smau #enhypen nishimura riki #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff

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drarryspecificrecs · 3 months

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2024.02 ~ Top 6 longest fics posted on AO3

1. The Stag and the Dragon: The School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by Jesse_James [T, 180k]

►On the night of October 31st 1980, in an attempt to subvert prophecy, The Dark Lord Voldemort launches a pair of attacks to rid him of the one chosen to defeat him. But when one fails, the world is changed forever. But in this universe, things are different. The rules are not always the same. And things will not always be as we remember. And with a different choice made with a young orphaned Harry's future, the consequences of this one act will echo across fate. /// Meanwhile, in a different family, another boy struggles against what he is, and what he was born to be. All while his father seems to orchestrate more than just his life.

2. Empty Spaces by nori_mari [T, 125k]

►What do you do when everything you know comes to an end? The battle is over, Voldemort's gone, everything they ever wanted has come to pass. So why is it so hard to return to a “normal” life? How does one simply pick up the pieces and move on? When your entire life and identity have revolved around this one thing for so long… what do you do you have left of yourself when that one thing is over?

3. Papa Needs Daddy's Help by @amillionregrets [E, 94k]

►Harry's life revolves entirely around work these days, and he's deeply engrossed in it, as usual, when an urgent fire-call from Ron abruptly turns his world upside down. Apparently, a four-year-old girl with emerald eyes and long black hair has shown up at Ron's shop, claiming to be Harry's daughter and seeking his help to save her papa.

4. The Boy from the Piano Shop by @soliblomst [M, 90k] *typo

►After going blind in a reckless attempt to avenge Ginny's death, Harry battles with severe depression. One day, he stumbles upon a quaint piano restoration shop in the heart of London and meets the owner, a kindly old man, and his introverted young apprentice, whose voice sounds strangely familiar. As Harry and Draco slowly reconnect through private piano lessons, the small workshop becomes Harry's refuge, offering him a glimmer of hope in a world without eyes.

5. An Addendum For Depressed Authors by @queenie-jinny [E, 86k]

►‘The Misadventures of Harrison Portier’ six-part book series by J.E.P has been on the Daily Prophet’s best sellers list for 177 weeks straight, despite the author’s insistent anonymity and continuing avoidance of the public eye. After a long hiatus, the elusive final novel in the septology is about to hit the shelves, and Draco Malfoy, avid reader of the series and self-proclaimed number one fan (a proclamation he’d made to absolutely none save for himself), is determined to be the first person to read it. When the epilogue of the book leaves much to be desired, Draco has no choice but to take matters into his own hands. Thus begins a stormy correspondence that threatens to disrupt Harry’s hard-earned peaceful routine and maybe change his life in the process.

6. Draco's Splendid Decisions by @jocundasykes [E, 69k]

►Stuck in the doldrums of a rubbish summer holiday, an unexpected invitation beckons you back to the halls of Hogwarts for an eighth year. Should you go, and endure another round of academia? Dive into the mundane drudgery of work? Or escape it all with an international getaway? /// You're a free man. What happens next is up to you.

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 10k

※ Word count: 10k ~ 40k

alive is a color you don't own by sectumsempra [E, 15k]

armstrong limit by @brosamigos [E, 11k]

Crossed Wires by @skeptiquewrites [E, 11k]

Enclosed is a Memory by Anonymous [M, 12k]

I'll Find You Again (I Always Do) by @dodgerkedavra [E, 15k]

The Month of Giving by Justlikewriting [M, 20k]

Nobody Except For You by @mistsound [T, 10k]

Oh, Overwhelming Passion and Seduction by AtelierOfStories [E, 19k]

These Old Feelings by Reloumi [E, 24k]

Time to indulge by @onehundredflamingos [E, 10k]

Until Now by crpage [T, 11k]

Warm Touch Makes No Sound by @rainjulyx [E, 13k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

Frottage Cottage WFAUFF Challenge

Knot Another Writing Fest: Knot Again 2023 | @hpknotfest

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #monthly review #2024

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zablife · 6 months

Text

It's Over

Tommy x gf reader

Summary: You implore Tommy to stay out of harm’s way, but he has other ideas. Will this be the end of your relationship?

Author’s Note: Written for @little-diable ’s 15K celebration. Congrats, darling! I'm sorry this took me so long! Quote assigned as the prompt: “A leader leads and you can’t ask men to risk death if you’re not willing to risk it yourself" from the Last Kingdom by Bernard Cornwell.

Warnings: angst

When Tommy returned home from the war he made countless promises. He said he wanted to give you the world and it wasn’t hard to believe him, his endless drive making all things seem possible. However, it had been a year since his return and with every new ambition came greater risk, threatening to tear Tommy away from you once more.

Perhaps due to this fear, you held him tightly whenever possible, whispering words of love and devotion he seemed to have forgotten during your time apart. You hoped it would be enough to curb his relentless mind, but Polly warned you it might never be enough.

“He isn’t the same, love. He never really came back from France,” she confided sadly. The ominous words lingered in your head and tortured you with their certainty.

With all your stubbornness and fortitude you assured her, “He came home to me and he’ll always choose me." You kept that faith through all manner of disagreements.

Last night there had been another row over his plans and you expected Tommy to storm out, but true to your words he stayed with you. Wrapping him in your arms, he fell asleep on your chest and you sighed in contentment. You hardly noticed when the sun rose, beckoning him away from you and toward the danger that awaited him.

Tommy looked down at your sleeping form, watching your chest rise and fall peacefully. For a moment he considered leaving you that way. He wasn't prepared for a goodbye that could be his last. However, something held him there. A feeling which tugged at his heart when you stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open momentarily to smile at him with hopeful radiance.

“It’s time for me to go, love,” Tommy explained quietly, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender kiss. Your smile soon fell away as you realized he hadn’t changed his mind about the attack on Kimber. You instantly sat up to reach for him, clutching at his arm.

“Don’t do this, Tommy,” you pleaded, eyes filling with hot tears.

He only turned away from your desperate gaze, a dark shadow falling over his brow. “I have to, Y/n,” he replied firmly as his cold hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

“But why? Talk to me,” you begged, needing to understand why he was needlessly placing himself in harm’s way.

Tommy shook his head as he stared at a spot on the wall. “You know too much already,” he sighed, wishing he’d left you sleeping. In times like these he was reminded he was no good for you, a liability to your safety and well being. Suddenly he regretted falling into your arms for comfort at every chance. Frustrated with himself for his weakness, he swiped his boots from under the bed and headed for the door.

You scrambled to follow him, bedsheet wrapped around you as you called after him. “Nothing ever stops you from leaving, does it?” you lamented, placing yourself between him and the door.

Tommy hung his head as he exhaled a deep breath.

“Tommy, look at me,” you implored, placing a hand to the side of his face. Your fingertips skated over his morning stubble as he finally looked into your eyes, longing and regret swirling in his bright blue irises. “Tell me why it has to be you. You have more than enough soldiers now who are willing to die for you. Why can’t you give the order and stay where it’s safe?,” you persisted.

Tommy placed a hand over yours, brow furrowed as he shook his head gently. “I couldn’t live with myself if I did that. A leader leads and you can’t ask men to risk death if you’re not willing to risk it yourself.”

“But you can leave me with nothing and no one?” you argued. "Are you intent on breaking my heart?" you asked, feeling the tears escape your lash line and wash down your cheeks. You pulled away to swipe at them angrily with the backs of your hands as you awaited his reply.

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the long strands on top as he realized the untenable situation. The powerlessness he felt turned to bitterness on his tongue. You noticed the icy look in his eye before he ever uttered his final words to you. “I’ll only hurt you if you let me. So perhaps it's time you let me go,” he uttered before turning to leave. The door slammed behind him, rattling the frames on the wall and you slumped to the floor in despair. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, “It’s over, it’s over.”

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@runnning-outof-time

@dandelionprints

@look-at-the-soul

@cillmequick

@brummiereader

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@l1-l4

@kmhappybunny240

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #Cillian Murphy

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reallydumbdannyphantomaus · 9 months

Text

The Apocalypse Club

(ao3) (art 1) (art 2)

Valerie, Kwan, and Paulina find out Danny's biggest secret while Amity Park is invaded by a strange new ghost. Now, all four of them have to work together to save the day. ...If they can stop fighting each other first.

Hey!!! this is my @invisobang piece for 2023!!!! it hits in at about 15k words and i got to work with @minnowmarsh and @trolithfoxyflint for the amazing art that comes with it! now you crazy kids have fun reading :D

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

“How,” Valerie said when she could talk again.

Danny shrugged and looked away. His face was tinted green, though whether from nausea or the swirling portal on the wall of the lab, she couldn’t say. Kwan didn’t look much better, ashen gray, hair sticking up in all directions from how much he’d been pulling it. Paulina’s eyes hadn’t left Danny’s face since…

Well, since.

“Is that the most important question right now?” he said, rummaging in the desk.

Yes, she wanted to scream. But it wasn’t, and she knew it wasn’t, just as much as she knew that he was avoiding the question.

But she was a professional. She’d worked with… Danny… before. She could put aside her personal feelings until they were safe.

“What’s the plan?”

“We need allies,” he said, still not looking at her. “The only place left to find them is the ghost zone.”

“What?” Paulina said. “You want us to—to go in there?”

“What about our families?” Kwan said.

“Isn’t it super dangerous in there?”

“Look, your families’ best chance is if we get help. And you don’t have to come with me, but I think it’s more dangerous to sit here and wait.”

Valerie rolled her eyes. How was she ever friends with these two? Here they were, whining about danger, when they were missing the most obvious issue with this plan. “Where are we going to get allies in the ghost zone? The whole thing’s just full of ghosts!”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but for a moment his eyes flashed acid green. Her hand snapped to the ectogun on her hip. “You’ve worked with ghosts before, Val.”

“No, I’ve worked with you before, and who the hell knows what you are.”

The words spilled out her mouth like poison, acid. She didn’t know if she meant them or not, but she did notice his full body flinch.

(She filed away the sore spot for future reference.)

“Jesus, Val,” Kwan said, running his hand through his already messed up hair.

She looked away. “Sorry.”

“Look, I have allies in the ghost zone. Even some enemies who, push comes to shove, will help me out if only so they get to kill me themselves. I’ve never seen or heard of this ghost before, okay? If it’s this powerful, and I’ve never heard of it, that’s a really, really bad sign. We need all the help we can get and we can’t afford to be picky about where it comes from.”

Valerie stared harder at the wall. Her skin crawled at the thought of making nice with ghosts. “Easy for you to say.”

“I’m working with all of you, aren’t I?”

Valerie’s eyes snap to meet Paulina’s, then Kwan’s. She’d forgotten, somehow, that Paulina and Kwan (and she, once upon a time) had always treated him and his friends like garbage. She’d forgotten that for all that Phantom was her enemy, she’d once used his cousin (or whatever that relationship actually was, who the hell knows anymore) as bait to capture and torture him.

“Fine,” she said. Deliberately, she dropped her hand from her gun. “So how are we doing this?”

The ghost zone was a lot… greener than Paulina expected. It made sense, in retrospect: green was the color of ectoplasm after all, but in her head she always imagined it to have more of a Sam Manson aesthetic. Black. Maybe some purple. But deep and dark and depressing.

(Last time she saw Sam Manson, Manson’s eyes were totally black and she was clawing at Paulina’s face, spittle flying from her mouth. Not a totally unexpected reaction, she had to admit, but there was no intent or reason, just pure feral violence.)

“So,” she said, “where exactly are we going?”

“The Far Frozen,” Fenton said, hands white-knuckled on the steering. “I have friends there.”

“It, uh, sounds cold,” Kwan said. “I didn’t bring my jacket.” More like a swarm of zombie-football players had tried to drag him down by his collar and he’d only escaped by letting his letterman jacket slide off.

“Frostbite’ll have coats.”

“And what is Frostbite?” That was Valerie, still glaring at Fenton like he’d pissed in her Cheerios. Paulina really didn’t understand what her issue was. Sure, Paulina was shocked to find out that Fenton was her beloved ghost boy, but she was more awkward than angry. Valerie seemed to take the whole situation personally.

“He’s a yeti.”

“A yeti? A dead yeti?” Paulina crossed her arms. “Are you telling me that yetis are real?”

“Look, not all ghosts were once alive. Sometimes, they’re the ghosts of beliefs or ideals or stories. Things we used to think about and believe in. Pandora’s here, too, along with a lot of pantheons, but they won’t tell me if they were ever alive.” Fenton’s lips curled up in a little smile and his face softened. “I’ve been trying to weasel it out of them for months.”

They lapsed into another brief silence before Fenton spoke again.

“Look, if you have any other questions… now might be the best time. It’ll be a bit before we get to the Far Frozen, and I don’t know if we’ll have any time after that.”

Paulina had a million questions, but she couldn’t think of one she wanted to ask right now. How? Why? When? That could all wait until after the day was saved. Her nerves were still twitching and she dug her fingers into her wrist to stabilize, remember the now and not two hours ago, watching Star, black-eyed and snarling with one arm bent out of shape, leap for her throat. She said nothing.

“Are we… just gonna stay in the For Frozen?” Kwan said. “Like, while you save the world?”

“Far Frozen, and yeah. That was the plan.”

“I’m not staying in some frozen wasteland so you and your ghost buddies can fuck up saving the world.”

Paulina couldn’t help staring at Valerie. What the hell was she talking about? Phantom—Fenton—Danny had saved the world plenty of times before.

“I was talking about Kwan and Paulina, Val. I know you’d never stay out of it.”

Valerie curled her lip. “Just so we’re clear. I have to keep an eye on you, anyway.”

“What is your deal, girl?” Paulina said. “If you two are our best shot at saving the world, being pissy at each other isn’t going to help.”

“Stay out of it!”

“The world is ending! We don’t have time for you to be stubborn.”

Kwan shrank back at their raised voices. “Uh, I don’t think this is a good time to fight, either.”

“Of course you don’t. Since when do you ever think for yourself?”

“Hey!”

“Shut up! Just be quiet, all of you. Jesus.” Danny turned around to glare at them, his eyes flashing green. “Valerie and I have worked together before even though she hated me. We can do it again.”

Paulina wasn’t so sure about him using “hate” in the past tense there, but Valerie was nodding.

“I can put my personal feelings aside to save the world, and fuck you for thinking anything different. But then, I guess you never thought much of me, did you?”

“What are you—”

“Seriously? You have to ask?”

Paulina bit her lip. When Valerie’s dad lost his job, Valerie lost everything. Including her friends. Like Paulina. No, she thought after a moment, I suppose I don’t.

Danny groaned from the front. “I changed my mind. No more questions. Let’s just… be quiet.”

Paulina had to agree.

The Far Frozen was, in fact, cold.

Kwan shivered in just his black t-shirt, but truthfully, his letterman jacket would’ve only helped so much. This was a bitter cold, a deep-winter cold that took three blankets, a hot chocolate, and fuzzy socks to banish.

Kwan really hated the cold.

“Great One!” the yeti in front of them said, arms (one of flesh and fur, the other of ice and bone) spread wide like he was offering a hug. Was it some kind of yeti cultural thing?

Fenton jumped up and embraced the creature. Apparently, it was just an offer of a hug.

“What brings you to my domain?” the yeti said once he put Fenton down. “And with such strange company as well!”

Fenton rubbed the back of his neck. “We need your help, Frostbite.”

Kwan’s teeth started to chatter. Valerie and Paulina’s arms were dotted with gooseflesh, alongside his own. How was Fenton not fucking freezing?

“Can we have this conversation inside?” Paulina said, rubbing her arms.

“W-w-w-with jackets?” Kwan’s chattering teeth brought out a stutter. Embarrassing. “Ma-y-be a f-fire?”

“Of course!” the yeti said. “Your fragile human bodies require excess warmth to survive. Please, follow me.”

The yeti, who introduced himself as Frostbite, led them to a cave where they were each presented with a delightfully warm coat, almost thick enough to banish the cold from Kwan’s bones.

(Almost.)

Valerie spent the whole trek glaring at Frostbite like she expected him to turn around and start biting the second she took her eyes off of him. She kept one hand on her blaster the whole time. Kwan couldn’t imagine going through life with that kind of paranoia. It must be exhausting.

The cave itself was almost cozy. It was decorated, had furniture and artwork and books like it was someone’s office. With a jolt, Kwan realized that it was an office. Frostbite’s, most likely. On the wall, there was a portrait of Phantom (Fenton?) standing victorious. What the fuck.

“What’s with the whole ‘Great One’ thing, by the way?” Kwan said.

“It is demonstrative of our unending love and gratitude for the Great One, who saved us all from subjugation at the hands of the villainous Pariah Dark!”

Valerie snorted. “‘Villainous.’ Like you’re not.”

Frostbite tilted his head in confusion. Kwan hated to admit it, but it was kind of adorable. “I am unsure what your meaning is. I assure you that we denizens of the Far Frozen have no villainous aims with any friend of the Great One.”

“I’m not gullible enough to believe you.”

Frostbite opened his mouth to reply again, but Fenton cut him off.

“Just ignore her, Frostbite. You’re not going to change her mind and we don’t have time to argue. A new ghost is attacking Amity Park, and we need your help.”

It all happened so fast.

All four of them escaped by sheer luck. Kwan managed to dodge the football team and hide in the bleachers next to Paulina, who’d nearly been bitten by Star and Sam in the bathroom. Valerie put on the Red Huntress suit as soon as she realized what was happening, giving her some protection against the spreading infection. And Danny?

Well, Danny could fly.

Danny stumbled upon the other three by chance, checking through the school for anyone who’d managed to avoid the plague, though he didn’t have much hope. He’d found Kwan, Paulina, and Valerie—two useless people and one who absolutely hated him.

Still, he couldn’t leave them there, unprotected. He grabbed Paulina and Valerie hoisted Kwan on her hoverboard and they’d raced to FentonWorks.

He’d intended to stay in ghost form the whole time, but he hadn’t realized that the infected were still capable of reason, at least on some level. That their attacks weren’t mindless. That his mom could hit him with an ectogun that would short out his powers, however temporarily.

And now three new people know who he is.

Three new people who he can’t trust in the slightest.

(What if they tell people? His parents? The school? The Guys in White?)

But he can’t worry about that, because the world is ending.

“I see,” Frostbite said after Danny had explained the situation. “This is… worrisome. If it escaped—”

“It? Frostbite, do you know what this is?”

“Mm. It sounds like Pestilence.”

Danny frowned. “Like… pesto?”

Paulina scoffed and whacked Danny on the head. “No, idiot. Pestilence. Like disease and stuff.”

“Yes. Considered by certain branches of Christianity to be one of the four Horsemen that herald the apocalypse.”

“One of four? You mean there’s three other horse-guys?”

“Indeed. The belief in this specific end of days has largely died out in the modern day, so the Horsemen became ghosts. However, they were so dangerous, so suddenly, that we ghosts banded together three hundred years ago to seal them away. If one of them is out…”

“...then the others might be out, too.” Danny rubbed at his forehead. “This gets better and better. What are the other three?”

“War, Famine, and Death,” Paulina said, counting them off on her fingers. Valerie raised an eyebrow at her. “What? Everyone knows that.”

“You are correct, Delicate One.”

“Um, my name’s Paulina.”

“None of those sound good.” Kwan scratched his head. “Also, why is Death separate? Don’t War and Famine and Pestilence all kill people? Does Death extra kill people or something?”

