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#my house be smelling like lemons though
berryzxx · 2 months
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You are divine
Azriel x reader
Summary: You haven't seen Azriel for ages after a mission has kept him busy and you decide to wait for his return. Will you finally reveal your feelings or is it just not the right time?
idk what this is or where the idea came from but hope u enjoy xx ofc it's not checked either so pretend there are no mistakes
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I lounged on the sofa, my book next to me but not actually reading it. It's not that I didn't like it, I actually found the romance in the book once of the best things I had read in a while but I couldn't settle down to enjoy it.
I was waiting for Azriel to come back from a mission he had been on for two weeks now. I had recently figured out the slight ache I felt whenever I remembered him was because I missed him and not because I had some sort of heart disease. Although I don't exactly know why seen as though our conversations consisted of "Good mornings'" "Good nights" and small smiles here and there.
"What are you doing?" Nesta asked, as she swept into the living room ,a cup of tea in her hand. I could smell the slight hint of lemon and honey and it was not a smell I particularly enjoyed. She sat down on the armchair opposite me as if she was going to start interviewing me. She probably was.
I sat up slightly and showed her the book I was reading. "I'm reading. Why?" She was definitely up to something.
She took a sip of her tea before continuing "I didn't know you could read without actually looking inside the book. Do you just absorb the words?" Her sarcasm was there but so was her teasing. I stuck my tongue out at her and put the book to the side. There was no point lying anymore.
"I'm waiting for Azriel. I haven't seen him in a while" I tried to keep my expression neutral like I was waiting for a friend and not because I may like him.
Nesta it seemed found something funny as a smirk made it's way onto her face "Waiting for Azriel? Do you miss him?"
If I replied no, she would ask why I was waiting and if I said yes I would never hear the end of her teasing. So I decided to take the safer route "Don't we all miss him when he leaves? It's been two weeks now"
Putting her cup of tea down she sighed "I suppose. Although it's getting late now. You can always see him in the morning."
She knew exactly what she was doing. Her plan to trap me in her questioning had worked because she was smiling now and I didn't know what to say. I narrowed my eyes at her "Isn't it your bed time?"
I asked, redirecting the conversation even though we both knew by now why I was waiting for him.
She shrugged slightly but stood up "It is. Sweet dreams" The house vanished the cup for her as she stood up and made her way to the door before looking back "You know, I don't think I've ever met anyone as oblivious as you or Azriel. It's excruciating to watch"
So she knew. Well I suppose it was pretty obvious how I always wanted to spend time with Azriel and how I was always waiting for him to return from missions. But I don't know why she called Azriel oblivious. It was probably the fact that he never noticed how much I liked him.
I crossed my arms in defiance to her words "I don't know what your talking about" I was never about to admit I liked someone and they didn't like me back. My pride wouldn't let me.
"Hmm. Okay." She left and it was silent once again. It was dark outside, the fae lights of Velaris could be seen twinkling in the distance as the people went from bar to bar, partying the night away. It was getting late, she was right. Maybe I should wait for a few more minutes? Just in case. I watched the balcony, waiting for him to land but I never saw it because soon my eyes became heavier and harder to keep open. The constant sound of the clock in the room added to the sleepiness I was feeling as if it was ticking away the time until I fell asleep.
I decided to rest my eyes for a while. Just so I could be awake for when Azriel would arrive. Resting my eyes turned into me falling asleep on the sofa and missing the whole point of my I was sat there in the first place.
I was woken up by someone whispering my name in the dark. I pushed the voice away and turned my face away trying to get to sleep again, not bothering to open my eyes to see who it was.
"Aren't you uncomfortable on the sofa?" It was Azriel. He repeated my name again and this time I finally woke up. I rubbed my eyes to see in the mostly dark room and saw hazel eyes full of warmth looking down at me. His wings were folded in and he was still in his Illyrian armour. There wasn't a speck of blood on him as if he had changed just before coming home. He shouldn't have had to take a detour just so he looked presentable coming home. He should have felt comfortable enough to come home and clean up instead of probably going to a shabby hotel in which he must have used the cramped bathrooms not big enough for wings. I hoped it wasn't me that made him so cautious around his own home.
He looked gorgeous as ever, even though he looked tired as hell too. I shook my head and sat up, stretching so I could hear the satisfactory crack from my back.
"I'm fine. How long have you been back for?" I asked, slightly annoyed at myself for having waited for so long and not even seen him come in. Azriel sat down next to me and even from the small distance between us I could feel his heat. I was glad he was back. The dull pain in my heart had receded now and I pushed back the desire to hug him. His shadows weren't as lively or moving about as they usually were as if they were tired too, just resting on his shoulders instead.
"A few minutes. What are you doing on the sofa?" He asked, looking at me like I was doing something odd. Well, I suppose I was but what was I supposed to say? The truth?
"I was reading and I fell asleep." The lie came easily off my tongue. It was helpful in situations where telling the truth would result in a painful death but sometimes lying was just easier than telling the truth. For fear of what the other person would say or how they would react. I'd rather not embarrass myself like that.
Azriel merely nodded his head, looking down at the wooden floorboards and not saying anything. The clock seemed louder now as if it were waiting for our conversation to start again.
"How was your mission?" I asked, looking at his reaction. His wings twitched slightly but otherwise his expression remained the same.
"Shit" He replied after clearing his throat. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. Why was it shit? The reports Rhys was getting all proved of the successful discoveries Azriel had made and not once was it mentioned something had failed.
"Why was it shit? I thought you found out everything you needed to? Did something happen? Were your spies found? Did you get hurt?" With every question it seemed Azriel's jaw clenched even more than before, leaving him to look slightly angry at this point. I scanned him for any injuries but physically he seemed fine. Well, more like fucking gorgeous and hot as hell but that wasn't the point.
"It was shit because I was away from home for two weeks. I am capable of missing people you know. I don't always want to be out on missions"
I paused at his words. He was right. I had dismissed it, just because he was good at his job, didn't mean he always wanted to do it or that he didn't miss people when he left. The air around us had thickened into something awkward and I hated the slight feeling of guilt growing in me. It was unusual for Azriel to open up like this but I was glad he wasn't answering in one word answers and actually wanted my company. Even if it was him slightly snapping at me.
After some deliberating I decided to tell the truth. I could always pretend we were just friends and I wasn't harbouring feelings for him "I missed you while you were gone. You went for ages, almost two weeks. It would have been exactly fourteen days if you arrived tomorrow" I informed him. I don't know why I said that but I did and now he was looking at me and his piercing gaze made me feel like I had been caught doing something I shouldn't have.
"You missed me?" He asked, sounding like he was holding his breath and waiting for my next words.
I nodded slowly "Of course I did" I don't know what he was expecting but he let out a sigh and looked down again. Was my answer not what he wanted to hear?
"You should get some sleep now...on your bed and not the sofa" Azriel interrupted my thoughts and stood up, his wings flaring slightly before folding again. What if I touched his wings? What would happen? I knew perfectly well what would happen so I banished the thought from my mind and stood up.
"You should sleep too. You must be tired" I said, covering a yawn with my hand. Really, this welcome wasn't what it was supposed to be. Although I don't really know what it was supposed to be. I was acting like I would hug and kiss him and tell him how I'd missed him but instead we'd had a conversation for two minutes and decided to call it a night. Not the most amazing thing in the world.
He nodded his head "I will. Once I have a shower and try to wash away the death on my hands" He said it so casually as if the death made no difference to him. Even if it was something he did quiet often how used to death could a person really get? You couldn't become immune to it. His shadows had gathered near his hands and his neck as if they were comforting him or hiding him from my stare.
"The death on your hands is part of your job. Not who you are" I replied quietly. I hoped he knew that.
"You always know what to say don't you? I suppose that's why everyone says you have a silver tongue" His lips had turned up in a small smile and his shadows had receded slightly. I smiled back, glad he wasn't taking my words as offensive and instead found humour in them.
I shrugged slightly and before I knew what I was saying I had let my thoughts spill out "This tongue can do other things, y'know" I clapped a hand over my mouth, my eyes widening in horror. I was stupid. So fucking stupid.
Azriel had paused. His eyes widened slightly, signalling his surprise at my words but other than that he looked like a statue. Nothing moved. Until I heard a slight chuckle escape from his perfect lips and then an actual laugh that made my heart ache and feel bright with happiness at the same time. Ache because I hadn't heard such a beautiful sound in ages and happiness because it was me making him laugh. It was so infectious that I lowered my hands and smiled at his reaction.
"Who knew you could flirt? I wouldn't mind if you showed me what other things you could do"
Now it was my turn to stand in shock as Azriel's laughter came to an abrupt halt and he eyed me warily.
"I didn't mean that" He added quietly, all of the lightness around us gone.
I tilted my head slightly "I meant what I said though" I waited for what he would say. I had finally let it out. The fact that I wanted him and I didn't feel any better. I didn't feel lighter or as if I had hope within me. Instead nerves gathered in my stomach waiting for his rejection.
Azriel moved closer to me, his boots silent on the floorboard until there was an inch of space between us and if I wanted to, I could reach up and brush a stray curl away from his forehead.
"If I were to kiss you right now what would you do? Would you run? Push me away in disgust? " His questions were said one after another, his voice soft and his eyes locked onto mine. I had to strain my ears to make out the exact words he was saying but they went straight to my heart. As if I would ever have disgust and Azriel in the same sentence.
I swallowed. It was now or never. I wrapped my arms around his neck and moved closer until we were a hairs width apart. I waited for him to push me away but instead he watched me with intrigue and full intensity. I tilted my face up so our lips touched slightly, a jolt of electricity running through my entire body. His hands immediately came to rest on my hips, tugging my closer until I was pressed up against him and his lips were on mine and were were kissing and it felt like I was in heaven, and I never wanted it to end.
"This is what I would do" I murmured. His eyes were closed as he breathed in deeply before opening them again "You are divine" He whispered to me, before leaning in and kissing me as if his life depended on it.
(haven't posted in a while but I PROMISE i'll be more on top of things...hopefully🤍🤞)
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a-sleepy-raven · 11 months
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Hi! And welcome. :3 I have a request for you - can I ask for a fic where reader takes care of Leon when he's sick? Fluffy pls. :3 Thank you!
Hey there! Thank you so much for your request, I love writing stuff like this, though I have to say I'm a bit nervous about sharing my first RE fic. Hope you enjoy! <3
(established relationship, post RE4)
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Baby, it'll be alright - Leon Kennedy x gn!reader (fluff)
When you come home, you’re surprised to find Leon curled up on the couch, fast asleep and buried beneath one, no, two blankets. There’s a half empty cup on the coffee table in front of him – chamomile, if you’re not mistaken. And as far as you know, Leon hates chamomile with a burning passion. He can’t even stand the smell of it. That, paired with the fact that he fell asleep in broad daylight, can only mean one thing: His health hasn’t gotten any better since you left the house this morning.
Well. At least, you’re prepared, you think to yourself as you set down the bags in your arms, careful not to make any noise because you don’t want to disturb Leon’s slumber. He has barely gotten any sleep last night, and you’re sure he must be absolutely exhausted.
As quietly as humanly possible, you start to unpack the groceries. Aside from a few essentials like coffee and toast, you have also stocked up on lemons, tissues, cough drops and lemons. (You also bought a tub of ice cream, but that one’s for you – your reward for taking care of your sick boyfriend who can be as stubborn as a mule, especially when it comes to his health. Wouldn’t be the first time that he insisted he was fine when, in fact, he was still feeling like garbage.)
A quiet groan that sounds like it’s coming from beneath that pile of blankets on the couch snaps you out of your thoughts, and you turn around, your gaze meeting Leon’s. He looks terrible. The dark circles under his tired, red rimmed eyes are a sharp contrast to the pale, sallow tone of his skin, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and raspy. “You’re back.”
“Yeah.” You make your way over to him, crouching down in front of the couch before you place your hand on his forehead. Beneath your palm, his skin feels burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. He’s definitely running a fever. “Damn, Leon.”
“What kind of greeting is that, honey?”
“Shut up. You sound like you’ve been chain-smoking for at least ten years.” 
He suppresses a cough. “You really know how to make someone feel better.”
“Sorry.” You brush your hand through his hair. “How are you feeling?”
“Horrible.”
“My poor baby,” you say and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Do you want some tea? Or a glass of water? I also bought lemons – people say hot lemonade works wonders when you have a cold. I could make you some.”
“As long as it’s not chamomile, I really don’t care.”
“Hot lemonade it is, then.” You get up. “And in the meantime, you should gather your stuff,” you motion to the blankets and the pillows that definitely come from your bedroom, “and go back to bed. I don’t understand why you haven’t stayed there in the first place.”
“Yeah, well-“ Leon interrupts himself when he falls into yet another fit of coughing, forcing him to sit up. “God damnit,” he mumbles, then. His head hurts like hell, like it’s going to explode any second, and with every cough and every sneeze, it just seems to get worse. 
You rub his back. “Go to bed,” you order him, softly. “I’ll bring you some meds. And painkillers. You look like you need them.”
He sniffles. “Yeah. Thanks.”
* * * *
“Ta-da,” you say as you carefully set down the tray that’s loaded with two cups (one filled with hot lemonade you hope you haven’t messed up, the other with water), a bowl of ice cream (you don’t have the heart to not share it with Leon when he’s feeling so bad) and the meds you bought on your way back home from work. 
Leon sits up, relief written all over his face when you hand him the painkillers. A moment later, before you can even reach out for the glass of water, he has already swallowed one of the tiny pills. Then, he lets himself fall back into the pillows. “Thanks.”
“You survived Raccoon City and getting infected with some ancient parasite. Who would’ve guessed that a simple cold is all it takes to knock the famous Leon Kennedy flat out?” you tease as you sit down on the edge of the bed and reach out to caress his face. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle before he sinks back into the pillows because the world around him has started spinning. And he’s pretty sure it is not supposed to do that. Not like this, at least.
This goddamn cold. He can’t even say what annoys him more – the constant coughing, the terrible headache or the fact that all he wants to do is sleep. And although he knows that you don’t mind taking care of him, he can’t help but feel like a burden right now. You probably have a million other things to do, and yet, here you are, keeping him company and trying your best to nurse him back to health. If only he could find the right words to tell you how much he appreciates your efforts.
“Try to get some rest,” you say, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Sleep is the best medicine, after all.”
Leon hums in response. Sleep truly sounds like a wonderful idea.
“Do you want me to leave?”
He shakes his head. “Come here,” he mumbles, “please. Unless,” a coughing fit interrupts him before he can finish his sentence, and he takes a deep breath before continuing, “unless you’re afraid to pick up a cold, too.”
You let out an indignant huff. “You’ll need more than a few germs to scare me away, Leon. You should know that by now,” you say as you lie down next to him and make yourself comfortable. With a content sigh, Leon snuggles up to you and drapes his arm over your stomach. You kiss the top of his head. “Want me to cuddle you to sleep?”
“Hm… yeah.” 
A smile flashes over your face. That’s exactly the answer you have expected, and so you wrap your arms around him, carefully burying one of your hands in his hair while the other one traces invisible patterns on his back. “Sweet dreams, Leon.”
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Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider liking, reblogging and/or leaving some feedback. I'd really appreciate the support. 🥰
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untaemedqueen · 11 months
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Finding My Pack
Alpha!OT7 x Omega!Reader
Genre: Fated Mates, Omegaverse, Smut, Angst, Fluff
Series Warnings: Omega Abuse (Not By OT7), Fated Mates/Soulmates, Scent Sympathy, Sunshine!FMC, Knotting, Smut, MMMMMMMF, MMMF, MMF, MF, Breeding Kink, Cursing, Dom!OT7, Sub!Reader
Chapter Warnings: Omega Abuse
A/N: This will be the only chapter posted to Tumblr. All future chapters can be found on Patreon~! See you there!
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Chapter 1.
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"You do not lock the goddamn doors in this fucking house."
The sentence was thick with a growl, one that if I was born correctly wouldn't have mattered in the slightest. Just hearing the sharp hit of his words, my insides clenched and coiled, dying to listen and make sure that he wouldn't be mad at me again.
"Sorry," I whispered softly, looking down at my bare toes that curled awkwardly under my gaze.
"You need to put on your scent blocker and try a little bit harder to fit in here. You're making all your brothers crazy with that fucking smell."
Swallowing thickly, I grabbed the bottle from him with a nod.
If my scent made my brothers crazy, they made me out of my fucking mind with sickness. Every one of them smells like acidic garbage with a hint of overpowering sweetness, y'know, like the way too fake soaps or body lotions you find in those hoity toity stores.
"You're a fucking Pangborn. Please act like it," my father grumbled, wrinkling his nose at the smell of my nervousness. "Jesus Christ. I can't believe your mother made you."
His words were a low blow but nothing I wasn't used to hearing now. Nothing any of the pack said got to me as bad as it used it.
Liar.
Okay, a lot of it hurt but I tried not to think of it all the time. It was my fault, really. I wasn't born right.
To be a Pangborn in Cypress City, you have to be an alpha. The Pangborns breed for one purpose and one purpose only, to give the city more alphas then they know what to do with.
Every Pangborn is expected to be a boy, to be an alpha and to take on the numerous betas that are practically beating down the door for them to be let in. So when I was born, disappointment was ripe in the air. It still is.
A small female omega with no qualities and no purpose.
I'm nothing.
Oh that's fun, what a great thought to have. Even if it hurts, it's true.
Since I was born I've been kept hidden like a secret. There's no fairytale here, there's no pack of alpha princes waiting at the bottom of my incredibly sterile, sad tower. There's no one that cares. Well, maybe Brady and MacKenzie but they pretend I don't exist half the time.
Looking down at the bottle of scent blocker, a sob threatened to well up in my throat.
"Weak omega bullshit." That's what my father would say.
It's so fucking annoying to be different. It's so painful. But the hope that one day I'd be accepted never ceased to creep into my thoughts.
So I sprayed the spray on even though it makes me feel sick.
I could smell him before my door opened. His alpha pheromones were bleeding throughout the long hallway that lead to my room.
He smelled of garbage, lemon juice and the slightest hint of boysenberry. Although the boysenberry is not his own smell. It's a betas.
"Oy!" MacKenzie booms, shoving open the door.
His bright red hair and forest green eyes searched the mostly barren room until he found me in the corner.
"He cornered you again?" he asked softly, stepping into the room like he's witnessing a hurt animal.
"It's okay!" I tried to beam a smile for him but it fell flat into some kind of grimace.
MacKenzie wasn't really my brother, he hailed from the Alban Pangborns so he's more like my very distant cousin but he's pack and that makes him my authority regardless. If he barked at me, I'd end up doing his bidding. Just like all my other brothers do. I'm grateful he doesn't do it but he still could nonetheless.
"You sprayed on the right amount," Kenz praised, giving me a small smile.
The praise made me want to preen, made me want to jump and shout for joy that I did something right but I kept it locked tight within me.
"You'll be pleased to know that your father and some of the others are going on a business trip soon. It'll just be some of us left in the house. You won't have to smell all this alpha shite around, you ken?"
His thick accent made me smile then. When he first came over from Alba I had not a fucking clue what he was talking about but now it almost feels like a secret language we speak.
"I ken," I nodded, setting the spray down on my dresser.
"Just wait a while to come down to get your dinner. The boys and I have been having a beta fucking feast," he wiggled his eyebrows and left the doorway without so much as a goodbye.
I wish I was a beta.
No, actually, I wished I was an alpha. I wished I was born an alpha so that I didn't have to be a disappointment and left out of everything.
Sitting down on my bed, I fluffed the uncomfortable comforter around me to no avail and since I know I'm alone I let out the most pitiful of whines. Whining wasn't allowed. My father told me that alphas hate whining more than anything.
Once I whined during dinner with the Landons and their alpha son looked like he wanted to tackle me from across the table. It was the one and only time I was able to go to dinner with my family. They never let me go again.
I apparently ruined their business merger dinner.
My family made a fuck ton of money. Too much money to count on your fingers, not that I'd ever see a cent. I wasn't worth a dollar to them. They own a vast majority of land across the globe, mostly farms or patches of free wilderness that people are begging to buy from them.
If only those vast patches of land would be able to buy me a soft comfortable comforter. This one is rough and itchy and I don't like it. I don't know much about being an omega but I do know that I don't like the blankets I own.
You see, omegas are rare. Like one in one hundred is an omega rare. Somewhere in history omegas just became a rarity and as such they're terribly hated.
Whenever I tried to ask the pack any questions they all shut me down with a growl and told me to go back to my room.
"Y/N!"
My father's bark was sharp and I tightened my terribly uncomfortable blanket over my shoulders at the noise.
If they are having a beta party downstairs I most certainly wouldn't be welcome to interrupt it. All the beta females that came into the house hated me. I tried to be friendly and smile, tried to make friends with other girls but they didn't want anything to do with me.
Probably feeding into the whole hate omega-kind thing, huh?
When my father shouted my name again, I had no choice but to get up. It was an alpha command now, filled with bite and fury.
If I saw one bare tit I was going to lose my goddamn mind. I'd been having these awful urges these past couple of months. It felt like something was boiling in my gut and itching beneath my skin, just begging to get out of me. What it was, I wasn't sure but it feels fucking awful and devastating just the same.
When I was starting to run a fever, my father would give me a few pills and lock me up in my room until the fever had passed and I was able to carry on with my chores.
My feet took me without thinking. The large home I lived in with the twelve others in the pack passed by in a blur. I tried not to look up from the wooden floorboards, I really didn't want to see anyone mating out in the open like I know my brothers loved to do.
I could hear the audible moans of the betas, probably in various states of undress all around me as I made my way to my father's office.
This had always been my home but I'd always felt like a stranger here. It's not just because my family wasn't welcoming, it just felt wrong. Nothing in this place is where it should be. The pictures on the cabin-like wooden walls weren't at all in the right order, the couches in the sitting room weren't staged properly, even the wood that goes into the fireplace smells horrendous.
Everything about this place made me feel sick.
That includes my father's office.
Once I stepped inside I was immediately smacked with pheromones, ones that made my stomach roll with nausea. I wonder if that's how everyone felt. I wonder if betas got nauseous with their families too.
My eyes scanned the room which was terribly out of order and then they caught on the one picture that sat on my father's desk.
It was her.
My mother. Whom of which I've never met. She was a beta that my father never bonded with but got pregnant anyway. He loved her…I think. But when she had me and I was an omega she was disappointed and left me here. She left me here alone. With these people.
Family.
She left me here with my family.
I hadn't realized I whined until my father cracked his hand down on his desk with a fierceness. "What did I say about that shit?!"
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
"Not that she ever does, eh?" my brother Riley laughed, elbowing me in the ribs as he passed.
Riley was an interesting case of smells. There's the cedar which makes sense because he spends a lot of time outdoors, there's the sharpness of spearmint like a powerful gum that makes your nostrils burn and…boysenberry?
He and MacKenzie have been sharing again. Definitely not uncommon for those two.
"Close the doors. She's gonna scare all the betas away. I'm not waiting another round for Hunter to have an alpha son of his own."
"Keep the lineage alive." That's the pack motto. What a terrible fucking bumper sticker that would be.
I stood there, looking down at my toes as my father and Riley talked and laughed with one another. Probably forgetting I was even in the room. Which happens sometimes.
"Alright, little O?" Kenz cheered, entering the office.
"Don't call her that," my father snapped, finally remembering I was around.
MacKenzie held his hands up in a gesture to soothe any frayed nerves and he sat down with a groan on the couch closest to father's desk.
"Y/N," my father began, not even offering the kindness to look at me. "Your brothers and I are going on a business trip outside of the city. Some of your brothers, like MacKenzie, are staying back because they have a dinner meeting at the house while I'm away."
My head lifts in surprise. Will I be allowed to go?! Can I eat dinner with my brothers?!
"There's many alphas in the pack, we can kill two birds with one stone. This business meeting is incredibly important for us."
My smile was megawatt and I nodded instantly. "Sure, of course! I can–"
"You can," my father interrupted with a sneer. "Make sure you stay in your room, take your pills and keep your scent blocker applied when the Euphoria Pack comes to the meeting. This contract will be our biggest one so far and I will not have your omega bullshit fuck it up for the rest of us. Do you understand?"
The disappointment and sorrow that swirled through me almost knocked me off my feet. "Oh, I see… I understand."
"See that you do. I won't stand for losing this deal because you couldn't handle yourself."
God, I wanted to curl up and die. I'm so pitiful. What a fucking waste. I wish I was never born an omega.
Trying to bury whines and suffering hurt sometimes and in this instance it felt like a red hot poker was shoved down my throat.
"She stinks like sadness," Riley chuckled, shaking out his long brown hair and looking me over with disdain dripping from every pore.