Frostbite shrugged. “How should I know? I’m already dead.”

“Can you be dead if you were never alive?”

“In any event,” Frostbite said, “your best chance is to put Pestilence back before any of the others break free.”

“And how are we supposed to do that, ghost? We barely escaped in the first place!”

Valerie had a point: they knew what they were fighting, now, but it didn’t solve the problem of we can’t beat this guy. Danny rubbed his temples. Maybe if he could get Skulker to work with them, Skulker would help convince the rest of the Ghost Zone and they might actually have a shot.

“Your best chance is finding the Panacea.”

Danny scrunched his eyebrows. “The what?”

“Panacea is, like, a mythical elixir thing that can heal any disease.” Danny, Kwan, and Valerie stared at Paulina, who was tapping on her phone. She looked up at them and rolled her eyes. “What? Everyone knows that.”

“Okay, so where’s this Panaderia at?” Valerie said.

“Patience, Suspicious One. Allow me to explain.”

“What the hell did you just call me?”

“The Panacea is hidden in the far reaches of the Ghost Zone, near Pariah’s Keep.” Frostbite pulled out the Infi-Map from his desk and rolled it out on the desk. “Legend tells that Pariah wanted it for himself, but could never get through its protections.”

“Protections? Like—ghosts and shit?”

“Not quite. The story goes that there are three trials one must overcome to obtain the Panacea. The first is a trial of courage. The second is a trial of compassion. And the third is a trial of truth.”

Valerie threw her hands up in the air. “What the hell does any of that mean?”

“The legend does not specify.”

“Of course,” Paulina said, “because when the world’s at stake, you want as much ambiguity as possible.”

“Quite.”

Courage, compassion, and truth. Well, Danny was decently brave. He spent half his time fighting ghosts, at least, and protecting people. It had to count for something. Compassion… he could probably work on that part, but he did care about people. That’s why he protected them. Truth?

That was a little stickier.

He lied, all the time. It was for a good reason, but he wasn’t sure the trials would see it that way. Maybe he would just have to tell the truth in the moment? Ugh, this whole thing was so complicated.

Maybe Valerie would do better at the truth thing. Though, she also had a secret identity. Whatever. They’d figure it out.

Lost in his thoughts, Danny didn’t notice Valerie approaching him until her hand wrapped around his arm and she pulled him away.

“Woah, what are you—” Danny squeezed his eyes shut as he was yanked back into the bright light of the outside. The snow sparkled in the glow that permeated the Ghost Zone almost like sunlight, but half as warm.

“If you and I are going to do this, we should have a plan.”

“A plan for what? We don’t even know what these trials will look like.”

Valerie’s hand tightened around his bicep. “So you just want to fly in blind? Hide behind me and let me figure it out so you can swoop in and ‘save the day’ or some bullshit?”

“That is not remotely what I—”

“Save it! You’ve been lying to me this whole time. For years. And I—I actually thought that you cared about me, which is the really stupid part.”

“I do care about you, Val.” Danny reached for her arm and she flinched back. He sighed and stared at the ground.

“No, you don’t. You can’t. Ghosts don’t care about anything or anyone. You just like the attention. You like the praise. You may have everyone else fooled but I see what you are. No more tricks, Phantom.”

Danny choked out a laugh. “And you wonder why I lied to you.”

Valerie sneered. “No, actually. It all makes perfect sense, ghost.”

His eyes stung, which was stupid. They really didn’t have time for him to go cry in a corner because Valerie didn’t like him. But his feelings didn’t care about the facts, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Whatever,” he said, and he tried to ignore how his voice cracked. “Let’s just get through this.”

“Yeah,” Valerie said. “Let’s get through this and then never talk to each other again.”

He’d really thought he could talk to her, if she ever found out. He’d really thought he could convince her. That hurt the most, he realized: he’d always known she’d be mad, but after what happened with Dani, there should’ve been room for them to be friends as Valerie and Danny and as Red Huntress and Phantom.

He was the stupid one, it turned out.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

Valerie turned away. “It is what I want.”

“Okay.”

They fell into awkward silence.

“So—”

Distant screaming cut Danny off.

Somewhere along the way, wires had gotten crossed in Danny’s brain. Screams of terror and pain were usually a sign that people should stay away. If some did get closer, it was usually out of curiosity and panic would take over once that curiosity was sated. Danny, of course, ran straight for the danger every time.

So he wasn’t surprised, exactly, when one of the yetis, eyes dripping black, lunged for him. He’d run into enough fights that ducking out of the way of her claws was second nature. Beside him, Valerie blasted the infected yeti away. Of course. Valerie was just like him: she ran into danger.

“We need to get out of here!” She fired again at another yeti, snarling in the snow.

Danny reached for the electric cold in his chest, but it was still weak and flickering from the gun his mom had used. He was powerless.

“Danny!” Before he could blink, something slammed into him and he was speeding away from the yetis on Valerie’s jetboard.

“Wait—Wait!” Struggling to stand on a fast, open-air vehicle, he pulled himself up using Valerie’s shoulder and she shot him a withering glare. “We can’t just leave them there!”

“Us getting infected doesn’t help anyone, and you trying to play hero to get on my good side won’t work anyway.”

“I’m not—” The jetboard tilted to avoid a leaping yeti. “Why won’t you listen—”

“I did listen to you! And you lied. So I’m done with that.”

Valerie angled down to the cave entrance where Kwan, Paulina, and Frostbite were and jerked to a stop. Danny couldn’t stop his momentum and tumbled off onto the floor of the cave, landing at Paulina’s feet.

“Um, hi?” Paulina said.

“We have a problem,” Valerie said.

Apparently the “problem” was a horde of zombie yetis right on Valerie and Danny’s tail. Paulina thought “problem” was underselling it a bit.

One black-eyed yeti burst through the opening, only for Frostbite to slam his flesh arm into it, knocking it into another oncoming yeti. He then hit a panel on the wall and sealed the cave shut. Panting, he lumbered over to Danny, green goo staining his pristine white fur, grabbed the map-thing off the desk, and thrust it into Danny’s arms.

“Great One and friends, you must take the Infi-Map and find the Panacea.” The yeti looked down at the goo (his blood?) and groaned in pain. “I fear I shall soon turn as well.”

“Frostbite…” Danny said, reaching out one hand like he wanted to comfort him. And wasn’t it weird, to think of a ghost needing comfort?

“Great One, you do not have time to worry about me. Help me by bringing back the Panacea and saving us all. You must go now, before I lose my rationality and attack you as well.”

Danny squeezed his eyes like he was staving off tears. “Okay. I—okay. I’m sorry.”

Paulina felt bad for the dork (hero), really, but they so didn’t have time for this. She latched onto his arm and yanked him away from Frostbite, who was starting to snarl. “Thank you, Mr. Frostbite,” she said. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Everybody hang on,” Danny said, opening the map. Paulina tightened her grip as Valerie and Kwan grabbed on. “Take us to the Panacea.”

Frostbite jumped at them, teeth bared, and the map whisked them away in a green light. Paulina wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this was not it. The sudden acceleration stole a scream from her throat, and the rush of air brought tears to her eyes. The last thing she saw was Frostbite’s icy arm, outstretched, and then she could see nothing but motion.

There was nothing to do but hang on for dear life, then all of a sudden they were standing again, in a cavernous hall. Paulina wobbled on her feet, then vomited.

A hand rubbed at her back, and she turned to see Kwan, awkward half-smile on his face. “You okay?”

The hall was massive and crumbling, stone pillars in pieces. A mosaic pattern tiled the floor, and she looked up to see a perfect reflection in the roof, except for a couple of holes where the swirling Ghost Zone peeked through.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Except for, you know.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, that.” She bent over and spat a couple times, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. She’d lost her water bottle sometime in the multiple life threatening situations they’d been in in the past 4 or so hours, so saliva was her best option. “We weren’t supposed to be here. We were supposed to just sit there in that frozen wasteland and be safe. I can’t do this, Kwan.”

“But you have to, now,” Valerie said. Her voice was firm, but not unkind. “We’re all here, and there’s no half-assing this like you half-ass school, alright?”

“Excuse you?”

“We both know you could do just fine in school if you tried, Polly! You’re smart, girl. And we need smart on this mission, not smart trying to be stupid.”

Paulina stared for just a moment, then laughed. “Girl, that was the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever heard.”

Valerie rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile. “At least it was a compliment.”

“Setting our bar real low here, huh?”

“Paulina, when my dad lost his job, you all dumped me as soon as you heard. I lost everything, and then I lost all my friends. You’re damn lucky I’m not just cussing you out.”

The words were almost humorous, but there was a bite to Valerie’s tone now. Paulina couldn’t blame her.

“Listen, I wanted to say—”

“Guys!” Danny's voice echoed through the chamber. “I found something!”

Paulina swore as Valerie and Kwan both ran over to where Danny stood in front of a massive double door.

“Is that—”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “I think it’s the entrance. The trials are probably through here.”

“So,” Kwan said, pushing on the giant stone doors, “how do we—”

As he spoke, the doors lit up and slowly, slowly, rumbled open.

“Huh,” Kwan said.

It was dark inside. The glow of the Ghost Zone seemed to come to a complete halt, swallowed by whatever was beyond the threshold.

Paulina didn’t like it.

“Let’s all go through together,” Danny said.

Paulina nodded, grabbing Danny and Kwan. She couldn’t speak, her mouth suddenly dry. Why was she here? She wasn’t ready for something like this. She couldn’t save the world! Oh god, she needed to get out of here—

As one, they stepped through the door.

Kwan blinked.

“What?”

It was the Casper High cafeteria, except the Casper High cafeteria should be overrun with Pestilence’s zombies right now. But there was Dash and Paulina and Star (wasn’t Paulina back—where—what—what… day was it? Tuesday? Right, right. They had an essay due in Lancer’s class. Of course. Kwan had stayed up all night writing about… writing about…)

“Dude!” Dash said, waving Kwan over. “You ready to pummel Brantford tonight?” The last part of his sentence became a shout, directed at the whole cafeteria. Students applauded. Dash stood with one leg on his seat and one on the table, a true showman. Over in the corner, Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, and Tucker Foley rolled their eyes. Dash threw his milk carton and beaned Fenton (Danny?) in the head. Milk splashed down his head.

Something twisted in Kwan’s gut.

Dash let out a roar and ripped off his shirt, tearing it in half. The cafeteria screamed in approval.

Kwan grinned up at Dash. For all his flaws, Kwan loved this guy.

(black, black blood dripping from his mouth and eyes, Dash snarling, reaching for Kwan—)

Kwan jerked back and tore his eyes away. Dash didn’t notice as his best friend looked for the exit. Kwan’s heart pounded. It wasn’t real. Not real. Just a bad dream. Or was this…?

In the background, Valerie (his friend? not his friend? no, no, they’d dropped her because she’d lost everything, right? but no, no that was cruel, too cruel even for Dash and Paulina, that couldn’t be right) was sneaking out the door just as Danny Fenton gasped and rushed in the same direction.

Something wasn’t right.

“Hey dude,” Kwan said, “I gotta run to the bathroom.”

Dash didn’t acknowledge him. He was leading the cafeteria in the Casper High fight song.

Kwan ran after Valerie and Fenton (Danny), bursting through the cafeteria doors just in time to see them turn the corner. “Wait!” he said, sprinting toward their shadows. Rounding the corner, he saw the Red Huntress and Danny Phantom (Valerie and Fenton—Danny, Danny, it’s Danny, Danny wants to be called his name, remember that he has to remember that—it was Valerie and Danny behind the heroes, he knew that, though he wasn’t sure how he knew) fighting a ghost.

It was massive and ugly, all claws and teeth and glowing fur. Kwan couldn’t see any eyes, but he’d learned after years of dealing with ghosts that that didn’t necessarily mean that it couldn’t see. It had six legs and two jaws that opened in concert to let out an earsplitting screech.

Glowing green spittle flew out of its unholy maw and landed on Kwan’s letterman jacket. Gross.

The ghost slammed Danny into a locker with one leg and used another to pin Valerie to the ground. It lowered its face to Valerie’s, ready to take a taste.

“Hey!” Kwan said, throwing the first thing he could grab—his phone—at the ghost. It bounced harmlessly off its head, but startled the ghost enough that Valerie was able to slip out of its hold and Danny was able to knock it down. A flash of light from Danny’s thermos, and the ghost was gone.

“Are you okay?” Kwan said. Valerie’s suit retracted and Danny transformed back into Fenton. Both of them were bruised, Danny cradling his ribs, but they were upright.

“We’re fine,” Valerie said with a glare.

“Hey,” Kwan said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah, right.” Danny snorted and looked away. Kwan could still see milk in his hair.

Kwan frowned. “Look, I know it wasn’t much, but I’m just a guy! I did what I could!”

“Yeah, you did. Probably saved our lives with that phone.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You only care because we’re heroes!” Valerie got in his face so he could clearly see the bruise lining her cheek. “You wouldn’t care if we were hurt because your bestie decided he wanted a punching bag. Helping the Red Huntress and Danny Phantom isn’t a risk to you. It makes you a hero! You’re so cool for helping to save the day. But you’d never help Valerie and Danny because what if someone saw ?”

“That’s not…”

“Face it, Kwan. You’re a coward. Always will be.”

Then they were gone, and Kwan was alone in the middle of a destroyed hallway.

“Kwan,” Dash said, “we need you to be on your a-game for this. They’ve got a real beast on their D-line, and you’re the only one with a chance of keeping him off me. I don’t wanna spend the whole game with my ass on the grass, so I’m counting on you, okay?”

Kwan blinked. They were huddled on the field, in full pads. Dash was giving the pre-game directions. It was gametime. Wasn’t it lunchtime? Or… was he… what?

“Kwan!”

“Uh, yeah! Yes. I’ve got it. Big guy, coming right at me. Yep.”

Was he going crazy? Something was wrong. Something other than what Valerie and Danny had said to him.

(And it was wrong, it had to be. He wasn’t a coward. He faced scary stuff all the time—a hazard of living in Amity Park. He couldn’t be a coward.)

The nameless d-lineman stared him down, eyes black as pitch behind the grill of his helmet. Kwan took a deep breath as he lined up against him. He could do this. This was easy. He was made for this.

A flash of green in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned his head just as Dash hiked the ball, and his mark blew right past him, laying Dash on the ground while Kwan stood, dumbly staring at the green he knew had to signal another ghost attack.

“Kwan!” Dash ignored the hand offered by one of the other offensive linemen. “What the hell, dude?”

Kwan jerked back. “What?” He took in the scene: Dash, with a clump of grass stuck in his helmet and dirt on his jersey. The ball, being moved backward by the referee. His teammates, glaring at him. “Oh. Oh, sorry. Just—I think there’s a ghost over there?” He pointed at the green light.

“So?” Dash said. “There’s always a ghost. Leave it for Huntress or Phantom to deal with. We’ve got a game!”

“Yeah. Yeah!” Danny and Valerie could totally handle it. They were heroes. It’s what they did. And football was what Kwan did. Division of labor and all that stuff.

And the thing is that Kwan was really good at football. He was the best left tackle in the state, easy. His coach said he could be the next Tony Boselli—though, hopefully without the injuries. With his mind on the game, no one got even close to Dash before he’d thrown the ball.

The forest glowed again. Kwan ignored it. There were eight minutes left on the clock for the second quarter.

A piercing scream floated over the field. Kwan turned to see Valerie, in her Red Huntress gear, slam into the ground head-first before being dragged back into the woods like a limp puppet.

“Oh shit.” This was bad. Valerie was hurt, bad. She wasn’t half-ghost like Danny. She was just a person. She needed medical care, and fast.

Could Kwan help?

Should Kwan help?

Kwan shook his head. Head injuries were no joke; he’d heard it from Coach often enough. Valerie needed help, and she needed it now. There was no time to wait for someone else to realize the problem.

He turned to leave the field.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dash said, catching his arm just as he reached the sideline.

“She’s hurt,” Kwan said. “She needs help.”

“We have a fucking game to play.” Dash’s fingers curled in the grill of Kwan’s helmet and jerking him around so their helmets clacked together. This close, Kwan could see the faint line of Dash’s eyelashes, the bright blue of his eyes. He thought about apologizing. He thought about kissing him.

How long had he been in love with his best friend? More importantly, how long had he let his best friend be an asshole because he loved him?

“I’m an idiot,” Kwan said.

“You don’t hear me arguing! Now get back on the damn field.”

“No.” Kwan almost continued, almost listed everything wrong with Dash, all the times he’d put everyone else around him down, all the people he’d hurt, how he’d hurt Kwan, even, but Dash would never, ever hear him. He knew that now. “I’m outta here,” he said instead, ripping off his helmet and sprinting toward where he’d last seen Valerie and Danny.

The world vanished.

Kwan blinked, and he was back in the chamber, staring at Valerie, Danny, and Paulina. “A test of courage…” he said to himself.

It was just like the room they first came into: a little more together, more whole, but otherwise almost identical. Across the room was another massive set of double doors. He turned around and saw the door, the first chamber beyond it. He’d barely stepped inside. It couldn’t have been more than a second or two.

“Yeah,” Valerie said with an eye roll, “that’s what we’ve been say—”

Kwan cut her off by sweeping her up in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that I never stuck up for you. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that I was too scared to help you even when I knew it was wrong.”

Valerie froze, stiff in his arms. “What?”

“You were right, this whole time. I was a coward and a jerk and I’m sorry.”

Kwan could feel Danny and Paulina’s eyes on him, but for right now, all his focus was on Valerie.

“What the hell are you—”

“I was a really terrible friend to you. We all were. You were hurting and we all made it worse.”

Valerie pulled back. “You’re serious. This… you mean this.”

“Yeah. I mean it more than anything I’ve ever said to you before.

“You—do you think I’ll forgive you? Just like that?”

Kwan let her go. “No. You always could hold a grudge.” He looked her in the eye. “I still needed to say it.”

Valerie nodded, a rough jerk of her head. “Okay. Just so we’re clear. Not forgiven.” She looked off-balance and confused. It figured, since Kwan had very much just dropped this on her with no warning. Whatever vision he’d received, it seemed like it was limited to him and only him.

“That’s okay. Let me know if it changes?”

Valerie stared at him for a long moment, brow furrowed, before it smoothed and one corner of her lips curled in a smile. “Whatever.”

Kwan grinned. “I’ll get there.”

Paulina coughed. “Uh, not to break up a tender moment, but can we save it for after we get the magic potion?”

“Unfortunately, Paulina’s right,” Danny said. “Not that this isn’t great, but we need to figure out the test of courage. We’re running out of time.”

Kwan was pretty sure he’d already seen it, but he didn’t even know where to begin with explaining. Instead, he said, “Danny! You, too! I was also a jerk to you, when you didn’t deserve it and I knew you didn’t deserve it. I’m so sorry about that. I wanted to be liked but I—”

“Woah woah woah,” Danny said. “I… appreciate it, but we really don’t have the time right now, dude.”

“No. No, see, this is exactly the time. I think this is my test, okay? Well, some of it. Part two, or whatever. Part one was this weird vision thing that I had to go through like some kinda fucked up dream. And I think part two is—well, bringing it into the real world.” Obviously, he couldn’t bring the ghost attack and the football game into this real world, but realizing he was wrong? Taking responsibility?

He could do that.

“How is apologizing to us a test of courage?” Danny said, head tilted in confusion.