"Lighten up, brother. She's only human," Kenz laughed, stepping in front of me and waving his hand behind his back.
Get out.
That's what he was telling me.
"Dinner will be brought up to you. If you're feeling hot then take your pills. We're leaving in the morning and we won't be back for a few weeks."
Oh, thank God, I could do without seeing my father and half of my brothers for weeks on end. Maybe finally I would be able to walk around without getting yelled at.
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Three days of the freedom I thought I would be acquiring went by too fast. I'd been left with my brothers that were the easiest to deal with. Brady, Ronan, MacKenzie, Dash and Hunter were, of course, the easiest to deal with because they never nagged me and they were always too busy fucking betas to really give a shit what I was doing.
The house stunk of sex and carefree fun but more importantly it smelled of my freedom. I was able to go out in the garden to read, to sunbathe, to smell something that wasn't garbage. It was heavenly.
I'd seen flowers I've never seen before, ones that weren't there the last time I was in the gardens. Apparently Leticia, one of the pack chasers, suggested sprucing things up. When I suggested it to my father I got sent up to my room with no dinner and pills because I was acting 'out of order.' I'm a person not a goddamn machine. How could I possibly be out of order?
But now with the three days of freedom gone, I'm once again left up in my room without a single thing to do. Defiance curled in my bones and I narrowed my eyes at the white little pills on my bedside table.
My father wasn't here, he wouldn't know if I took them or not. I'd rather get a fever then take them and feel even sicker than before. Those pills made me nauseous and I felt like reality was so far out of touch that I'd never get back to it. I did end up spraying the scent blocker, though. Just one little spritz, just enough to save the visiting alphas downstairs from my monstrous odor.
They shouldn't be subjected to a disgusting omega. An embarrassment to the family.
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The sprawling cabin estate was large before our eyes but it pales in comparison to the mansion we just created on the outskirts of the state.
"I don't like the smell," Jin murmured to us.
The smell was honestly horrific. These alphas seemed to stew in the scents of sex and their own pheromones. You could smell the female betas like they were throwing out a wide casting net to repulse everyone around them.
"Why the fuck did we agree to this?" Taehyung grumbled, folding his arms.
"Because although they're disgusting, they're rich as fuck and they have the land we need to start up the center," Namjoon replied evenly, fixing his tie.
I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the enlarged wooden cabin in front of us. That's exactly what it was: a large, gigantic wooden house. It would be almost comical if it wasn't very real.
"I don't even wanna touch the door," Hoseok hissed, taking to kicking the front door insead.
Even in this day and age everyone lives with the one soul purpose of finding their person, their omega but this pack didn't seem to care about finding one. Not with the way their lodgings smelled.
Now, of course, finding an omega that's right for your pack is like finding a unicorn or finding gold at the end of a rainbow but packs do it. Not all the time but enough to keep packs hopeful, at least.
Once the door swung open, a red headed alpha before us smiled widely. "Gents, welcome! The Pangborn Pack is happy to have you!"
Namjoon gave him his typical killer smile and the alpha seemed to relax at it. Our pack leader was all killer charm and easy going… until you fuck with his pack.
The seven of us have only had each other for quite a few years now and our family depends on one another more than most.
"Thank you for having us," Jimin smiled, stepping into the home first.
His eyes bounced around the interior before nodding. Once I stepped into the entryway behind him, the need to look at the inside faded. In the air, apart from the alpha scents were the scents of dinner and something so deliciously sweet that it made my mouth water.
Fuck! What is that smell?!
"Made us dessert?" Namjoon inquired with a laugh.
So he can smell that too.
The scent was warm and sugary like a fresh out of the oven sugar cookie with vanilla ice cream slowly melting on top.
Why the fuck was I about to nut over dessert?
Casting my eyes to Taehyung, I could see him tugging at the collar of his expensive dress shirt.
It was getting increasingly hot in here, that I could guarantee.
The scent was so thick and practically viscous I could feel it wrapping around my cock and tugging sensuously. My knot was two seconds from expanding and the desire to rut until I was sated was pressing indecently on my brain.
"No dessert here, lads. The betas can barely cook a steak without it burning! We ordered out for dinner tonight! Dinnae ken billionaires like you would be opposed to that, eh?"
"Dinnae ken means didn't think," another alpha offered, slipping in beside the redhead. His hair was long and brown, shaggy even with a boyish smile that could probably charm anyone he laid his eyes on.
"That sounds great," Jin replied, unbuttoning his suit jacket and cracking his neck.
Whatever that fucking scent is, it has us all by the balls.
Namjoon gripped his hand into a fist, eyes glazing over all of us. "To the dining room, then?"
"Getting right down to business! I love that! We have betas to look after anyway," Red chortled, wiggling his eyebrows at us.
When the group of us moved with the two other alphas, my heart started to hammer as the smell became stronger.
I tried to temper my growl that wormed its way up my throat but Joon caught it. "I don't know what it is but fuck, I want it so bad," he agreed.
"Alright there, lads?"
"Just have to use the restroom. Would you mind sending me in the right direction?" I inquired, needing to find the words through a thick haze of want.
"Bathroom on the first floor is occupied for the betas. Second floor up that staircase there," Red pointed to the staircase from where the scent is strongest. "Fifth door on the right."
With a nod, I set off trying not to falter and stumble from the exquisite smell.
"We'll be waiting in the dining room. The pack is excited to make this merger," the brown haired man smiled.
Once they were out of sight I took the stairs two at a time, eyes searching for any indication of where the scent came from.
I let my senses guide me. Following the smell took me past the bathroom and past any rooms that smelt of the alphas. Stopping at the end of the hallway, the door before me was completely different from the others. It was metal, almost sterile in a sense. But the scent was there, it was so heady and present that my cock stood to attention.
"Oh fuck," I grunted, shoving open the door and barreling up the stairs.
The hallway I rushed down was bare of anything home-y and it looks like some sort of clinical hospital ward.
The door at the other end suddenly opened in a flourish and the sweetest little thing I'd ever seen stepped out with curious, glazed eyes.
"Omega," I groaned long and low, stepping toward her.
She was the maddening scent. She was what my pack was going crazy over.
"Oh! I'm so… I've never–" the sweet thing whispered, looking me over with hunger.
The perfect woman. Right before my fucking eyes. Those lips, those sweet eyes, that adorable, if not a little scared smile, that fucking body. Built just for me and my other pack brothers.
Mine, mine, mine! Every cell in my body screamed it with frantic need.
"Why do you smell so good?" she whimpered, lifting a hand as if she wanted to touch me.
Please fucking touch me. Holy shit, I was going out of my fucking mind from this perfect little thing.
"What do I smell like, sweetness?" I inquired, stepping closer.
"Like warm hot chocolate and marshmallows. Not like garbage at all!" she gasped, looking up with wide, innocent eyes.
A laugh tumbled past my lips. What an innocent creature.
"Does everyone smell like garbage to you, sweetness?"
"I just want to…" she groaned, a whimper slipping past her lips.
A purr started in my chest, rattling my bones with how thick and heavy it was. Oh fuck, I'd never purred for anyone before.
"What do you want?" I asked softly, holding my hands up to show her I mean no harm.
She gripped my wrist with a dainty hand probably thinking it had a fierceness she didn't embody. She lifted my hand to her soft cheek and my purr started up once more.
"I'm so sorry," she apologized, not taking her eyes off mine. "I know omegas are disgusting. I shouldn't bother you."
The sweet purr she pulled from me turned to a growl in an instant. "You could never be disgusting. Omegas are precious. Didn't your alphas teach you that?"
She stared up at me, eyes starting to brim with tears.
Oh my God, she was everything I could have ever wanted. My pants were so fucking tight, my heart feels like it was gonna combust and I'm pretty damn sure I just met my fucking mate.
"They're not really my alphas," she whispered softly, keeping my wrist close to her nose.
I wanted to take this gorgeous woman and lock her away where no one but the pack can find her. Holy shit, my brain was turning to fucking mush.
"What are they then if not your alphas?" I asked, stepping closer.
When my chest brushed against hers, she perfumed the air for me and another purr ripped from my chest like it was an instrument being played purely for her.
"Brothers, father," she mumbled, lost in a haze of our own making.
"So you don't have a pack of your own, sweetness?" I whispered, coursing my thumb over her cheek.
"No one would want me. I'm useless," the omega replied so softly I might not have heard her if not for her keeping my attention ensnared.
"I highly doubt that, pretty girl. What's your name?"
"Y/N…"
Beautiful.
"I'm Jeongguk. It's nice to meet you, sweetness."
"I can't take it. I can't take it. I can't take it!" Jimin chanted, rushing into the hallway.
The omegas gasp was loud and frightened for only a moment until she laid eyes on the other alpha. I purred for her, watching her instantly relax at the noise.
"This is Jimin. He's a part of my pack. The Euphoria Pack."
"Oh no, I've…I've ruined dinner. My father will be so upset with me," she groaned, sounding not as upset as she probably would be if I wasn't purring up a fucking storm.
"Scent sympathetic. I thought it was like a fucking myth for people like us," Jimin laughed, stepping up beside me.
He didn't seem jealous or upset at all that my hands were on her. We've never tried for an omega, not really. Unfortunately, most omegas wanted us for our money and not for the connection. Not to mention most of the omegas we met smelled so cloyingly sweet that it gave us headaches for weeks. Most omegas wanted just some of us but not all of us and that doesn't bode well for a pack.
"You smell like calming tea and blueberries," Y/N breathed, blinking up at him.
"And you smell like a yummy dessert, sweetheart. How's such a pretty omega like you hidden up here away from everything?"
"Why are you being so nice to me? I'm just an omega," she whimpered, looking between us.
"'Just an omega'? Don't you know your worth, pretty girl?" I scoffed, tilting my head.
She opened her mouth to reply, only to shut it and furrow her eyebrows.
"I want to introduce her to the pack. I think this is it. I think we found our girl," Jimin beamed at me, allowing her to pull him closer.
She seemed to be a needy little thing. One we certainly wouldn't mind doting on. She also seemed completely out of touch with reality and it wasn't just because she was obsessed with our scents.
"Do you have a nest, sweetness? Would you care to show us?"
A nest is very sacred to omegas, it's one of the only places they can find comfort during heats and in times of stress. It was incredibly forward for me to ask but I wanted to know what she liked. I knew my hopes might be high but I wanted to set up the nest in the new mansion how she would like it. Because she was mine. She was ours. She belonged with us.
"I– What's a nest?" Y/N asked, eyebrows pinching innocently.
"Do not fucking tell me you're kept in the dark up here," Jimin growled deeply, his scent turning acidic.
Instead of turning tail and running, she started to… climb him?
She climbed him like a fucking tree. And the good looking bastard was all for it.
One arm snaked around her waist to keep her up and the other ran up and down her back in soothing motions.
She nuzzled his cheek and neck, whimpering and begging for his scent to be all over her.
"Good girl," Jimin cooed, purring for her. "Take what you want, sweetheart. We'll gladly give it."
There were rules to getting an omega, courting before mating and making sure your omega was happy and well looked after. In some cities omegas even went to Help Centers to find their perfect pack but Cypress City had no such thing. That was what we were trying to change. That was why we needed this deal with this pack.
"I don't know what's happening! I'm so sorry! I just feel so…"
"Overwhelmed?" Jimin offered, pulling back to look at her.
She nodded, whimpering and tucking her face into the crook of his neck.
"We need to talk to the pack," I told him, pressing my chest to her back and purring. I drifted the back of my hand over her bare arm and she seemed to thrive on not only praise but physical affection.
"I can't leave her," Jimin hissed over her shoulder, hugging her tighter at the thought of having to part.
"I don't want you to go! Please! I'm so tired of being alone! Please don't go!" she sobbed into his neck.
A growl ripped from my chest at her sadness and I was storming off before I even knew what was happening.
She's mine. She's mine. She's mine.
"Guk!" Jimin called but I was already barreling down the stairs with a fierceness building in my chest.
They kept that precious omega in a sterile fucking ward like she was some sort of disease. She didn't even know what a nest was! It was a disgrace! She'd been abused without even understanding anything!
She's mine!
If one more sob of hers entered my ears, I thought I might burn their oversized camp cabin down and dance on the embers.
Shoving open the dining room doors, I glowered at the pack that sat high and mighty at the end of the long dining room table. Once they saw me and smelled me, they all stood.
"Been wandering around our home, have you?" Red asked with the tilt of his head.
"Stupid girl can't do anything but get herself in trouble!" one of them sneered.
The insult made a growl rip from my throat and they all stared long and hard at me. I wouldn't stand for this. I couldn't stand for this.
"She doesn't even know what a fucking nest is. How dare you all treat an omega like this! This is abuse!" I boomed, widening my eyes at them.
My packs jaws fell open in shock and suddenly they were standing to surround me, to have my back.
"She's scent sympathetic with us," Jimin assured, entering the room with her still cradled to him.
I was happy she liked him. He's far more easy going and carefree then most of us and she'd enjoy his company.
My pack stepped toward her and she cried sweetly at all of their scents. They purred for her and my heart expanded. No one was left out and she locked eyes with all of them. She jumped ship from Jimin to Namjoon and he nuzzled her hair. He wrapped her legs around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Would you like to leave this place, pet?" he inquired.
“She'll do no such thing!" Red boomed.
When she whimpered at the alpha bite, we growled in defiance.
"You think your bark is bad? Mine was given to me by the devil. If I have to force you to obey, I fucking will. It's the omegas choice. You can't keep her here like a fucking prisoner!" Joon boomed.
"She's not a part of the deal," one of the Pangborn's hissed through his teeth.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she gasped repeatedly, trying to set herself down.
"Do you want to get down, pet?" Namjoon asked, tilting her jaw to look up at him.
She reluctantly shook her head, burying her face back into his neck.
Oh fuck, she's so perfect and sweet.
"Then you stay exactly where you are," the pack leader whispered, giving her his wrist to be able to tilt his head and glower at the Pangborn pack.
"You expect me to pay? For a person?! Are you out of your small alpha minds?" Namjoon bit out, sneering at her brothers.
"MacKenzie… Dad is gonna flip," one of them breathed.
"I'm tired of always having to sneak Juliet around. Just be rid of her. Omegas are nothing but trouble."
Hoseok growled so loudly, something he never does, that it almost made my chest rattle.
"I know you don't know us very well," Seokjin breathed slowly as the other pack continued to argue. "But if you feel safe with us we'd like to take you somewhere you can be yourself and be happy. How does that sound, princess? You deserve much better than this shithole."
"I won't feel sick?" she inquired, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.
Oh, she's killing me here.
"Do you feel sick in this house?" Yoongi growled, narrowing his eyes at the other pack.
Her nod was slow and sad.
"I'm getting her out of here. Now!" Namjoon boomed, pressing her face into the scent gland of his neck.
She seemed to love being held. We could do that for her. We could give her anything and everything she wants. We could be good for her.
"Give us a million!" Red or MacKenzie called back but Namjoon was already heading for the door.
"Get fucked!" our pack leader growled.
"Wh-Where are we going?" Y/N asked, taking a deep breath of fresh air.
"Home, sweetness," I promised. "We're going home."
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variousficss · 5 months
Text
Bucky Barnes - Set of 2 [part 4]
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Summary: Bucky finally decides to apologize.
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part 3 || part 5
masterlist
Bucky raised his hand and knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet evening. The moments felt like an eternity, each second stretching out as he waited for the door to open. You would open the door for him, right?
Right?
Bucky knocked on the door again, straining his ears for any sign of your approach, but he heard none. He could hear your breathing though.
"Doll. It's me. Buck. I... Can I come in?", Bucky asked in a low tone, but you could hear him just fine.
"Come in.", you almost whispered, though it came out more as a wince that didn't go unnoticed by the soldier. Bucky opened the door and looked around, but you were nowhere to be seen.
"I'm in the bedroom, James", you said with a exhausted voice. Were you still mad at him?
The familiar scent of your home washed over Bucky whenever he entered, the mixture of the smell of your soap and the smell of lemon balm tea that you love to drink made him feel... at home. You didn't know how to cook to save your life, but you made tea like he had never tasted before. Bucky and Sam made fun of his lack of cooking skills, but you never came home with an empty bag. There were always some snacks from Sam's house and some treats that Bucky insisted you take. At this point, Mcdonald's was practically funded by you and your last-minute purchases. Bucky frowned at your unhealthy eating habits but you just laughed. Bucky noticed how today the aroma of the tea wasn't noticeable and how he continued to smell this almost unbearable smell of... ethyl alcohol? Why was a culinary disaster like you messing around with ethyl alcohol when he literally had to call the fire department the last time you decided to flambé omelets on your own?
The soldier cleared his throat before entering your bedroom and his heart sank when he opened the door just to see your fragile looking figure sat on the bed. Your eyes were swollen and your lip was split.
"What happened?" Bucky was by your side in a second, his voice tight with worry. "Who did this to you?"
You looked away, avoiding his guilty eyes. "It's nothing, Bucky, just a little accident. I don't want to talk about it. Why are you here?"
Bucky shook his head. "Doll, please. Let me help." And to that you laughed.
"Help?!" The bitterness in your tone was clear. "I don't want your help, James. If that's why you're here for then you can get the hell out of my home."
Bucky didn't say anything back, instead he hurried to your wardrobe looking for your first aid kit. He knew very well where it was after you tried to patch him up every time he went to you after a fight. His wounds always healed faster than your kit, but he liked the feeling of feeling cared for by you. To be the center of your attention at least for a few moments.
You scowled, the grumpiness evident as you crossed your arms. "I don't need your help, Bucky. I can take care of myself."
Bucky ignored your protests and began rummaging through the first aid kit. His right arm trembled as he reached for the first aid kit, a reminder of the violence he had both endured and inflicted. He was so good at hurting, and causing harm... Caring was something he wasn't used to.
He pulled out antiseptic wipes, bandages, and ointment, his movements gentle and precise. He approached you with the antiseptic wipe, his voice soothing. "This might sting a bit, but it's necessary to prevent any infection."
You winced as he gently cleaned your wound and you pretended not to see the worry stamped all over his face. "Can't you be more careful? I'm not an actual doll, you know? I'm not a super soldier like you."
Bucky chuckled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. "There, all done," Bucky replied, throwing the blood-stained tissues in the bag. You murmured a low thanks to which he only nodded too.
"Now, can you please tell me what the hell happened?"
Your face contorted with anger as you decided to let him know. "I was walking down the street, minding my own business, when suddenly a group of people cornered me..", you smirked bitterly. "they said I'm the 'winter soldier's little bitch'", you could see Bucky's face frowning by the second. "I told the woman who said it to kiss my ass and that's when they attacked me. There were 5 of them... they punched me in the stomach, kicked me and that bitch had the audacity to spit on me, Bucky. Can you fucking believe that?"
Bucky opened his mouth but you didn't let him speak. "And you know what the worst part is? There were other people around, and not a single one of them lifted a finger to help. They just stood there, watching as I was beaten to a pulp. How am I supposed to go find a job tomorrow looking like this?"
To that Bucky made a confused expression. "Why are you looking for a new job? What about your old one?"
"I was fired from it, duh!," you explained it quickly. "Keep up, Buck. Now, I've worked my ass off, Bucky. I've put in the effort, sent countless resumes, and gone to countless interviews. And for what? To be rejected time and time again? And you know the worst part? They say it's because of you!", you pointed to him.
"I-I'm so sorry, YN. This is all my fault.", Bucky didn't know what to do. "I never wanted any of this to happen."
"Oh, c'mon!", you raised your voice. "You think I blame you, Bucky?"
Bucky's expression softened, his blue eyes clouded with remorse. "I am responsible, doll."
Your eyes narrowed with anger as you glared at him. "You think a simple apology can make everything better, Bucky? You really don't get it, do you? You didn't beat me up, they did! And you didn't fire me, they did! What I'm most pissed about is the fact that I'm going through all of this shit and you dare to say that I am JUST LIKE THEM, BUCKY! I don't give a shit about what happened, but I'm pissed that you said that you don't need me when I fucking need you right now. I don't give a single shit about what they say even if it cost me my job or my expensive Gucci bag that those fuckers fucking stole from me AFTER they beat me up!"
Bucky was without words.
"SAY SOMETHING, BUCKY!", you yelled at him, your eyes filled with tears. "This is not the time to be the silent friend! I...", you started to sob uncontrollably and Bucky knelt on the ground, standing right in front of you. "Say that you fucking need me. Say that I'm a good friend and that you care about me!", you pleaded, looking into his sad blue eyes. "You wanna show you're sorry? Then stop fucking saying it, stop being an idiot and help me fix it!"
Bucky's heart ached. He had never seen you like this, so vulnerable and hurt. So honest.
He reached out, gently taking your trembling hands in his own. "You're right. I messed up, doll. I never should have said those things. You are not like them, not in any way. You're the best thing in my life."
Tears streamed down your face as you looked into his sincere eyes. "I need you, Y/N. I'm so scared, all the time because I know I don't deserve you in my life, afraid you're gonna leave me..."
He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "I'm so tired of trying to push you away... I don't know if I can't live without you in my life anymore. I panic even thinking about it." His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling with the intensity of his emotions. "I can't lose you and you're right, you know? I'm shit when it comes to talking about... things... anything", he admitted. "It's something I need to work on, but I want you to know that me, being here, and you know... doing things... That's my way of showing you how much I love you", Bucky's words were coming a lot faster than he intended he didn't even notice his declaration of love, but you surely did. "So I want you to know that I hear what you're saying, but I still may be bad at that, but I'll use whatever ways I can to show you how much you mean to me, even if it means sharpening your kitchen knives every day or hear you talk all evening about that Edward something in the fucking vampire movie. I'm not good at verbalizing, but I'm very good at being loyal. It’s the only thing I know how to do."
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tag list:
@almosttoopizza @creat0r-cat @aesthetic0cherryblossom
(some i didn't find the right blog to tag, let me know!)
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floydsglasses · 2 months
Text
Dagger Squad as Bath and Body Works Smells
So its January and its time for B&BW to roll out the good not fruity smells so why not do this, so enjoy my unhinged ness.
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𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰-𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲
This was not that hard for me to choose, he reminds me of an old car smell, like a jeep that was hidden in a garage for to long and is now being driven. This candle smells like warm leather, amber woods and aged brandy, its described as a nightcap in your recliner.
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𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧- 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧
The irony of me finding this candle name, when i think of him like i think some type of hickory sweet honey smell, like a dive bar in the mountains. This candle smells like Warm Whiskey, Bergamot, Cedarwood & Amber and its described as warm, friendly aroma of a fresh & clean southern gentleman on date night
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𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚 "𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐱" 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞- 𝐑𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 & 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Honestly this whole candle to me scream's her, like the coloring remind's me of her and the whole smell, she seem's like the kind of person to wear a flannel when lounging around her house. This candle smells like, pink raspberries, strawberry vanilla bean and sugared lemon drops. and Its described as : a lightly tart and perfectly creamy treat.
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𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 "𝐁𝐨𝐛" 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝-𝐋𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠
When I think of him I think a type of sweet airy smell, like watching the morning sun in the mountains during the summer, and you cant tell me that this man doesn't remind you of just that. This candle smells like crisp autumn air, white driftwood and a hint of green apple. and is described as cool, sweet, fresh alone time on the dock.
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𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲 "𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐲" 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐚- 𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝
I will not lie he was kind of hard to choose for, I imagine him having a sweet smell but also obtaining this masculine wood like smell, like I can just see it. This candle smells like Red Apple, Plum, Soft Pear, Jasmine, Peony, Cedarwood, Patchouli, Vanilla, Musk and is also described as crisp woodland walk with sweet apple aroma in the air.
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𝐑𝐮𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐧 "𝐏𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤" 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡- 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐧
I know that this might be like so basic as a masculine type smell but he just for some reason seems like he would smell like a wood barrel that has been aged perfectly, like if you opened a perfect bottle of bourbon and it tasted perfect. This candle smells like a bold, smooth, barrel-aged pour. Fragrance notes: white pepper, dark amber and Kentucky oak. and is also described as such, bold, smooth, barrel-aged pour.
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𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐲 "𝐂𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐭𝐞" 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨- 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭
It's literally in the name, he reminds me of a beach plain and simple like that, like anything this man is like golden coast. This candle smells like Bright Citrus, Cool Waters, Sea Breeze & Beach Woods. And like my description this is told to be like, The smell of cool ocean waters fills the California coast.
By the way you all can get these candle's, i dont remember the price though so dont ask me lol.
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somekindofpoet · 1 year
Text
Like A Movie Part VIII
Summary: Filming starts and it stresses Jenna out. Reader learns a valuable lesson.
Word Count: 4.3K
A/N: This is NOT what I had planned to write for this chapter, but sometimes that's just how it works out. For clarity, Jenna calls reader JD as in James Dean, one of reader's many new nicknames. Anywho, enjoy!
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII
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You weren’t sure what you were expecting when you pulled up to Jenna’s house. A mansion in the hills, maybe, or a penthouse downtown. All you knew was you weren’t expecting this. You double-check her text, making sure you hadn’t gone to her address in the wrong zip code, but no, this was it. You park your car in her driveway and get out, taking in the neighborhood.
You knew Venice beach like the back of your hand, it’s where artists congregated to smoke weed out of the backs of their vans and surfers ran around shirtless and salty. Your first kiss was at the Venice Beach skatepark in sixth grade. To say you were shocked to find Jenna’s home squashed in between the others facing the beach would be an understatement. It was modest and subtle on the outside, though you knew beachfront property in California was worth a pretty penny. Maybe it made more sense than you gave it credit for, but still, to know she had been here all this time was mind blowing. 
You pull the top over your car and grab your Jansport, locking it and strolling up to her front gate like you weren’t just having a starstruck moment. You press on the doorbell button at the gate, and her voice comes over the little speaker, tinny and small. 
“Hey! Just a sec I’ll buzz you in.”
Half a second later the door buzzed and you push it open, pulling it shut behind you. Her front door opened and she was there smiling at you like she hadn’t just seen you 12 hours ago. 
Her house suited her so well it was almost ironic. The exterior was covered in dark cedar planks with black trim and giant bay windows. When you followed her inside you immediately felt comfortable, like you’d been there before. The floors were some kind of red orange stone, the masonry intricate and warm. The ceilings were untreated wood, the walls white, creating the atmosphere of a cabin but with views of the beach. 
“Jenna, this is incredible. Why haven’t we been hanging out here? My apartment is a shoebox compared to this.” You tell her, your jaw dropping open. 
She smiles as she leads you into the kitchen, shrugging. “I don’t know, I like your apartment. It’s comfortable and I like having all those scripts to go through.”
She returns to the stove, motioning for you to sit at the counter facing her. You pull out a high backed barstool, resting your elbows on the counter. She pours you a glass of red wine and gently slides it over the counter to you, her own already resting next to the stove. You take a second to absorb your situation. You’re in her home, she’s cooking you dinner, and you could kiss her at any moment. The realization hits you and you slide off the stool, rounding the counter and striding over to her.
You wrap your arms around her shoulders and hold your forearm over her chest as she continues to work, turning her head to give you a quick kiss. You can’t believe this is your life. 
“Smells good, whatcha making me?”
“I figured I’d pull out all the stops and impress you, I’m making some lemon garlic mahi-mahi and,” she points with her spatula to the oven, “some roasted asparagus with golden potatoes.”
You take a deep breath, smelling all the food mixing together and it makes your mouth water. “Well this is putting my cooking skills to shame.”
She laughs and leans her head over to rest on yours, “Your pancakes will forever have a special place in my heart.”
You reach down to grab a piece of fish that broke off the filet, only to have your hand swatted away. 
“Awh come on just a little taste, I’m starvin here.” You pout, dropping your chin onto her shoulder. 
She takes the piece you reached for between her fingers and turns, letting your arms stay hung over her shoulders. The glint in her eyes makes your stomach flutter, and you gulp.
“Here,” she says and you open your mouth, letting her feed you. 
Your lips wrap around her fingertips and her lip quirks up as she pulls them back. “Don’t get any ideas JD, we have to eat first.”
“And second?”
“We’ll see.” She says, but her expression tells you she already has plans.
————
Weeks start blurring past, you splitting your nights between your apartment and Jenna’s house, waiting for the set to be built so filming can start and working with the studio on production. You’re flying by in a state of new relationship bliss. You learn more little things about her every day, like the way she brushes her teeth, how she paces around when she’s thinking, the moments she likes to hold your hand and how she somehow takes up more bed space than anyone of her stature should be capable of. 
The first day of filming is finally upon you and you’re giddy with excitement. The night before was one of the few nights you’d spent apart and you were impatient to get out to set to see her. You were also thrilled to watch your movie begin to come together at last, and you rushed out to the ranch as early as you thought socially acceptable. 
Jenna’s Volvo is in the newly crafted parking area, so you swing in next to it. When you get out you can’t believe how much they’ve transformed the old house. What was once barren ground now held trailers and tents, people crossing every which way around them. The house is still utterly terrifying, even in the middle of the day. You make your way through the temporary buildings to stand at the foot of the porch stairs, staring at its peeling paint in awe. 
“Well look who it is, our very own Casanova out of her sex dungeon.” Olivia’s voice rings out over the set commotion.
You turn around and dap her outstretched fist. She’s already in costume, her hair and makeup perfectly in place.
“Okay, look at you hot shot. All ready to attempt to woo my girlfriend?”
Olivia scoffs, “Attempt? Please y/n, she’s going to marry me. And we’re just gonna skip right over my sex dungeon comment huh?”
You point your finger at her, “It’s bait and I’m not taking it. And don’t get too handsy in there, I’m bunking with your boss don’t you forget it.”
“Is bunking what we’re calling it now?” She smirks.
You roll your eyes but you’d cant help the grin pulling at your lips. “Walk me to her trailer would you? This place is a fucking maze.”
Olivia nods and sets off into the labyrinth of trailers. You joke together and poke fun at each other on the walk over.  She’s practically vibrating with excitement, and you’re genuinely happy for her. You hope the movie is a big break for her, because she’s got some serious talent. She stops in front of one of the many identical trailers and points up at the sign in the door.
“This one is hers. Mine is two rows down if you want to come by later to tell me how incredible I was today.” 
She sets off, leaving you at the doorstep, laughing to herself. You shake your head at her back, grateful for her friendship and lame jokes. You look up at the door and you’re feeling star struck again. Jenna’s name is there in plain black print under Secessus, and the word Judas is printed under her name. You reminisce back to the day you told her you thought she should play Judas, just as starstruck then as you are now. 
“Oh the star is such a diva, I wouldn’t approach her before filming.”
Jenna’s voice behind you makes you jump and she laughs, wrapping you in a hug when you turn around.
“You scared the hell out of me woman.” You tell her when she steps out of the hug. 
She reaches up for the door handle nodding. “That was the goal, gotta get you ready for a jump scare or two.”
She opens the door and steps inside, you follow her close behind. You plop onto the couch, kicking your feet up on the arm, putting your arms behind your head. Jenna side eyes you from the kitchen, pulling a water from her fridge. She comes over to the couch, pushing your waist so you scoot over, and sits with you. 
“What scenes are we doing today, Judas?” You ask her. 
She cringes, “It’s probably better that you disassociate me from Judas now, so it’s easier later.” 
Her tone is serious, so you sit up, your back resting against the arm of the couch. She’s nervous about something, and that makes you nervous. 
“What’s going on?” Your concern is showing, so she reaches out to hold your hand.
She’s chewing on her bottom lip, her brows knitted together. She starts playing with your fingers, moving and bending them in her own. She opens her mouth to speak, but then hesitates and closes it. You reach the hand she’s not holding out, tipping her head up to look you in the eyes. You don’t say anything, but you tilt your head in question. She will say what she means to say, if you just give her time. Eventually she does speak, her words slow and unsure.
“It’s just that. Well you know, you wrote the story. You know who I’m going to have to become to play this part. And what I’m going to have to do.”
You let out a breathy laugh in relief, “You’re not going to actually kill anyone Jenna.”
She shakes her head, “That’s not what I mean. I have to be a different person on set. And I’m going to have to pretend to have sex with your friend.”
You gulp at the thought. You knew that but was coming, you did write the story. You’re kicking yourself now for not writing something more PG, but it adds to the narrative. You gather yourself for her benefit.
“If you’re worried about me, I’m going to be okay,” you assure her, “it’s just a job. Just an act. I can handle it.” 
You’re not actually sure of that, but how can you be? You’d never been in this situation before. But you do know you wouldn’t let her job come between the two of you now. Not after knowing what it felt like to have her in your life like this. She sighs but nods with resignation.
“Not to bring out skeletons or anything, but I’ve had…trouble with this in the past. My last relationship ended because they couldn’t separate me from my job. And I admit sometimes I couldn’t either.” 
She’s searching your eyes as she speaks, looking for any signs of possible doubt. You fight to remain nonchalant, trying to show her you could handle this. You could do this for her.
She continues, “I just don’t want to mess this up. And I want you to know what you’re in for.”
“I know what I’m in for. And I’m here, I’m in it. We’re going to be okay.” 
Your thumb brushes over her cheek as she gives you a soft smile. Her posture relaxes and she leans over to kiss you. You pull her over, making her lose her balance and catch herself on the side of the couch. She laughs into your lips and you feel successful. Her stress drains out of her and your heart sings seeing her more at ease. 
A knock bangs at her door, a man’s voice calls out, “Everyone is in place, they’re ready for you!”
Jenna leans back from you, her eyes bright with excitement. “Showtime.” She says, standing up and pulling you off the couch. 
You follow her back outside and weave through the trailers at her side. She smiles up at you and grabs your hand.
“I’m only directing today, so stick around okay?”
You nod in agreement, the pep in your step carrying you all the way to set. When you come into view of the scene set up, she drops your hand and puts on a straight face. She means business now, and you mean to stay the hell out of her way. 
She does an incredible job at directing. You think there’s no fucking way she’s never done this before. She’s stern but encouraging, sure but flexible, taking the actors’ thoughts into account. She choreographs the camera crew and her voice carries across the set with ease. 
You swell with pride watching her work. She asks you for input here and there, picking your brain for scene cues and what emotions you were looking for when you wrote them. You’re thrilled to be able to give feedback, whispering about an eyebrow raise and the trail of a finger on the porch handrail, and the level of lighting you imagined. You’re once again struck with the fact that this whole thing came from your mind. It seems surreal now, it’s taking a life of its own, independent of you.
—————
The days of filming are long and many. You’re not able to spend as much time with Jenna outside of work as you want to, but you’re both usually so exhausted by the time the day is done you just go home. You’ve been privileged to see her direct and act now, and to say you’re impressed with her would be an egregious understatement. If you thought she was a star before, now you think she’s a galaxy. An entire universe of stars, pulling everyone along in her wake. 
You’re laying on your couch on a rare day off, considering writing but not really intending to. You don’t have the brainpower to sit down and crank out another story. You just need to chill. Life on set is chaotic and exhausting, and you can’t fathom how Jenna does this for months on end. 
You take a tennis ball from your coffee table, one of the many things you keep around to make your hands busy while you think. You toss it up above your head, waiting till the last second to catch it before it hits your face. The repetitive motion with little thought is soothing, almost meditative. You toss it up, and your phone rings on the table, surprising you. The ball drops and hits you on the forehead before rolling off under your couch. 
Frowning and rubbing your head, you swipe to answer your phone without looking at who’s calling, putting it on speaker and dropping off the couch on your hands and knees. 
“Yello?” You say as you crawl over to the spot you saw the ball roll. You reach your arm under the couch, blindly sweeping for it. 
“Y/n?” A tear choked voice comes through the speakers and you jerk your head up, slamming it on the coffee table.
“Shit.” You say, holding your head with one hand and walking over to the table on your knees. It’s Jenna’s name on your phone. 
“Hey what’s going on what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just.” She sniffs hard, trying to stop crying, “Can you come over?”
You jump to your feet, the tennis ball forgotten. “Be there in 20.”
You shove your phone in your pocket, not even hanging up and skid in your socks to your entry way. After a brief moment of Scooby Doo running in place, you finally find traction and make it to your shoes. You pull them on your feet, grab your keys and fly out of the door. You’re halfway down the stairs before you hear Jenna’s voice in your head say ‘Did you lock the door?’ You stop, almost hurtling yourself down the steps and turn around, running back up to lock the door. 
You sprint down the stairs and jump in your car, peeling out of your parking lot.
There’s no open parking on Jenna’s street, her car in her driveway blocking where you’d usually park. It’s strange, she almost always uses her garage. You have to park two blocks down, and jog to her house. When you get to her gate you type in the code she’d given you, throw it shut behind you and run to her door knocking loudly.
You’re gasping for air, the run down the blocks reminding you that you should probably give up the vape and spend some more time in the gym. When she opens her door you can immediately tell she’s a wreck. Her eyes are swollen from crying and her hair is falling out of her bun, hanging in her face. 
You step inside, kicking the door shut. She turns away from you but you grab her shoulder turning her back to face you and pulling her in to embrace her. You don’t even know what’s wrong, but right now all you want to do is comfort her. She melts into you, her arms wrapping around your waist and her hands gripping your shirt. 
“I’m sorry.” She mumbles into your chest, and you lean back, trying to see her face.
“What do you have to be sorry for?” You ask her, craning your neck around so you can see more of her face.
She’s breathing steadier now, her eyes closed and her cheek pressed firmly into your shirt.
“For calling you like this. I’m sorry. I was just freaking out and you were the first person I thought to call.”
You gently push her shoulder back, trying to get her to loosen her grip on you. “Hey, hey it’s okay. Let’s go sit down so you can tell me what happened.”
She nods against your chest and lets go of you, leading you to her couch. There is paper everywhere. Copies of Secessus with her handwriting all over it, set designs, cue cards, stage lists all strewn about the room. You consider saying something about it, then think better of it. She sits down, pulling you with her to the cushions. 
She gestures around at the paper, “I can’t get any of this right. It’s not perfect. I don’t know why I thought I could do this.”
You nod, understanding what was happening. You’d never seen her this way, but she had told you about the times she’d had panic attacks over work. 
 “Why don’t we start at the beginning, and you walk me through what happened?” You tell her, your thumb running across the back of her hand.
She takes a deep steadying breath, closing her eyes again and nodding. “I can’t get this scene together. The lines are making me crazy. And directing myself…it’s basically impossible. I’m not doing well enough-“
“Woah woah woah,” you say, interrupting the spiral she had spun herself back into. “Okay, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re being too hard on yourself right now, you’ve been amazing every time I’ve seen you on set.”
She pulls her hand back from you shaking her head. “No, it’s not good enough. You don’t get it. You wouldn’t know.”
Her words sting you, but you let it slide. You’d talk to her about it later, when she wasn’t in such a state. 
“Maybe not.” You say quietly, “And I probably can’t convince you otherwise right now. But I want you to know that I think you’re extraordinary.”
She groans, falling back to lay on the couch. You’re starting to question why she called you over if she didn’t want your help. You want to comfort her, but you’re not sure how. 
“It’s too much. I can’t do it.” She whispers, pressing her hands into her eyes.
Her words send a chill down your spine. Your stomach twists in knots. You reach your hand over to her knee, resting it there.
“What can I do? What do you need from me?”
“Nothing.” She says, her voice going cold. “I don’t know why I called you. It’s your script. Your movie. I can’t do it.”
You know that she doesn’t mean it. You know that she’s desperately searching for something to be angry at so that she doesn’t feel the despair that is very apparently taking her down a rabbit hole of self sabotage. But that doesn’t mean her words don’t hurt. You pull your hand from her leg and stand up, looking down at her. She doesn’t take her hands off her eyes.
You want to shake her. To tell her that she’s the sun and everyone orbits around her. To show her the person everyone sees and loves. The person you see. But she’s not there, and you’re not going to let her talk to you the way she had. Even if she was the sun. 
You don’t say another word to her and walk to her back door. You glance back and she’s still in the same position. You leave out the back, kicking your shoes off on her patio. You walk down to the ocean, the sand warm under your bare feet. You sit down a few feet from where the tide is licking at the shore, watching a group of kids play frisbee down the beach. 
You’re angry with her for calling you over. You’re disappointed with her for saying things to you that she doesn’t mean. It’s the first moment you realize that she is shockingly human. Imperfect and flawed, just like everyone else. Just like you. The anger seeps out of you, and you resolve to sit there for a while before you go back inside and talk to her again. 
The sun warms your skin, and the sounds of the ocean crashing onto the sand settle you. You smile to yourself because as unpleasant as the interaction you’d just had was, it was still with her. You wouldn’t rather fight with anyone else. You’re lost in thought, face pointed toward the sky, eyes closed.
A shadow passes over your face, and a body drops into the sand next to you. You turn your head and open your eyes. Jenna. She’s looking at you like she’s lost you already, and it breaks your heart to think that she believes something so small would send you packing. You open your arm out and she takes your invitation, sighing in relief as she leans into your side.
“I’m sorry.” 
“You should be.”
“I shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
She wraps her arms around your waist and rests her head on your shoulder. She looks up at you, and you glance down at her, not moving your head.
“Can you forgive me?” She asks quietly.
You smile, “You were forgiven about five minutes ago.” 
“Before I even apologized?” She asks, sitting up to look at you.
“Yes.” You say simply.
“So I didn’t need to apologize?” 
“Oh no, you definitely needed to apologize. You were mean.”
“I didn’t mean anything I said. I mean, I did mean that I was stressed. I am stressed. But it’s not your fault.”
You gaze out over the water, nodding your head. “I know. Still stings, though.”
She sighs, “Have I told you I’m sorry?”
You shrug and turn to look at her. Her eyes are wide and fearful. She’s afraid of losing you, still. It brings you some comfort, but the desire to reassure her is there again. You’re not going anywhere, and you want to make sure she knows that.
“What do you need when you’re feeling that way? You know, for next time?” You ask her because you know there will be a next time. 
You know that she’s not suddenly going to become less anxious and neurotic just because of you. But you want to know how to help her, not send her into a spiral again or piss her off by comforting her in a way she doesn’t want. Everyone has a love language, and everyone has a preference on how to be settled. Hers was very apparently NOT words of assurance. Which makes sense to you now, seeing as she’s probably told every day by millions of people how incredible she is.
Her expression softens impossibly further, and she looks like she’s going to cry again. 
“No one has ever asked me that.” She gulps, frowning, fighting back tears.
“Well that’s just an absolute injustice.” You say, smiling.
“I guess I don’t want to be comforted. I want to be distracted. When someone tells me I’m great and I’m telling them I hate my performance, it feels like an argument. And the last thing I want to do in that mindset is argue. So next time, I’d like to be distracted.”
“Oh now that I can do.” You reply, smirking.
She looks at you wide eyed and confused, and you throw your body over, tackling her onto her back in the sand. You plant little kisses all over her face, drawing a surprised laugh out of her. You press one last kiss to her lips and roll off her, lying by her side. 
“Thank you.” She says shyly, staring at your fingers in the sand. 
“Let’s go clean your mess up,” you say, pushing yourself up onto your knees. 
“Stay with me tonight?” She says, still lying in the sand, “Let’s watch movies and get drunk.”
You cover your heart with both hands like she’s stabbed you and dramatically drop back into the sand next to her. “Oh, oh no.” You cry out, “Cupid's arrow, right through the ticker.”
She laughs and leans over you, kissing the corner of your mouth, “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m your idiot now. So feed and water me, shower me with affection.”
She stands and offers you her hand, pulling you up. “What are we watching tonight? Lady's choice.” She asks you as you walk back to her house.
“Ooooh let’s watch Scott Pilgrim Vs the World.”
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our hearts.
matty healy x female reader
a/n: here’s a small something i wrote as a little part 2 to at your back door as a thank you for giving it so much love!
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You were hesitant at first. You were scared. Scared to lend him your heart again, not realising it was already permanently etched into his hands.
You and Matty soundtrack your seasons to the EP he wrote for you. He strums his guitar and hums softly, competing with the singing birds in the Spring and the icy rain spitting on the windows in the Winter. He’s told you now, of course. He's famous. He's an international rockstar who gets on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans desperately reaching out for him. But he’s also yours. Your sweet little Matty. Always there to kiss your heart so gently and hold you tenderly. You miss him while he’s gone. But you miss him even when he’s right next to you. Love simply isn’t enough for you and him.
When he’s gone, he still sends you postcards. ‘To My Darling’.
He still calls you. “Hello my beautiful Darling.”
That's your name.
You sit on your back steps waiting for him to come home from tour. Sometimes a thought poisons your mind and tells you he’s not coming home. Sometimes he doesn’t, and you fall asleep curled in the armchair by the door still waiting for him. You don’t worry though. You always wake to the smell of fresh coffee and cigarettes and you feel a warmth radiating from your heart. He’s home. He’s picked you up and carried you to bed. And you’re lying there in his arms, letting the sun soak into you and your soul.
“Darling, hurry up and come here, I already miss you,” Matty whines for you from the living room. You roll your eyes with affection, knowing you’ve only been apart for less than 10 minutes. Your feet pad down the hallway, hair still wet from your bath, leaving a trail of droplets on the hardwood floors. The day has slipped away into the evening and the sun has said it’s goodbyes. He came home a few hours ago, from New Zealand. Whenever he comes home to you it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time again. His gorgeous curls and his golden honey eyes and the stubbly jaw that’s etched into the softest parts of your body. There was exhaustion eating away at his cheeks as he smiled at you fondly, standing at your doorway with open arms. He’d come home at the perfect time for you to lounge together under the setting sun. He slept softly against your chest and you ran your fingers through his hair. Scraping over his scalp in circles and swirling patterns, reminding yourself he’s home and he’s here and he’s yours.
His curls are now damp too. He'd climbed out of your shared bath a few minutes before you, claiming the water was getting too cold for him and urged you to take your time, leaving with a kiss on your forehead. He’s standing there in the middle of your living room, cotton t-shirt on his fresh skin and vintage sweatpants hanging off his hips. He stands there with a smile glowing over his face, illuminated by the lamp in the corner and the small candles lit across the room. He belongs here. Just like the couch and the small television and the persian rug at his feet, like the pot plants that spread their vines and roots across the entire house. This is his home.
He pulls you into his arms, and you dig your face into the front of his chest. He smells like lemons and spring and nag champa.
“Mmm you already smell like me,” you muffle. He holds you so closely, chin resting on top of your damp hair.
“I missed you so much, so so much” he says, voice slightly shaking.
“Hey,” you look up at him. His eyes are welling but he’s smiling. He’s got that look of hope and unconditional love.
You’re worried he doesn’t know how much you miss him when he’s gone. How you always choose his mug from the cabinet on the days that are especially cold. The way you put off washing your sheets for weeks when he leaves, never washing his pillow until the day before he returns, making sure you can always smell his cigarettes and sandalwood cologne. The way you lay awake at night, panicking when you realise you’ve forgotten the lyrics for the second verse of the ‘Autumn’ song he wrote for you, desperately raking through your collection of memories with him to remember. The way you kiss and hold every postcard he sends, swearing you can still feel his electric touch through the thin cardboard. The way you stare at the ceiling and whisper to him goodnight every night before you fall asleep, wishing he was there next to you, wishing he could hear you, wishing that he’d appear in your dreams that night. The way you crawl up into a ball on the couch and sob until your eyes are raw once he’s hung up, clutching your phone to your chest and exhausted from trying to hide your anguished yearning for the past hour.
You don’t know that he goes almost mad without you too. The way he snaps at George on the tour bus in the mornings because you’re not there in the cramped kitchen to sweetly pass him his favourite mug and because the coffee tastes like shit. The way he doesn’t wash one of his shirts for the entire time he’s gone, keeping it safely in his suitcase and preserving the smell of your lavender body wash that seeped into the cotton as you wore it religiously to bed every night. The way he spends most of his nights writing song after song in his moleskin, so he has a miriad to sing to you once he returns home. The way he presses a soft kiss to each postcard he sends home to you, hoping his love will still reach you over the vast seas that keep you apart. The way he dreams of you in his sleep, of your giggles and naked skin in the glowing sun and groaning with frustration when he awakens in the morning to realise that you’re nowhere near the blinding sun that blares through the curtains of his tour bus bunk. The way he loses track of time after he forcefully hangs up on the phone to you, staring at his lockscreen of your smiling face, tears wetting his pillow as the thought of you being right there in the pixels of his phone comforts his racing mind.
“There’s not a minute that passes where I don’t think about you, probably not even a single second,” you reassure him, pressing kisses to his beautiful nose and cupid's bow.
“Me too darling, me too.”
You both stand there in silence, breathing each other in and absentmindedly nipping at each other’s faces. After the silence has sunken into you comfortably, he pulls away from you and asks if you’d press play on the record player while he grabs the bottle of wine he brought back for you from New Zealand.
He doesn’t even get to reach the cabinet for the wine glasses when he hears you gasp.
“Matty, what is this?” Tears sting your eyes.