“I was scared of… something really fucking dumb, now that I think about it. And I hurt people because of it.” Kwan glanced at Paulina, who was looking anywhere but his face. “I’m not going to let it control me anymore. And I’m sorry that I ever did.”

Silence for a moment, like the room was holding its breath, then the entire chamber began to shake. The doors at the end of the room swung open and revealed another pitch black unknown beyond them.

“Wait. That was it?” Paulina said. “You’re telling me the Ghost King couldn’t get through these trials, but Kwan did it by saying I’m sorry?”

“Woo!” Kwan said, pumping his fists in the air. Take that, Mr. Lancer’s final exam. Who was going to achieve nothing in life now? Not Kwan, he passed the Trial of Courage. Official and capitalized. Helping to save the world and all that shit.

“Well, let’s not look this particular gift horse in the mouth. Are we all ready for the next chamber?” Danny said.

Paulina coughed. “Hang on, does anyone have a breath mint? My mouth still tastes nasty.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kwan fished in his pocket and held out a stick of gum.

“Thanks.”

“Ooh, can I have some?” Danny said.

“Sure, dude!” He grabbed three more sticks of gum, handed on to Danny, who grinned, stuck one in his mouth, and held out the last one for Valerie. “Val? You want in on this?”

Valerie stared at the gum like she thought it might bite her. “Yeah,” she said after a moment. She took the gum with her thumb and forefinger, delicately. “Yeah, okay. Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Let’s get a move on.”

As they headed for the inky blackness at the far end of the room, Kwan felt something grab his arm. He whirled around to see Danny, hand curled around Kwan’s elbow.

“Thank you,” Danny said, “for, y’know.”

“The gum?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not—I meant for apologizing.”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah. Honestly, should have done it forever ago. Just kept coming up with excuses, y’know?” Kwan laughed. “An apology was really the bare minimum.”

Danny let go of his arm and started walking again. “You’d be surprised. I can’t remember the last time anyone apologized for hurting me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Dude, that’s messed—”

They crossed the threshold.

Paulina was much more confident going into the next chamber. These trials were easy! If all Kwan had to do was apologize, then compassion was probably something like saving a kitten and truth was something like—well, she was less sure about that one. Maybe just telling a secret? Or something?

Except—something was different. Last time, they’d walked in and immediately the chamber had brightened. Kwan apparently had some weird vision as part of his trial, of course, but none of that happened.

Instead, it was still pitch black, and she could no longer feel Valerie’s arm where she’d latched on, or Kwan’s hand. “Guys?” she said, and her voice was swallowed by the void. “Hello?”

“—see her haircut?—”

“—the look on his—”

“—honestly thought I liked her!”

Paulina’s voice, first a whisper, then louder and louder until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. Her laughter, shrill and piercing, reverberated through the space. She pressed her hands over her ears, but it did nothing to block out the noise. Her head started to pound and hot tears leaked out of her eyes.

“Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” She was sure she yelled the words, but she still couldn’t hear over her own laughter.

“Why? Why should I stop?”

“It hurts. It hurts!”

“Aw, but that’s never stopped you before!”

It was so loud. A sudden, sharp pain in her ear and she could feel warm liquid on the hand covering it.

“Please! Please! I’ll do anything!”

Suddenly, silence. Paulina fell to the floor with relief. She pulled her hands away from her head; the right one was wet and smelled of metal. Liquid dripped from her ear—had it started to bleed?

“Anything?”

“Yes! Yes, please!”

“Entertain me!”

“I—what?”

In front of her, stark against the black of the room, Valerie appeared, then Danny, then Mikey, then Sam Manson, then Tucker Foley, more and more and more of her classmates, standing and blinking in confusion at her.

But she was with Valerie and—or was she? But Manson was definitely not—this couldn’t be real. Was this real? She stared at her hand. Was she real?

“Paulina?” Valerie said. She sounded like she was underwater. The black of the room turned into a hallway. Casper High. It was—Friday. There was a football game she had to cheer for. She needed total focus for that. If only the stupid voice would leave her alone.

“I said entertain me!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Valerie stared at her. “It’s your name, girl. Are you okay?”

“Make jokes! Like you always do. I gave you your material and everything!”

Material? Paulina looked at the crowd, and realized that all of them were… well, losers. The voice just wanted her to make fun of them?

Nothing she hadn’t done before.

“I’m better than you, apparently,” Paulina said, ignoring the pit in her stomach. “What were you thinking with that outfit?” It was a dumb, dumb comment. Low effort. It was just—in that moment, Paulina couldn’t think of anything to mock. Nothing about Valerie seemed worth jeering at.

Valerie looked down at her—admittedly, fine—shirt and frowned. “Jesus. What is your prob—your ear’s bleeding!”

Sure enough, pus and blood painted the palm of Paulina’s hand, and she could still feel something rolling down her neck.

(“Still”? When did this happen?)

“We need to get you to the nurse’s office,” Manson said, crouching down beside her. Why was Paulina on the floor?

“Oh,” she said. Manson offered her a hand up, and she took it. “Thank you. Sorry, Valerie. Your shirt’s fine.”

A piercing screech, metal on metal, filled the air. Paulina doubled over, hands back over her ears.

“That wasn’t funny, Polly!”

She could feel hands on her arms, but her eyes were squeezed shut and she could hear nothing but the voice and its (her) hideous laughter.

“You just want me to be mean!”

“Duh! Mean is funny, right?”

Paulina opened her eyes just enough to see Valerie, Manson, Foley, and Danny in front of her, concern in the lines of their faces. Danny’s mouth was moving.

“Look! It’s the little tech weirdo. He names all his phones. Like, unironically.” Foley stood up and directed other students away. Danny moved past her to do the same on the other side of the hallway. “Or the ghost kid. His parents were already freaks, and now he’s an extra special kind of freak. Easy money.”

“Please. Please just stop.”

“Entertain me, and I will. Tit-for-tat, babe.”

Paulina felt a sob jump out of her throat. Why wasn’t she just doing it? It hurt so bad. She’d do anything for it to stop.

So why wasn’t she doing this?

“I don’t want to!” she wailed. What she must sound like. What she must look like. Surrounded by people who had every reason to hate her, bleeding and crying and talking to nothing. “Pick something else!”

“But you do it all the time.”

“I change my mind, then!”

Was it that simple? All along? Could she just—change her mind? Be a better person?

“No you don’t.”

“I don’t want to hurt people anymore!”

The noise, somehow, got louder. Paulina vomited. Something wet trickled from her other ear. She wanted this to end. But she didn’t want to hurt people to do it. Why did she only get two options?

“So you’ll get hurt instead?”

“No!” She curled in on herself, falling back to her knees and closing her eyes again. “You’re choosing to hurt me. You could choose not to!”

“And, what? That’ll make it better? You’ll forgive me and we’ll be best friends?”

If Paulina could think clearly, if she could do anything beyond speak the first thing that sprung to her lips, she might have lied. She might have said “Of course I’ll forgive you” so the stupid voice might listen to her. This, however, was not a choice she had the brainpower to make right now.

Instead, she said: “Of course not! You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Then why should I?”

“Because I’m a person and it hurts!”

“You’re a little late to that realization, querida. Wasn’t Valerie a person when you ditched her? Do you think you can be Valerie’s friend again after this? That you can prove yourself to her or something?”

“I can’t fix it! But I can stop making it worse!”

The noise stopped. Blessed silence returned.

Paulina looked up through tear-blurred eyes and saw Valerie, Danny, and Kwan crouched over her. She couldn’t hear past the ringing in her ears

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her throat ached. She must have been yelling, before. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

The exhaustion hit her all at once. Her ears pulsed with pain as she continued to babble apologies. The ground shook beneath her and Kwan caught her before she could topple over. A hand rubbed at her back, soothing circles, and she curled into Kwan’s chest.

“Think ‘m gon’ sleep, now, mkay?” she said, and then she was out.

“Holy shit,” Danny said, collapsing next to Paulina and Kwan and brushing the hair out of her face. “Is she—is she okay?”

Kwan held his fingers over her wrists. “I think so. Her ears are bleeding, though.”

“What happened?” Valerie said. “Your trial wasn’t anything like this!”

“I don’t know! It’s not like I’m an expert.”

“Stop yelling,” Paulina said, shifting against Kwan’s chest. “I can’t really hear you anyway.”

“Polly!” Kwan said, naked relief on his face. “Are you okay?”

Paulina pointed to her ears. “I can’t hear you, querido. My ears—it was really loud. In the trial.”

Dried blood still stained her neck. Danny had a feeling that “really loud” was an understatement.

In halting sentences, Paulina explained her trial. The voice, the laughter, the deal for making the pain stop. Danny was impressed; he wasn’t sure he would have withstood it, in her position. He could understand, now, how Pariah wouldn’t have made it through the trials.

They asked questions throughout, which Paulina couldn’t hear. It got a little better when they spoke slower and enunciated, but it would be a struggle until her ears healed, Danny feared.

“Let’s go over what we know,” Danny said, counting off on his fingers. “One, in both of the trials, only one person was picked to do the trial. Two, neither of you remembered it was a trial while it was happening, right?”

Kwan and Paulina both shook their heads, though Paulina winced as she did it. “It felt real,” Kwan said. “Like—I knew something was wrong, but whenever I tried to focus on that wrongness, it vanished.”

“I knew it was a trial at first,” Paulina said, throat scratchy, “but when it got too loud, I couldn’t really think straight. Then I was in school, and I completely forgot about the trial thing, even though the noise was still there. I forgot it wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Danny wanted to apologize to Paulina, for getting her involved in this, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t exactly appreciate it. She looked rough. Dried tear-streaks on her face that she hadn’t wiped off yet, hair a mess like she tried to rip it out, blood trails from her ears. They were pretty sure she’d burst both eardrums during her trial.

(It was a little over-the-top, Danny thought, to torture someone in a trial of compassion. Paulina had her flaws, sure, but that didn’t mean she needed to be hurt to learn a lesson. Kwan’s trial had really lulled them all into a false sense of security.)

(He could see, now, why Pariah Dark could never make it through.)

“Three, the trials seem to pick people on purpose.” His eyes slid over to Kwan and Paulina. “I think it picks based on those who… struggle the most with the thing the trial is all about.”

“Huh?” Paulina said. Right. She could only kind of hear right now.

“He said the trials picked us because I’m a coward and you’re mean.”

Danny winced. “That’s not—”

“Oh. Well, duh.”

“So, if truth’s next, it’ll be you, right?” Valerie said, looking Danny up and down.

“Hey!”

“You’re the one with the big secrets here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you forget that you have a secret identity, too?” Danny felt like Valerie was probably right, all things considered. His secret was, ultimately, way bigger than hers.

Still, she was getting on his nerves. He’d known she had a grudge against ghosts, especially him, but this was getting ridiculous. For fuck’s sake, she’d worked better with him on Skulker’s island, when she thought he was a full ghost.

“No, but my dad knows all about it. And so did you, apparently, though you lied about that, too.”

“Oh, wow, two whole people. Except that I told your dad, not you. And you never told me anything! I happened to find out on my own.”

“Uh, guys?” Kwan said.

Valerie rolled her eyes. “Okay, yeah. But we broke up because I didn’t want to endanger you. And now it turns out you can take care of yourself just fine!”

“Oh, so if you knew I was half dead, we’d still be together? That’s my fault now?”

“Of course we wouldn’t. But I lied to you to protect you. You lied to me to protect yourself!”

“Yeah! I did! Now think for, like, two seconds about what I needed protection from!”

“Guys!” Kwan said. “Could you stop?”

“You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it will be me. But not because I lie more than you. Maybe these tests are meant for humans only.”

Danny felt his eyes flash green. “So that’s what this is about? You hate me because I’m a freak?”

“I hate you because—”

“Okay!” Kwan said, jumping between them. “I think this conversation needs to stop immediately, before you both say… even more things you will regret. Valerie, dude, I know we’re just now trying to maybe be friends again, but as your maybe-future friend: you’ve gotta lay off.”

Danny stared and blinked at Kwan a couple times. Was Kwan… defending him?

“You’re taking his side?”

“Yeah, I am. I think you both need to cool down, but you’re wrong about this. And I think you know it, too.”

Valerie huffed. “I’m not wrong.”

Danny was so, so tired. “Okay.” He turned away and walked over to Paulina, who was still on the ground, and offered her a hand.

She stared up at him before grabbing on and pulling herself up. “She is wrong. She’s just… stubborn.”

Danny sighed. “You heard all that?”

“Bits and pieces. I got the gist. Hey, do you think the Panacea will fix my ears?” Danny opened his mouth to reply, but Paulina kept talking. “Never mind. What I mean is: sorry you had to hear that. I know you care about her, you know? It must really suck to hear this stuff from her in particular.”

“Yeah, I knew she wouldn’t take it well, but I didn’t think she’d take it this badly. I mean, she was okay with Danielle!”

“I’ll be real with you, I only caught like half of that, but, uh, who’s Danielle?”

Oh, duh. Danny smacked himself in the face. “Right, sorry. Danielle’s my half-ghost cousin. Well, we call each other cousins, but technically she’s my clone. She’s her own person, and all that but—yeah. Anyway, the guy who cloned her is also a giant asshole and he was planning to melt her down to study her remains, but Valerie helped me save her.” This time, he spoke a bit louder, and made sure to enunciate so Paulina could try to read his lips too.

“Dude. You have a clone?”

“Yeah.”

“Someone cloned you?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck?”

Danny laughed. “Yeah, that’s about right. He’s a real fruitloop, that Vlad.”

“Hang on—not Vlad Masters?”

Danny laughed harder. “Yep!”

“What the fuck, babe!”

“You’re telling me.”

“Why?”

Danny started to answer, then thought better of it. It was, after all, a long story, and he had a feeling that, although she was great at faking it, Paulina was still only catching parts of what he said. “I’ll tell you when your ears are better,” he said, tugging on his own then pointing at hers to make his point clearer.

Paulina rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that! This is some juicy, juicy gossip”—Danny flashed her a panicked look—“that I will take to my grave and never speak of again.”

Paulina kept talking as they rejoined Kwan and Valerie. Mostly jokes about how he should change his ghostly outfit (“Seriously, querido, you’d look great in a crop-top!”) or about him out-gothing Sam (“You went and died! Manson will never be that hardcore.”).

Maybe he and Paulina could be friends after this.

Valerie was sure she was right.

She was sure she was right as she and Kwan waited in stony silence for Paulina and—for the others to join them. She was sure she was right as they walked in a group, the other three linking arms while she refused Kwan’s hand. She was sure she was right as they crossed into the black.

She was less sure when the room stayed dark.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” she said. She worried at her lip for a moment, then yelled, “I’m the Red Huntress! Is that the truth this thing wants?”

“Uh, yeah,” Danny said. “I already know that, Val.”

Valerie grinned, just a little. It wasn’t like anyone could see her, and the fact that he was here, too? Vindicating. “Well, look at that. It’s both of us!”

“Yeah? It’s both of us. Together. In some strange room. In the dark.”

“Okay, well I said my big truth. You say yours.”

“What? Why?”

“We need to get through this trial, dumbass!”

“Trial?”

“Yeah, the truth trial. Obviously we’re both in it—wait. You don’t know it’s a trial! Ha, then this is totally your trial and I just got pulled in for… reasons. I knew it!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why is it so dark? Where are we?”

Valerie waved him off, though he couldn’t see it. “Oh, that’s not important. What is important is that you need to tell the truth. Probably to me, which is why I’m here.” Yeah, that made sense. He needed to tell the truth about how he’d hurt her, how he’d hurt everyone, how he’d played hero to earn his fawning fans. He needed to stop pretending to be something he wasn’t. And she was here because she deserved to hear it directly from him.

“What truth? Again, Val, what are you talking about?”

“Stop calling me Val. We’re not friends.”

“What do you—”

“Did the trial make you forget? I know you’re a ghost.”

“Oh.”

“I destroy ghosts.”

“But… But I’m also a human.”

“You’re a liar, is what you are.”

“For good reason.”

“No, I’m a liar for good reason. You’re just a coward!”

There was a long moment of silence where Valerie could only hear her own heaving breaths. Then, softly: “Wouldn’t you be?”

“No!”

“Really? You wouldn’t be the slightest bit afraid that people would try to kill you?”

“No one would kill you.”

“You said you know I’m a ghost and then immediately threatened to destroy me.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Oh? How was I supposed to take ‘I destroy ghosts’ then? A joke?”

“Stop trying to turn this around on me. You’re the one who needs to tell the truth!”

“What truth? You already know the secret!”

“I’m talking about the rest of it! How you lie and manipulate people, how you fake being a hero, how you ruined my life!”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes.”

“Is that really what you think?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Gah! It’s impossible to talk to you about this shit.” There was a rustling sound, like he was walking away.

“Hang on! You can’t walk away; you still need to complete your trial!” She ran to where she heard him moving, tripped, and then she was falling, falling, falling…

…and landing with a thud in the same black void.

“She’s a ghost! And I destroy ghosts.”

“But she’s also a human!”

Was that… her? Back when they had been talking about Danielle. Danielle, who was human and ghost and just a little girl. Valerie and—they had saved her from Vlad, who was also human and ghost.

“Was this a trick, too? Was Danielle a liar, too?” she yelled. No answer. “Where the hell did you go? We aren’t done here!”

“Valerie?”

Valerie twitched. That voice—

There, bright and glowing against the blackness of the room, was Danielle.

“Valerie!” Danielle said with a grin, flying forward and giving her a hug. Valerie returned it with stiff arms.

“Hey, you… Uh, I’m looking for your… cousin. Do you know where he is?”

“Danny? No, I haven’t seen him in ages. I’m kinda off exploring the world, y’know? Anyway, how’ve you been?”

“I’m—good. Look, I really need to find him.”

Danielle floated up and shrugged. “Well, he’s not here, but I can help you look.”

Valerie nodded. “Thanks, kid. And, uh, would you mind changing back to human?”

“Huh?” Danielle landed on whatever passed for the ground in this featureless void. “Why?”

“It’s just—uncomfortable, is all.”

Something strange passed across Danielle’s face.

“Oh. Well, I mean, I’ll be a lot faster if I can fly.”

Valerie clenched her fists. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

Danielle’s answering smile was tense as she lifted herself through the air. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Wait, if you leave how will”—Danielle zoomed away with an impressive burst of speed—“we find each other. Great.” Valerie groaned and slumped to the ground. “They just keep running away, huh?”

“Yeah,” Star said, “I wonder why that is.”

Star and Valerie were on a hill, watching the stars. Star was really good at finding constellations, seeing connections where Valerie saw points, seeing a picture where Valerie saw light pollution, so stargazing was always fun with her. She’d always loved space because of her name, she said. She wanted to know all about what she was named after.

The moon was full and bright. Valerie could see Star clearly, half-swallowed by the long grass. It was a cool, pleasant night. Peaceful, in all the ways Valerie was not.

(She was looking for someone. To do… something.)

“It’s ‘cause they know I’m right,” Valerie said.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you need to be less sure.”

“What are you—”

And Valerie was falling again.

Detention with Lancer. Never fun, not even when he kicked his feet up and fell asleep. She and Phantom had both gotten it for skipping class to fight ghosts. The ghost himself was sitting in the back of the class, balancing his pencil on his nose and staring out the window.

After a long moment of silence, Phantom said, “You don’t have any questions for me?”

“Already know all the answers.”

“Oh yeah? Then why’d I fight Pariah Dark?”

“For attention.”

“I thought I would die.” Phantom’s tone was light, conversational. This isn’t a big deal to him, just a fact. “Like, all the way. I thought that suit was gonna kill me if Pariah didn’t kill me first.”

“You’re lying.”

The pencil fell to the desk with a clatter. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Whenever I say anything you can’t argue against, you just claim I’m lying.”

“It’s because you’re a liar,” Valerie said without thinking.

“See! There you go again. Not addressing my actual point, just deflecting.”

Valerie opened her mouth to refute again, then paused. Calling the ghost a liar had become reflex. She didn’t have to think about anything he said if it was all a lie, after all. Then again… “But you did lie to me.”

“Yeah. I’ve been lying to everyone for years now.”

“So why should I trust you?”

Phantom shrugged. “Have I ever hurt anyone?”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t start.”

“You could say the same thing about literally anyone, though.”

“You ruined my life!”

“You told me you liked being a ghost hunter. That you like your life as it is right now. Was that a lie?”

Valerie grit her teeth. “No.”

“Then why are you so upset with me?”

“Because you lied!” Valerie yanked her hair in frustration. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Not because I’m a ghost?”

“No!”

Valerie gasped even as the word came out of her mouth. Lancer grumbled in his sleep at the front of the classroom and shifted to the side. Phantom grinned at her, showing off the fangs in his mouth.

“Wait, no, that’s not… I’m also mad because of the ghost thing! Ghosts are evil.”

“Am I evil?”

Yes, she wanted to say, but her lips wouldn’t form the word.

“Is Danielle evil?”

Danielle, screaming, dissolving into goo, and Valerie put her there—

“No.”

“Are you angry? Or are you using anger to cover the hurt?”

“I—I’m not—”

And Valerie was falling again.

“One of these days, ghost,” Jack Fenton said, shaking his fist, “I’m going to catch you and rip you apart molecule by molecule!”

“She’s a ghost!” Valerie said. “And I destroy ghosts!”

“Ghosts are nothing but the imprint of a human consciousness manifesting in ectoplasm after death,” Maddie Fenton said, shocking the ghost on her table as it screamed. “They don’t actually feel anything.”

And then—

Frostbite slammed the door closed, even though he got infected. Even though he was a full ghost and shouldn’t have cared about them at all.

And Danielle flew away, young and eager to explore the world. A child, who’d never really been free before.

And Danny—

Danny laughing with her. Danny hiding with her from Dash and Nathan. Danny forgiving her for being mean in school. Danny begging her to help him save Danielle (a child, who’d done nothing wrong and Valerie had given her away to a man who would destroy her). Danny, just as invested in protecting that stupid flour sack for their grade. Danny, revealing her to her dad, smug little grin on his face. Danny, who could’ve died that day and no one would have ever known what he’d done for them.

Something ached in her heart.

“No,” she said, choking on a sob, as the scenery around her changed again. “No, I can’t be this wrong.”

She was in a lab, now. Jack and Maddie Fenton stood to her left. To her right stood two GiW agents. On the table in front of her, strapped down, was Phantom.

Was Danny.

“Ms. Gray,” one of the agents said, “we were so pleased when you brought us your capture. Such a unique specimen will fuel our research for decades.”

Valerie swallowed. Danny stared at her, uncanny green eyes boring into her own. He didn’t say anything.

“Decades?” she said.

“Of course! We’ll take it slow; we wouldn’t want to destroy it before we’ve learned everything we can. Not like some people.” He looked over at Jack and Maddie, who rubbed their heads sheepishly.

Decades. Decades as a test subject. If Danny was just a ghost, it shouldn’t matter. He couldn’t feel anything.

Right?

Valerie couldn’t look away from his face. He looked scared.

“No,” she said. Her fingers clenched into fists

“Hm?” the other agent said.

“No, I won’t let you do this. It… This isn’t right!” With every word she spoke, she became more sure.

Danny was afraid. It wasn’t a lie or an act. He was really, truly afraid.

“Valerie?” Maddie said. “Dear, you know it’s not a person, right? It can’t actually feel.”

“You’re wrong!” She stepped forward, pulled out her gun, and blasted away the restraints holding Danny down. “I’ve been wrong, too. This whole time.”

“It’s out!” one agent said, pulling his ectogun and firing. “Recapture maneuvers, now!”

“What did you do?” Jack grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. Danny flew around the room, avoiding the ectoblasts from the agents and Maddie. “What did you do?”

“The right thing,” she whispered. And she knew that, this time, she was correct, and it hit like a bullet to the chest.

Then she was soaring, ripped out of Jack’s grasp, flying through walls and agents until she was outside the building, in Danny’s arms, free.

He set her down on a rooftop across the city. “Thank you,” he said. “I couldn’t—”

Heaving sobs burst out of her. “I’m sorry! God, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“I—Huh?”

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “I just didn’t want to admit it. For so long, Danny.”

“Are you okay?”

Valerie laughed. “No. I’ve been convincing myself that I was right and ghosts were all evil all the time because if they weren’t… if they weren’t, then what was I even doing?”

Danny’s face, inexplicably, softened. “Val—”

“And then I found out your secret, and all I could think was that you lied. That you didn’t trust me. And I knew why! But if I acknowledged it, then I had to acknowledge everything. All the—all the ways I hurt you. What if I hurt other ghosts that did—didn’t deserve it either?” Valerie hiccuped. “I—oh, God, I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster. You’re human. This is the kind of mistake that humans make. Me included.”

“I would have let Vlad destroy Danielle if you didn’t talk me out of it. I would have been fine with it!”

“But you didn’t. Don’t torture yourself over things you didn’t do. It doesn’t help anything.”

Valerie’s throat was sore, aching with each new sob, but she couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry. I made you a liar in my head so I could keep lying to myself. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Danny’s arms circled around her, and she let her head hit his shoulder.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Kwan didn’t expect Valerie to come back crying.

He’d kind of figured she’d get the trial. She’d been so sure it would be Danny that Kwan thought it had to be her. Like, cosmically or whatever. And after Paulina’s… whatever that was, he knew it would more than likely be intense. But ever since her dad had lost his job, Valerie had lost her softness, too. She didn’t cry when she was upset anymore. Instead, she got angry. She got even.

But when the light flashed on, Valerie was huddled on the floor, hugging herself, sobs heaving from her chest. Her face was dark and splotchy, dark stains of mascara trailing down her cheeks. Time was Kwan would have run to her, put his arms around her, rocked her back and forth. But this wasn’t that Valerie, and he wasn’t that Kwan.

He walked slowly, and knelt beside her.

“Valerie?”

“Oh God,” she said, choking through her sobs. “I—I really messed up.”

Kwan couldn’t help but turn his head and stare at Danny, holding Paulina up across the room. If she meant what he thought she meant… well, he couldn’t exactly argue.

“Yeah,” he said. She looked at him, tears still dripping from her eyes. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Valerie lifted a shaking hand and wiped at her eyes and cheeks and chin. “Ugh, nasty.” She looked tired more than anything. “Yeah. Yeah, I gotta do something, right?”

“You should probably start with walking. I don’t think he’s gonna come to you.”

Kwan stood with her, holding her elbow as her knees started to tremble. He glanced over her real quick, looking for any injuries like Paulina’s, but whatever had messed her up seemed to be more mental than anything.

That didn’t stop her from almost collapsing when she took her first step, grabbing on to Kwan’s hand at the last moment.

“Val!” Danny said, making an aborted gesture like he wanted to come over to help.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Just give me a sec.”

Kwan didn’t quite buy it, but she was determined. He kept his arm out, just in case she fell, but with each step she became steadier, almost normal by the time she reached Danny and Paulina.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wrong about you. About everything. And I knew it, see, but I didn’t want to face it. So I just kept lying to myself. And I hurt you because of it. And I’m sorry.”

Danny froze, staring at Valerie in disbelief. “Oh,” he said.

Kwan looked over at the door at the far end of the chamber. He awaited the tell-tale rumble, the sign that they’d finished the last trial and the door was opening, but nothing came. Confused, he stared at Valerie, who shook her head.

“I don’t think I’m done just yet,” she said, sitting down in front of Danny. “I’ve done a lot of talking since this started. Said a lot of things… things that I regret. I haven’t listened, much. I think I need to listen, now.”

“Listen to what?” Danny said. “Like, what am I supposed to say?”

“Anything you wanted to tell me.” Tears spilled over her eyes again and her voice broke. “I’ll believe you. I swear.”

Danny laughed, just a little. “Even if I said the sky was green?”

Valerie pointed at one of the holes in the ceiling that revealed the swirling Ghost Zone outside. “Isn’t it?” she said.

Kwan couldn’t help but laugh at that, too, just as Danny and Valerie fell into giggles. Paulina mostly looked confused, but Kwan didn’t really have a good way to explain it to her right now. He waved her off.

“Well, I guess—Vlad’s a half-ghost, too. I thought you should know that.”

“Oh, uh, I already did. Know that, I mean”

“You did?”

Kwan held up his hands before they could get any deeper into that discussion. “Wait, wait—the mayor?”

“Yeah. He wants to kill my dad, marry my mom, and make me his evil half-ghost apprentice. So. It’s uncomfortable at best but sometimes I egg his house.”

“You egg his house?”

“After he cloned me, I figured all bets were off.”

“He cloned you?”

“Jesus, is that where Danielle came from?”

“Who’s Danielle?”

“My cousin. Well, technically, yes, she’s my clone, but that’s weird so we just call each other cousins.”

“Yeah,” Kwan said, feeling faint, “that makes the situation much less weird.”

Danny shrugged. “It’s just my life, dude. You get used to it.”

“Hang on,” Valerie said. “I don’t think we can gloss over the fact that Vlad Masters wants to murder your father, marry your mother, forcibly adopt you, and clone you, and the proportional response is egging his house?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “It’s not proportional but I’m not rich enough to do much more than be petty. If I reveal his identity to anyone then he’ll reveal me, too. Mutually Assured Destruction, and all that. Only so much I can do outside of that.”

“Okay. Okay. Shit. This is crazy. I hate this.”

“Tell me about it. How did you know Vlad was a ghost, anyway?”

“Oh, uh, I flew back to check on him after Danielle. And he was. Monologuing.”

Danny laughed again. “Of course he was. He’s such a little loser. You know his cat?”

“Yeah, Maddie—oh shit, that’s your mother’s name.”

(What the fuck, Kwan thought. What the fuck the mayor was so creepy.)

“Yeah, heh, well, the cat was my idea.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I told him he was so lonely and pathetic that he should stop trying to get my mom to love him since she never would and instead fill that hole with a cat. I still can’t believe he listened to me.”

They broke down into laughter again. Kwan thought it sounded a little hysterical, but he figured they deserved to go a little crazy.

After they calmed down a bit, Valerie wiped at her eyes. “What else?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, is there anything else you want to say to me? Stuff to tell me?”

(Kwan actually wanted to spend a little more time on the whole the mayor is an evil ghost thing, but this wasn’t his show.)

And Danny talked.

He talked about walking into his parents’ portal, thinking it was broken. About turning it on while he was still inside. About how much he sucked with his powers to start. About Ember McClain (she’s a ghost?) and Spectra (she’s a ghost?) and the Lunch Lady. About how scared he was, fighting Pariah Dark. About how much fun it was to fly. How funny it was to mess with Vlad.

Sometime, in the middle of all this, the door opened. Kwan and Paulina both felt the rumble, both looked at the door, but Valerie and Danny were too engrossed in their conversation to notice. Paulina opened her mouth to say something, but Kwan shook his head. The fate of the world didn’t rest on them moving immediately. Thirty more seconds wouldn’t matter.

After another minute, Paulina raised her eyebrows at him, jerking her head at the door. Kwan bit back an instinctive retort. She wouldn’t hear it anyway, and she wasn’t wrong. They couldn’t wait forever.

“Uh, guys?” he said, when there was a slight lull. “Not to interrupt, but the door’s open.”

Valerie and Danny’s head whipped around. “Oh,” Valerie said. “Right.”

Kwan winced. They’d been having a good time! Getting along! He’d been hoping for that since the beginning of this mess and now that they were there, he had to break the tender moment up. Unfair.

Necessary, but unfair.

“We’re done, right?” Danny said. “I mean, this last one should be the Panacea?”

“Should be,” Valerie said. “Unless we fucked up somehow. Or that legend was wrong.”

Kwan peered beyond the opening, but just like every other time, it was pitch black. They’d only find out for sure by walking in.

“Hang on a sec,” Danny said, eyes squeezed in concentration. Before Kwan could ask what he was doing, a bright white light engulfed the room.

When Kwan could see again, there was Danny Phantom, standing in place of Danny Fenton.

“Woo! Finally!” Danny said, floating up and doing a couple flips.

“Wait,” Kwan said, “could you… not do that before?”

Danny laughed. “Of course not, dude, or I’d’ve been in ghost mode the whole time. Ghost Zone is dangerous and all. That gun really knocked the wind out of me; I only just got the connection to my ghost half back.”

Kwan had been kind of avoiding thinking about Danny’s ghost half because he wasn’t really sure what to think. He didn’t have a problem with it, not like Valerie did, but it still felt… weird. How could someone be half-dead? Wasn’t it, like, painful?

Watching now, the grin on Danny’s face as he unleashed a bright explosion of ectoplasm like a firework over their heads, he knew there was nothing to worry about. Danny was half-ghost. Danny was happy about it.

It was good enough for him, Kwan decided.

He glanced over at Valerie. A smile played around her lips. Paulina was cheering beside her, elbow resting on Valerie’s shoulder. In a moment, they’d all link arms and walk through the last door, a truly united front.

Kwan cheered with Paulina as Danny landed. Valerie’s almost-smile became a grin. Danny bowed, a huge sweeping motion.

He could get used to friends like this.

“If we walk through this door and there’s another trial,” Danny said, looping his hands through Kwan and Valerie’s elbows, “I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Kwan and Valerie laughed, but Paulina groaned. “I can’t wait to find this stupid Panacea so I can stop missing all the good stuff! Stop being funny while I can’t hear!”

Danny couldn’t help laughing again as they stepped over the final threshold.

Immediately, the room lit up. Danny raked his eyes over the other, making sure none of them were shaken up or hurt like they’d been before, but they all looked the same.

“No trials?” he said, just to be sure.

“No,” Valerie said. Kwan shook his head.

Paulina rolled her eyes. “I still can’t hear you.”

Danny gave her a thumbs up, then pointed at her, and shrugged.

She giggled. “Okay, yeah, I’m good. No trials or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

With that settled, Danny examined the room for the Panacea. At the far end, raised on a pedestal on a dais, was a white, crystalline bottle, glowing just slightly.

The Panacea.

Kwan whooped and raced toward it. “Wait!” Danny said, afraid of another trap.

Kwan made it to the dais, but stopped at Danny’s shout. “Sorry! I got excited.”

“Yeah, I get it, but we need to be careful.” Danny floated up next to Kwan, Valerie and Paulina right behind him. “Maybe… Maybe you should all step back.”

“What?”

“Danny, no!”

“What’d you say?”

“Listen! I’m faster than any of you. If something gets triggered I’m more likely to be able to get away.”

“But—” Valerie started to say.

“Am I wrong?”

“No—”

“Look, I appreciate it. Really, I do, but I think it’s best if I get the thing. Just in case.”

Danny couldn’t exactly explain why, but he was absolutely certain that he needed to be the one to grab the bottle. Everything he said was true enough, but there was something else niggling in the back of his mind that said he was the only one who could do it. He couldn’t let anyone else touch it.

“What’s going on?” Paulina said to Kwan in what she probably intended to be a whisper but was loud enough for everyone to hear. Kwan pointed to Danny, then to the rest of them, then pointed to the other side of the chamber.

“Yeah, that doesn’t really help,” she said, “but thanks, querido.”

“Are you sure?” Valerie said, steady gaze meeting his own.

Danny swallowed. “I’m sure.” He wasn’t sure why he was so sure, but he was.

She bit her lip, then nodded and stepped back, pulling Kwan and Paulina with her. That trial really had changed things; just ten minutes ago, Valerie would never have listened to him like this.

Once they were far enough away, Danny took a deep breath and grabbed the Panacea.

It came off easily, but before they could take a moment to celebrate, a bright green box formed around him.

Of course it did.

Danny reached out to touch the green wall, and a painful zap had him yanking his hand back. So no walking through. Ugh.

“Oh, come on!” Paulina said, tearing at her hair in frustration. “We passed your stupid trials! Just let us save the world!”

“Don’t worry, dude!” Kwan said. “We’ll get you out of there.”

It hit Danny all at once, a certainty that he knew exactly what needed to be done.

Valerie had already run up to the trap, Kwan and Paulina close behind, and was examining it. Probably looking for a way to get rid of it.

She couldn’t, though. Not like that.

“Val! Take the Panacea!”

Valerie, sharp as ever, narrowed her eyes at him. She’d already caught on. “We aren’t going to leave you here, Danny.”

“You have to.”

“No way!”

“What’s happening now?”

Kwan pulled out his phone, typing something before showing it to Paulina. She gasped. “Are you stupid? We’ll figure something else out. Don’t go playing martyr on us now.”

“No, listen! You have to. This is my trial, okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Every trial picks something that we suck at, right? Well, this one picked me.”

Kwan frowned. “I don’t—”

“It’s trust. I—look, I’ll be honest, you three are not high on my list of people to trust with my secret. Or, at least, you weren’t.”

Valerie opened her mouth, then winced. “Okay, yeah, that’s… fair.”

“But how can this be a trial? No one else’s trial took place in the real world!” Kwan stopped himself, furiously typing on his phone to show to Paulina. “This is the real world, right?”

“It’s real,” Danny said. He knew it like he knew he needed to grab the Panacea, like he knew exactly what needed to happen next. “This trap won’t go away until we put the Panacea back. But when we put it back, it’s gone forever. We’ll never find it again.”

“So, if we get you out…”

“We lose the Panacea.”

“No, no, no! We’ll figure something else out. There has to be another way.”

“Guys, guys, chill. You just have to bring it back when you’re done, okay?” Danny held out the Panacea through the force field. It passed through just fine. “I’m not offering to stay here forever. Just until you get back.”

None of them moved to grab the bottle. “But… but how are we supposed to fight the ghost without you?”

It was a fair question, and Danny wasn’t sure how he would have answered it yesterday. But the Panacea would be Pestilence’s ultimate weakness. And they’d faced plenty of stuff on their own today.

Danny wiggled the Panacea. “You’ll figure it out. I’ve got faith.”

(He was lying, just a little. But this wasn’t the truth trial, and what was faith without a little doubt?)

Valerie hugged herself. “I don’t know that we can,” she said. She straightened. “But we have to anyway, right?”

“Pretty much,” Danny said with a laugh.

“Do you have, like, snacks? For while you wait? Do you even need to eat?” He opened his mouth to respond, but Paulina shook her head. “Never mind, I can’t hear you anyway. Just… be careful?”

He couldn’t do much else, trapped as he was. He smiled and gave Paulina a thumbs up.

Kwan reached out and took the bottle. “How come you get to know it’s a trial, anyway? I didn’t know what the hell was going on.”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Fair.” Kwan started to move away, then paused. “We’ll figure it out. Promise.”

“I know,” he said. (Did he?)