It’s a physical record of his songs for you. You no longer have to wring your brain out of it’s every drop to remember exactly how he sings them for you. The cover is a picture of you both laying on your favourite sunlounger, your head in Matty’s lap and his hand pressed to your chest, right onto your heart. You gather Hann must’ve snapped it with his film camera the day after Matty officially moved in and you threw a party in the garden to celebrate. ‘For My Darling’s Lonely Heart’ is written in his handwriting across the bottom. He’s standing by your side now, hands holding your waist and he leans to kiss away the tears that roll down your cheeks. You flip the record and the back cover is a quadrant of pictures. One from each season, a simple picture of your willow tree. From the deep green flourishes of leaves in the Summer to the piles of orange leaves in the Autumn, its freezing branches covered in snow in the Winter and the wildflowers that welcome the newborn green in the Spring.
“It’s perfect.” You whisper, choking on tears. “I love it.”
The day after Matty comes home from tour is always your favourite. Time stretches out in front of you endlessly, you find comfort and security knowing there’s weeks if not months until he has to leave again. You slip back into your shared life. Two pairs of mugs in the dishwasher and two pairs of boots by the backdoor. Two toothbrushes lining the bathroom sink and two towels dripping, hanging up to dry. Walks down to the park, hand in hand and stolen kisses. Trips to the grocery store, arms overflowing with groceries and each other. Laughter and whispers and moans.
But there’s yelling too. Matty’s only been home for three weeks when he steps out into the garden to answer a phone call, Jamie Oborne’s name glowing urgently. You were both curled on the couch all afternoon watching a movie he had suggested you’d love. It had been paused for 20 minutes as you shredded apart the loose threads of the crochet blanket wrapped around you, watching anxiously as Matty grew more and more frustrated and was pacing aggressively on the patio. Until he hung up with anger and huffed back inside, head falling into his hands as he slumped back onto the couch. Your hand fell to his back and drew circles soothingly, lips kissing at his ear, the blood in his veins immediately cooling down.
“I have to leave for London tomorrow morning, some legal bullshit to do with the label,” he murmurs hesitantly, almost scared for what your reaction could bring.
“Okay,” you whisper into his neck.
He pulls away roughly, standing up to face you. “Okay???”
You stare at him dumbfounded. “Okay.” You repeat again, more emphasis on the casualty of your tone, like he’s just told you he needs to head down to the shops for some more milk. His face is contorted with pain and betrayal.
“What do you mean okay? Do you want me to go or something? Want me to leave you?” His voice is raising, yelling and tears are pooling in his eyes.
“Oh so you want to get rid of me now? I thought you needed me? Won’t you miss me?” He blabbers on.
“Matty, baby stop,” you grab his hands and pull him back down to you.
“I meant okay as in I’m okay. We’re okay.” He grows silent.
“I’m okay with you gone because I’m used to it. My heart is used to waiting for you. And that’s okay and you’re okay and we’re always going to be okay.” You smile at him, continuing, voice shaking. “It’s okay because I love you.”
A tear rolls down his face, his lungs finally expand again.
“Oh Darling, I’m in love with you too.”
It’s the next morning. You’re leaning against the doorway, watching the curls on his head bounce as he walks down the path and to the car on the street waiting to take him to the airport. He stops halfway and abruptly drops his bags, running up the stairs and you giggle as he lifts you up to spin you around in his arms. Your chest is pressed into his face as he muffles, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Spilling every word from his heart directly into yours and repeating it until your heartbeat starts to mimic the pace of his words. He kisses you sweetly and you both know it’s always going to be okay. He quickly races back down to his bags as the car beeps its horn impatiently. He takes one look back at you and he waves. You blow him a kiss, watching the car peel away and fade over the horizon. You stand there at the doorway so dazed, you think the car is probably halfway to the airport by the time you step back inside.
Your heart is full and as it overflows, Matty is always right there to catch every drop in his open arms. You’re carrying his heart in your arms too.
You walk over to the record player and grab Matty’s record, your record. With a pen and a shaking hand you neatly press it to the glossed cover.
‘For My Darling’s Lonely Heart’
You press play and his angelic voice floods the room.
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aphrodisiac-siren · 1 year
Text
Dynasty of flames
Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen-Royce Reader
Summary: Being born into the most respected and equally feared houses in the realm made people look up to you as if you were a god and the devil himself, in equal measure. People say that when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin; and when news of the birth of Daemon’s firstborn- a girl, spread, people could only wait in anticipation to see which side of the coin faced up during her birth. 
-Aemond slowly, and I mean SLOWLY, letting his guard down-
Warnings: Incest (duh)
Part 1, part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Part 7
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Upon Y/N and Aemond's arrival back to the keep, the both of them were informed by Ser Criston of the King's desire to have the entire family dine together that very same evening.
Y/N, after returning to her assigned chambers, asked for one of the servants to draw her a bath. She reeked of dragon and did not wish to show up for supper smelling of old leather and sweat.
The place where the royal family bathed was a large room with a tiled pit, sunk a few feet into the ground that was filled to the brim with steaming-hot water. A tray with a number of bath oils was placed close to the pool-like bath with a few towels neatly folded next to it.
Y/N dismissed the servants, she never really ever asked for any assistance with stripping down for a bath. How lazy does one have to be that they require someone to undress them when they were perfectly capable of doing it themselves, she thought.
The princess picked a vile of Dianthus and lemon balm oil before she stepped into the hot waters. She hummed with contentment at the sensation of the heat of the water against her skin and she tilted her head back so that she could wash her long brown hair as well. She then began to scrub at her arms and behind her ears.
The sound of the doors creaking had the princess snap her eyes open and crane her neck toward the entrance only to lock gazes with Aemond who stood frozen and abashed.
Upon instinct, Y/N yelped, not expecting anyone to walk in on her and Aemond immediately turned around out of respect.
"Apologies" he quickly uttered, his back still facing her "I was to use the other bath but it seems to be occupied by my brother and none of the servants are posted outside either of the doors to mention this room was occupied.."
Y/N bit her lip to stifle the giggles that she was trying to fight back at his nervous rambling. The girl did not care much if Aemond saw her in this state; the body of a naked woman was obviously not a sight he was a stranger to, she guessed. Furthermore, she was rather amused by how he instantly turned into a nervous wreck as opposed to the stoic person he was ever since she'd met him.
"It's alright," she said with a smile, her eyes never leaving Aemond's tall and rigid frame "the other bath is occupied you say, I do not mind you bathing here"
"I shall await outside until you are dressed, princess" Aemond heaved a sigh, quite embarrassed about walking in on her during her bath.
"I meant with me" Y/N clarified with a smirk "I do not mind, besides you did just mention that there are no servants presently. Why waste time when there is already a perfectly hot bath at the ready?"
"I um.." Aemond cleared his throat and was happy he wasn’t facing her for he was sure his face had turned as red as that dress Y/N had worn earlier "I do not think it would be appropriate for me to look upon you in such-"
"Will your gaze be indecent and lustful?" Y/N asked even though she knew it would be far from that. She knew Aemond was a rather respectful and honourable man, despite what the gossip surrounding him suggested.
"Of course not," the prince promptly responded "never"
"Then I find no reason for this to be an improper encounter. You may get into the bath with me" Y/N shrugged "If you are comfortable with it as well, that is. I do not wish to force you into something that leaves you feeling uneasy"
Aemond felt something flutter in his chest.
"I do not wish to force you into something that leaves you feeling uneasy"
Aemond recalled the events of his three and tenth name day when Aegon had dragged him out the castle and to the city, into a whorehouse. Aemond remembered how scared and uncomfortable he'd felt. Aegon had taken him there thinking Aemond would take as much liking toward it as he did, and in a way hoping to fill in the void of the lack of affection in their lives that Aegon felt through intimacy. Aemond, not wanting to be rude to his older brother who was doing it solely so that Aemond too might experience some form of affection- granted it was all a farce, just went along with him.
However once he was left alone in a room with one of the women of the establishment, he tried to convey his uncertainty and desire to leave immediately but the lady tried her best to persuade him. After they were 'done', Aemond was left feeling more disgusted and defiled than content and satisfied. Aemond never visited brothels or whorehouses after that, he barely even allowed for anyone to so much as touch him from then on.
Until that very afternoon, with Y/N.
She was kind and gentle beneath all of that feistiness. Even now she was making sure Aemond was just as comfortable as she was. He slowly turned around and Y/N smiled sweetly at him.
Gods she looks breathtaking, Aemond thought as he walked closer, making sure his gaze never lingered. He slowly began to rid himself of his garments and Y/N politely turned away so that she might not make him feel conscious.
Once we had stripped down to basically nothing, he stepped into the bath and sat a few feet away from her upon some of the steps that bordered around the edges.
"Hello" the princess said with a giggle "I hope you do not mind the choice of oils I've used"
"N-no" Aemond cleared his throat "I like it"
"That’s nice to hear" she hummed as she combed her fingers through her hair. Her hands then grazed the necklace around her neck that she'd forgotten to take off and reached behind her neck to unclasp it but for some reason, it wouldn’t loosen.
"Could you help me with this, Aemond?" she sweetly asked, still struggling with the piece of jewellery "the clasp seems to be stuck"
Aemond was hesitant but silently walked toward her. Gods, she is too carefree about all of this, Aemond thought, she's stripped completely bare in the presence of a man and yet she doesn’t seem bothered at all. Once he was close enough, she turned around and pulled all of her hair to one side to expose the back of her neck.
Aemond's fingertips gently ran over her warm skin before he held the necklace and tried to undo the clasps with which Y/N was having trouble. It took a few tries before he managed to free the fastening, carefully pulling off the chain off her neck.
Y/N turned around and looked up at Aemond. She was well aware of how close they were but it did not seem to faze her one bit.
Aemond was silent, waiting for her to say something as he too looked into her pretty purple eyes.
"I'll let you keep my necklace if you let me keep your eye patch" she said and it was something that Aemond wasn’t expecting to hear at all "I'm assuming you don’t keep it on while you bathe?"
"I do" Aemond quickly shot back even though he never did. He had grown rather insecure of how he looked and he did not wish for her to see him without the eye patch and be frightened like everyone else who had.
"I was there the night you lost your eye" Y/N's tone and expression both softened "I have seen you when your face was bloody and your wound swollen. I did not see you any differently then and it won’t chnage even now"
Aemond looked away.
"And I'm curious to see the sapphire you wrote to me about" she added.
"Yes, that" Aemond scoffed "It only added to my frightfulness, it did absolutely nothing to fix my appearance"
"Fix?" the princess tilted her head slightly "there was never anything about your appearance that needed fixing"
"You don’t have to console me with flattery, princess" Aemond rolled his eye before he turned to look at her again "I have come to terms with the truth"
"I do not agree with the harsh words spoken of you" she tenderly spoke and Aemond once again felt that unfamiliar fluttering sensation in his chest "I despise those people who’ve spread such nasty gossip"
"You haven’t even.." Aemond was moved by how genuinely she uttered those words. She was the closest friend he'd had and someone he knew he could confide in. Yet for so many years, they had only spoken through letters and over time, he had convinced himself that some day the distance between them would only grow and thus bring their exchange of letters to a halt "You haven’t even seen me, all of me"
Y/N almost made an indecent joke about the both of them being naked but she held her tongue; now was not the time.
"Then show me"
The boy sighed before he reached up and nervously took off his eye patch. He watched in anticipation as Y/N looked at his scar, at the precious gemstone that replaced the eye that was taken from him. She didn’t flinch, nor gasp or show even an ounce of being frightened or disgusted. Her gaze turned tender and she gingerly reached out to caressed his cheek, tracing her fingers along his scar.
"Say something," he said and it came out almost as a whisper. The long interval of silence was making him anxious "have I frightened you, Y/N?"
"I truly wish you could see what I see" Y/N's heart clenched with sadness. The world was indeed so cruel for convincing this sweet boy that he was some sort of monster.
"And what is it that you see?" Aemond could feel his heart hammering in his chest while her fingers delicately caressed his scarred face.
"I see you, Aemond" a tender smile graced her lips as she continued to look at him adoringly. Aemond had indeed grown into a handsome lad. His jawline was sharp, cheekbones chiselled and the blue sapphire made him look absolutely majestic "the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes upon"
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Y/N dried and brushed her hair in her chambers after she had returned from her bath.
She was glad none of the servants noticed Aemond slipping out before she could leave. That encounter alone could give rise to quite a scandalous rumour.
As she was braiding her hair, a loud knock sounded and she called out for whoever was on the other side of the door, beckoning for them to enter.
Her father Daemon walked in along with Rhaenyra.
"We wish to discuss something of utmost importance" Rhaenyra informed as she shut the door behind her "regarding the line of succession"
This immediately had Y/N turning away from the mirror and facing her parents.
"I have had a long discussion with your father and I have made a rather difficult decision" Rhaenyra went on "a decision that regards my heir, the next in line to the iron throne"
Y/N glanced at her father who winked at her, hinting that whatever Rhaenyra was about to say was a result of his influence.
"I have decided to name Jace as prince of Dragonstone and you," she drew a sharp breath "Y/N as my heir to the iron thron"
"Does Jace know of this?" Y/N immediately asked. In the years that she spent at Dragonstone, growing up alongside him, she had grown rather fond of his company. She knew the both of them would never be close, not when she was Aemond's closest companion who ran to his defence every time but the both of them had formed some sort of bond as the two oldest siblings in the family. She knew how Jace was readying himself to take on the role of being King someday. How she herself knew that he would be an excellent candidate for the job. The last thing she wanted was for this decision to form a rift between them when they had only just started to get along.
"Not yet, no" the older princess told her. Rhaenyra too knew how eager Jace was to become king and how good he would be at it. But Daemon had put forth a valid argument. He told her how the realm presently acknowledged him as nothing more than a bastard. Once he would be king, there would be an uprising and he would be overthrown by those who oppose his rule. Her sons were currently protected by her and the king, that wouldn’t be a possibility once Jace would be king. Who would protect him then? For the sake of his life being spared, naming Daemon's firstborn daughter as heir was the best decision.
"I don’t think we should make a decision without him present" the younger girl told them.
"The decision has been made already" Daemon tenderly tried to explain "you must understand this is the best outcome for all. You saw what it took to reaffirm Luke's throne. Jace will not have the king or his mother at his side if his claim was ever put to question. His life will be at stake. You are my firstborn and thus will be rather welcomed as queen"
Y/N let out a long sigh. She knew her father made a good point. Furthermore, she was impressed by how he managed to put forth said point without even once mentioning that Rhaenyra's sons were bastards.
She did not hate the idea of being queen. The only thing that kept her from jumping in celebration was the fact that she felt as if she was being given something that initially was never meant for her, something that Rhaenyra was only doing because she was convinced.
"Alright" Y/N looked up at the both of them "but you must tell Jace of this"
"We will" Daemon looked at her with pride. His own blood, his darling daughter would one day sit the throne "now get dressed, I assume you already know of the king’s wishes for the entire family to dine together"
taglist: @ladybug0095 @sahvlren @bunny24sstuff @dellalyra @ellabellabus07 @champomiel @fan-goddess
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Tav’s sex parade – Chapter 12: Mate me, mark me, make me yours (Halsin x Tav)
(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, cunnilingus, biting, the feels)
Notes:
To avoid confusion: In one of my other fanfics, Halsin and Tav had named the owlbear cup Naïlo, which means 'night breeze' in the Elven language.)
Chapter 8 is mentioned.
The snowflakes twirled through the cold air of the grey day, covering the world in its first fine layer of this year's snow like powdered sugar.
Tav was sitting in the living room, composing, while Gale wrote letters to scholars, Astarion rested in reverie, and Shadowheart was at Morena's place to help her heal some clients. Gale's mother appreciated an extra pair of hands at this time of the years when the townspeople ended up with runny noses and coughs. Scratch and Naïlo were sleeping in front of the fireplace, tightly entangled. The owlbear had grown a lot and barely fit through the doorframe anymore, but he still behaved like an over-excited puppy. It was adorable and gave them 'scary dog privilege' when going on a walk in the park with him.
Tav was in the middle of figuring out what rhymes with 'apple' when there was a knock on the front door. The bard wiped her ink-stained fingers on a cloth before getting up and opening the door.
"Oak Father preserve you, my heart. How are you?"
"Halsin!" Tav fell around his neck, beaming. "I missed you. I'm alright, and you? Come in, love."
With a chuckle, the druid entered Gale's tower house and shook off his coat and boots.
"Nature's preparing for her hibernation. The snow will cover her like a warm, protective blanket soon."
"You're always so poetic," Tav smiled. "We truly must write a poetry book together. Maybe this winter? Will you stay longer this time or did you plan to travel during the winter season?"
"I'm not sure yet," Halsin answered as he was ushered into the kitchen to sit down. "It depends on how much it'll snow – and how long I can stand the city."
"I see. You can decide spontaneously," the human bard told him. She put the kettle on the stove and piled cookies from a ceramic yar onto a plate. She put it down in front of the druid. "Here, eat some. Gale baked all of our favourites."
Halsin looked at the plate and pointed at the vanilla shortbread.
"Let me guess; Gale's favourite?"
Tav nodded grinning.
The druid chuckled, studying the assortment again. He took a crescent-shaped cookie and sniffed it.
"Cinnamon, hm... Shadowheart? She strikes me as someone who likes exotic flavours."
"You're right, kudos."
Smiling softly, Halsin grabbed a pale star-shaped pastry and took a bite.
"Lemon? That's your favourite? I wouldn't have thought that. You look more like someone who likes raisins."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Tav asked, pursing her lips.
Halsin chuckled and leaned his head back to look at her.
"Your welcoming, open-minded, flamboyant nature reminds me of the people in the south - even though your skin's so pale it would burn down there. When I'm in wildshape, you smell like raisins. Somehow, I can picture you between the vineyards and the olive trees."
"And the citrus trees," Tav added. Then, she sighed. "You're awfully observant. It's almost a bit scary."
When the druid looked at her confused, she sighed again, explaining: "I am from the south and did grow up next to a vineyard."
Halsin's eyes widened in surprise and Tav chuckled. She kissed his temple and muttered: "I do like raisins, but lemons are my favourite. When I was a kid, I ate them like apples."
The druid shook himself at the thought, making his lover snicker. The latter stole a lemon cookie from the plate and shoved it in her mouth. Halsin pointed at the sticky clusters, asking: "And what are those?"
"Walnut-honey cookies. Gale thought you might like them since you love honey."
Halsin blinked at her dumbly.
"Gale baked cookies for me?"
"If course! You're family after all."
"Oh."
Touched, the druid gazed at the plate and welled up a bit. He gently took one of the misshapen cookies and took a bite. He closed his eyes and moaned as the taste of flowery honey and earthy walnut exploded in his mouth.
"Good?" asked Tav, rubbing his shoulder blades.
"Mmh, definitely my favourite," sighed Halsin. "I must thank Gale properly. They are divine."
"He should have become a cook or baker instead of a wizard," Tav agreed, stealing another lemon cookie.
Halsin did the same, happily munching on the sweet treats. The bard walked over to the stove and brew tea. She filled two cups, placed them on the table, and sat down next to the wood elf. They silently enjoyed the beverage and the pastries for a while.
"What do you think was Astarion's favourite cookie?" Halsin suddenly asked. "Maybe something with exotic, expensive spices?"
"Or cherries?" Tav wondered.
"No, peaches," the vampire spawn revealed as he strode into the kitchen. "Hello, druid. Nice to see you again."
"Oak Father preserve you, Astarion. How was your rest?"
"Good, but I'm peckish now. Can I take a nibble?"
"Sure."
Astarion stared at him in surprise.
"Really?"
"Mhm," Halsin answered with a shrug.
Licking his lips, the vampire spawn moved closer, stroke a finger along the druid's thick neck before biting down. Halsin gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. He still wasn't used to the feeling of being bitten – other than Tav and Gale. Shadowheart refused to let Astarion feed from her and he respected her boundaries. The vampire spawn drew back, licked the wound clean and then his mouth. He swayed slightly, drunk on the druid's blood, again.
"Thank you, darling," Astarion slurred and kissed him sloppily before staggering out of the kitchen to lay down in front of the fireplace.
"Your blood has an interesting effect on him. I wonder why," Tav mused.
"Me too. He only gets drunk when feeding on me," Halsin muttered. "He says I taste like a bear."
That made Tav giggle.
"And what a lovely bear you are," she teased and leaned over to connect their lips. "I'll run you a bath."
"Mmh, thank you, my heart."
They kissed again before the bard left the kitchen and the druid finished the plate by himself. Then, he got up to seek out Gale in his study. The wizard was hunched over his letters, conferring with Tara.
"Oak Father preserve you, Gale. How are you?"
"Oh, hello Halsin. It's a pleasure to have you back. How was the journey?"
"Good. We'll talk about the details over dinner."
"Of course. Excuse me, I have to finish these letters first before I can start cooking."
Gale turned his attention back to his work.
"It's good to see you again, Mr. Halsin," Tara said and purred as she accepted the druid's caresses.
"It's nice to be back. Thank you for the cookies, Gale. They're delicious," Halsin said, smiling.
"Oh? I'm glad you like them," the addressed replied with a sigh of relief. "I didn't know what you prefer, but when Tav said you like honey, I remembered this recipe."
"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart," the druid told him. He didn't know how to show his gratitude or how to repay the favour, thus, he did the only thing that was able to express his feelings; he gave Gale a tender kiss. The wizard gasped in surprise, but placed a hand on Halsin's chest immediately. When they parted, they leaned their foreheads together.
"Thank you," whispered the druid. "You have no idea how much this means to me."
"Mh, I can only assume," mumbled Gale, still slightly overwhelmed by the sudden kiss.
"Halsin! The bath's ready!" yelled Tav from the bathroom.
Halsin smiled and kissed Gale again before he left the room.
"What a lovely way to show his gratitude," purred Tara, highly amused.
Gale hummed, dazed, and went back to work.
At the dinner table, Halsin told them about his journey. The former Shadow-Cursed Lands had recovered and the wildlife was returning, slowly but steadily. Soon, the area would be suitable for people again, but Halsin was torn.
"It had been my home before the Shadow Curse claimed the lands. I always dreamed of returning, but now, that I can, I'm unsure about it. It feels so different now. The energy's not the same, nature has changed, and it doesn't feel like my homelands anymore." The druid sighed melancholically. "But I'm sure the lands would serve the refugees well. They're not welcome in Baldur's Gate and are forced to live in misery. Maybe, if I'd guide them to Thaniel's Realm, they'll find new hope and a new home."
After said gloomy words, Halsin changed the topic and handed Gale a set of ceramic soup bowls that he'd bought in Mirabar. The wizard marvelled at the craftsmanship and gushed over the design; dark blue background with yellow stars, moons, and suns.
"You were in Mirabar again?" asked Tav.
Halsin nodded.
"I saw the beautiful ceramic ware last time, but didn't buy anything. Winter Solstice is near and your hospitality's always wonderful, thus, I thought I'll bring you a gift to show my appreciation."
"Thank you, Halsin, but you're not just a guest here, you're family," Gale told him, looking serious.
The druid was taken aback and averted his gaze.
"Am I? Hm... thank you. That's... an honour, truly," he mumbled, blushing slightly.
"Of course you are," Gale replied with a smile. Shadowheart, Astarion, and Tav nodded in agreement and the latter placed her hand on Halsin's.
The druid welled up a second time this day.
The conversation had lit a fire in his belly, something he'd never felt before, and it overwhelmed him. Halsin possessively placed a hand in Tav's neck as he kissed her hungrily. Even though he'd had dinner, he was starving. With a growl, he grabbed the bard's buttocks and hoisted her onto his hips. She immediately wrapped her arms and legs around him.
"What's on your mind, love? You're acting strangely," Tav panted.
Instead of answering, Halsin kissed her again. He didn't want to talk, couldn't put into words what he felt. He dropped his lover onto the bed, hastily removing her clothes before stripping himself. Tav stretched an arm towards him to caress his cheek.
"Halsin, talk to me. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Quite the opposite actually," he answered.
Before she could keep pestering him in concern, the druid bent down and started to eat her out. Tav moaned, bucked her hips up, and sunk a hand into his hair. Halsin focused on drowning in her taste and smell. He didn't want to think anymore. He just wanted to be. The bard mewled and came across his tongue, and Halsin moaned at the familiar taste. He didn't give her time to rest and entered her immediately. Tav whimpered but pulled him into a messy kiss. Halsin squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away. It was too much, too intimate, too loving. Tav was warm and welcoming, trusting him completely. He smelled her skin, felt her breath on his cheek as she panted, her strong arms around him. Halsin drew back and looked at her. Dazed, she gazed up at him.
"Halsin, love, what's –"
The addressed pulled out, flipped her over, and pushed her head into the mattress.
"Stop talking. Please," he pleaded, desperately trying to gain control over his emotions and the scratching beast inside him.
Tav nodded silently and he grabbed her hips to pull her up onto her knees. Halsin entered her again with a groan and leaned over her. His thrusts were hard and fast, making the bard whimper and sob in ecstasy. The druid kissed her shoulder blade. The bear inside him spurred him on to mark his possession. To mate and mark what was his. Moaning, Halsin licked the bard's sweat off, grazing her rosy, freckled skin with his teeth. The beast roared and the druid growled irritated.
"Do it," Tav told him. "Bite me, Halsin. Mark me and make me yours."
The wood elf growled again, grabbed her broad shoulder to pull her closer, and listened to his natural instinct. He sunk his teeth into the nape of Tav's neck, biting down until he could taste blood. The bard gasped and groaned, but kept perfectly still. A shiver ran down the druid's spine, it felt like he was lit aflame, liquid fire running along the bones. A mating bite. Marking someone as his. His.
Mine, Halsin's brain screamed and he moaned as his climax hit him like a boulder. Colours exploded behind his closed eyelids and his ears were ringing. His legs gave out and he collapsed onto Tav who got squished into the bed under his weight. At the moment, Halsin neither noticed nor cared, his brain was still caught up in the fact that he'd marked his lover. It hadn't been a new feeling, he'd had the urge to bite for as long as he could remember, but he'd never acted on it. Halsin had never marked a lover before. It had been a big no-no, too animalistic, even for his taste. Something he'd been ashamed of and had always controlled – until now. Halsin finally unclenched his teeth and lazily tongued the bleeding wound and rolled off of Tav to let her breathe properly.
"I'm sorry," he croaked out huskily.
"Don't be," she replied, way too calmly for someone who'd just been mated and marked like an animal.
"Why aren't you freaked out by this?"
Tav just shrugged nonchalantly.
Halsin's non-bear brain started panicking.
"I- I bit you. Marked you. I left a mating bite on you!"
"I know," the bard replied, stretching languorously.
The druid stared at her in disbelief and repeated: "I left a mating bite on you."
Tav looked at him with a smile and stroke his cheek.
"I know," she said and kissed him sweetly. "I'm yours."
"You're mine," Halsin whispered, pulling her into another kiss.
The beast in him was sated, satisfied, and the druid felt as content as he hadn't in a long while. Tav was his, and now, the entire world could see it.
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dangerkittenclaws · 2 months
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little number
server 141 valentine’s day exchange (thank you to @bunnyreaper for putting it all together)
my valentine is @angelofacidx <3
I had a lot of fun writing this as I obviously got carried away as I usually do! So enjoy and I hope you have a wonderful Valentine’s Day lovely :)
simon x johnny x reader
word count: 2.2k
warnings: MDNI +18, poly smut
“Something special is waiting for you!”
You hit send to the group chat between your two boyfriends and yourself. It's a picture of you posing in front of your full-length mirror wearing your new lingerie.
You got the set just for Valentine’s Day, a baby pink mesh bra and matching panties both with tiny white hearts dotted all over.
Simon and Johnny have been on this mission for the last two months and with some contact here and there, it’s never enough. They had been told they wouldn’t be home for another week and would be missing one of your favorite holidays.
“Goddamn”
“We need more pictures than that, lass”
You attach three more pictures of different poses. A close up of your bra with your nipples peeking through just behind the material. Another of you from the side, kneeling and leaning back on one hand with your back arched. And the last one from behind, showing off your round, plump ass with your panties off, hanging from your fingers on the other hand.
“My hands are going to ruin that little number and then your pussy if you keep playing like that.”
“Not if I get to her first.”
You love being a tease while they are away. Something about them only having each other and pictures and videos of you makes it more exciting. By the end of each mission, they practically act like dogs and are at your beck and call the moment they get through the door.
The night of the 13th rolls around and you get ready for bed. Once you’ve showered, shaved and gone through your round of care products, you put on a pair of soft pajama shorts and pick out one of Johnny’s old t-shirts. It still smells like him. You pull back the covers on the bed and turn on your favorite Disney movie to wind down. You don’t even remember shutting your eyes before you hear your alarm ringing too early in the morning. Little did you know though, they were currently walking across the tarmac with bags in hand to get on a flight back to you.
“Today won't be quite the same without you both”
“Happy Valentine’s Day <3” you text to the chat.
You don’t get a response back, but that’s to be expected sometimes. They are working, after all.
You wash up and dress for the day, grabbing your purse and jacket before heading out and locking the door behind you.
“Hurry up, Si! We got a pretty lady waiting for us!”
“She won’t even be home yet by the time we’re there. We still have to make dinner.” Simon laughs at Johnny’s eagerness, closing the car door as they step up onto the sidewalk.
They decide to split for a moment; Johnny goes to the left to get the dessert from your favorite little bakery and Simon goes right to run into the grocery store.
Johnny remembers your favorite, a small lemon raspberry cake, just big enough for the three of you to share.
“I love you sweetness” a text comes through. They must finally be having a break, you think.
“I hope you’re having a good day, mo ghraidh.” You smile down at your phone, quick to touch the keyboard to reply.
Simon gets all of the ingredients for a nice steak dinner and he doesn’t forget a bouquet of roses and baby's breath for you.
When they finally arrive home, they both work like a well oiled machine to set up the house for you in surprise. Johnny takes to lighting candles and scattering rose petals in your bedroom with a grin on his face while Simon commits to getting dinner made.
Luckily they finish with enough time to spare to wash themselves of their trip and a little make out session of their own as they share the steam of the shower. They restrain themselves to go any further, wanting to see you first.
Simon smirks as he trails his fingers across the little number you had sent, it hanging from your dresser drawer. He thinks of all the ways he’s going to have you tonight and reiterates the thought of tearing it off of your body.
“Siiiii! She’s home!” you hear, fumbling with your keys more.
They both nearly trample you over, two big dogs who still are puppies at heart. Simon gets to you first, squeezing you tight.
“Si... can’t… breathe..” he instantly loosens his hold, only for Johnny to envelop you both in a bear hug.
“Happy Valentine’s Day bonnie!”
“I thought you guys weren’t home for another week, Price said!” you smiled wide, tears in your eyes.
Johnny kisses you like his life depended on it. Simon shoves your purse off of your shoulder, making room for his lips to be on your neck.
“So did we, but it finished early and lover-boy here made us all dinner.”
“I… really? I’m sorry, I’m just so happy to see you both.” you cry.
You kiss Simon on his beautiful scarred lips before Johnny takes your hand, leading you to the dining room to show you what they had put together.
“This is so sweet of both of you. I wish I knew you were going to be home in time, I would’ve done something too.”
“You are something enough, lovey. Now sit, you need to eat so you can keep up tonight,” he winks at you.
“Simon’s right, those pictures just don’t do your body justice, hen.”
Your outfit choice for the day probably wasn't helping their lingering eyes. A black mesh long sleeve with a low cut vest paired with some black wide leg slacks. You regularly pushed the boundaries of business casual in your office. The vest showed off your generous cleavage through the mesh in the right light.
“Looks like you get to see it for yourself right here in front of you.” You take a sip of your water, letting the condensation run down your hand, down your wrist before setting the glass down. Their eyes follow your fingertips as you slowly trail over your own jawline to your lips, pretending to be as innocent as possible.
You can practically see them drooling. You take another bite of garlicky steak, and another bite of buttery mashed potatoes, but not before using your lips to shape it to your spoon.
“So, how was your flight in, then?” you start, trying to act as if you didn't want to maul the two men in front of you.
You stab another chunk of meat, making sure to soak up as much juice as you can before lifting it to your lips. You purposefully let the red flow from your lips, enough to make a trail down your neck to the middle of your chest. You put on a practiced surprised look as you reach for your napkin. You didn't even make it that far before you heard the chair across from you sliding against the tile.
“That’s it,” Simon growls out. He quickly moves his chair back, standing to his full height before stepping towards you. His hand is around your throat, making you instantly look up to him with pleading eyes before he pulls you out of your chair and against his chest.
You smirk inside your brain, you made his resolve break before you even got halfway through dinner.
“You just couldn’t behave yourself, could you, lass?”
You glance at Johnny to the side of you.
“Of course she couldn’t, the little whore is just as desperate as we are.” Simon has his lips on your own just as he’s finished speaking, swallowing every noise you make.
You whimper and squirm against his strong hold. You notice Johnny's warmth come up behind you. You feel his hands gliding over your hips, fingertips digging into soft skin. Its almost sensory overload as you get attacked from both sides.
Lips and hands on every inch of skin they could find and claim as their own. One particular hickey being made on your neck makes you moan out.
“I've missed those sweet sounds of yours, lass, so much.” Johnny rambles as he comes up for air.
Your hands wander too, between Simon's chest in front of you and Johnny's thighs that are flush with the backs of your own. You still feel like being a tease as you reach backwards towards Johnny with one hand. You firmly rub the palm of your hand along his hard cock that’s still confined to his fitted jeans. He bites off a whimper that escapes him when he feels you grasp around his entire cock.
You feel Simons smirk against your lips when he hears this, you know he has a special deviation when he has two submissives. Your other hand reaches up and around Simon, scratching at the hair on the nape of his neck before digging your nails in lightly. Your nails are his kryptonite. You can practically see his eyes roll back and he smiles evilly.
Before you can think of your next move, you're being picked up and carried to the bedroom. You yelp in surprise.
You're thrown onto the bed, Simon clawing at your clothes in an effort to discard them to the floor. He succeeds as Johnny does the same to him. Simon takes the back of Johnny's neck into his hand, giving him a squeeze that makes him melt like putty in both his hands and mouth. You can feel your pussy clench at the sight of your two men kissing each other.
Once Simon has had his fill, Johnny refocuses his attention to you, knowing what he wants right away. He pulls you up onto all fours and sheds his jeans. His thick cock bobs in front of your face and your eyes go wide. He takes a fistful of your hair and your mouth opens.
“Look at tha’, trained her so good Si, ready to take cock at any moment,” he mumbles out.
He slides his cock into your mouth easily, moaning out at the warmth enveloping him. You do your best to try to take him in all the way before he hits the back of your throat. You gag a little at first but keep sucking, you’ve missed him so much. The hand he has in your hair tightens as he curses out as the other reaches down to play with your nipples. He just cant help but to start to fuck your mouth a bit faster. Your breath tries to keep up, but tears start to run when a smack comes across your ass from behind.
“You like when he face fucks you, huh?”
You try to respond but all you can do is moan around the cock in your mouth. You look up at Johnny for the first time to see his eyes half lidded, full of lust.
“God I love yer eyes when my cock is in yer mouth.” He wipes away blackened tears that are running down your face. He doesn't stop thrusting.
Simon takes this opportunity to spit in his hand and start stroking his cock before he gets up behind you. You feel his weight shift the bed and it gets you excited. You know your pussy is glistening wet without having to look. Getting talked to like that will make that happen.
You push back against him when you feel his hand on your inner thighs, lining himself up with your entrance.
Simon groans out as the tip of his cock slides in between your velvet folds. You close your eyes until you’re full to the hilt with him.
“This pussy was made to take my cock, love.”
He sets a pace that makes your body rock forwards, taking in more of Johnny each time. Simon reaches a hand around and sets an equally fast pace against your clit that's slick with the two of you.
You’re being used from both ends and your mind starts to feel fuzzy. Johnny pulls out of your mouth when he sees you’re about to cum. He jerks at his cock a few times as you moan out loudly, arms shaking. He looks up to see Simons eyes closed, hands gripping your hips as he fucks into you and he comes onto your face.
You open your glazed over eyes when you feel warmth hit your skin.
That's when Simon pushes you down to your chest, making your back arch and ass press flush against his hips.
His thrusts become uncoordinated but no less powerful until he finally slows with another long groan. He cums deep inside your cunt that's still pulsing around him.
All three of you sigh, releasing the tension that's built up for a little more than two months.
You instantly curl up onto your side, exhausted, not wanting to leave your soft bed and two lovers. You feel a warm cloth wiping both your face and pussy shortly afterwards.
You’re still deep within your mind with a smile on your face as you hear Johnny, “Looks like that little number in the drawer will have to be ripped off another night.”
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Better Off - Part Two
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Four years since Argyle's wedding, Robin invited you and the gang to her boss's lake house. Hoping good memories will be made, you're forced to wrestle with some ghosts of your past.
This fic runs in the same Universe as My Whole Life, Too.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader
Wordcount: 14,132
Warnings: second chance romance, angst, fluff, sex and sex adjacent (minors DNI, thanks!), recreational drinking and drug use, mentions of pregnancy and parenthood, mentions of the loss of loved ones
Navigation • Masterlist • Part One
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Your gaze blurred on ribbons of gold and ivory, stretched and pulled and flipped as a man in candy stripes worked his taffy on its puller. The air smelled sticky sweet of vanilla and lemon and warmth, and you bundled tighter into your sweater with each burst of cold air and ding of a bell at the door. 
Another worker with rolled sweets pressed and smacked them onto the countertop, the scattering of beads pulling your focus and stirring you from your daze. She offered a sample with a kind smile, and you thanked her before popping the sticky sour drop into your mouth. 
It ached at the stress sore just between your teeth and molars, but you supposed you deserved the slight agony. With a sigh, you dropped your shoulders and allowed Robin to shove you gently back to the cobblestones streets, the outside air a misty chill. Large, grey clouds loomed in the distance, the forecasted storm apt weather for your current state of mind. 
“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Robin groaned for the four hundredth time that day.
You managed to plaster on a smile, though you could feel the dishonesty behind it, and gave her a hand squeeze. “Shut up, please.”
“Yeah, Robin, we’re fine,” Nancy agreed sidling up on her other side, that special Nancy-Wheeler-determination etched between her brows. “All of this shit needed to be aired out anyway. You just facilitated it.” 
Robin rolled her eyes. “That makes me feel so much better.” 
You shrugged. “I’m glad it’s all coming out now, when I have you two for support.” 
Nancy’s facade nearly broke then, the glimmer of emotion in her eyes, but she gave a curt nod. “Me too.” 
Robin groaned and started back on your path down the western side of the road. This little lakeside town was full of antique shops and souvenir stores. Every store had something you liked, in a black or navy, or in a Devil red or forest green, smoked charcoal or honeyed yellow. You’d given up a few stores ago now, understanding the Universe was just mocking you. 
Other than the looming storm clouds and the lingering guilt from the night before, you supposed you were having a lovely, if not much-needed girls day. In any other scenario, you’d be delighted to walk such a pristine little village, smelling the early summer buds and tasting at each little eatery along the route. Plus, the company was ideal.
“Robs, I’m coming to visit you immediately, I hope you know,” you linked your arm with hers and fell into step. “You’ll never see me because I’ll spend the entire trip holed up in a bakery, elbow-deep in baguettes, but I’ll be there. You’ll teach me French?” 
“Bien sûr,” she snickered, tugging you into a vintage clothing shop.
The window display had a little black dress á la Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and the place smelled of mothballs and rose-scented perfume. It reminded you a bit of your grandmother, on your mother’s side. She had an oversized hatbox that was passed down to you, chock full of love letters from soldiers in the war.
A similar hatbox sat near the register, pale pink and pressed satin, and you jimmied the top off to see if any secrets lay inside. No love letters, but a collection of multicolored silk scarves. You pulled one from the top, white with thin, navy Breton stripes and tied it around your neck. “What do you think, Robin? Will I fit right in?” 
Robin abandoned her post near an oversized button bin, hands already full, and waggled her eyebrows, dropping her haul to the countertop. “It’s perfect,” she chuckled, caressing it between her thumb and forefinger.
You watched her blue eyes scan your features, smile softening, and eventually her padded shoulders dropped in a sigh.
“You can’t run away to France with me.” 
You smiled at that. “Why not?”
She shook her fringe from her eyes. “Eddie’s not mad at you, you know.”
You swallowed, nodded. “I know. I’m still going to apologize.” 
“And for what it’s worth,” she dug through the box in front of you, avoiding your gaze. “Steve did love you, maybe does love you.” 
You sighed and untied the scarf around your throat, suddenly suffocated by the stuffy air in here. “Steve loves the idea of me.” You pinched at the bridge of your nose, remembering you were talking to his best friend too. “I just mean… I don’t think it’s fair to start something again when I can’t be certain how I’d like to finish it.”
Robin nodded. “I can appreciate that stance. It’s very… mature.” She commented with the flair for dramatics that would put Eddie to shame, pulling a rose-covered scarf from the box with a flourish and tying it around her head.
You snorted.
“Guys,” Nancy’s voice was so meek from the corner of the room, you barely recognized it. When you turned, she was holding the world’s smallest knit sweater, navy blue with a great white whale, and she was crying. 
You recognized the calm from ten years of coastal living. That sweet, soft lull in birdsong, the electricity in the air. Clouds blackened the sky, and off-shore docks groaned under whitecaps’ wake. You stood in your room, looking out the tiny window at the billowing tops of trees, fingers idling at the satin ribbon around your neck, Robin’s treat. You couldn’t focus in the silence, only hearing the thrum of your heart against your ribcage. You could sense Eddie in the room next door, could feel smoke and anxiety attached to a string around your finger, reminding you of the atrocities you’d enacted. Calm before the storm.
With a deep breath and a decided snap of tension, you toed out of the room, floorboard creaking with each step toward atonement.
Only, Eddie’s room was empty, door wide, belonging strewn about like he’d moved in. His window was bigger than yours, curtains drawn and window cracked. A cool breeze whipped around your knees, billowing the soft chiffon of your skirt. You sighed and crossed, moving a handmade ashtray from the window sill to the side table. A well-loved copy of A Wizard of Earthsea sat beside the lamp, dog-eared to all Hell. 
You tugged the window down and latched it when something glinted to the North, catching your eye. 
From this vantage, you could just make out the tip of the dock, and the boat in its mooring, rocking mercilessly back and forth. You cursed and turned heel to find Steve waiting in the doorway, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes turned up at you like he’d been waiting and didn’t know what to say. 
“Did you guys wind the boat up?” You asked before he had a chance to speak. 
He opened his mouth, brows furrowed, and that was enough of an answer to have you shoving past him and down the staircase to slip into your sneakers and out the front door.
“What are you-?” Robin called out from her cozy spot on the sofa.
You waved her off with a “Be right back!” and let the slap of rubber to wood lead you down the winding staircase, past the patio and fire pit, and to the end of the dock. Halfway there, you heard Steve calling after you, heard his curses, the distinct thud of his own feet on your tail.
The boat swayed under its awning. Steve’s voice was lost on the wind. Waves thrashed against rocky shores.
“Hold that steady!” You called after him, pointing to the bow, and he rushed as instructed, wind whipping at auburn hair, the navy collar of his polo.
The boat had been placed under the dock, tied to a safeguard by a tight rope, but you knew that if it wasn’t cranked upwards and out of the water, the metal casing surrounding it could cause some serious damage, depending on the intensity of the storm. And, as you put all of your strength and effort into cranking the oversized metal wheel, the storm began to show you just how intense it could get.
Wind rushed between your legs, stretched wide for leverage, slicking your skirt to your thighs as the sky opened up and rain began to pour. A deluge of oversized drops, ice cold, that trampled your hair and soaked your skin, slipping your fingers from their handhold. You cursed, but Steve was right there to help, hair stuck to his temples, biceps flexed as he cranked the boat upward and out of the water.
You hated that you couldn’t look away, frigid wet to the bone, standing between Steve and the house, waves spraying the shoreline, unmoving as he stared back at you, blinking away rainwater, licking it from his lips. 
A crack of thunder startled you both, and you ran, slipped on the wet floorboards of the dock to be caught in strong arms, hands that gripped your cardigan at your waist line and pulled you in close, warm, led you to an abandoned beach hut to wait out the storm. 
The space was musty and dark and damp, and you were uncomfortable under skin-slicked clothes, pressed against a splintering wooden bench with molding life vests in neon orange. Steve hovered over you, breath heavy in his warm chest, droplets from his hair shaken into your eyelashes and across the tops of your cheeks. His hands remained on your waist, a tether, a buoy, anchoring himself to you and you to the ground for each roll of thunder from above.
Rain pelted the tin roof too loud to hear the racing of your heart, too loud to hear your own anxiety screaming at you to leave, to run back up the hill to safety, too loud to stop you. 
Steve’s grip tightened on your waist, tugging at the material of your skirt, and the tip of his nose met your temple, ice-cold, in a line. Then his cheek was pressed to yours, stubble and sunscreen. His breath warmed the lobe of your ear. 
You helped him lift you onto the bench, the whole thing wobbling under your weight, but you had faith in his grasp on you, his weight between your legs as he helped to hitch your skirt up one thigh, material tacky to goose-pimpled flesh. His hands were ice-cold, but you were on fire as he trailed fingertips from your hip to your knee, hooking your leg up higher on his hip. 
Another roll of thunder wracked through his shoulders, a quake around your frame that you squaring him to face you. His expression was unreadable, pupils wide, but lips drawn downward, jaw clenched. His far-off gaze lingered on your lips, and he licked his own, pawing at the underside of your thigh.
This was the moment of no return. You knew it. You knew he could feel it. Something deep inside was clawing its way up, trying to remind you of all of the heartache you’d endured in the last four years, but the rain wouldn’t let up, and his hand kneaded your flesh in a way that felt so right, so familiar, felt like home.
You caught his elbow to stop his movements, and he tensed, shoulders receding in defeat, like he’d just been waiting for you to stop him, like his mind had been racing like your own. 
You breathed his name, like a prayer, and his gaze snapped back to yours. “Touch me.”
Drowning your better judgement, you trailed your fingers down the rope of muscles in his forearm to grasp at his wrist and guide his hand to where you needed him most. 
God, it felt like coming home. Steve’s hands were made for you, a perfect form to all of the places you needed him, as if he’d made you himself. You were plaster, and he Michaelangelo. He flattened creases formed over time from wear and stress, and kneaded them smooth and soft. 
He stretched and hit places that had your eyelids alight with stardust, places you hadn’t hit in years. Your fingernails caught on the breadth of his shoulders and the rain against the roof dampened the sinful sounds pouring from each of your open mouths. He worked you like he’d been born to do it, a sailor devoted to a life at sea, or rather returning from too many years landlocked, eager and determined. 
He muttered affirmations hot and damp against the shell of your ear that had you keening, begging for him to keep going, desperate to stay afloat, until the band snapped and the buoy became untethered, rope unraveling within you.
The rainfall slowed and the sunlight fell in shallow waves across patches in the siding. Your breath evened against the damp planes of Steve’s throat. Clarity began to sharpen the softened edges. A chill wracked through you, soaked through, and you forced him from your space. Gently, you hopped from the bench, skirt falling around shaky knees.
The beach hut door opened with a creak, and you stepped out into the sun. 
Your eyes remained unfocused on the candlelight, too warm and itchy under an afghan and dry clothes to listen to the nostalgia being shared in the adjacent seating room. You hadn’t left the dining table, reassuring everyone you were fine, just exhausted, when you hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of your dinner. All you could focus on was Steve’s grip around the top of his beer bottle, condensation dripping between the soft pads of his fingers. 
“Hey.”
You startled at the intrusion, and tried to blink away the residual flickers in your eyesight, focusing instead on the forlorn look on Jonathan’s face as he scooted into the seat beside you, offering a chocolate bar. You took it with a soft smile, peeling back the plastic wrapping and hunkering further into your patched blanket.
“Remember last month when we were eating pizza at 3AM, laughing about how crazy this trip would be,” he released that cheeky half-smile you hadn’t seen since he’d heard the news.
You snorted, snapping off a section of chocolate to let melt on your tongue. You rolled your eyes, passing it back for him to break off a piece. “Yeah, how’re you feeling?” 
He sighed, ran a hand down his face, shrugged. You watched him stare into the flame for a while.
When he didn’t speak, you reached your hand out to take his, and he met your gaze again with a wry smile, squeezing your hand. “At least I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.” 
“You will?” You grinned. 
He shrugged. “Unless Nancy wants to move overseas. But if that’s the case, I suppose we’ll just take you with us.” 
Your heart ached at the sentiment, and you felt your emotions start to stick in your throat. He was moving to be with her. He was dropping everything he loved, everything he had, to be with Nancy, wherever her dreams took her. And although that made you wildly happy for them, it also further drove home that ache in the pit of you, that spot that hurt. 
A pair of knuckles wrapped at the doorway, stirring your attention from Jonathan. Nancy and Eddie stood side-by-side, hands shoved into pockets or hid in the sleeves of oversized sweaters. Nancy mumbled a goodnight, tiny frame dwarfed beside the gangly man beside her, both of their curls haloed in candlelight. 
“I’ll go with you,” Jonathan hoisted himself upright, planting a soft kiss to your cheek before he followed Nancy up the winding staircase and into the darkness beyond. 
Eddie lingered, shuffling closer to break a piece off your candy bar on the table. “Hey,” he mumbled. 
“Hey,” you sighed. You hadn’t spoken to him all day. More accurately, you’d been avoiding him all day. 