“See you soon.”

Danny’s palms were sweaty under the suit. “See you soon.”

And they left.

Waiting sucked.

He was more bored and more anxious than he’d ever been in his life. Sure, he’d talked big about trusting the others. He even meant it. But he’d lost his phone somewhere in this whirlwind of a day, so he had no idea how much time had passed. An hour? Two hours? A day?

Okay, it definitely hadn’t been a day, but still. He worried. Valerie could hold her own, and Kwan could throw a decent punch, but was that enough against a veritable army? Even with the Panacea?

He wasn’t used to sitting aside and letting other people save the day.

(It was the right choice. It was the only choice. He hated it.)

He drummed his fingers on his knee. He tried a few breakdancing moves, fell, and laid on his back for ten minutes. His bladder started to ache. He thought about pissing through the barrier, but he couldn’t risk the chance that it would instead ricochet. He squeezed his legs together. He sang Billy Joel songs at the top of his lungs until his throat started to hurt.

“Jeez, you are not a singer, my guy.”

Danny’s head jerked up at Kwan’s voice. There, crossing the threshold, were Valerie, Paulina, and Kwan, hair and clothes a little messed up, but looking perfectly fine.

“You’re back!” He stood up and attempted to meet them, only to slam into the barrier, zapping himself once again. “Ow.”

“Of course we are,” Valerie said, a smirk in her voice. “Never a doubt.”

“This Panacea stuff is amazing.” Paulina pointed to her ears and wiggled the bottle. “Fixes everything. I love hearing and sound.”

Danny laughed, relief tingling down his spine. It worked. They did it. They won.

“Thank fuck,” he said. “Now get me out of here.”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Paulina said, tapping at her chin and frowning. “This stuff is pretty cool.”

Before an icy hand of fear could grip his heart, Kwan and Valerie were already yelling at Paulina.

“Polly!”

“Come on, girl.”

Paulina giggled, waving her hand. “Sorry, sorry. Wrong crowd.” She passed it through the barrier.

He snatched it out of her hand and placed it back on its pedestal. The barrier fell, and the room rumbled once again. As Danny stumbled to his friends (yeah, they were friends, weren’t they?), the chamber collapsed in on itself, leaving just the four of them, floating alone in the Ghost Zone.

“Guys,” Danny said, “I have to pee so badly.”

And they collapsed on each other, laughing. It didn’t help the burning in his bladder, but he could wait a minute or so more.

All four of them had split with little fanfare, exhausted from the day's events. He'd sent a quick text to Sam, Tucker, and Jazz, promising to explain everything tomorrow, and promptly fell asleep.

Jazz drove him to school and he gave her a rundown on the way. She smiled at him. Patted his shoulder. Said she was proud of him for making such a hard choice.

“Wasn't much of a choice,” he said with a shrug.

“That still doesn't mean it was easy. You did good, Danny. And now maybe you've got some more people, too.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”

The thing was, Danny had watched The Breakfast Club once, with Sam and Tucker. At the end, Sam looked over at him and said, “Bet they go back to school the next day and never talk to each other again.”

Tucker blew a raspberry at her. “Boo!” he said. “You're no fun.”

“Yeah,” Danny had said at the time, “They're all friends now. They aren't just going to give it all up to go back to how things used to be.”

“They spent one afternoon together in detention,” Sam said. “How life changing could it be?”

Danny pointedly did not think about that conversation as he walked up to Casper High the day after Pestilence's defeat. He didn't think about it as he pushed open the front entrance. He didn't think about it as he opened his locker. He definitely didn't think about it as he saw Dash shove Mikey to the floor.

Business as usual.

“Hey.”

Danny jumped, smacked his head on the locked door, and turned to see Paulina standing behind him.

Paulina giggle. “You good, cariño?”

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” Danny rubbed the stinging at the back on his head. “You'll give me a heart attack.”

“Can you get a heart attack?” Paulina tilted her head. Danny thought for a moment: his heart didn't actually beat in ghost form so theoretically...

“...Don't ask me that.”

“Hey, Fenturd! Leave Paulina alone.”

And there was Dash, looming behind him like Skulker, but only half as scary. Danny managed not to flinch as he turned to face him.

“I started talking to him, Dashie.”

Dash blinked in surprise. “Well,” he said, “he still shouldn't bother you.”

“He isn't.”

“Oh.”

Dash stood for a moment, mouth open, like he couldn't believe any of this. Danny could hardly believe it himself. But then Paulina rolled her eyes and said, “Seriously, Dash, that's enough. You can go now.” She punctuated her sentence with a dismissive wave.

“I—what?” Dash shook his head. “No, no, this doesn't make sense. Polly, are you—are you still possessed?”

Still possessed. Did Dash think that Paulina had been under Pestilence's spell? Or did he think she was somehow under Danny's spell? What exactly did everyone else think had happened yesterday?

“Just because I want to talk to Danny and not—”

“But he's a loser—”

“Don't talk about him like that!”

Dash's mouth flapped like he wanted to speak but no words came out. “I—you—what did you do to her, you little freak?” He turned on Danny, who had pressed himself into his locker, caught in the middle of this argument. Grabbing Danny's collar, he hoisted him up, knocking his head against the locker door again. Ow.

“I didn't do anything! Maybe Paulina just grew up!” Danny had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. Even now, when the obvious answer was to just get this whole thing over as soon as possible, he still had to sass Dash.

Paulina's perfectly manicured hand wrapped around Dash's wrist. “Seriously, Dash, he didn't—”

Dash ignored her, shoving her off. Paulina stumbled back, then hit the ground with a thud.

“Get off of him!”

And there was Kwan, pulling Dash off of him, arms looped under and around his shoulders. Danny sank to the ground, rubbing at his head. To the side, he saw Valerie help Paulina up before they both turned to glare at Dash.

Despite the twinge in his scalp, despite the stares of the rest of the school, despite his own lingering exhaustion, Danny couldn't help but smile. Take that, Sam. The Breakfast Club lives.

“Kwan?” Dash pulled away as soon as Kwan loosened his grip. “What the hell are you doing?”

Kwan ignored him and turned to Danny and Paulina. “You guys okay?”

Before either of them could respond, Dash shoved him. “Hey!”

“What is your problem, dude?”

“You're the one who suddenly came at me!”

“Yeah, because you were hurting Danny and Paulina.”

Dash blinked, like that hadn't occurred to him. It probably hadn't. Sometimes, Kwan thought that Dash didn't realize that everyone else in the world was a person, too. That they all had thoughts and feelings of their own. To Dash, everything was all Dash all the time.

(It wasn't entirely true, Kwan knew. He remembered a different Dash, eight years old, crying over Old Yeller and pretending he wasn't. Swiping at stray tears and yelling it's just dusty it's allergies don't laugh even though Kwan was crying, too. He doesn't know when exactly the pretense became reality, but he'd lost his Dash a long, long time ago.)

“Sorry Polly,” Dash said, not even looking at her. “But she’s acting weird. Fentonio’s using his parents’ ghost stuff to control her or something!”

“He is not!” Paulina yelled.

“Do you have, like, proof, or are you just pulling this insane theory out of your ass?”

They had long since attracted a crowd. Danny had slipped over to Valerie and Paulina at the front of the mass of students, and behind them stood just about every person in the school. Even Mr. Lancer, who by all rights should have been stepping in and stopping this, was standing by and watching. Like he was curious how things would go.

Asshole.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need to back off of Danny and everyone else!”

Dash straightened up and pushed up his sleeves. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Who’s gonna make me.”

The crowd around them went wild, frenzied kids hooting and hollering at the prospect of a fight. Kwan made eye contact with Danny, Valerie, and Paulina. Paulina pointed at Dash, rolled her eyes, and faked a gag. Valerie gave him a thumbs up. Danny mouthed sorry at him. Behind them, Lancer hid his face behind a book.

Kwan wasn’t stupid. He knew what Dash was asking for. He knew Dash thought he’d win the fight, easy. He’d always won before, after all. Except—Kwan had been stupid in love with him. And a Dash who won was way happier than a Dash who lost.

The truth: Dash was a quarterback. Decently strong, for sure, but his main job was throwing the ball around. Kwan was an offensive lineman. His main job? Throwing people around. When the playing field was level, when Kwan didn’t pull his punches, there was no competition.

If Dash had thought about it for more than a minute, he would’ve realized that there was no way he was stronger than Kwan. But he’d long since lost that kind of self-awareness.

Kwan could be sad about all the ways Dash had changed tomorrow. Today was for kicking his ass.

Dash pulled his arm back to throw a haymaker. Without pausing to think, Kwan sidestepped the attack and swung an uppercut, hitting Dash square on the jaw with a nauseating click.

Dash flopped to the floor, mouth hanging open. Blood dripped down his chin; he must have bitten his tongue. For a moment, he froze, staring at Kwan in shock.

“You’re an ass,” Kwan said, “and I’ve been an ass right next to you. But I’m sick of it. Paulina’s sick of it. Everyone else in school is sick of it. I’m not holding myself back just to make you feel better. And I’m not gonna let you keep being a dick, either. So I suggest you stay down.”

Dash opened his mouth to say something, but Kwan cut him off. “I don’t wanna hear it,” he said. “Just… grow the fuck up, dude.”

And he walked past his oldest friend, bleeding on the ground, toward the cacophony of students and his 3 new/old friends.

“Jeez,” Valerie said, giving him a playful smack on the shoulder, “you’re so dramatic.”

“That was… public,” Danny said. The students started to disperse, heralded by Mr. Lancer. Lancer looked over at Kwan, nodded in something like approval, then shepherded people into their classrooms, leaving the four of them alone in the hallway just before the bell rang.

Kwan scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, sorry about that. Sorry you got in the middle there.”

“No, no, I mean… thanks for stepping in, but are you guys gonna be okay?” Danny’s eyes flicked between Paulina and Kwan.

They looked at each other. Paulina giggled. Valerie shook her head with a smile.

“Yeah, dude,” Kwan said. “We’re gonna be just fine.”

#danny phantom #my writing #my fic #invisobang 2023 #invisobang #paulina sanchez #valerie gray #kwan

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arvandus · 8 months

Text

The Divine

Barbatos (Obey Me!) x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+ content! Minors DNI and DO NOT follow my blog! All minor and ageless blogs will be blocked! Fem!Reader (dress, heels, fem-coded terms of endearment, etc.), AFAB!Reader, short-coded reader (but Barb's a demon so we can say "magic!" and just suspend disbelief; aka let's pretend they can adjust their own height if they want); friends to lovers, romance, hurt/comfort, first date, lots and lots of talking, first kiss and first (and second) time together (aww yissss), questionable uses for a tail, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), clit stim, shared bath, reader goes pee (is this an issue for people...? practice good sex hygiene, peeps!), reader gets carried (he got that demon strength, babyyy), rough(ish) sex (did I mention demon strength??). UHHH I think that's it. This is long as hell, almost 15k GOOD LUCK BYE.

Author's Note: This is my submission for The Coffee Corner's "Slice of Life" Collab Event! There are so many amazing writers, please go check it out and see if there's anything that piques your interest!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The opera house was filling up quickly, hundreds of demons taking their seats. Barbatos was calm and efficient in finding yours amongst the bustling of busy bodies. They were excellent seats, to be expected from Lord Diavolo’s butler who prided himself on his perfection. Not too close, not too far, and located central enough without having to climb over multiple sets of legs if you needed to step away at all during the performance.

Barbatos helped you to your seat first, his hand gently placed on your lower back, before sitting down next to you.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

You nodded with a smile. “Very much so, thank you.”

You normally weren’t so formal with him. After all, you’d known each other for more than a year during your time here in the Devildom and been on many outings together as acquaintances and later as friends. But there had always been a wall in place, a boundary that was never crossed nor spoken of.

Barbatos was kind, polite, and witty; he was caring and doting, a perfectionist, and by far one of the most mature demons you’d had the pleasure of getting to know. However, despite all of that, Barbatos was also a private individual, even when he freely provided facts about himself and his interests, and was forthcoming with his motivations. No matter how much he exposed, there always seemed to be far more lurking beneath the surface that was left unsaid. Add in the fact that he took his job as Lord Diavolo’s private butler so seriously, and it sometimes made it difficult to distinguish his acts of kindness as obligation versus personal desire. No matter how kind or sweet his words were, no matter how close you felt with him at any given moment, you were always, always aware that he kept himself at a distance. It made your own affections for him feel one-sided, a heavy gift you held in shaky hands with nowhere to put it.

You’d always had the keen sense that he knew, of course; you weren’t exactly good at hiding it. But he’d never acknowledged it, at least not out-right; even though you could have sworn there were times where you felt his eyes on you when you weren’t looking, or moments where he held your gaze for longer than necessary. But each time, you’d written it off as wishful thinking, your heart desperately looking for patterns within the random coincidences of life.

But now, things were different. They had been, ever since that moment he’d plucked that leaf out of your hair with soft affection in his eyes, followed by a quick stolen glance at your parted, stunned lips. It was all the evidence you needed, and all the evidence that you’d likely get, to know that Barbatos was harboring a flame of his own. After all, you’d only seen it because he’d let you see it. You had acted on it immediately, the invitation to dinner tumbling from your lips in place of a confession. He had accepted with a smile, and you could still feel the elation weaved into your chest like a keepsake as you revisited the memory.

You were yanked from the heart-pounding past to the nerve-wracking present when Barbatos’s fingers intertwined with yours. Your pulse quickened at the contact. The touch of his skin against yours was so intimate and new, that it felt foreign and strangely forbidden.

“I’m glad you were able to join me,” he said. “I apologize that the invitation was so last minute. There were... complications.”

You gave a small, teasing laugh, more to trick your own nerves than anything else. “You act as if we haven’t gone out together before. And I don’t mind last minute; spontaneity keeps things fun.”

Your words felt like lies, a feigned nonchalance in the face of what was so obviously a shift in your relationship with each other, a testing of deeper waters.

“True,” he said. “But this time is different, isn’t it?”

It was so like him to say outright what was already in your mind. Yet he always managed to do it with such simplicity that it stripped away the anxiety while still leaving the importance. You swallowed the dryness in your throat and gave a small nod.

He was correct, of course... this - whatever it was – was still very much new for the both of you.

“Besides,” he continued, his lips curving playfully, “it has been some time since we’ve had the pleasure of each other’s company.”

“Four weeks,” you blurted out. Then you clamped your lips shut in embarrassment.

He gave a soft laugh. “Three weeks and six days, to be exact.”

You gave him a surprised glance. “But who’s counting?” you teased.

Barbatos smiled. “I often find myself counting the time when we are apart.”

Your body grew hot at his confession, his words vibrating against your skin as they buried themselves into you, becoming a part of you. No doubt you will be reflecting on that single line for days to come.

Barbatos watched the change in your expression with intrigue.

“However, it is hardly our fault, is it not?” he continued. “The brothers have been keeping you plenty busy I hear, and the young master requires constant supervision to keep him from chasing his flights of fancy.”

It always amused you when Barbatos referred to the massive, muscular Prince as ‘young;’ it reminded you time and time again how ancient Barbatos really was. He sounded like a tired uncle reigning in a toddler, and looked the part too, his eyes tired as he watched other demons pass by to take their seats.

“Speaking of Lord Diavolo,” you chimed, “wasn’t he the one who was supposed to join you for this?”

Barbatos returned his eyes to you, only to be met by a narrowed, mischievous gaze and grinning lips. Barbatos’s smile reappeared deeper than before.

“Something tells me that he intentionally had me set this up and then abandoned it at the last minute in order to allow us this opportunity,” he confessed.

“How very generous of him,” you whispered as you bumped your shoulder against his playfully.

Barbatos drew his thumb over the soft pad of your hand where your thumb and finger joined. The sensitive nerves tingled, sending goosebumps up your arm.

“Yes,” he agreed as his emerald eyes stared into yours. “Very generous.”

You leaned towards him slightly, your own thumb drawing along his hand in return, as your voice dropped to a whisper. “It would be in ill taste if we did not maximize this opportunity that he’s provided.”

“Ill taste indeed,” he muttered as he glanced down at your lips. His gaze lingered there for one heartbeat, two. Just long enough to get you leaning slightly closer in hopeful anticipation. Then he broke his gaze and stared ahead. “Lets us fully enjoy this performance then,” he stated.

You stared at him, mildly stunned by his reservedness, until you noticed the slightest hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

He was toying with you. On purpose.

Your lips turned downward into a pout and you gave a humph as you leaned back in your chair. Beneath the hum of the audience settling in, you heard the faintest hint of a quiet chuckle in his chest.

You still had yet to kiss him. The first date was very nice and sweet, a simple dinner at a restaurant you knew you both enjoyed. You had wanted to keep the first date familiar and unassuming, to allow for the possibility that you’d been wrong, that he’d taken your invitation as a dinner between friends rather than love interests. It wasn’t long before that worry was eliminated by the touch of his hand over yours at the table, followed by a long swipe of his thumb over your knuckles.

But of course, the private moment was short-lived, because wherever you were, a brother wasn’t far behind. It was Asmo this time who’d spotted you, miffed at the realization that you were out with someone other than him, and looking dolled up to boot. Which then, of course, led to him inviting himself to your very obvious one-on-one with Barbatos. The demon had given you a look to silently inquire if such behavior was acceptable, and you were too kindhearted to give Asmo the boot, so you surrendered, folding like a deck of cards.

The regret and guilt still sat heavy on your mind. You should have been firmer, set some boundaries. But boundary setting was always difficult when the brothers were involved.

Barbatos would have been able to do it; the look that he’d given you had made that clear enough. He was a kind demon, yet firm if he needed to be. And you had a keen sense that you never wanted to get on his bad side. But he’d taken the intrusion gracefully, and parted ways later that evening without a hint of disappointment or disapproval.

Even so, you’d assumed you’d botched any future opportunities at a second date with him. Sure, he may not have expressed disappointment in the moment, but you knew he was a master at disguising his true feelings when he wanted to. So, it had taken you by surprise when he had texted you that he’d enjoyed himself and wanted to try again, albeit something that could be either more structured, or more private to prevent future interruptions.

It had taken far longer than expected to follow through, to the point that you’d almost lost hope. But finally, here you sat with the apple of your eye looking delicious and refined in his black tuxedo, while you donned a simple strapped gown of your own. The lights above dimmed, indicating the performance would be starting soon, as the orchestra completed the final checks on their instruments, ensuring everything was in tune.

Barbatos’s hand continued to hold yours, the action feeling almost possessive in nature, a warning to any who might see the two of you together. A part of you wondered if any of the brothers had managed to sneak their way in and were watching from a distance, and if so, did Barbatos know. There was no way to know for certain. Either way, if they were out there somewhere, they couldn’t reach you now, not without causing a scene.

Now your seats made more sense. You had wondered why you weren’t located in one of the more private balcony boxes above; it certainly seemed like a place Barbatos would have preferred. And had he come with Diavolo like originally intended, he very well might have. You certainly couldn’t have the Lord of the Devildom sitting amongst the masses.

Which means Barbatos likely figured out a way to change the seating arrangement as soon as he learned of Diavolo’s little scheme. This was clearly by design, a way to ensure your second date would not be interrupted like the first. You let out a relaxed breath and reclined against the back of your seat as you prepared yourself to become immersed in the opera.

The lights overhead went black, leaving only the stage washed in a white glow.

“Y/N...” Barbatos started, his eyes on you. “There’s something you should know about this performance...”

“Hm?” you replied distractedly with barely a glance.

But then the orchestral music began, and you shushed him with a pat on his arm. Barbatos’s words died on his tongue, as his hand tightened around yours.

The music started strong and then fell like cascading water into a flurry of notes. You watched as the music played, as the singers entered the scene.

You had expected English, or one of the romance languages that you often associated with opera, or even an older, biblical language such as Hebrew. But instead, the language was like nothing you’d ever heard, notes sung in such a way that it felt entirely inhuman and beyond the realm of possibility. You stared, bewildered, unable to understand any of it, even as the earth-shattering beauty of it crashed over you. There were no screens with subtitles framing the stage, no form of translation at all. There was nothing; just your eyes and the music to try to decipher the story that was unfolding. It was clear it had to do with angels and demons, and that there was a forbidden love story between them, which, you could deduce would lead to conflict. But the details were lost as soon as they had opened their mouths.

Barbatos watched you in silent observation as your emotions transformed and danced across your face from confusion, to wonder, to awe, to fear, and back again.

His hand squeezed yours, a tether keeping you from losing yourself in the panic of your mortal brain trying to make sense of something beyond its understanding.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, his tone laced with concern. Your wide eyes shot over to him; it took a moment for recognition to register in your gaze.

“Y-Yeah. But I don’t understand them at all. What language is this??”

“It’s the Divine Language,” he replied. He watched and waited for your brain to process.

“...wait. What?”

“It’s the Divine Language,” he repeated. “The language of God, spoken by angels and demons. It’s no surprise you don’t understand it, you’re not meant to unless it’s directly intended for you.”

You didn’t know how to put into words that it felt like you simultaneously understood yet didn’t. The language didn’t sound like words, and yet it left imprints upon you, feelings and emotions stamped upon your soul that you could only vaguely understand.

Barbatos continued as you stared back at the stage in shock. “Many of the operas composed here are done so in the Divine Language as it withholds the purest meaning and form, and the notes cannot be duplicated in mortal speech. Had I known you were joining me tonight instead of the young master, I might have selected a more appropriate performance.”

He watched you as you grimaced against a particularly moving crescendo.

“Why does it feel like it’s in my head?” you whispered.

“Because it is,” he whispered back. “You are fortunate that you have Angelic ancestry in you.”

You gave him a confused look. “Why?”

“Because if you didn’t, you’d be bleeding out your ears.”

“What??” your voice raised in panic, and multiple demons seated near you shushed you. You lowered your voice again, but the panic was still there. “Barbatos!”

Barbatos gave a quiet chuckle as he pulled something small from his pocket. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just put these in your ears. It will lessen the impact.”

You took the small black box from his hand and opened it to see a set of ear plugs. You wasted no time in putting them in. Immediately, the panic and chaos you felt eased, the thrumming reduced to a hum.

“Why didn’t you give me these earlier? A warning would have been nice,” you quietly seethed.

Barbatos almost rebutted that he’d tried when the lights went down, but decided against it when he saw you fold your hands protectively in your lap. You were angry. He gently pried your hands apart gently with his and twined his fingers with yours in a soft hold. You didn’t fight him, but you didn’t look at him either.

“I promise you weren’t in any danger,” he whispered close to your ear. “I would not have brought you here if it wasn’t safe.”

Your body remained stiff, but you finally looked at him. “It felt intentional,” you replied. “Like it’s something Diavolo would have you do to test me. Tell me, Barbatos... are you here for work or pleasure?”

Surprise flashed across his face, followed by the return of his gentle smile. He leaned even closer to your ear until his lips ghosted over your pinna. “Pleasure,” he whispered, his voice low. His hand squeezed yours reassuringly. “Definitely pleasure. I assure you there were no ulterior motives.”

The way his voice alone nearly unraveled you... your thighs tightened against their impact and you swallowed as you stared ahead at the stage, struggling to follow the story that you were missing.

But you could be horny and angry at the same time. You set your jaw stubbornly.

“You swear?” you asked as you kept your eyes on the stage.

He took your chin in his hand and turned your face to look at him, his expression serious.

“I swear,” he replied.

Then he placed as soft brush of lips to your forehead. It stole your breath as a shiver passed through every nerve.

Your anger finally dimmed, soothed by the genuineness of his words and the reassurance of his affection. Your fingers finally closed around his in reciprocity, and Barbatos returned his green eyes to the stage.

A long moment passed as you both watched the performance. The impact of the Divine Language continued to wash over you, dragging vague meaningful pictures to your mind as your emotions danced like puppets. The earplugs helped, keeping you from feeling like your head was splitting open. But you still felt lost in it, carried away on a foreign tide.

Barbatos noticed. He leaned close and whispered. “Would you like me to translate for you?”

His breath tickled your ear and your chest tightened as your heart tried to grow wings and escape. You angled your head to him slightly; your eyes breaking from the stage briefly.

“Please,” you whispered.

And so, he quietly summarized the plot and dialogue into your ear as his eyes watched. The male and female lead sang to each other, their voices rich with emotion, their body language communicating their love.

“They are of two different worlds,” he explained. “Yet they love each other unequivocally.”

You smiled softly. “Romantic...”

“Very,” he agreed. “She is expressing worry that heaven will cast her out for falling for him. And he is promising to never leave her.”

The music rose in crescendo. It filled you, and your chest tightened like a balloon about to burst. You took deep breaths to allow the sensations to pass through you.

You had anticipated appreciating the music, being impressed by the vocal gymnastics. But this was proving to be so much more, a visceral experience that would leave you reeling by the time it was over.

As you watched, Barbatos continued to translate. The angel was cast out as predicted and was cursed to walk the earth and live her life as a human. This allowed them to continue their romance without judgment and they rejoiced. But shortly after, things took a turn for the worst, as they often did in operas.

“She’s sick...” you commented quietly as you watched the performance.

Barbatos glanced at you briefly from the corner of his eye. “She’s mortal.”

Something inside your chest twisted, a stirring of something heavy that you’d been struggling to ignore ever since you committed to staying in the Devildom. You tried to push it back down, to watch the story continue.

But maybe it was the way that it hit too close to home; or maybe it was the way the Divine Language seemed to invade every crevice of you like a living thing, forcing your body to experience something beyond what it was built for. Either way, it brought forth every worry, every fear that plagued you late at night when you were alone in your bed. It was the way the loneliness that you struggled to ignore within yourself began to gain weight, a black hole pulling you into its relentless gravity. It was the type of loneliness that came with the sense of otherness, of being separate; the awareness of being where one did not truly belong no matter how badly you wanted to.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you stared at Barbatos’s hand holding your own. Suddenly, this – all of this – felt foolish. So foolish. What were you doing, going on a date with a demon? Allowing yourself to open your heart for someone who would outlive you ten times over? The time would be gone in a blink, your mortal life small and insignificant.

Your tear-rimmed eyes looked back to the stage. You watched as the female lead died, succumbing to her illness, and her partner mourned her.

Would Barbatos mourn you in such a way? Would he watch you grow old and feeble while he stayed young and flawless? Did demons and angels even love the same way that humans did? How much could one human life really matter anyway, to someone who was essentially immortal? You were a blip in his life, a small blink of time that would come and go, a nice little hobby to pass the time. Whereas for you, he would be your entire world, your entire life if things panned out the way your foolish heart hoped they would.

Because there was no one else you wanted. No one else that even came close.

The thoughts shook you to your core until it felt as if you were being split in two, a great chasm running right down the center of you between what your heart longed for and what your head knew to be true. It made you begin the grieving process of what you would inevitably lose before you’d ever had a chance to even have it. The pain was a wild beast in your chest, threatening to break free, to rip open your rib cage and let your heart bleed out in front of everyone. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream.

You wanted to leave.

You unlatched your hand from Barbatos’s, avoiding his eyes as you grabbed your purse from the floor.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Excuse me...”

You made your way past the few seated individuals that blocked you from the aisle. As soon as you’d freed yourself, you walked quickly towards the exit, a race against time between the sobs in your throat that were rising to the back of your tongue and your proximity to the door.

You crossed the threshold with your hand over your mouth. Already, you felt the wet tears sliding down your cheeks, your makeup effectively ruined.

And so was your date, you were certain. The way you’d bolted from Barbatos without a second thought, without explanation... If you hadn’t offended him before on your first date, then you certainly did now.

You removed the earplugs from your ears and stuffed them into your purse.

You could still hear the music, could still hear the anguish in the male demon’s notes as he mourned the loss of his love. Even from here, the Divine Language found you, gripped you, choked you. You practically ran out of the opera house into the cold, wet evening of the devildom, and with it came silence – blessed, sweet silence. A soft rain was falling, coating everything until it shined wet.

You quietly walked out from the covered entryway, past the great pillars that held up the grand architecture. You turned your face up to the sky with closed eyes and let the water mist your skin. Then you sat down on the steps and put your head in your arms and cried.

It wasn’t long before you heard the familiar soft steps of Barbatos’s polished black shoes on the wet stone. A moment later, the rain above you stopped and the sound of pitter-pattering on fabric met your ears. Still, you didn’t look up, your shame too heavy to lift your head.

You felt the presence of him, felt him as he circled around to your front. You peeked through your arms just in time to see him kneel in front of you on the steps.

“I’m sorry,” you confessed through sniffles.

“What happened?” he asked calmly.

“I don’t know, I just...”

More tears welled up as your words caught in your throat. You wiped at your eyes in an attempt to make them stop, but more took their place. Barbatos took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to you. You took it and held it in your hands, your fingers rubbing across the soft silk.

“Did you not like the performance?” he asked, his tone laced with worry. “Perhaps the earplugs were not enough.”

You couldn’t help but give a sad, soft laugh. “No, I did. I did like it. It’s just...”

Again, your words faltered. Why was it so difficult to say? It was as if the emotions you felt were too large, unable to fit into the neat little boxes that human language provided. If only you could speak the language of angels and demons...

“Barbatos...” you started softly, “why did you ask me out?”

His veridian eyes widened slightly in surprise. “You mean to the opera?”

“No, I mean ask me out. On a date.”

His gaze softened, although the confusion in them remained. “Because I care for you. I had thought that years of mutual pining and silent eye contact every time we were in the same room together made that obvious.”

You half chuckled. It wasn’t as obvious as he thought it was...

He tilted his head slightly, and he wasn’t quite quick enough to hide the sadness that flitted across his face.

“Do you not feel the same?” he asked. “Perhaps I have misunderstood-“

“No! No, that’s not it,” you protested, your hands reaching out to grasp his.

Not that. Anything but that...

You kept his free hand in yours, your fingers following his knuckles from one finger to the next.

“What I mean is, why me?”

Barbatos’s fingers wrapped around your own. “Why not you?”

“Because. I’m mortal.” Your voice cracked, and Barbatos straightened slightly.

“Ah. I see.”

“I can’t help but feel like I’m making a mistake. Like I’m not supposed to feel this way.”

“Feel what way?”

More tears fell from your lashes as a sob escaped your throat. “Happy.”

You released your hold on him and buried your face in your hands.

Barbatos touched your arm, his fingers wrapping around it gently. You felt the rain suddenly return followed immediately by the sound of the umbrella touching the stone steps. You looked at it slightly confused, just in time for Barbatos’s other hand to take your chin and tilt your face up until you were looking at him.

“And why shouldn’t you be happy?” he asked.

You stared at him, watching as his hair flattened in the rain, running rivulets down his pale skin.

“Because my time here will be so brief compared to you, to everyone. I’ll keep changing and grow old, and you’ll all stay the same.”

Barbatos stared at you for a long moment, his expression soft yet neutral. He cocked his head slightly and released your arm to wipe your wet hair from your face before trailing his fingers along your cheek to your jaw line.

“What makes you think your longevity will be brief?”

You furrowed your brow. “Because I’m human...?”

“So is Solomon...”

He had a point there. But...

“But Solomon is a powerful sorcerer.”

“And you’re not?”

“Not like him... I’m just barely beginning to grasp the things he’s teaching me.”

“Do not mistake knowledge for power,” Barbatos said.

“I thought knowledge was power,” you teased, the first hint of a smile on your lips.

Barbatos smirked at your cheekiness. “I stand corrected. However, the point I’m trying to make is this: your power is your own and always will be. And trust me when I say that your power is vast. Already you’ve been able to wield it in ways that Solomon could only dream. All that you require now is the knowledge, and that will come with time.”

“But my time is limited.”

“So it is for all of us, one way or another,” Barbatos replied. “Do not let a little thing called Time stop you. You will have plenty enough of it to figure out how to bend its effects to your will just as Solomon has.”

“Is that what your visions of the future show you?” you teased.

Barbatos’s soft smile tightened slightly. “I don’t know. I don’t look into the future unless Lord Diavolo instructs me to. But even if I could, I wouldn’t look at yours.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why not?”

Barbatos stared down at the ground, his lashes hiding his eyes. “Because no good could come of it. Despite my age, I am not immune to the impact of loss. And witnessing the loss of you in the future would only taint what time I have with you in the present.”

A silence fell between you as you thought upon his words. They brought a warmth into your chest at the realization of how much you meant to him. And yet... it only made your concerns feel that much more valid.

You didn’t want to hurt him. Not in the present, and not in the future. Even if it was due to circumstances beyond your control.

“What if... what if I can’t do what Solomon does? What if I can’t figure it all out? The lifespan of a human seems so short...”

Barbatos looked back up at you, a sad smile on his lips.

“If your time is to be so short, then perhaps it is best to enjoy the time that you do have, freely without the burden of guilt. You deserve happiness, in whatever way you can find it. Don’t let your fears taint what your heart wants.” His hand found yours, and he stared at it as his thumb brushed over your fingers. “And... if I may be a little bit selfish... let me have this time with you now, if you’ll have me. I will feel your absence regardless, and I’d rather be able to look upon the past with fondness instead of regret.”

“Barbatos...” you whispered. Your hand came up and brushed his long locks back, tucking them behind his left ear. “Of course I’ll have you.”

He smiled softly at you. “Nothing pleases me more.”

A thought still bothered you though, a question itching at the back of your mind, springing up more worry. It made your gaze distant, distracted.

“Barbatos... what happened at the end of the story?” you asked.

“Hm? You mean the opera?” he replied. You nodded. His smile grew. “When the female lead dies, her soul is unable to ascend to heaven due to being cast out. So, there is only one place left for her to go.”

Your eyes widened. “She went to hell. She got to be with him in the end.”

Barbatos’s smile filled his face, his eyes crinkling and perfect white teeth showing. He was so beautiful it made your chest ache. “She did.”

Your gaze became distant again with thought. “When I die.... where do you think I’ll go?”

“Hmmm,” Barbatos pondered, his fingers on his chin. “Well, to be honest, it’s anyone’s guess. Although as the keeper of the Seven Deadly Sins, it may tip the scales more in favor of here. Relations between heaven and hell have been improving, but there are still rules that must be followed. And any who support demons usually end up coming here.”

“Wait, so I’m going to go to hell??” you said indignantly as mirth danced in your eyes.

Barbatos grinned. “As if I’d ever let my girl go to such a place. No, I would bring you here to the Devildom.”

Your body flushed hot at his words. “Your girl...”

Barbatos took your chin in his fingers, his thumb brushing against your lower lip gently. “My girl,” he affirmed.

Then he leaned forward and kissed you, his lips cool and soft against yours in the cold of night. You leaned into it, your hands coming up instinctually to cup his chilled face as you reciprocated his affection.

He pulled away slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, before returning for a second kiss, his lips firmer, warmer. You opened your mouth to him, every part of you aching for more of him until he filled you, surrounded you, until your head couldn’t think anymore and all that mattered was him, you, this moment. Barbatos’s grip on you tightened as his warm tongue found yours, tasting you, claiming you.

He pulled away just a fraction again, his eyes shining as the bony wings framing his head flickered and vanished. His grip on you was strong, one hand holding you by the curve of your jawline, and the other gripping your waist. You had the keen sense that in that moment, he was torn between behaving like the gentleman he felt you deserved, versus taking you right there on the cold, wet steps in the empty street.

The evidence of Barbatos’s desire for you shocked you. He was always so reserved, so in control, that seeing him grapple with his lesser instincts because of you made your own instincts want to respond in kind, to lure him out of his carefully crafted persona. You’d been so starved for his affection for so long, that now even the smallest crumbs of his desire felt like a feast.

But of course, his reason won out. Slowly he stood, his hand holding yours as he helped you to your feet.

“Perhaps we should get you home,” he stated, even as his eyes remained locked on your lips.

Numb with need, your body buzzing, you nodded silently.

Barbatos picked up the umbrella and shook the water off it before placing it over the two of you. Then he offered his arm and you hooked yours with his as he led you to the car.

The ride back was silent, although you continued to hold his hand in your lap for the entire duration. The drive felt far too short for your liking. A sense of dread filled the pit in your stomach as the House of Lamentation came into view and it didn’t leave even as Barbatos released your hand with a kiss and exited the vehicle to open your door for you. You took his offered hand and stepped out, your gaze locked on the many windows that stared back like countless eyes. You could feel them on your back as you turned around at the gate to face Barbatos to begin your goodnights.

Barbatos could sense your unease.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just... I don’t think I’m ready to go in yet. I’d like to spend more time with you.” Your eyes were downcast bashfully as you stared at the buttons of his white shirt, the black bow tie at his neck.

He gave a gentle laugh. “I don’t want the night to end either. It is far too early to be saying goodbye. Where would you like to go?”

You glanced up at him as you felt heat roll across your body, the memory of your kiss still fresh in your mind. “Some place quiet... and private.”

Barbatos fell silent for a moment as he stared down at you. “I know just the place,” he finally said.

He led you back to the car, and with a final glance back at the mansion, you sat down in the passenger seat. He closed your door, and soon you were on the road again. It wasn’t long before he pulled the car up through the lavish, scroll-decorated iron gates of Lord Diavolo’s castle. Your eyes widened in slight surprise.

“Here?”

Barbatos glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You said you wanted private. This is the only place I can guarantee for sure that no one else will find you.”

“I would have thought it’d be the first place they’d look,” you replied as you stared up at the great, towering spires.

“Oh, they most certainly will. But as you know, the castle in vast, with many rooms and dangers. And there is one room they will never be able to enter without explicit invitation.”

You gave him a questioning look.

“Mine,” he stated with a small smirk.

A giddy dizziness clouded your mind as he got out of the car and came around to assist you.

As you stepped out, he continued. “Due to the dangerous nature of my room, there are many wards and spells that keep unwelcome guests from entering. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like, and then I will take you home when you’re ready.”

You realized Barbatos was referring to the many doors that led to infinite pasts and futures.

“I’ve been to your room before; I don’t recall it being very... comfortable,” you confessed.

Barbatos laughed as he led you up the steps. “That’s because you only entered the part I wanted you to enter. My personal space has far better amenities than just stairs and doors. Did you think I just hung like a bat from the ceiling while I slept?” he teased.

You chuckled. “The thought had crossed my mind...”

Up the stairs and down the winding, complex halls he led you, taking sharp turns and walking around blank spaces of floor to avoid hidden dangers. Finally, you were outside his door. With his hand holding yours, he opened it to reveal a pristine bedroom with an ornate four post bed with a canopy. A large fireplace sat to the right, already lit, an ornate rug and sofa sitting in front of it. There was a sitting area near the tall glass doors that opened onto a balcony with a tea cart close by. It was simple in its elegance, the room cast in a warm yellow-orangish glow from the fire. Not a speck of dirt was present, and suddenly you felt very unclean, your dress and hair still wet from earlier.