Another burst of laughter echoed from the living room. Eddie nodded toward the kitchen and moved the chocolate to his cheek to ask, “Wanna chat?” 
With a swallow and a nod, you pulled your chair out from the table and gathered your unfinished dinner plate to follow him into the kitchen, discarding your blanket at your place setting. 
Eddie sidled up to a counter, silhouetted in moonlight, and he stayed silent while you scraped your scraps into the garbage and rinsed your plate. When you were finished, you hoisted yourself to the countertop beside him, shoulder’s hunched, heels kicking at the baseboard cabinet. The light flickered warm from the other rooms, laughter trickling in in intervals of hushed tones. 
“I’m sorry about last night,” you both simultaneously, followed by a snicker of understanding. You elbowed him, and he swayed dramatically, sinking his weight back into you. 
“Shut up,” you scolded. “I’m actually sorry. I was being a dick. You did nothing wrong.” 
“That’s not true,” Eddie countered. “You didn’t deserve what I said. At least, not the way I said it.” 
You sighed and linked your arm with his, resting your head atop his bony shoulder. You felt the press of lips to the crown of your head, his cheek to your hair. 
“You do know I just want you to be happy, right? And that I love you?” 
“I know,” you smiled, tilting your head to kiss at the seam of his band tee. “I love you too.” 
“I, uh…” He raked a hand down his face, callouses catching on stubble. “I talked to Steve today, while you guys were out. He told me what he said to you.” 
You swallowed. “Yeah?” 
“Yeah. I told him to grow up.”
You pulled yourself upright to see that Cheshire grin poking dimples into pale cheeks.
“And that him hating it just made me want to do you even more. With him watching.” 
“Eddie!” You shoved at his shoulder, and once again he sunk further into you, hiding a cackle behind his hand. “You perv.” 
“Come on, you know he’d be into that.”
Your face heated at the idea. Your mind flashed back to that dark look in Steve’s eyes, in the beach hut, watching you get off on his thick, warm fingers, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the steady rise and fall of his broad chest beneath your palms. 
“I would to,” Eddie elbowed you out of your daydream, and you landed a punch, harder this time.
“Stop!”
He snickered and dodged your next attack, rubbing the sore spot you’d left on his bicep. “You’re fiesty under emotional duress.” He grinned. “What does it say about me that I find that really sexy?” 
“That you need help,” you snorted. 
He caught your wrist and pressed your hand to his sternum, deepening his voice. “Yeah I do, sweetheart.” 
You scoffed as his rumble turned into a laugh, and since you couldn’t take your hand back, you gripped his t-shirt to pull him closer, resting your forehead to his chest. He tucked you under his jaw and released your wrist in favor of wrapping you in a tight hug. Cigarette smoke and sunscreen and rumbled laughter and lithe limbs and still, somehow, it wasn’t enough. Something dammed at your throat, and you clenched every muscle in your body to rid yourself of the anxiety building. 
Eddie began soothing ministrations up and down your spine. “You need to talk to him.” He mumbled into your temple, breath hot and chocolatey against your skin. “I mean, really talk to him. Like just the two of you, hash it out for hours. You get out everything you need to. Let him tell his part. We both know you won’t be able to make a decision until you get everything out on the table and really look at it, as a whole.” 
You swallowed, your throat dry. “Make a decision?” 
He pulled away, pressing soft hands to your cheeks, dark eyes beneath a furrowed brow. “Promise me something?” 
You hummed. 
“Promise me you’ll talk to him sometime this week. It can be right before we leave, for all I care. But I need you to tell me what you figured out before you get on that plane.” 
There was something hopeful in his gaze, features softened to that lost little boy you’d tutored. There were too many meanings behind his words, too many things that spun in your mind and caught somewhere in the ventricles of your heart. “Eddie…” You muttered.
He released your face and wiped nervous hands to his jeans, suddenly shier than you’d seen him in years. “Christ, I didn’t mean it as like an ultimatum or anything. I’m not that guy.” Not like Steve. He scratched at the back of his neck, took a few steps backward. “I just need to know if I need to hide the liquor bottles or if Hawkins’ is getting a new resident.”
God, why did each phrase feel like an extra stab in the gut?
“I’m sorry,” Eddie stammered a laugh, wrapping ringed fingers against the flat plane of his chest. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.” He never drank more than one. 
You reached your hand out, stretched all the way across the gap until the tips of your fingers brushed the silver of his rings. 
He sighed and took your grasp, allowed you to pull him back into you. 
“I promise I’ll talk to him,” you chewed on the inside of you cheek, ducked to catch his gaze. “And I promise I’ll talk to you.”
The dimple tucked into his cheek beside those plump, pink lips, stretched thin in an awkward smile. He nodded. “I’m gonna go to bed.” 
You nodded. “Okay.” 
Then, he leaned to press his lips to yours. It was chaste, soft, a cascade of curls around your face, and lithe fingertips against your cheekbone. Your eyes didn’t have time to flutter closed. Then he was kissing your knuckles and bending his slender frame into a dramatic bow. 
“Goodnight, m’lady.” 
You managed a choked laugh. “Goodnight, Eddie.” 
Kneading dough was grounding, cathartic. It made you feel like everything was right in the world. Soft, sticky between flour-caked knuckles, the dull thud against the rolling board, the squeaky wheels of the rolling pin, the sweet smell of apples caramelizing in a nearby mixing bowl, all of it felt like heaven to you. You were at peace with an apron tied around your waist, lakeside wind sweeping in through the opened window, oven making the small space a bit stuffy and warm. 
The others were down at the patio, or out on the water, you weren’t sure. You stayed behind to think, to clear your mind, to distract yourself from the constant tipping of a scale one direction or the other. You’d tossed and turned all night thinking of Steve’s hands and Eddie’s lips and the complications to your life that each one brought. So you decided midmorning should be spent centering yourself, alone with your craft, and at peace.
You’d pressed the dough into its tin, trimming the edges and balling the scraps to be rolled and cut into strips for a lattice work top. You poured the apple slice mixture, all cinnamon and sugar and nutmeg and clove, watching the sun sparkle against their wet flesh. You indulged in licking the spoon, tangy and sticky. Then you sprinkled flour to your surface again to start rolling out the remaining dough, humming to yourself as the birds chirped outside. 
You flattened and cut and worked a lattice and ate the scraps, admiring your handiwork before you placed it into the oven and set the little wind-up timer on the stovetop. It was shaped like an egg. Your mom had one when you were young. It disappeared somewhere over time, or in the move. You contemplated stealing this one. 
You poured yourself some fresh-squeezed lemonade, tart and sweet, and leaned yourself against the countertop. You watched the sparkle of waves just off-shore and sipped and tried not to allow your mind to wander until the subject of your wandering mind entered your kitchen with mussed hair and sun kissed skin, pulling expensive sunglasses from the freckled bridge of his nose. 
“Smells amazing,” Steve smiled, reaching past you for a glass to pour himself some lemonade. You watched his forearm handle the full pitcher with care. You watched the length of his throat as he drank. You watched his tongue dart to lick a drop from the corner of pink lips. He set himself against the counter opposite you, ten feet away and still too close.
“Where’s everyone else?” You asked, praying for Robin to come prancing in with a bucket of ice cold water.
“On the boat. They just left.” He set his glass beside him. “We should talk about yesterday.” 
You turned to start the washing up, sink full of mixing bowls and measuring cups. The counter was white with flour. You turned the tap on hot, and the rushing of water into a metal sink had your brain buzzing with images of rain against the tin roof of the hut. You swallowed. “Yesterday was a mistake.”
You weren’t even sure you said it out loud, didn’t dare look to him for confirmation. You just held your front two fingers under the water to gauge temperature, although to be honest, you wouldn’t be able to tell scalding from freezing right now anyway. 
“Sure, yeah, totally,” his tone was oddly light. Out of your peripherals, you caught him entering your space, sidling up to the opposite side of you now. He smelled of expensive cologne, deliciously Steve. “Or… we could just make some adjustments to our truce.” 
You looked up at him then, caught breathless by the dark look in his eyes. You swallowed. “What?” 
He shrugged, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Well, we agreed to be civil and not bring up the past.” He held your gaze. “We only have a couple of days left. Might as well… I don’t know, make the most of it?” His jaw was firm, but there was something playful in his tone, a fire behind his eyes you hadn’t seen in years. 
You scoffed. “You’re serious?” 
He shrugged again, leaned into your space to brush flour from your shoulder, sweeping your hair back as he did so. God, he was good. “You had fun, didn’t you?” 
“Steve,” you peeled yourself away, scrubbing melted sugar from the rim of a measuring cup.
“Come on,” he boxed you in, his frame folding around yours, warm and broad and strong. “You’re on vacation.” The tip of his nose found the shell of your ear, sending sparks from skull to tailbone. “You deserve to relax, babe.”
Babe. So flippant, so casual. It’s what he called you, before, when it was just the two of you playing house in hotel rooms. You elbowed him off of you, grateful when he respected your boundaries and stood a few more feet away.
With a sigh, you turned off the faucet, only the singular measuring cup squeaky clean. You dried your hands on a hand towel embroidered with dairy cow and its milkmaid, and you turned to face Steve.
He had a fantastic pokerface, to add to the list of vast differences between he and his housemate. Where Eddie showed every last thought that came into his mind, Steve remained stoic, strong brow furrowed, jaw tight, keen eyes watching your every movement. He kept his shoulders squared, but lax, and his strong arms kept him upright against the lip of the counter, strong arms you were desperate to have wrapped around you again. 
“Be civil, no bringing up the past, and have fun while it lasts,” you agreed before your brain caught up with your words. 
All at once, Steve crowded your space again, pressing your backside to the damp countertop, an arm to either side of your hips, dipping his nose to meet yours.
You pressed your fingertips to his chest to push him away a few more inches. “Don’t call me babe.” 
His lips split into a grin at that, and he chuckled a low rumble in his chest. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”
He was eager, so eager, and you felt the buzz in your waist, the flutter under your sternum. You watched his tongue wet soft, pink lips, and were suddenly reminded of the third grade, of Tommy H.’s birthday, of the surprise smooch in a treehouse and of wanting to savor that kiss for the rest of your life. As Steve dipped his head low once more, you turned to face the oven, ducking away.
“And I’m not going to kiss you.” An odd boundary you didn’t know you had until it was there, presenting itself in a panic clawing at your chest. You just knew if you kissed him, you’d be done for. You’d be packing everything you owned into a U-haul and signing the lease next to his name. Just like Eddie said. 
Steve’s stoic facade seemed to falter for a split second before he nodded and pulled away. He eyed you for a beat too long before he lowered his voice to ask, “Am I allowed to kiss you?” And the implications in his tone had your knees weakening. 
You swallowed in a vain attempt to lubricated a parched throat, and nodded.
He emitted a groan from somewhere deep, and you bit down hard on your lip as you watched King Steve Harrington sink to his knees before you, hands traveling up your skirt to knead at the flesh of your thighs like it grounded him, like it made everything right in the world. 
He tugged your shirt free from the waistband of your apron and skirt, watching you, amber eyes painted black. His breath was hot against your stomach, your hip bone. “Can you see the front door?” He asked.
You peeled your gaze from him to look through the entry way to the front door. You nodded. 
“Good. Keep watch for me, sweet girl.” 
— 
“Scale of 1-10, how hot do I look?” Robin did a pose, hair stuffed under a wide-brimmed hat and blue blazer sleeves rolled. 
“Ten,” you and Nancy affirmed simultaneously, blotting your own pink lipsticks in the full-length mirror on the back of Robin’s bedroom door. You wore a low-cut blouse with flowy sleeves, and Nancy looked sleek in black, and she helped stick a bobby pin into your scalp when a curl threatened to fall out of place. 
“What are the odds there’s a single, hot lesbian looking for a hook up?”
“At a country western bar?” Nancy peered back at your friend, and you chuckled. 
“Robin,” you reassured. “I promise there will be at least one single, hot lesbian looking for a hook up.” 
Robin sighed. “Yeah. Me.” 
She’d picked the venue for your night out, spotted it on your walk through town the previous morning, and convinced the group to go after their late evening naps. The sky had started to soak in peaches and golds, and the warmth had cooled from a breeze that billowed curtains and chilled your fevered cheeks. You’d spent the day distracted, praying no one would notice the smile that ached at the corners of your lips. You were thankful for the excuse to be chipper.
“Ladies, I need advice,” Argyle called from beyond the door, and you gently led Nancy to the side so you could open it to meet him. He wore a leather vest with a spearmint button-up beneath it, and in his hands were two ties, one a shocking pink, the other a bolo with a cubic design in brass. 
“Bolo, always,” you confirmed. 
“That’s what I said!” Eddie called from the next room over. 
“Alright,” Argyle nodded and toed back to his own room to put his tie on in a mirror. 
Nancy slipped out beside you to meet Jonathan at the top of the stairs. Your heart ached in your chest when you watched his lips meet her temple, and his hand slip into hers. They shared sweet words and walked down the stairs together. 
Robin shoved past you. “Sorry, gotta brush my teeth. Will you check on Steve for me? You know he always takes the longest.” 
You stood in her doorway for a long moment, staring at the wood of Steve’s bedroom door from across the hall. Your hands clammed up at your sides, but you released a held breath and closed the distance to wrap your knuckles against the panels. 
“Come in,” he called from inside, and you turned the handle and pushed yourself inside.
Steve’s room was a mirror of your own, window facing the water, slanted ceiling, headboard against the opposite wall. His bed was neatly made, pillows stacked at attention just like his mom taught him. The bedside lamp illuminated everything soft and warm.
Steve stood at a dresser putting on his watch, forest green polo taught over the muscles of his back. He glanced up at you when you entered, cheeks turning up in a grin. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey,” you breathed back, propping yourself against the wall beside the door. “Robin wanted me to tell you to hurry up.” 
“I’m ready,” he held his hands out to show himself off, and you admired the stretch of denim across his thighs. 
“You look good,” you affirmed, swallowing when he closed the distance between you, eyes flickering to the hallway just to your right hand side. 
When the coast was apparently clear, he placed a hand on your waist. “So do you. Tonight should be fun.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” you nodded. You felt giddy again, like he had you pressed up against the school lockers, hiding from the principal between classes. 
“Yeah?” His voice graveled, and he pressed himself even closer, wedging his thigh between your legs. 
“Dingus! You ready or what?” Robin shouted, and all at once, Steve was gone, his warmth replaced by cool breeze. 
“Yeah, I’m coming,” he groaned, fidgeting with the watch at his wrist. “Thanks for the help,” he waved it your direction, and you furrowed your brow before noticing Robin’s head poked through the doorway. 
She narrowed her eyes your direction, but grabbed Steve’s other wrist to lead him out and down the stairs. 
You took a minute to calibrate, a few calming breaths, before you followed them. When you rounded into the hallway, you startled at the sight of Eddie in his own doorway, lithe frame covered in black, damp curls hung in his eyes. That dimple carved deep into his cheek. 
“You look smoking hot,” he greeted. 
You rolled your eyes but hooked your hand into his elbow and let him escort you down the stairs to meet the others. 
Tequila was great after the initial burn. Once the tang of lime shocked your taste buds, you were smooth sailing. The music was live and loud. The room filled with smoke and the sweet smell of alcohol. Wooden walls were lined with neon beer logos and antlers. A dart board sat in one corner, a pool table in another. You were warmed from the inside, tingling fingertips and toes. 
The first round alone had you doing things you ought not, like catching Steve’s gaze over the top of Nancy’s head. He’d been staring, lips glossy and eyes hungry, and you couldn’t look away until Argyle bought round two.
Round three had you on the dance floor, pressed against the warm rumble of Eddie’s chest while he hummed a balad just under the crooning of the band’s lead singer. Flirting with Eddie was another thing you ought not do, but holding back felt impossible, tequila or no. Especially when he held you so close, thigh between your knees, swaying you back and forth to some slow and sultry tune. 
“Have I told you you look smoking hot tonight?” He indulged in another rake of your features, not shy from peaking down your blouse.
You sucked your cheeks between your teeth to avoid the smile aching at them and managed to shrug. “Might’ve mentioned it.” 
He chuckled, shaking his hair from his eyes. “Yeah, I like that top.” 
“I look better without it,” you countered, cocking a brow.
“I know you do, sweetheart.” His dark eyes shone under dim lighting, and his plump lips turned up at the corners. He was all curls, cigarettes and spearmint, and something in his eyes sank your heart. It was Eddie’s heart on his sleeve again, that poker face slipping just long enough to show you the longing beyond the lust. 
You swallowed and placed a hand to his cheek, thumbing over scruff and stubble. His name caught in your throat. 
“Song’s almost over,” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose with yours. “Do you trust me?” 
You nodded, and the air was expelled from your lungs when he dipped you low. He gripped your thigh at his waist, and you felt the trail of his nose up your sternum and throat as he pulled you upright, breathless and warmed.
Your audience whooped and hollered from their high-top.
Stage shy, you allowed Eddie to take your hand and tug you back to the table. His grip was strong, thumb administering distraction circles upon your wrist. Nancy slid you a full glass of iced water, and you thanked her for it.
“Okay, why the fuck are you both so hot?” Robin scoffed, chugging her own red plastic cup of water.
“Born this way, Buckley. Don’t act so shocked.” Eddie reached over to flick her forehead, and she swatted at him.
“She’s right though,” Jonathan pitched in, saucy grin playing on boyish features. He slung an arm around Nancy’s shoulder, and she grimaced before shoving him off. 
“Yeah, you guys should make a porno,” Argyle nodded, mustache turned down in thought before he snapped his fingers. “Baker and the Beast.” 
“Jesus Christ,” you snorted, thankful for the water to hide your warming face. You took a long drink, praying for the ice to cool you down. 
“Sex Dungeon Master,” Robin chimed in, and you nearly did a spit take. 
“Full Metal Banging,” Steve piped in to everyone’s surprise. You looked up at him to see a playful smirk across those sinful lips, and he shrugged, nodded, took another sip of his beer. “I’d watch it.” Something in you ached at the low tones of his voice. 
Eddie shook a ringed finger Steve’s direction. “I fucking knew it! I knew you liked to watch. Harrington, you dirty dog!” 
Steve merely shrugged, pokerface stoic again while his eyes offered you something more salacious. You wondered if the rest of them caught him staring the way you did, wondered if they could tell what transpired between the two of you in the beach hut, in the kitchen. 
A new song kicked on, much faster, more familiar than the last, and Eddie finally released your hand, now cold and clammy, to snap his fingers in Robin’s direction. “Come on, Buckley. Your turn.” 
Robin sighed and extended a hand for him to take. “Fine, but no cleavage licking.” 
“Come on,” Eddie whined, and before they trailed off to the dance floor, you heard him say, “I washed my tits before we came!” 
You laughed and fell into a spot beside Nancy, avoiding Steve’s gaze as you drank your water and attempted to sober yourself up. Maybe three was your limit, maybe two, but you felt just primed enough to give away all of your secrets. 
“Nancy,” Argyle stood from his seat and tightened the bolo around his neck. “May I have this dance?” 
Before the warmth of Nancy beside you had been replaced by air conditioning and the smell of stale beer, a strong hand had slipped itself between your knuckles. 
“Jonathan, watch the table,” Steve said, pulling you onto the dance floor. 
Under a swirl of lights, and to the fast rhythm of bass and drums, you were tucked close to Steve’s front and backed toward the center of the dance floor. People swung and dipped around you, and Steve bobbed and weaved your way through them with laughter rumbling deep in his chest. God, you missed that sound. 
He was wildly off tempo, and a little off-balance, but maybe that was the tequila affecting your equilibrium. He had one hand to the small of your back, the other swinging wildly, and he stepped on your toes more than once. 
“You’re a terrible dancer,” you leaned in to shout into the shell of his ear. 
He pulled back to shoot you an incredulous look before pulling you in close again, breath hot on the side of your face. “You taught me how to dance.”
You shook your head, but released a laugh that bubbled high in your chest. “I did not!” 
“Yes you did,” he argued. “At prom. I told you I didn’t know how to dance, and you promised you’d teach me. So if I’m horrible, that’s on you.” 
You smiled into his chest, and allowed your mind to wander. You wondered what she would think of you now, senior-you, prom-going-you. You wondered how she’d feel, swept around a dance floor in King Steve’s arms all these years later. 
You could still remember walking down the staircase to meet him. You could still see the flush of his cheeks when he saw you, could remember the distinct kick of butterflies in your stomach.
“Hey, dingus!” Robin’s voice sliced through your memories. You blinked back into focus to find her and Eddie beside you. Eddie was using Robin’s hand to swat at Steve’s side. 
“Will you two grow up?” Steve scolded, ever the dad of the group.
“We have a question for you two,” she ignored him, continuing to prod at his bicep and then yours when he spun you to use as a human shield.
“What?” You laughed. 
“What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” Robin’s voice carried over the music, swam in your head, heated you from the inside out as you felt the stares of intrigue from your dance partner and hers.
You snorted, shook your head, and avoided their gaze. “Yeah, I’m not answering that.”
Robin booed you.
“You’re so drunk!” You laughed.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Eddie grinned, sidling up beside Steve. He had mischief in his eyes. “We can handle it.” 
Steve squared up then, stopped your sway, and his mouth stretched into an equally devilish grin. “Yeah, Munson can handle it.” 
You cocked a brow, still in Steve’s grasp, and looked straight into Eddie’s big, brown eyes, conjuring a memory you knew would earn a reaction from the both of them. “Campsite at the coast? Back of the car?” 
Eddie nodded, big, dramatic, hair swinging in front of his face. He pointed at Robin. “That’s what I said!”
“Holy shit, Harrington, you want some ice for that burn?” Robin cackled, high-fiving you and Eddie both.
When you found Steve’s gaze again, he was blinking back at you, mouth slightly ajar. You tried and failed to bite back the giggle that bubbled in your chest, doubling over into his stunned chest while you wheezed a laugh, tequila taking over. 
You heard Robin and Eddie yell run and squeal beside you, and when you looked up, they were spinning manically away. Steve’s mouth had closed, and he licked at his molars, nodding slowly. You worried for half a second before the corner of his mouth turned up, and he spun you away and back. You yelped, narrowly avoiding a speaker.
You crashed into his chest and laughed the tune of his own rhythmic chuckle, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck to hold yourself steady. 
“If I had known this is what it’d take to make you happy, I’d have gone down on you at the beginning of the week,” Steve grinned.
“Steve!” You admonished, glancing around to make sure no one was around to hear what he’d said. You were far from the table now, and definitely out of earshot. 
“Tell me about the campsite.” When you met his gaze again, it was that same delicious look that set you on fire from the inside out, unwavering.
You breathed his name again, faltering a little on your feet, but he caught you. 
“Come on,” he swayed your hips in his hands. “I gotta study my competition if I want to know how to come out on top.”
You licked your lips, searched his honeyed eyes for any sign of a trap, but he was just as tipsy as you were. Tequila painted the hollows of his cheeks pink. “It was the middle of the day. Campers everywhere. We had to be quiet.”
Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His grip on your waist tightened, and he pulled you impossibly closer. You could feel every ripple of muscle beneath the luxurious fabric of his top. He looked around the room before his eyes trailed your face, your lips, down the front of your blouse and back. “This is a room full of people, and the music’s so loud you wouldn’t have to be quiet.”
His words sent heat through you.“You’re drunk,” you sucked in a smile and glanced back across the room at Jonathan drooping in his seat, a soft smile on his face as he watched Nancy and Argyle dance. Robin and Eddie twirled and dipped in a far-off corner.
Steve pressed the tip of his nose to the baby hairs at your forehead. “So take advantage of me.”
In that moment, you realized Steve Harrington could be dangerous, commanding, a force to be reckoned with. 
The hot, sticky glow of three shots of tequila faded to heart palpitations and a burn in your calves. Though, that could be the dancing, the grin that ached at your features, the early morning burrito, or the anticipation that kept you buzzing, bouncing the balls of your bare feet against floorboards while you counted the creaks and footsteps outside your door. 
You turned in earlier than the others, feigning exhaustion related to old age, just to prop yourself against the headboard for nearly an hour before the raucous laughter died down beneath you and the sounds of your compatriots readying themselves for bed filtered in under your bedroom door. 
Anxiety replaced that warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You listened to Robin’s hiccups on high-alert, pulse thudding to her steady rhythm. You toed to the door, pressed your ear to the wood to listen to the mutterings of goodnight, the faucet running in the bathroom, the steady pad of feet just beyond. 