“May I use your bathroom?” you asked.

“Of course, right through there.” Barbatos motioned to the double doors to the left as he made his way to his tea cart. “I will fix us something to drink.”

You stepped into his bathroom and shut the door. It was incredibly spacious. Not as grand as Asmo’s of course, but it most certainly had every necessary amenity and then some. You checked yourself in the mirror and nearly gasped at the state of your makeup and your hair.

To think he kissed you while you looked like this... twice, in fact.

You did what you could to clean yourself up, removing the washed-out makeup and letting down your hair to run your fingers through the damp strands. Once there was nothing more you could do, you stepped back out.

The delicious smell of tea was fragrant in the air, carried on the warmth of the fire. Barbatos had set the tea out on the small round table of the sitting area and turned when you entered. He was still fully dressed in his wet formal wear, and you realized with amusement that he’d gotten engrossed in ensuring the tea and setup were perfect. The porcelain cups and saucers were delicate and beautiful, with floral designs and golden rims. The spoons were made of silver, polished to shine in the firelight.

“Welcome back,” he replied with a smile.

You smiled in return. “What’s all this?”

“What does it look like? I thought we could talk over a cup of tea, let our bones warm a little,” he replied as he made final touches to the setup, adjusting the napkins ever so slightly, turning the teapot just so.

“Barbatos...” you chided playfully. “Is this Barbatos the demon, or Barbatos the butler?”

He stared at you for a moment, stunned, and then gave an embarrassed laugh. “Haha, I suppose you’re right... old habits, as they say...” His laugh left his eyes and he stared at you. “I just want you to feel comfortable. I know we’ve known each other for some time; however, it is only our second date.”

“I am comfortable,” you said softly. “More comfortable than I’ve ever been since I first arrived here.” You stepped closer towards him until you were less than a foot apart. “I always feel safe with you, Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiled in return, warm and soft as his eyes drank you in. “You don’t know how much it pleases me to hear you say that.”

You rested your hand against his chest. “Your coat is still wet,” you commented.

“Yes,” he replied as he began to undo the buttons. He removed it and you watched as the muscles of his shoulders rolled beneath his white shirt. He laid it carefully over the back of his chair. “It will dry by the fire soon enough.”

He began to undo his bowtie, but your hands came up to stop him.

“Please… allow me,” you said softly, even as your heart pounded wildly in your chest.

Barbatos swallowed slightly, but let his hands fall until they found their place on your hips, gentle and unassuming.

Slowly, carefully, you began to undo his tie for him as the air warmed between you with each shaky breath. Once it was loose, you gently pulled on the black material, watching as it slid along his collar before falling off.

Your eyes locked with his.

It was enough to make the last of his gentlemanly resolve vanish, and he kissed you, his lips capturing yours needily. The tie fell from your grip to land in a careless pile on the floor as your arms went up around his neck to pull him closer. His hands tightened around you in return, fingers spread wide as they traveled across your back. The warmth of him, the firmness of his body beneath the soft fabrics of his clothes... it was better than every fantasy you’d ever had, dreams paling beneath the shadow of the very real demon in front of you.

Barbatos’s hands shifted from your body to your jaw, cupping your face in a delicate hold. Once again you opened your mouth to him, eager to revisit that sinful moment on the steps of the opera house, as your fingers tangled into his hair at the base of his neck. The strands were soft between your fingers, his tongue sweet with the hint of tea. He must have tasted it before you emerged from the bathroom earlier, no doubt to ensure its perfection.

But now it sat abandoned as your fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt, starting at the one high on his neck. As soon as the smooth skin of his chest was exposed, you abandoned your task to run your palms up his chest and back to his neck as you clung tightly to him, your body slotting against his.

He chuckled against your lips as his hands returned to caressing your curves. “What about the tea?” he teased.

You nibbled on his lip, pulling back with your teeth until it released with a pop, earning a growl from the usually reserved demon. “No offense, but screw the tea.”

Barbatos’s eyes widened, his eyebrow raising in judgment. “No offense she says, and yet she wounds me in the same breath.”

You chuckled and planted a kiss on his lips. “Forgive me… but perhaps we can enjoy it after?”

“After?” Barbatos echoed, his eyebrow raising ever higher as the corner of his mouth curled up. His hands slid from the curve of your back to the plush of your ass and squeezed. “After what exactly? What expectations have you brought with you tonight?”

Your breath hitched at his bold touch, yet your eyes narrowed at his obvious teasing. Two could play that game.

You widened your eyes innocently. “Expectations? None.” You looked at the tea setting. “Perhaps we should enjoy a cup now, before it gets cold…”

You began to disentangle from his hold and turn your body toward the seats, but Barbatos’s strong arm wrapped around your waist, blocking you. When you turned to look up at him, he was staring down at you with darkened eyes, his smile gone.

“You know… your dress is wet too...” he hummed as he pulled you back against him.

Checkmate.

Your arms returned around his neck. “Is it now?”

Barbatos’s hands once again moved along the curve of your back. “Perhaps we should slip you into something more comfortable?”

As he spoke, his fingers gently traced the line of your spine until he reached the top of the zipper. Slowly he pulled it down, the material relaxing around you, every soft bit of your skin freed from restraint. His fingers traced back up along your now naked spine as his lips gently brushed yours, the tip of his tongue teasing your mouth open. It pulled a wanton moan from your throat, a sound that would have made you falter in embarrassment in any other moment... except his touch was far too distracting to care anymore, his chest echoing your own in a low, satisfied hum. The delicacy of his long, slender fingers skated across your shoulder blades to catch beneath the straps of your dress and slid it off your shoulders. You removed your arms from the falling straps, and Barbatos’s hands helped the dress the rest of the way over your hips until it fell to a puddle around your feet.

He withheld his kisses for a moment to allow his eyes to drink you in from head to toe as his hands followed your silhouette.

“Did you match for me?” he mused as he stared at your matching bra and panties. “A bit hopeful tonight, were you?” he grinned as he nuzzled your jawline with his nose. “Expectations indeed.”

“Better safe than sorry,” you replied. “And yes, a little bit hopeful...”

His nose continued to follow the curve of your neck then your shoulder as he talked, his breath coating your skin. “Then I’ll consider this a fortunate turn of events. I typically don’t expect such intimacy on the second date, but for you I’m more than happy to make an exception.”

Barbatos’s teeth caught on the strap of your bra as his eyes stared over your shoulder to observe the tantalizing view of his hand caressing the curve of your lace-covered ass. It made your stomach flip, your head spin, and your heat grow between your legs, the slick already building thick within your thin panties. You were eager; you wanted nothing more than for him to take you right this instant, in any which way. But Barbatos was the opposite; he took his time and savored. It was driving you mad. You shifted your stance just slightly in impatience, the sound of your shoes clicking on the stone floor of his room.

It was enough to catch his attention, to release your bra strap from his pearly white teeth and look down at your heels. “Hm, perhaps we should remove those shoes of yours...” he smiled against your lips.

Before you could protest, he bent just enough to wrap his arms around your thighs and hoisted you up in his arms, your body pressed against his. It shocked you how easily he lifted you, as if you weighed practically nothing, his lean muscular figure disguising his demonic strength.

Slowly he walked you back towards his bed as his mouth began to leave kisses in your cleavage, his tongue flicking out occasionally to lick and taste. It made your breaths come out in pants, made your body squirm slightly in his hold, and yet he held you steadily until he reached his destination.

You had thought he would have tossed you onto his bed, following with his body. Or at least that was what you had hoped for. However, Barbatos always managed to surprise you with the unexpected. Instead, he set you gently back down on your feet.

“Sit,” he ordered. His tone was soft and not at all overbearing or firm, yet you found yourself following the command instantly.

Then he kneeled before you and gently lifted your left foot. His hands carefully removed your shoe followed by a trail of gentle kisses up your ankle to your calf. Then he set down your left foot and repeated the action with your right, once again removing the shoe carefully and following it up with kisses.

However, this time, the kisses didn’t stop at your calf. His lips kept traveling. Past the knee, up the inside of the thigh... your legs parted willingly as your breaths began to quicken, your clit pulsing heavily for him in anticipation. As he got closer, he pushed your legs wider still, his palm firm against the inside of your knee, and pulled you closer to him until your ass was barely on the edge of his soft, plush mattress.

He paused once he was between your legs, and inhaled through his nose, his eyes closing as if he were savoring a rich, herbal tea.

“I love your scent,” he whispered.

His eyes opened and you gasped as his green irises glowed, his canines slightly sharper and longer. The human illusion faded away like a mirage and now you could see the small, bony wings in place of horns, could see the long, double-ended serpentine tail curling and twitching behind him, shining wet. He still wore his clothes from the evening, his shirt half unbuttoned.

Barbatos watched you with an unreadable gaze. “Are you afraid?” he asked.

You shook your head vigorously. “No,” you breathed. “Just amazed at how beautiful you are.”

Barbatos chuckled, low and deep, ending on a soft hum. “She says with her legs spread wide for me...” His finger trailed the shape of you through your panties and your body twitched as you bit your lip. “Trust me when I say you are the beautiful one.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed your core, right on that tight bundle of nerves through the delicate fabric. You gasped against it, a moan bursting from your chest as you leaned back further, bracing your weight on your hands. Barbatos’s eyes flashed up at you, brows low and pupils blown wide with lust. He kissed you again, firmer this time. Again, you whined for him, your thighs tensing as pleasure tickled your nerves from the epicenter of his touch.

On his third return, his tongue flicked out to lick you through the fabric, followed by the press of his lips as his mouth closed over your clit.

You were panting heavily now, your heart pounding against your ribs in desperation. Again, he licked and kissed. And again. Slowly, steadily, with more pressure than before. His fingers began to stroke your entrance through the fabric, his long fingers drawing up and down.

As his mouth worked you higher and higher through your panties, you felt the warm wetness of his tail wrap itself around your leg and slowly slither up in a spiraling, winding trail. It was foreign, stimulating, and entirely erotic. As the tips of his tail reached the height of your inner thigh, they slipped beneath your panties, gliding against your lips and teasing your entrance, causing it to spasm. Then the tail hooked around the sopping wet fabric and pulled it aside, allowing Barbatos unimpeded access to your cunt as his hands remained firm against the inside of your knees, keeping you spread so wide that the hamstrings of your thighs burned.

“Beautiful...” he murmured as he stared at your pussy with heavy lidded eyes.

Then his mouth was on you, tongue dipping, lips pressing, sucking. You cried out, your head falling back as your back arched. The arousal tightened, sharpened, until you were sure you would cut yourself on it, bleed out all the desire in a gush. Your breaths grew heavier, faster. Your hips began to rock, your legs tremble.

But just as you were about to reach your zenith, Barbatos pulled away.

“W-what??” you protested. “Hey!”

Barbatos chuckled as he wiped his shining wet lips with his thumb. “My apologies. I am not usually one to leave a duty unfinished. However...” his gaze on you grew dark as he stood and began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. “I made a promise to myself a long time ago.”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. You were still salty he’d stopped, stealing your orgasm from you. “What promise?”

With his shirt unbuttoned and removed, he began to undo the buckle of his pants. He pulled the belt from the loops around his waist, then continued to unbutton the top of his slacks. His pants loosened, sagging to catch on his hips and the hard cock that tented his pants.

You swallowed as you stared at him, your eyes following the curves of his iliac crests, the muscles of his abdomen in soft relief against the firelight. The soft tuft of dark hair below his navel gave way to the base of his cock, still barely hidden beneath his slacks.

A realization hit you. Barbatos didn’t wear underwear. No boxers, no briefs, nothing. Nothing but the thin black fabric of his slacks between his cock and the world.

Your hands reached out, grabbing onto the fabric to tug it down and free him as he watched you with amusement in his eyes. His cock sprang free, perfect and beautiful. Your hand wrapped around it, feeling the warmth of it, the smoothness of the skin, the veins that trekked along its sides...

Barbatos’s finger tucked beneath your chin and forced your eyes to look up at him.

“I promised myself,” he continued, “that the first time I make you cum, it’ll be on my cock.”

Your eyes widened and you swallowed. His smirk turned into a devilish grin as he dipped his head down and captured your mouth with his, the scent of you still on his lips. As his tongue forced its way past your lips, his body invaded you, bearing down on you, forcing you to back further into the bed that smelled entirely of him.

He kissed you hungrily as his hand quickly undid the clasp of your bra before hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling them down off your legs, the clinging wet strings of arousal stretching and snapping as the material left your throbbing cunt. Then he was over you again, surrounding you, caging you with his body as his thighs pushed your legs open for him, the head of his cock nestled against your entrance.

“Please...” you begged, your body taut with need.

He stared at you, the affection heavy in his gaze and written in the flush of his cheeks like paint on paper.

“You will tell me if it’s too much, yes?” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I promise,” you whispered.

You hooked your legs around the back of his thighs and pressed, and he obliged, the leaking head of his cock pushing into your wet heat as his lips parted in a silent breath. You inhaled, your ribcage expanding and your back arching as his cock dragged across every awakened nerve within you, causing your walls to clench tightly around his girth. He was long, and he filled every inch of you and then some, pushing you past your limits as you gasped in a short cry.

Barbatos froze for a moment, concern in his veridian eyes. But your body quieted, your expression one of bliss rather than pain, and he breathed as he pulled out and entered you again slowly, feeling the way your body greeted him, took him, made a home for him. Every inch of you was trembling; the air leaving your lungs on shaky breaths, your thighs practically vibrating, your walls fluttering.

Barbatos’s hand cupped your cheek and he pressed his forehead to yours as you looked at him through half-open, lust-blown eyes.

“My pretty girl...” he whispered tenderly. “My pretty little human. So fragile, so beautiful. Look at you, laid out before me, shaking like a leaf.” He pulled out slowly and pushed in again, the muscles of his biceps shaking with restraint. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this moment...”

You smiled and gave a breathy laugh that ended in a hitch as he bottomed out in you. “At least as long as I have, I hope...”

Barbatos smiled against your lips. “Longer,” he promised, followed by a stolen kiss.

But words could only last for as long as you both had focus, and it quickly waned in favor of the pleasure that washed over you with each thrust, your body and mind immersed in the feel of him. With your body fully acclimated and pliable beneath his touch, his thrusts quickened as speech gave way to sounds of pleasure; of grunts and groans, gasps and pants.

Barbatos’s knowledge of the human body was not to be underestimated. With each dip of his hips, his cock rubbed against your most sensitive parts, each thrust ending in a grind of his groin to roll your swollen, sensitive clit against him. His hand caressed your body, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers, before sliding down to grip your thigh against him as his mouth devoured yours.

Your body shifted, your breaths quickened, catching in your chest as the arousal swelled, nerves on fire. “Please...” you begged as you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, I’m so close...”

He sat up, adjusting his angle to allow his cock to press harder against the top of your walls where you were most sensitive. The change position allowed him the full freedom of his hands, and he took full advantage. He held your right leg over his shoulder while his other hand drew fast, steady circles over your swollen clit with his thumb. He quickened his thrusts for you, spurred by your pleas, your confessions of pleasure. He watched in rapture as your eyes glazed over then widened, as your back arched when your orgasm piqued, igniting across your nerves. Over and over, it crashed over you, drowning you, stealing your voice in favor of gasps of air and primal moans.

Barbatos relished the sight, the way you broke before him, because of him. He relished in the feel of you tight around his cock, your walls pulsing, sucking him in. He released your leg from his grip and leaned over you again, his lips stealing yours as he pistoned even faster, now that he was able to finally chase his own release. He buried himself in you with each thrust, the ‘pap’ ‘pap’ of skin hitting skin loud in his ears. You cried out against him with each thrust, your teeth digging into his shoulder. If it weren’t for your legs tightening in an iron grip around him, he would have stopped, checked you for injuries. But instead, you clung to him, your body beyond words, beyond control.

Were you going to cum again? So soon?

The thought alone was enough to send Barbatos over the edge, hot cum spilling from his cock with a groan as he rode out the burning wave of pleasure that washed over him. With each release of his load into you, a new wave followed, and he chased it relentlessly, savoring every second of you pinned beneath him, wrapped around him...

Your body spasmed against him and you half moaned, half cried into his shoulder, your arms tight around his neck as your hips rolled and bucked, your breaths forced out on a parched, hot tongue and burning lungs. It only added to his own pleasure; not just the fresh spasming of your cunt around him, milking the last of what he had to offer, but the way you moaned for him, clung to him, needed him, as if you’d shatter if every inch of you weren’t touching.

With the majority of his orgasm already falling to the wayside, he kept his pace until he was sure you had finished, when your death grip on his neck finally loosened and your head fell back damp with sweat into his rich bedsheets, panting heavily for air.

Barbatos was less winded of course, thanks to his superior strength and stamina. It allowed him the opportunity to lift himself on his arms and stare down at you, memorizing every detail.

As your breaths finally eased, your eyes fluttered open. As soon as you saw him staring down at you, you covered your face with a giggle. Barbatos smiled and grabbed your hand in his, pulling it off your face and pinning it above your head. He kissed you with smiling lips, and you returned it in kind, your free hand wrapping lazily around his neck, your fingers gently threading through his sweaty strands. He kissed you again, and again, moving from your lips to your cheek, to your jaw. You giggled against it, and he smiled against your skin as he buried his face into your neck and allowed himself to rest some of his weight onto you.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked. His voice was low and reverberated into your chest.

Your fingers lightly grazed back and forth along the back of his neck absently.

“Yeah,” you replied drowsily. “You?”

“Hm, yes.” he confirmed. “Very much so.”

After a long quiet moment, you spoke again, your eyes staring at the ceiling. “That was... wow.”

Barbatos pulled back sightly to look at you. “Do you regret it? Was it too soon?”

You looked at him in confusion and gave an amused laugh. “Definitely not. I’ve been wanting for that forever.” A pause. “How about you? Do you regret it?”

Barbatos smiled as he allowed the tips of his fingers to trace your body. He followed your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your breast. His smile widened as your nipple perked and hardened under his touch.

“No,” he replied. “It happened sooner than I expected, but trust me when I say I have zero regrets. Had I known it would be like this, I would have claimed you sooner.”

You stared at him with poorly masked surprise. Barbatos gave a soft chuckle as his fingers continued their trek down along your hip to your thigh.

“I meant what I said earlier this evening...” he said as he watched his hand travel. “I do not look into your future. I did not know this would happen.” His hand trailed back up your side to visit the gentle slopes of your arm, following the lines to your sensitive palm. His fingers twined with yours and he looked back at your eyes. “And I’m glad. Seeing this future would have dulled the experience. It was meant to happen like this; unexpected and perfect.”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, and you pulled him against you as you kissed him tenderly. When your lips parted again, amusement colored your expression.

“I think I’m ready for that tea now.”

Barbatos grinned down at you. “Absolutely not. I will make us fresh tea.” He glanced down pointedly at where your bodies were still joined, although his white, sticky cum had long since begun to leak out onto the bedding. “But first, perhaps a bath.”

You laughed as you followed his gaze. “Yes, a bath would be nice.”