Your hand hovered over the lock on your brass knob, but you snatched it away, pacing to the foot of your bed and back. Once, twice, three times. You caught your reflection in a mirror above the bedside. You’d left your makeup on, curled hair falling around your shoulders in tendrils. The bra you wore beneath an oversized t-shirt pinched at the skin under your arm, but it was the prettiest you’d packed in periwinkle lace to match the panties hiding beneath plaid night shorts. 
You were making a mistake. Throat dry, you crossed back to the door, reaching for the knob to lock it and turn yourself in for the night. 
The cool brass turned under your touch, and the door swung your way, narrow, allowing a shadowed figure to step into the honeyed glow of your bedside lamp. 
“Hi,” Steve smiled, towering over you, breath fresh and hair mussed.
You swallowed. “Hi.” 
“Sorry,” he hissed, closing the door behind himself. The click emitted feather-light. “Robin wouldn’t let us go to bed. I was worried you fell asleep.” 
You shook your head, managed a weak smile. “Nope.” 
“Good,” he said. “Are you cold?” His warm fingertips ghosted the skin beneath the hem of your shorts, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. 
You shivered, shook your head again, allowing your eyelids to go heavy as his other hand came to cradle to your cheek. 
“Do you still want to do this?”
He had the power to see right through you, always had. You released a shaky breath, shoulders to your ears in a shrug. You swallowed. “I don’t know.” Honesty spilled out. You hadn’t felt this vulnerable with him since Louisville, not this nervous, not this jittery. 
A crease tucked between his brows, and he dropped his hand from your thigh to catch your fingertips in his. “I’m not going to push you.” 
“I know,” you squeezed his knuckles, hands dwarfing yours. “You never have.” 
He smiled at that, nodded toward the bed. “Want to just hang out?” 
You nodded and drew him to soft covers and an old mattress. It sunk under your weight, a burst of air puffing out between you as Steve plopped himself down, hands resting on his chest, hair splayed against patchwork. You were drawn to him, fingers itching to run themselves through his hair, to trace the bridge of his nose, connect-the-dots with his freckles, but you hesitated, tucking your knees to your chest. 
He turned his head to look at you, lazy smile crossing beautiful, dark features. “I’m glad I sobered up.” 
“Yeah?” You were on the fence.
“Yeah.” He groped around the blankets until he found your hand at your side. He massaged at your wrist, your palm, wide stroke with his thumb that smoothed aching joints and eased your mind. He pulled you ever-closer, before trailing your pointer finger over the bridge of his nose. His lashes fluttered closed, and he hummed as you painted his cheekbones with your fingertips, catching on the stubble of his jaw. “I missed you.” 
“I missed you too,” you whispered. He brought your fingertips to his lip, soft and pink and damp. You exhaled his name. 
He looked at you then, eyes dark, and placed a kiss to your palm, your wrist, the flesh of your forearm, tugging you gently from your fold until you leaned over him, your hair a curtain separating you both from the glow of the bedside lamp. “Do you want me to leave?” 
Your throat was dry, your breath staggered. You shook your head. 
Steve’s hands found your waist, smooth dregs of his palms up your ribcage until his thumbs met the underwire of your bra. “Do you want me to stay?” 
You nodded, sucking in a breath when his hands worked higher, palming at silk and lace.
“I need to hear you say it, babe,” his voice was hoarse, thick.
You faltered on the pet name, a rule broken, his eyelids heavy, warm hands on your breasts, but you didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to worry or panic. So you washed it all away, pushed guilt to the back of your mind, and threw a leg over him to straddle his slender waist. “I want you, Steve.”
He sat up, pushing you both upright to drag the soft cotton of your top up and over your head. He groaned at the sight of you, and you felt his lips find purchase at the crux of your throat and shoulder, his mouth wet and warm. 
You sunk your fingertips into his scalp, indulging in the vibrations of his voice against your skin. 
He pushed the lacy straps down your arms, pressing soft kisses into the bits of flesh that were creased and red. He reached around to undo the clasp, and relief flooded your waist from where the elastic bit at your skin. You released him, allowing the scratchy fabric to fall to the ground at the bedside, and Steve lowered himself back to the mattress. 
You felt self-conscious, suddenly, as he drank you in, hands ghosting the bits of your flesh that were marred or torn, burn-scarred, pock-marked. You wondered if you’d aged since he last saw you like this, if you had more wrinkles, more pudge, if the weight of you sank different onto his slender hips. You wondered if your boobs sagged, if the flesh of your thighs doubled over your panty line. 
Steve’s eyes didn’t give anything away as he raked your frame, hands molding to you like they were meant to, and after too long of a moment, he spoke. “Shit, babe. My memory doesn’t do you justice. You’re fucking perfect.” 
A chill caught on your spine, a chuckle of embarrassment building at the compliment, and you folded yourself back to him, squirming under the scrutiny. “You think about me often, Harrington?”
His nose brushed yours in a nod, and he palmed the swell of your thighs beneath your shorts, grinding you down onto him. “Every single day.”
The honesty stuttered your breath, his fanning your lips, and you knew if you didn’t back away now, you’d be lost to him. As he leaned forward to close the gap, you turned your head, cursing yourself when soft lips met your cheekbone. 
You avoided his gaze, moving instead to press a kiss to his jaw. Stubble scratched your lips, you chin. You nosed at his throat until he turned his head, and you wrapped your lips to his soft earlobe, delighting in the rumble of his chest against yours. 
His hips snapped into you once more, hardened length pressed to the inseam of your thigh. 
“Then we better give you something to remember,” you hissed into his ear.
Before you could act on your promise, Steve had you rolled over, pinning you to the bed with his hips. His lips were on you, hands kneading, frantic, eager. He pressed himself upright to strip his t-shirt, collar first, and when it hit the ground, you both heard the pad of footsteps on the floorboards outside.
You froze, suddenly remembering where you were, who occupied the room all around you. Your pulse thundered in your skull, anxiety licking at every inch of you, until you felt Steve Harrington’s perfect teeth graze your nipple and everything coursed through you like livewire. 
“Can you be quiet for me?” He hissed to your skin, gathering your wrists to pin above your head, and you gave a fervent nod, swallowing the saliva flooding your mouth. 
Steve was trouble, danger, desperate kneading hands and the rhythmic snap of hips. He was brute strength and roped muscles and demanding. He worshiped and praised God and you and mumbled praises into the crux of your throat, your sternum, building you to the highest high before crashing down on you like a wave. 
Even after all this time, he knew how to work you, how to mold you, bend you, command you in hushed tones, hand over your mouth to keep your sinful sounds from spilling between his fingers. He delighted in the challenge, wanted you begging but silent, asking if you wanted more, asking if it was good with his chin to your shoulder, your face buried into his to muffle your moans.
He was strong, confident, delicious, salt-to-the-wounds and salt of the Earth, and you fell apart on his hands, his lips, the crash of his hips like waves across a rocky shoreline. Your eyelids sparkled, the ceiling spotted with starlight, and you came down with the weight of his head on your chest.
Steve placed a chaste kiss to your collarbone and looked up at you, a smug grin etched upon his features. He rolled himself to the side, breath ragged. You closed your eyes and listened to the deep in-and-out, trying to match your inhales with his, to slow your heart rate, to stop the pulsing of every muscle now aching in your body. 
“How was that?” He whispered into your neck, turning to wrap his arm tightly around your waist.
You huffed a laugh, shrugged. “Top five, at least.”
He gnawed at your throat and squeezed you tighter into him, both of your bodies sticky with sweat. 
Sleep tempted you, darkening your vision, weighing you further and further into the warm squish of the mattress and your pillow. Steve’s breathing calmed against your back, his nose tucked under the shell of your ear, and you wondered if you’d fallen asleep so easily in the last four years. 
Steve muttered your name, and you hummed, drifting on the edge of bliss. “I do still think about you every day.”
And you wish he hadn’t said it, wish he hadn’t broken the spell, wish he hadn’t reminded you why you were here, what this was all about. The moonlight filtered in through treetops out the window beyond, and you tucked the blanket higher around your shoulders. Maybe there was no harm in late night truths whispered between lovers. 
“The campsite wasn’t the best ever,” you confessed, voice weak. Steve loosened his cradle. You turned to face the ceiling, staring up at vaulted shadows. “Remember that first night in Louisville? I hadn’t seen you in so long, and we were tiptoeing around each other all night, but then the door’s closed in that elevator…” 
Steve had propped himself up beside you, cupped your cheek. You felt the soft pad of his thumb against your lower lip. “I really want to kiss you.”
The only rule left to be broken, and your heart ached for it. You took a deep breath and avoided his gaze. You couldn’t do this to yourself again, couldn’t do it to him. It was selfish of both of you. You slipped from his grasp and out of the covers, digging through the dark for your t-shirt and sleep shorts. “The other’s will be awake soon.”
The sun cast the tops of your cheeks and nose in warmth, golden light filtering through your eyelids while you bathed in a lounger, allowing your Munson-special pancakes to settle. Your friends seemingly revived from breakfast, splashed a level below you, voices and laughter filtering up the wooden walkway. You battled the melancholy of your final full day with memories from the night before that had a smile aching at your lips. 
You sighed and let your mind drift to the weight of Steve’s body against yours, the slam of his hips, the tight grasp of his hand to your wrists above your head. 
“I’m heading up to take a shower,” his voice sliced through your daydream, graveled from a late night. “You guys need the bathroom before I go up?” 
Nancy shook her head beside you, glancing up at him from above the sunglasses perched on the soft bridge of her nose. 
Steve looked to you, and you squirmed under his gaze, shaking your own head with a smile. “Kay,” he smiled back. “Be back in a bit.” And you couldn’t resist in watching the slope of his thighs as he climbed the hill beside you to walk into the house.
“Holy fucking shit,” Nancy slammed her book down on her lounger.
You jumped and sat upright, glancing around you for something to cause her reaction, a giant bee, a severed arm. 
“You slept with Steve.” 
You halted your search and slowly met Nancy’s gaze. Her lips were pursed, and there was something twisted in the way she looked at you, like she was both pissed and proud she’d cracked the case.
You cowered under her gaze, picking at a sliver in the lounger, and fumbled through an excuse. “I don’t know what - ”
“Don’t bullshit me,” she snapped. “I saw him walking out of your room at 5AM when I got up to puke, and that little exchange you two just had confirmed it.” She waved her finger in the air to exemplify her point. 
You felt your face heat. You didn’t appreciate the accusation in her tone. “Okay, so? We’re consenting adults.” 
Nancy stuffed her arms under her armpits and turned to face you. “So are the two of you back together?” 
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, the ragged rate of your breath speeding your pulse, or maybe it was the other way around. “No,” you huffed. “We’re just having fun while we’re here.” 
Nancy rolled her eyes. 
“Hey, no, don’t come at me with that. What about you and Jonathan, huh? Or should I say Robbie?” It was a low blow, and the moment it fell from your lips, you wish you could it all back. 
Nancy sucked her lips between her perfect teeth and turned back in her sun lounger, hands flattening against her lower abdomen. “Yeah, well we learned our lesson, didn’t we?” 
You blanched at the thought and shook your hair from your eyes. “Jesus, Nancy. I’m sorry.” You mumbled.
She didn’t respond for a long minute, looking out on the water, listening to the chirp of birds along the tree line. Then, she turned her head to face you, sun sparkling off the chrome tint of her sunglasses. “Do you remember that summer after Louisville? That night out on the Cape, just us girls?”
You barely remembered it, a drunken night out in a bar where everything smelled like the country club Steve’s parents frequented. You remembered sequins sticking to your face on a tiled floor. You remembered watching couples spin on a dance floor and wanting to splash your drink in the face of every single one of them. You remember feeling empty, broken, lost. 
“I don’t think I realized how in love you two were before then.” She continued, turning back to sunbathe, as if this was the easiest breeziest of topics. “I mean, I knew you were close. You always spoke about him like family. And we all knew you were fucking, even though you tried to hide it.” She raised an eyebrow at you. 
You swallowed.
“But that night’s when I realized how heartbroken you were.”
You closed your eyes, released a shaky breath, tried to maintain the happy memories that were quickly slipping from between your fingers, an anchor of your past traumas rocketing you to the bottom. 
“I can’t begin to imagine how he felt.”
“Nancy,” you chided, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Come on,” she argued. “He won the fucking jackpot with you. Plus, he’d been burned too many times by other self-hating idiots to let himself get close enough to you. That’s why he never asked you to be his girlfriend, why he never left Hawkins to be with you. He was terrified you’d bail, and then he realizes he can’t live without you and what do you go and do?” 
That hit somewhere deep, a dull ache that spread like hot liquid through your chest. “I didn’t…” 
“Of course you didn’t know,” she muttered, offering an innocuous wave to Jonathan who swung his arms in the air from the level beneath you, perched atop Argyle’s shoulders in the shallow water, Robin atop Eddie. “You guys haven’t talked in four years. And it wasn’t my job to tell you. My job, as the best friend, is to tell you you don’t need him. That you’re strong and beautiful and independent. My job is to cheer you on through your accomplishments and listen about your escapades with new and exciting men.”
God, you loved her, and you didn’t want to cry because she was right, you were strong and confident and independent, and you didn’t want to cry because Nancy wouldn’t cry, but you couldn’t help the emotion damming at your throat.
“He was supposed to tell you all of this, but clearly you two are incapable of communication.” She sat upright in her chair again and scoffed. “You know what? No. You’re going to talk to him, right now.” 
You blinked, heart racing at the idea. “What? No.” 
Nancy stood from her seat and grabbed you around the elbow, hoisting you upright. “Yes, right now. I’ll distract everyone else. This can’t go on any longer, or we’re all going to implode. You’re going into that house, and you’re going to hear his side of it. Because we all know you won’t be able to make a decision until you do.” 
The floorboards creaked under your weight, a groan at each step to remind you of where you were going. Your bare feet, sun soaked, stuck to the finish. A breeze caught gossamer window dressing, but did nothing for the slick of sweat beading your upper lip, the creases of your palm, your lower back. The steam from Steve’s shower framed the bathroom mirror and permeated the upper floor with his scent, squeaky clean and expensive. 
Your hands trembled against the surface of his bedroom door. You heard the shuffle of fabric on the other side, and a low, soft hum. You’d almost forgotten that about him, the way he sang when he thought no one was around. If he had an ear worm, or just felt happy about something.
You took a deep breath, pressed your forehead to the door, and knocked.
“Yeah, come in,” he called, and then “Hello?” after your lengthy hesitation. 
You turned the brass knob and entered, clicking the door behind yourself. Steve stood across the room, nearest the window, tugging at his watch straps again. His white t-shirt was speckled grey across his shoulders where his hair had dripped into a freckled pattern. When he saw you, his honeyed eyes lit with recognition, something hungry in them.
“Hi,” you managed, and there must have been sheer terror in your eyes because Steve’s face flashed with alarm, and he made a slow cross your way.
“What’s wrong?” His tone reminded you of too many late night phone calls, his voice keeping the nightmares at bay. 
You swallowed, allowed him to lead you to the edge of the bed, felt his fingers slot into yours, tried to ignore how soothed you felt already. “We need to talk about Louisville.”
He searched your eyes for a moment before he turned his attention to your hand in his, tracing your knuckles, brushing a thumb over your nails. “What about it?” 
“I want to know what happened,” you sighed, allowing yourself to flop backwards onto a hand knit throw, the mattress swishing beneath you. “I want to know where it all went wrong, why I lost you. I guess I just need some insight, Steve. Because I’ve been wracking my brain for four years trying to figure it out.” 
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he sighed, and you saw his teeth chew on his bottom lip. Then he brought his nail beds to his mouth, a bad habit from his youth. 
You stopped his wrist, pulling his hand back into yours. “You were my best friend, and then you just quit calling.” You don’t think you’d let the hurt sink in until that moment, heard it catch in your vocal chords. You stared at the ceiling, a blur of white plaster and amber beams.
“I thought you didn’t want me to,” his voice was just as small as yours.
You shrugged, didn’t let the wobble in your jaw deter you. “We had fights before, bigger than this one. I figured we’d get over it.” 
“You told me you didn’t want to marry me.”
You propped yourself on your elbows to face him. “Steve, come on. You weren’t serious. You didn’t want to marry me, not really. You were just at that stage in your life where you thought that’s what was supposed to happen.”
He rolled his eyes, shook his head, pulling his hand from yours to run through his damp hair. Flecks of water marked your skin. “Will you quit saying that? Quit invalidating my feelings like that. I didn’t just want to settle down out of convenience. That’s always bugged the shit out of me.” He snapped. 
You barked a laugh, wry. “Okay, you had feelings for me. I get that. You know I love you too, but you can’t just spring a marriage proposal on a girl because she’s naked in your hotel bed. You didn’t even have a ring.”
Steve stared back at you for a long moment, and something in his eyes excited you. You hadn’t sparred in ages, hadn’t talked your genuine feelings out with your best friend in four years. 
“Fuck it,” he said and stood from his seat beside you to cross to his opened suitcase, everything neatly folded and tucked inside. “If I show you this, you have to promise me you won’t say a word until I’m done talking. Alright?” He held something behind his back and pointed a finger your direction. “Not a God damn word.” 
You rolled your eyes but held three fingers his direction and pretended to zip your lips. Then you caught a little black box he tossed at you. Your heart began to thunder in your chest, fingers trembling around velvet. You blinked at it a few times before looking back at him.
Steve was stone faced, if not a little pale, and his arms were crossed over his chest like he was waiting for you to say something. When you didn’t, he took a step forward, and then back, shifting weight on the balls of his feet. Then, he gestured to the box in your hand, a curse spilling from his lips. “I bought it the second day,” he said, “in Louisville.” 
You couldn’t move, breath short, hands a vice grip on the box in your lap, terrified to look at it.
“We had that first night, the one you mentioned with dinner at that cantina, and we took that long walk past all those big houses, and I felt like I was holding my breath all day. And I can hold my breath for a long time, I’m a damn good swimmer. But sometimes with you, it feels like I’m drowning.”
You could remember every second of that night, had thought about it a thousand times, compared every date to it, hell every happy moment. 
“And I think I just realized I couldn’t tread water with you anymore. Sink or swim, Harrington,” he groaned, scrubbing his hand down a freshly shaven face. “So the next day, while you were at your conference, I went to a jewelry store and bought that.”
Once again, your attention was drawn to the tiny box in your hands, and although your curiosity was piqued, you were still too terrified to open it. 
“I chickened out pretty much the entire weekend. I think I just didn’t want to ruin the fun, and then on that last morning, I panicked. I freaked the fuck out because we were going home, and I didn’t want to be away from you anymore. So I said what I said, and we fought, and I kicked myself the whole way home.”
You were glad you’d promised not to speak, glad you’d zipped your lips, because you didn’t think you had words anyway. Too many thoughts and emotions and memories zooming through your headspace like speedboats, leaving casualties in their wake. 
“I’m sorry I didn’t go to Argyle’s wedding,” his voice was soft, and his arms found their spot across his chest once more. “I know I promised you I’d go, but I think dancing with you at someone else’s wedding felt like a twisted joke.”
You swallowed, nodded. 
“Please don’t think I brought it here because I thought I could win you back, or whatever,” he hurried as an afterthought. “I honestly wasn’t sure what would happen this week. I was shitting myself that I’d somehow make everything worse, which maybe I have.”
You shook your head.
“I just keep it in my suitcase,” he gestured to the box again. “I don’t care what you do with it now. Hock it, pawn it, chuck it into the lake. You know, do what you want with it because it’s yours. It always has been.” 
You watched as he crossed to you, taking a slow and awkward seat beside you, just beyond your reach. 
“That it,” he sighed, shoulders slumped. “That’s my piece, I guess. You can talk now. Or not, if you don’t want. No pressure. At all, about any of this,” he glanced around the room. “If you want to go back to the way things were, I totally understand. I meant it when I said I just wanted a truce for this week. We agreed you reserve the right to live your own life.” 
“No,” you croaked. You cleared your throat and shook your head. “I don’t want that. I mean, I want you in my life.”
The corners of his lips turned up at that, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Me too.” 
“This is all just…” You clasped the box until your knuckles whitened, just to stop the trembling. “It’s a lot to take in.” 
“Oh yeah, totally,” Steve stood from next to you. “I’ll give you a few minutes, or you know, whatever you need. I uh… I actually think I need some air.” He thumbed to the door.
You stood on shaky legs, nodding. “Yeah, me too. Water, I think, might be good.” 
“Totally,” he held the door open for you, and the two of you walked side-by-side to the top of the stairs. The floor groaned beneath your feet. 
“Come find me later?” His voice was soft, warm, forehead creased with concern.
You smiled, nodded, and watched as his lanky frame retreat down the staircase and out the front door.
A batch of cookies baked in the oven, caramelized brown sugar and butter permeated the air. Three other cookie sheets sat prepped at the ready on the countertop nearby. You’d washed and dried your mixing bowls and measuring cups and hung the apron on its hook inside the pantry door. Your glass of lemonade lay untouched, glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
The small black box rolled in your pruned fingertips, and you glanced around the kitchen for any signs of onlookers before cracking open the seal, hinge groaning, for a peak at what rested within the pink satin lining.
You nearly dropped it, throwing your hand to your lips to contain the gasp that rattled when you saw the perfect diamond in its fitting on the perfect, most delicate little band. It was everything you would have wanted, subtle and sleek and sweet. You wondered if you had mentioned the details, mumbled into Steve’s chest after a night out, senses liquored and secrets spilled. 
Or maybe he just knew you, better than anyone else could.
You glanced around the empty house once more before risking to pull it out of its casing and slide it over the summer-swollen knuckles of the ring finger on your left hand. It was the perfect fit, sparkling in honeyed sunlight, casting rainbows against the cabinets and countertops. 
“Smells amazing in here, dudette,” Argyle entered the small kitchen.
“Thanks,” you choked a laugh, shoving your hands behind your back to greet him. “How’s dinner coming?”
“Good, good,” he bobbed his head, long hair swishing against a broad chest. He sidled up to the counter opposite you. “Came here to check on you though. It’s our last day. It’s not the same without you.” 
“I know,” you smiled, waving at the cookies with your right hand. “Let me finish these up, and I’ll be right out.” 
“Sure,” he saw right through you, a grin forming beneath his mustache, a glint in his eye. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I’m here for you.” 
The honesty there cut deep. You nodded, wondered how much he knew, felt guilty for not telling him more, or for taking too much vacation time with your petty drama. 
“Can I tell you a story about me and Eden?” His eyes lit up when he spoke of her, a big grin formed across soft features.
You nodded again, toyed with the ring around your finger behind your back. “Please.” 
He scratched an itch at his mustache, and you saw him twist his own ring around his finger, gold, outdated, oversized. “Remember that day in the military tent? When we were all waiting for orders, and Steve pulled you in so we could explain what the Hell was going on?” 
You swallowed. You’d never forget that day, though you were grateful you thought about it less and less as time went on. 
“Sorry to bring it up,” Argyle nodded, held a hand up in apology. “I only do because I remember it more vividly than any of those days. I mean, I was high for a lot of everything before, and everything after felt like one big firefight. But I remember that day specifically because you lost your mom and Steve brought you into that tent, and he just held you.”
The emotion that had been rising all day started to spill, a causeway that rolled warm down your cheeks, and you were frantic to stop the flow, trying to push back those awful memories, the flashes of orange and camo, Steve’s strong arms wrapped around your collapsing body, knees gave way. You nodded to encourage Argyle to keep going, to reassure you were okay. 
He reached a hand out anyway, pulled you into the cushion of his shoulder, rubbed at your arm. “We were all so young and so dumb, and I just wanted to go home.”
You sniffled and hugged around his middle because you understood.
“Not home to Lenora, but home to this girl I met a week earlier with brown hair and brown eyes because the moment I saw her, I knew I’d do anything for her. I wanted her to hold me the way Steve held you.”
Home, this place you’d always had in Steve Harrington, a place you always would. 
“That’s the day I realized she was my one-and-only.” He always waxed so poetic about his wife, and until this moment you’d always rolled your eyes with fondness for the man. Until this moment, you never really understood. “Are you picking up what I’m laying down?” 
You nodded, laughed wetly. “I think so.” 
The wrap of knuckles against the doorframe grabbed your attention, and you looked up to find Eddie. His hair was frizzy from air dry, and he looked impossibly lanky in a black tank top and red shorts, and the handsome smile from his face fell when he saw the tears in your eyes. “Everything okay in here?”
Your heart sank.
“All good, my dude, just talking to her about my beautiful wife,” Argyle gave you one more tight squeeze before releasing you to stand at his full height. He gave you a wink before pushing past Eddie to head back outside to be with the rest of your friends. 
The two of you stood in silence for a few minutes, the breeze trailing in to float his air from his eyes. You weren’t sure how to start, what you could say to make it right, but you didn’t have to. 