You had expected him to pull out of you, to help you stand and walk with you. You were prepared for the walk of shame, the humorous waddle of cupping your hand between your legs to catch any remaining drops of Barbatos’s gift that would inevitably leak out on your journey to the bathroom. But instead, his tail slithered its way between your back and the mattress and wrapped around your waist, as his hands gripped the globes of your butt.

“Hold on,” he ordered.

“What’re you—AH!”

He hoisted you up in his arms, your body securely pressed against his. You giggled into his shoulder as he carried you to the bathroom, his tail loosening around your waist in order to open the door while he continued to support your weight easily with his palms.

He set you down near the toilet. “If my memory of human anatomy is still correct, you should pee.”

You sat on the toilet to do as he asked, and watched as he began to fill the very large bathtub with hot water. The sight of him nude in front of you was both arousing and odd. He always kept himself covered from head to toe, so much so that even the slightest hint of arm or shoulder had been enough to make your blood run hot and your thighs squeeze together on more than one occasion. But now, you could see every inch of him, and you realized what an absolute insult it was to have his figure covered up at all times.

He looked up to catch you staring at him and you averted your eyes quickly. He smirked.

“Are you finished?” he asked.

You nodded as you cleaned yourself.

He held out his hand to you. “Then come join me.”

You did, stepping into the bathwater with his body behind you. You sighed as you leaned back against him, the water coming up to barely cover your breasts. His hands caressed your arms, your legs; any part of you he could easily touch.

It was a soft silence, a gentle togetherness where words had no place. There was no need for them. They were too loud, too plain... there was no way to capture what either of you felt, and there was no need to define or label, to announce or question. Before the two of you were not, and now you were. The transition into togetherness came with ease, forged through intimacy and surrender, through the carefully laid bricks of friendship and time.

Barbatos washed your hair for you, planting a kiss to your forehead as you tilted your head back to rinse. He washed your back too, and your arms, the soft washcloth trailing over every inch of skin. Your knees, your thighs... But then the washcloth was abandoned in favor of his fingers between your legs, parting your lips beneath the warm, sudsy water to find the pearl of nerves nestled protectively at the apex of your folds.

“Barbatos...” you moaned as you felt that familiar heat reignite. He planted a silent kiss to your temple as he began to move his first two fingers in small circles. Your legs spread as far as they could within the tub, and he took that as an invitation to increase his pace as his other hand cupped and massaged your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers with small pinches.

He worked you quickly and with ease. Within a minute, your head was tilted back against his shoulder as he watched his hand work you beneath the water, your body tensing and flexing each time he passed the pads of his fingers over you. Quicker and quicker he circled, increasing the pressure until that familiar sound of your heavy panting greeted his ears and your hips rocked, causing your back to press against his hard cock. He pressed kisses against your jaw line, your neck, and he watched your face as your eyes fluttered closed and your brows drew together, your mouth slightly parted.

You came with a groan, your back arching against him, and he maintained his pace, his digits circling vigorously as he whispered soft praises into your ear.

“Good girl. My beautiful girl...”

As the pleasure receded to a low hum across your skin, you slumped against him with a sigh and closed eyes. After a moment, you opened your eyes and looked at him. He smiled and kissed you.

“What was that for?” you asked.

“Do I need a reason?” he replied. His hands caressed your shoulders as his lips grazed the curve of your ear. “Because I wanted to,” he whispered.

You turned as best you could in the tub and kissed him tenderly.

You wanted to reciprocate, to run your fingers through his dark green hair as you washed it, to cleanse his pale skin with soap on your palms and affection in your touch. You wanted to make him feel as good as you felt, to know the weight of him in your hand, your mouth...

But he spoke first.

“Come,” he ordered.

Before you could protest, Barbatos disentangled himself from you and stepped lithely out of the tub. He grabbed one towel and wrapped it around his lean frame. Then he grabbed a second towel for you and held it open in quiet invitation. Unable to say no, you stood and stepped out of the tub, the cool air of the bathroom kissing your skin for only a moment as turned your back to him. He wrapped the soft cloth around you, his arms wrapping around you as he did so. He pulled you close against him until his chin rested on your shoulder.

“There is a spare robe on the rack by the door,” he explained. “And you may borrow any of my clothes if you so wish. I will make us a fresh batch of tea.”

With a kiss planted against your wet hair, he stepped away. You watched as he abandoned his towel and grabbed his other robe, pulling his arms through the sleeves before crossing the fabric over his nudity and tying the sash. With a brief glance and a small smile, he stepped out and closed the door, as if to give you privacy you no longer needed.

You breathed a heavy breath slowly from your lungs, allowing the release to steady you as you processed the reality of all that had transpired thus far.

The mellow acceptance you’d felt earlier when Barbatos was with you gave way to a mixture of elation and shock that hummed through your body and mind, reverberating against your isolation within the bathroom. It felt as if your heart would explode, the beating muscle unable to keep up with the demands of the emotions that swirled inside of you like a vortex. You felt up-ended, chaotic, yet free.

This wasn’t at all how you thought this would happen. You had always pictured the process as slow, requiring a level of patience you weren’t entirely sure you possessed. You’d ease into it, learn how to navigate Barbatos’s complexity on a level that you had yet to explore or fully understand, like learning to sail for the first time in uncharted waters.

Instead, the tether of caution, of safety, had been snapped from its mooring, and now you felt you were spinning, drifting, carried out on a heavy tide with no knowledge of where it led or how to navigate it; a small boat in deep waters, large waves, and not a paddle to be found.

You wanted to trust in it. To trust in him. To trust the softness of his touch, the delicacy of his kisses, the honesty of his words.

You wanted to trust that you would be kept safe, protected; that your small little boat would not be capsized by the weight of all that he was – an ancient, timeless, a creature beyond human understanding. You wanted to trust that he would not let you drown, would not let you sink into the bottomless black, dragged deep by the limits of your mortality and understanding.

To trust your heart to him, your soul... it was like trusting the ocean to be kind to you, as if the ocean were anything but indifferent.

But Barbatos was not indifferent. In fact, he was far from it. But he wasn’t human, either. His view of life, death, the world... it went far beyond your own comprehension, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you, in all of your insignificance, had managed to even catch his attention to begin with, let alone hold his eye.

You began to gather yourself, your movements slow and sluggish as you dried your body. Your thighs and your cunt ached, but it was pleasurable, a soft reminder of the intimacy you’d shared. It helped root you to the present, to tear your eyes away from that distant, unknown horizon and focus on the sand beneath your feet.

You stepped out of the bathroom to the smell of a sweet, floral fragrance. You quickly noticed the new bedding on his bed, and wondered if you’d lost track of time, or if he’d used magic to quickly change them. Either way, it looked ready to sleep in.

Barbatos was by the small table with a fresh pot of tea, the arrangement prepared. He was still in his robe, the silky fabric loosely open towards the top providing a pleasant view of his chest. He looked up from when you entered and smiled as his eyes raked over your figure.

“Perhaps I should let you keep that,” he said.

You looked down at the robe. “If I did, then it’d have to come back with me to the House of Lamentation,” you teased as you walked towards him.

Barbatos narrowed his eyes. “Then, perhaps not. Such beauty should be for my eyes only.”

He took you into his arms as soon as you were within reach and kissed you. Then he motioned to the table and chairs.

“Tea?” he offered.

You laughed. “Yes.”

You both sat, the air between you warm and comfortable, the conversation between you flowing easily. It eased your nerves and quieted your fears. In private moments like this, it didn’t matter that you were a human, and he was a demon. What mattered was the happiness, the laughs, the comfort it brought you to be in his presence. The foundation of the two of you remained, and yet there was a newness that coated it, a novelty and open curiosity. Your feet played with his under the table; his tail teased your leg. And the looks shared were a newly opened secret, an invitation to explore each other’s hearts, while sensitive hands itched to explore each other’s bodies.

Once the tea was gone, the conversation moved to the couch in front of the fire. You curled yourself up against Barbatos’s side as your eyes watched the flames dance.

“How come I’ve never heard the Divine Language before?” you asked, your brow furrowed. “I talk to you and all the other demons and angels just fine.”

Barbatos gave a small smile. “That’s because we are naturally fluent in every language. We speak to you in your language because we have to.”

Your head lifted from his shoulder. “Really? I mean, I guess that makes sense...I just...huh. Never really thought about it.”

Your head went back to its resting place.

“I did mean it, earlier…” he said softly. “You were safe at the opera.”

You were silent for a long moment. “I believe you. But for me, as a mortal, even the slightest possibility of not being safe was terrifying.”

Barbatos’s arm tightened around you. “I assure you; I had multiple failsafes in place in the highly unlikely possibility that I was incorrect.”

You lifted your head again to look at him. “Like what?”

He glanced at you and returned his gaze to the fire. “In the worst-case scenario, I was prepared to teleport you instantly.”

“But that’s not the worst-case…” you said softly. “Worst-case would be if teleporting is too late.”

Barbatos was silent for a long moment, his expression locked in stillness. “If such a thing happened, then I would be forced to use my ability.”

“With Lord Diavolo’s permission…”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Yes, of course.”

You didn’t feel entirely convinced by his response, which alarmed you. Barbatos was always absolute in not using his time travel ability without the Prince’s explicit permission or instruction. Even the hint of possibility that his commitment to that single, most important rule would potentially falter... because of you...

“However,” he continued, his gentle smile returning, “even average humans can withstand the power of the Divine Language for at least a few minutes.”

Relief filled you. “Really?”

“How do you think God and his angels talked to the prophets?” He grinned. “So, I will tell you again, you were safe.”

You smiled appreciatively at his reassurances, but it dissipated as you had another curious thought.

“If you were so worried about the risks and had so many plans in place, why didn’t you just... not invite me? Or maybe take me somewhere else?”

Barbatos gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “Yes, I did consider that option first. However, we’d already been struggling to find time for each other recently. And I did not want the young master’s efforts to go to waste, even though he hadn’t considered the concerns regarding the Divine Language.” He tilted his head slightly as he watched the flames. “Besides, I thought the love story was somewhat... fitting.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. In a strange way, it was. You snuggled tighter against him.

An idea popped into your head.

“Can you speak the Divine Language?” you asked.

“Of course, I can. I am a demon after all.”

You looked up at him again, your eyes shining. “Say something to me.”

Barbatos stared down at you with wide eyes. “Like what?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know... Whatever you want.”

Barbatos stared at you as he thought. Then he took a hesitant breath and spoke.

The sounds were a melody, a chorus of voice tuned to his deep tone. It washed over you gently, blanketing you until every inch of you felt warm and safe. It chased away your fears of death and loss, and instead, it made you want to trust him with your life. His finger gently traced the line of your jaw as he spoke, a gentle smile on his lips. It was short, lasting mere seconds, yet it somehow felt longer.

Silence fell between you as your mind gradually cleared.

“Did you understand it that time?” he asked curiously.

“I... I don’t know. Was I supposed to?”

“It was directed at you, so I had hoped you would.”

“It wasn’t so much words, but more of a... feeling?”

“What did it feel like?”

“Being safe... and warm... Is that how it works? Through feelings and pictures?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I’ve never been human.”

You made a face. “Eh, that’s okay. It’s overrated.”

He laughed deep and rich, and the sound of it made you laugh too, the joy contagious. Then his smile faded, and he tilted his head at you.

“So, what did you say?” you asked.

Barbatos was silent for a moment, as if debating with himself. Finally, he spoke quietly, his voice solemn. “I told you I will always protect you.”

Your stared at him with parted lips, hoping to find the words that could equal his own, but there were none. Instead, you kissed him gently, your hand cupping his jaw. He reciprocated, his hand covering yours as his arm tightened around you. It made the latent desire in you reawaken, and you deepened the kiss with your tongue. Barbatos welcomed you, his mouth opening with yours, his warm tongue swiping and tasting.

You hummed and crawled into his lap, your legs straddling him. The action forced your robe to part below the sash, exposing yourself to him. The sight brought a pleased hum into the back of his throat, and his kisses deepened, battling your tongue for supremacy. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips through the fabric to pull you closer against him.

His cock awakened within seconds, hard and hot, and you pressed your wet cunt against the length of it. You rolled your hips until your clit rubbed against him, and moaned into his mouth. He swallowed the sound with his tongue swiping along yours as his hands forced your hips to roll on him again. Your hands began to untie the sash of his robe and he chuckled against your lips.

“Again?” he teased.

The sash gave way, and you pushed the edges of his robe aside to expose the length of his body beneath you. “Shut up,” you replied playfully as you savored the feel of his chest with your hands.

Barbatos’s cock twitched beneath you, and he began untying your robe in return. “You lose your manners when you’re horny,” he grinned. “My impatient little human.”

He pushed the robe off your shoulders, and it dropped behind you off the couch. He started at your silhouette in the firelight, his hands caressing your curves.

Your hand wrapped around the shaft of him and gave him a couple of languid strokes, teasing the flushed head with your thumb. Barbatos closed his eyes and hummed.

You tutted at him. “Yes, well this impatient little human is going to ride your very big demon cock,” you breathed lustfully.

He growled low, and when he opened his eyes, they glowed like emeralds caught in sunlight. “You should be careful what you say to a demon, my dear.” He watched through heavy-lidded eyes as you lined yourself up with him, your dripping cunt hovering over his cock head. “I have more control than most, but even I have my limits.”

His grip on your hips tightened, fingernails digging into soft flesh, as you lowered yourself onto him slowly, your gaze hazy and lovesick. Your eyes rolled back, your lids closing, as you reached the base of his cock, taking every inch, his tip pressing deep into you. It ached, your body still sore from earlier. It blended with the burning pleasure as he stretched you, creating a sweet harmony of love and pain, pleasure and danger. You rocked your hips slightly, then slid back up, only to come back down again with a slowness that even rivaled Barbatos’s patience.

“Then again…” he muttered as his eyes watched his cock disappear into you, “perhaps I made you wait too long.”

You moaned softly, your head nodding in hazy affirmation as you slid up and down his cock again. Barbatos’s hands began to move your hips, forcing you to rub your clit against him with each descent. The pressure of his hands forced you to quicken your pace.

“Humans…” he continued teasingly as he watched your breasts start to bounce deliciously. “You always want everything now, now, now.”

Your eyes were closed in ecstasy, your head lolling back. Your lips curled into a grin. “Are you saying I’m spoiled?” you breathed.

He forced you down harder onto his cock and you moaned as your cunt tightened. Fresh arousal coated his shining shaft, dripping slowly down his balls.

“Not yet, my sweet girl. But you will be.”

Then Barbatos wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close against him as he snapped his hips up to meet yours, his cock slamming into you. You yelped and clung to him, your face buried into his neck. He did it again. And again. Each time, he pushed your hips down to meet his as he thrusted. Each time you cried out in high pitched whines as your breaths were knocked from your lungs. And each time, his cock grew harder and harder as he felt his own pleasure rapidly rising. Your body caught his fast rhythm, your thighs and your hips working yourself frantically on his cock as you rode him. Your breasts were pressed against him, his teeth digging into your collarbone as you panted, your whines rising in pitch with each hit of your sensitive walls. Your hands gripped the couch on either side of his head, your brows drawn together as you chased the release you so desperately craved.

Barbatos looked up at you, watched the curve of your neck, your jaw. Watched every little way your muscles and tendons twitched and spasmed as the tension built within you. His own pleasure was building swiftly, and he was determined to have you cum with him while he spilled himself inside your sensitive walls. His thick tail wrapped around your waist, the tips of it dipping between your legs. The tips were dexterous, wet and warm, and they tickled your clit, pressing against it, pinching, swiping. With your eyes squeezed shut it nearly felt like being eaten out while being fucked.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” you cried.

He timed it perfectly, your orgasm cascading over you just as his crested, his load filling you as you rode him. He couldn’t suppress the grunts and groans that overtook him, couldn’t fight the way his strong hands forced you down onto him over and over again with brutal intensity as his tail tightened around you. You cried his name, wrapped in moans of pleasure as the tears in your eyes finally spilled over, leaving wet tracks on your cheeks that dripped onto his shoulder.

He felt them, cold, wet drops landing on his hot skin. He took your face in his hands and kissed you passionately as his tail kept you in place, helping your body to rut against him through the final stretch of your shared orgasm, his cock twitching the last drops into your cunt.

Finally, his tail relaxed around your waist, and you collapsed against him with your arms around his neck and your face buried into his shoulder. Your entire body heaved as your lungs gasped for air. The elation pumping through your veins faded away to reveal the pain waiting beneath it in the form of burning thighs, fiery lungs, and a cunt that felt bruised and battered.

Barbatos’s hands gently caressed your back as he waited for you to recover. Once your breaths steadied and your heart no longer pounded loud enough for Barbatos to hear it, he spoke.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

There was a pause that worried him, and then you nodded your head against his shoulder.

But you didn’t speak yet, and so he continued. “Was I too rough?”

Your response was quicker this time, your head shaking in denial.

He gave a soft, worried chuckle. “Can you talk?”

You giggled softly and forced yourself to sit up just enough to look at him. Your face was shining with sweat, and your eyes looked tired. “I’m okay, I promise,” you finally said. Then you laid against him again, your body feeling like stretched out rubber.

He tightened his arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder. “Do you feel satisfied yet?” he asked.

You laughed against him, even though the action made your ribs ache. The richness of it warmed him, pushing his lingering worries back to the distant horizon of his mind.

“Yes, very much so,” you replied. “But I probably won’t be able to do that again tonight.”

Barbatos sat up slightly from his slouched position, and the action made you wince, his soft cock still nestled inside you.

He paused for a moment before making you sit up enough to look at him.

“You’re hurt,” he commented, his brow furrowed.

“I’m sore, there’s a difference,” you replied with a grin. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m fine. I’m just... gonna move real slow for a while.”

“You will not move at all until you’re well again,” he replied firmly.

You put your forehead to his, a playful grin on your lips. “Hmm, does that mean I get to stay in your bed while you dote on me?”

Barbatos smirked and he kissed you with a peck. “Perhaps...”

“Then yes,” you replied. “I’m sore. So sore. Suffering, even. I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a week.”

“And what makes you think you’ll be able to recover so quickly if you’re in my bed?” he replied mischievously as his hands lightly squeezed your ass.

“Barbatos,” you scolded mockingly, “are you telling me that you would take advantage of me in my weakened state? That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

Barbatos chuckled. “I’m a demon, not an angel,” he replied. “I told you earlier even I have my limits.” He kissed you softly. “But... I promise to be gentle.”

You kissed him softly in return. Then he wrapped his arms and tail around you, and this time you were prepared as he lifted you up again and carried you once more to the bathroom.

He was dutiful in his care, his touches gentle and patient. And when you were both clean again, he picked you up in his arms again and carried you to his bed, a gesture you were quickly growing accustomed to. He set you gently into the plush bedding and followed after you, pulling his thick, clean covers over the both of you. As soon as your head hit his pillow, sleep claimed you, your eyes drifting shut as you drank in the warmth of his skin against yours. They would not open again until the morning.

And as you slept, Barbatos stared at you in the dying firelight of the late night. His fingers absently danced along your arm, your hair, your back. And as he touched you gently, the time passed, seconds into minutes, and minutes into hours. The embers turned to ash, the room pitched into blackness, and Barbatos still could not sleep, as he battled within himself. Finally, in defeat, he allowed himself one confession, to be spoken barely at a whisper in a language your soul would feel but your brain would not understand. The lilting, singing words spoken on a divine, immortal tongue drifted past his lips, unable to be recalled or undone.

“I love you.”

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