Eddie let out a whistle, long and low, and crossed the room to meet you. “I always knew Harrington had good taste.” Before you realized you were fidgeting with your ring, he took your hand into his, holding it up to catch the light like you had done earlier.
You swallowed, watching the subtle hurt etched between his brows. Eddie Munson, heart on his sleeve. You whispered his name. 
He shrugged, dimples poking through his goatee, and shook his hair from his eyes. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it. I just want you both happy.” He ducked his head then, inches from yours. “Are you happy?” 
You thought to all of the friends that had held you throughout this week, throughout the past twelve years, throughout your life, and you nodded, fighting back the new tears that threatened to spill. 
Eddie caught them with the calloused pad of his thumb, a chuckle rumbling low in his chest. “I’m never going to stop loving you.” 
“I know,” you laughed, closing your eyes as he pressed soft lips to your forehead. 
“You know? Wow. A bit full of yourself, sweetheart,” he teased, and you swatted at him. He dodged your aim and grabbed you by the waist to pull you into a bone-crushing hug, jaw pressed to your temple. 
“I love you too,” you whispered into his neck, cigarette and spice and sunscreen. 
“Have you told him yet?”
You froze, shook your head. 
The egg timer went off, shrill and loud, and in that exact moment, under the honeyed glow of the late afternoon summer sun, with the room smelling of your mom’s chocolate chip cookies, you felt like she was sending you a sign. 
Your hands shook, and you mopped at the tears in your eyes and pointed at the oven. “Can you take those out?” You asked Eddie, breathless, heart thundering in your chest. 
His lips split into that Cheshire grin, and he waved you off. “Go get him, sweetheart.” 
The rubber of your soles squeaked against every wooden step on your way down. The patio was empty, sounds of splashes and crackled firewood and laughter could be heard from the shore, and when you rounded the little tin roof beach hut, you saw your friends, your family, roasting kababs and drinking beer and smiling. Nancy and Robin shared a log to sit on, while the boys stood around the grill with hands in their pockets, breeze ruffling their shirts. The smell of ash and smoke and meats rose to your nostrils, something that just felt like another sign.
Steve was the closest to you, his back turned, broad shoulders in navy blue, running his hand through his hair. You hit sand and called his name, and he turned to face you with a squinted gaze, hand up to see your approaching figure. 
You closed the gap in four strides, dragging him down by the collar to press your lips to his, the final rule broken. 
A sound of surprise turned low when the realization hit, and you felt his hands snake around your waist and hips, lifting you on the balls of your feet to kiss him deeper. Your hands found his hair, one of his cupped your cheek, and all at once you felt at home. Once lost at sea, now you’d found your mooring. 
You breathed a laugh that mirrored his, the tip of his nose pressed to your cheek, and it wasn’t until the ringing in your ears stopped that you noticed the ruckus of friends around you.
“Is that a diamond ring!?” Robin screeched somewhere behind Steve. 
You sucked back a smile and pulled your hand from Steve’s hair to admire the ring on your finger. Steve looked back at you glassy eyed, mouth open to speak without words. You shrugged, smiled, allowed the diamond to sparkle in the sunlight. 
“Yeah, I guess it - ” You were cut-off when Steve planted another kiss on you, lifting you into his arms. 
The windows had been closed for the night, pale yellow curtains no longer flowing in the breeze. Your hair smelled of campfire, and your eyelids grew heavy from an eventful day. You were full of kabobs and Mom’s chocolate chip cookies, and you squished onto the tiny couch between Steve and Robin, who were flicking each other inches above your head. 
“You’re both children,” you snorted, swatting their hands away as they began to flick you instead. 
“Wheeler, are you crying?” Eddie’s voice turned all of your attention quickly to Nancy, who sat between Jonathan’s legs, mopping at the tops of her freckled cheeks.
“No, fuck off, Munson,” she scoffed.
You scrambled to sit upright, leaning across the coffee table to take her hand in your own. Jonathan gripped you both. “What’s up?” You bit back a smile, seeing Nancy’s eyes roll in annoyance at being the center of attention for something she’d rather keep private.
“I just never thought we’d be here.” She sighed. 
“Yeah, Kurtis was really generous leaving his house with a bunch of assholes like us,” Robin agreed. 
“Shut up,” Nancy groaned when you all laughed. “I just meant… after all this time, I’m really glad I still have you guys.” 
“Can’t get rid of us that easy, Nance,” Steve grinned, swinging an arm over your shoulder. You leaned into him with a sigh.
“It’s true, dude. We’re like parasites,” Argyle piped in, mouth full of cookie. 
You tried not to let her words seep in, tried desperately to tread water, to fight back the current of emotions that prickled when you realized you didn’t know the next time you’d all be together like this. Robin was off to France. Nancy and Jonathan had their own adventures, baby in tow. Argyle lived across the country.
You met Eddie’s gaze, warm browns and Cheshire smile. “Besides, we’ll all be together again soon. I heard there’s going to be a wedding in Hawkins.”
You cocked a brow, ready to retort, but Steve beat you to the punch.
“Hard to plan a wedding in a place we don’t live.”
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A/N: This fic was definitely a labor of love for me. I actually had this planned before I wrote My Whole Life, Too. And I have so many other details of their lives and pasts that I'd love to dive back into. Thank you so so so much for reading xo xo
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TBB Incorrect Quotes, Part 15
*at the water fountain* Echo: *fills up bottle and drinks from that* Wrecker: *brought 4 bottles of water so this wouldn’t happen* Omega: *drinks straight from the tap* Crosshair: *dehydrates* Hunter *drinks from the puddle of water on the floor* Tech: *licks the tap, doesn’t even need a drink*
Crosshair: I truly hate it here ❤️ Wrecker: Now replace “it” with “women”. Not so funny now, is it? Hunter: Now replace “it” with “women”. Not so funny now, is women? Tech: Now replace “funny” with “women”. Not so women now, is funny? Echo: I’m having a fucking stroke. Hunter: Now replace “stroke” with “baby”. Congratulations!
Tech: A person can really hear themselves think out here. Tech's mind: Did you leave the stove on? The front door unlocked!? WILL YOU DIE ALONE!? Tech: Well, that was a mistake.
Wrecker: What's your greatest fear? Crosshair: Being forgotten. Wrecker: ... Wrecker: Damn, that's deep. Wrecker: Mine is the Kool Aid man, but I feel kinda stupid about it now...
Crosshair: Everyone thinks you suck. Tech: I think you have the wrong number… Crosshair: Hunter? Tech: Nope. Tech. Crosshair: Well, you probably suck too.
Tech as a child: I can’t wait to grow up and have cool adventures! Tech now: I can’t wait to go to bed.
Hunter: Guys it’s a shooting star, let’s make a wish! Tech: I wish for good grades. Crosshair: Nerd. Tech: Never mind, I wish upon the shooting star to fall down at a 30° velocity aiming for Crosshair. :) Hunter: Tech…
Crosshair: I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. Echo: Ok. Crosshair: Wait, why such a muted reaction? Did that not sound cool?
Hunter: Oh, they left the bowl out? Hunter: It says, “Take two pieces of candy.” Wrecker: Nobody around though… Wrecker grabs the entire bowl and runs off with it Hunter: NO—
Echo: Okay, how do I look? Be honest. Wrecker: There’s no critic more honest than Crosshair! Crosshair: Bad.
Echo: Uhh.. Crosshair just asked if we want to… Echo: “Fell the mighty before their time and display their carcasses in our homes?” Tech, not even looking up from his datapad: He's asking if you wanna cut down Christmas Trees. Echo: Oh, that makes more sense.
Crosshair: Echo, what are you doing tomorrow? Echo: Having my day ruined by whatever you’re about to ask me to do.
Echo: Does everyone know their job for today? Hunter: Water the flowers. Tech: Vacuum the carpet. Wrecker: Wash the dishes. Omega: Pretend to be a wolverine. Echo: Close enough.
Crosshair: I would destroy the world for you. Hunter: Okay, can you do the dishes? Crosshair: No.
Crosshair: I love cooking breakfast. It makes the whole house smell like bacon. Hunter: That’s true, but it also smells like fire and panic. Crosshair: You and the smoke detector need to get off my case.
Omega, with her hands cupped over each other: I found a cool spider! Wrecker: Oh? Lemme see! Omega, opening her hands to see nothing there: …hm. Hunter: …where’s the spider. Omega: *looks troubled and stares at her hands* Wrecker: Oh no. Hunter: OMEGA, WHERE’S THE SPIDER?!
*Wrecker and Hunter are in a mirror maze* Wrecker, seeing Hunter: C'mon, you got it! Almost through! Hunter: I see you! *runs straight into a mirror, shattering it*
Crosshair: Wrecker, you look deep in thought. What’s wrong? Wrecker: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it’s like to lick it? Even if you’ve never touched it before? Crosshair: I’m never asking you anything ever again.
Echo: Hi could I ask how exactly does one accidentally set a lemon on fire? Tech: Microwave for 40 minutes. Hunter: WHY WERE YOU MICROWAVING A LEMON?! Tech: I read boiling lemons helps cover up bad smells and I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges, but I didn’t own any pots… Wrecker: Did you burn an orange too? HOW?! Tech: Microwave for 40 minutes.
Omega: I’m taking a look at your numbers, and it doesn’t look good. You have a lot of measurements. Quite a few variables. Wrecker: Is that…bad? Omega: Variables are the #1 risk factor for outcomes. The past is a big contributor to the future. Wrecker: Isn’t that just causality? Omega: Causality is the leading cause of death in this country. Wrecker: So what are my odds? Omega: Do you have a family history? Wrecker: Of what? Omega: Just, in general. Wrecker: …Yes? Omega: Oh no.
Echo: Hey bro, what do you want to eat? Crosshair: The souls of the innocent! Wrecker: A bagel. Crosshair: No! Wrecker: Two bagels.
Tech: I hate to say ‘I told you so’— Crosshair: No, you don’t. You would marry 'I told you so’ and have a baby with it and buy adjoining burial plots.
Hunter: What are you guys playing? Crosshair: Go Fish. Hunter: That’s a nice, safe game. Hunter: But don’t you need cards? Tech: Where do you keep the spear gun?
Echo: What did you get on your shirt? Tech: Rust. Echo: From what? Tech: Weapons. Hunter: Time for more adult supervision.
Wrecker, playing a video game: This game is so frustrating! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! Tech: Ok, I think it’s time to turn off the game for a little while. Wrecker: But I’m having fun!
Tech: I don’t think our death ray is working. I’m standing right in it, and I’m not dead yet.
Crosshair: What starts with F and ends with Uck? Tech: No it doesn’t. Omega: Firetruck! Wrecker: FUCK!
Hunter: Go to hell! Crosshair: Where do you think I come from?
Crosshair: Hey I got you food, pick a number between 1 and 10. Hunter: Uh 4? Crosshair: Wrong, no food for you. Hunter: Wait what?! WHY?! CROSSHAIR PLEASE—!
Wrecker: Care to give a free sample to a pretty person? Echo, manning a bake sale and tired of his shit: Sure! You know one? Wrecker: Wrecker: Care to give a free sample to an ugly person?
Crosshair: Just trust me. Have I ever put you in an unsafe or uncomfortable situation? Tech: All the time. Crosshair: Then you should be used to it by now.
Omega: If I fall… Echo: I’ll be there to catch you. Hunter: *looks at Wrecker What if I fall? Wrecker: Then I’ll fall with you, never leaving your side. Tech: *watches these two interactions* Tech, to Crosshair: And if I fall? Crosshair: I’ll be the one who pushed you.
*The Squad is on a hike* Hunter: It’s beautiful out here. Tech: And quiet. Hunter: Too quiet. Tech: Did we lose someone? *cut to Wrecker with a bear in a headlock*
Crosshair: I wonder who’s ruining my life. Crosshair: *looks in the mirror* Crosshair: So we meet again.
Tech: Jellyfish have survived for 600,000 years without brains… Echo: A ray of hope for Crosshair! 
Wrecker, watching the news: Some idiot tried to fight a squid at the aquarium today. Echo: *walks in covered in ink* Well maybe the squid was being a dick.
Wrecker: How do people stay inside ALL day? Crosshair: All my stuff is here and I don't like people.
Tech: In my defense, I was left unsupervised. Hunter: Wasn’t Wrecker with you? Wrecker: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised.
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legends-of-apex · 2 years
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‘Only If For A Night’ Ch.2 | Tangerine x Reader
{Click here for series masterlist}
rating: M for canon-typical violence, threat, injury detail and profanity
word count: 2,800
chapter summary: After you agree to go with them to their employer, Tangerine and Lemon bring you to your safe house to pick up your things before going on the road. Of course, things are never that easy in their line of work. The reader isn't referred to as being any specific gender. Enjoy <3
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'Can I grab my things before we go?' You asked, catching Tangerine's eye in the rearview mirror. His gaze felt like it stung you with how bright it was, how blue.
Tangerine took a long inhale. His ringed fingers tapped the driver's wheel with slight impatience. He really hated jobs where their target was a variable. Corpses don't talk much. Lemon shared a look with him, one that made him sigh.
'Yeah, alright then. I suppose we have ten minutes to spare.'
A wave of the new car smell hit you from your place in the back seat. Yet their car definitely wasn't new but it had been valeted to appear as though it was. The car looked like it cost more to rent for a few days than a holiday home would. Tinted windows contrasted heavily with the sleek, dark silver exterior and the dashboard looked like it probably let the car drive itself if need be. All this and yet the air conditioning was broken on a day so muggy that your throat burned.
As you fumbled with the seat belt you caught sight of an array of different license plates stashed beneath the passenger seat, the pile splayed out like a fan. There were some whose layouts you didn't even recognise. Different colours, different years all ready to be changed at a moment's notice.
 The place you'd been staying was only a few streets away but Tangerine circled the block three times before pulling in. For a moment you thought he was being overcautious but there was no such thing in this situation. You were grateful that he was taking your safety, his job, seriously.
'Stay here until I give the all-clear.' He ordered.
You looked on through the tinted window as he got out of the car, straightened his suit jacket and buttoned it as he walked towards your building. The sun glinted off a gun strapped to his side before he tamed his jacket from the wind.
You suddenly became acutely aware that you were trusting these men, two assassins named after citrus fruits, with your life.
 'Do you like Thomas and Friends?' Lemon asked from the passenger seat, snapping you out of your thoughts.
'Sorry?' You thought you'd misheard him.
'Do you like Thomas The Tank Engine? From the show Thomas and Friends.' He clarified.
'The kids show?'
'Yeah, it's a lot more than that actually-' His phone pinged loudly, interrupting him. The sender's name was simply an emoji of what looked like an orange. 'Tangerine says the coast is clear.'
 Tangerine was confused. Why did flat number 8 come before number 6 in your building? He glanced between the doors, each as old and poorly painted as each other. Then he realised that the brass number '9' that hung, half-bolted to the door, was upside down so it looked like a '6'. He moved it back into place with his finger, only for it to swing back down again like a pendulum.
He stood waiting at the door of your safe house if you could really even call it that. The flat's front door barely locked and the walls were paper thin. Even the floorboards sounded as if they were just one heavy step away from caving in. But it was quiet, unsuspecting.
 You spared Tangerine a glance as you fished out your keys and unlocked the rickety door. He wasn't leaning against the wall, probably too afraid of getting dirt on his suit. You felt his gaze on you, bright and burning still. He was studying you, trying to figure you out. His eyes on you felt like fire licking at your flesh. It stung your nerves in an almost pleasant way. But you hated that it seemed like he was analysing you, dissecting you with his icy gaze.
Lemon shouted to say your flat was clear before you fully registered that he'd even gone inside.
Tangerine nodded his head for you to go in ahead of him so you did, hearing him close the door behind you with a loud squeak of the lock and the distinct sound of the flat number scraping against the crudely painted wood. The landlady wasn't kidding when she told you every inch of metal on that decaying door needed oiled.
After just one step inside, the unsettlingly loud floorboards greeted you as a spring morning would a returning songbird.
'Just grab what you need, yeah?' Tangerine instructed, clearly anxious to get on the road.
You didn't bother telling him that you wouldn't need long to gather your things. Being on the run meant you couldn't really take anything other than the bare essentials with you. You missed your everyday comforts and non-essentials that you hadn't had time nor space to stuff in your duffle bag that night.
 Tangerine positioned himself at your bedroom door and watched Lemon wandering around your flat. A hand stuffed in his trouser pocket flashed the smooth silk lining of his jacket and the waistcoat beneath. His dark blue waistcoat was tailored specifically for him, it seemed. The pinstriped fabric hugged his every curve and edge. Everything about him looked expensive, not naturally but definitely by design.
You threw your duffle bag on the bed and began stuffing your things inside. Floorboards creaked loudly with your every step. It surprised you that those floorboards even supported a bed, even if it was small. You'd had to learn the hard way to wear shoes in the apartment if you didn't want a foot full of splinters.
 'Any of that yours?' Tangerine asked. 'The blood.'
It took you a moment to realise what exactly he was referring to. The concern on his face took you by surprise as did the gentleness in his eyes as he looked to you for an answer.
'No.' You replied and he nodded, shifting his weight to the other foot before turning his attention back to Lemon.
The clothes you'd worn to work the night it happened dangled, blood strained, from a drying screen by the yellowing window. Despite you scrubbing them for hours the blood never did seem to leave the fabric. So now your garments hung like bunting cut from the most brutal cloth until you figured out what to do with them.
To an untrained eye, it could have been wine spilt from some jolly night that soaked them but Tangerine knew better. He'd had blood or wine, sometimes both, sunk into the fibres of his clothes on more occasions than he ever hoped to count. Wine was a great deal more difficult than blood, he found.
 You heard Lemon coming before you saw him, his movements easy to track with the creaking boards beneath his feet. 'Bet you'll be glad to get outta this place then, eh?' He asked.
'You haven't told me where you're taking me yet. It could be some guy's dungeon for all I know.'
The pair of assassins looked so out of place in your shitty little hideout. They looked too expensive, too vibrant against the backdrop of greying walls and peeling paint. They reminded you of full-colour comic book characters bursting with paint that were dropped into some old black and white film. Two mediums too contrasting to mesh.
 You'd just zipped your bag closed when you heard a familiar squeak from the hallway. The floorboards creaked as if a pair of heavy feet just stepped inside. You froze.
Surely, you hadn't been found already.
The look of fear on your face alerted Tangerine to the sound. Lemon pulled his gun as Tangerine sent a flash of metal twirling from his trouser pocket. They shared a look and Tangerine nodded his head towards you before stalking out of the room.
Whatever silent conversation they had, they each knew exactly what they needed to do.
They acted quickly. Lemon stepped towards you, motioning for you to keep low with an outstretched palm aimed towards the floor. He looked over your bedroom window for a potential escape route in case any gun that went off wasn't Tangerine's.
A gun never went off but you did hear a smack, a thud. Then silence.
 'Tang, you alright?' Lemon called out, his gun pointed at your bedroom doorway.
'I'm alright.' Came his reply, his breath clearly ragged. 'Can't say the same for this poor bastard.'
You cautiously followed Lemon into the hallway to see Tangerine standing over a body, his chest heaving. The pair shared a look. Again, a silent conversation you could only imagine amounted to Tangerine confirming he was alright despite the blood splattered across his collar like red blossoms floating in a clear pond.
'Is he dead?'
'As a doornail.' Tangerine confirmed, the intruder's body lay crumpled like a puppet with severed strings at his feet.
He wiped his knuckles clean with a handkerchief, blood speckling the white fabric. Covering his knuckles sat a golden knuckleduster, alongside his set of golden rings. You watched for a moment, mesmerised, as he unloaded the man's discarded pistol and checked the magazine before tucking the gun into his waistband.
 You didn't have time to feel relieved that the threat was dealt with as they ushered you out with your packed bag. But as you reached the front door, you turned around and walked right back in.
'What the hell are you doing?' Tangerine asked as you approached the body. 'We need to go. Now.'
You ignored him and turned the man's body over. Still warm. His head lolled at an odd angle, his neck broken. His dark eyes bulged strangely, the irises reminded you of dark buttons sunk into a pool of melted wax. It was easy enough to tell what had happened. Tangerine hit the man across the cheek with a heavy blow and then snapped his neck before he could retaliate.
'You robbing his corpse? That's cold, man.' Lemon's voice bounced off the empty walls as you patted the man down.
'I'm looking for ID! If someone's come to kill me I at least want to know who.'
It could have been a lot of people. You knew there was a hefty price on your head amongst Hollow Eyes' rivals. But this was the first time anyone came so close to killing you and despite the fear, the adrenaline, coursing through your veins you wanted to know more about this man.
The fact that he'd just died trying to kill you dawned on you. Tangerine had snapped his neck without so much as a second thought and Lemon was ready to put a bullet in the next person that walked through your door. That frightened you but was a strange comfort at the same time. These men you'd met a mere hour ago just took the life of someone else in order to keep you alive. It was a testament to their commitment to their job if nothing else.
 Tangerine stood over your shoulder, peering down at the man. 'There. He's a Blackjack, looks like.' He pointed to a tattoo at the bottom of the man's neck.
He recognised the tattoo as one he'd seen on men who frequented the same information hubs as he and his brother. It was a strange symbol; The clubs and hearts pips commonly found on playing cards except their colours were inverted. To an untrained eye, it just looked like a very obvious mistake but to those familiar with it knew that it marked someone to be wary of. Every member of the Blackjacks had a pair of pips on their necks with inverted colours. Tangerine couldn't help but think the tattoo looked as idiotic on this guy as it had the other Blackjacks he'd had the displeasure of meeting.
 'So he's not working for Hollow Eye?' Lemon asked, visibly confused.
Tangerine drew his brows together. 'Did you even read the files I sent you? Actually, don't answer that.' He didn't want them to look unprofessional around you, even if you weren't the one who hired them. 'No, Hollow Eye himself hasn't sent anyone to kill our friend here yet that we know of and let's hope it fucking stays that way.'
The man didn't have any ID on him so you gave up your search and joined the two men who now stood in your doorway, clearly ready to leave. You were quiet as you descended the stairs but Lemon and Tangerine chatted amongst themselves like they were discussing a football match.
'Blackjack's are the guys who take the whole 'eye for an eye' thing very seriously, aren't they?' Lemon asked but Tangerine just shrugged. 'Well, you might want to find out cause' you did just kill one of them and they usually travel in pairs.' Lemon turned to you. 'You didn't piss off the Blackjacks and all, did you?'
'Lemon-' Tangerine warned.
 You hadn't been paying attention to them. The image of the man dead on your floor fogged your mind even as you stepped out into the open air. If the Twins hadn't been there then you would have come home later to that man waiting for you. It would have been you laying dead on those creaky floorboards, not him. The thought chilled you to the very bone. First Lemon and Tangerine found you and now the Blackjack? Three people in one day. How had you slipped up so badly?
'That man knew where I was staying...How did you even find me?' Was all you could really manage to say. Your entire safety net shattered and it felt like your life was being ripped out from beneath your feet again. That makes two times in as many weeks.
You just so happened to catch Tangerine's eye as you looked to them both for an answer. He saw then on your face the desperation, the defeat and the guilt. You looked like you thought you'd slipped up, maybe even that you deserved this, and he had to resist every nerve in his body screaming at him to comfort you and tell you that wasn't true.
'Word travels fast among people like us. It would've taken one informant who saw you walking home one day. That's it.' Lemon piped up, sensing that you were anxious. But whilst he sensed your worry, he also couldn't help but try and sate his curiosity. 'What did you even do to make someone want you dead anyways?'
'Lemon, pack it in!' Tangerine shut him down instantly.
'What? I'm just curious!'
'It was in the fuckin' brief that I sent you two days ago.' Tangerine hesitated to answer your question like he wasn't sure if he should be telling you this but after a mere second's forethought, he caved. 'Your friend, our employer, knew you liked that coffee shop. He just didn't know when you'd visit. All we had to do was wait.'
He could tell you either didn't believe him or didn't want to.
'Listen, I know you're scared and you have no reason to trust us or really anyone right now but I give you my word that we will do everything we can to keep you safe, yeah? It's what we're being paid for.'
 He held his hand out, offering to take your duffle bag and stuff it in the trunk of their car. You'd barely registered that you'd crossed the cracked concrete car park until he popped the trunk. Your mind felt hazy and dreamlike.
'Exactly. If you don't trust us. Trust that we do our jobs and it's our job to look after you.' Lemon reaffirmed but his words fell on deaf ears.
Instead, you looked up at Tangerine, at the way he looked at you like he desperately wanted to gain your trust, for you to believe that he could keep you safe. He needed that more for him than anything else. He needed to know he could do something other than killing, even if he had to snap a few necks along the way.
He felt for you, unable to imagine how powerless you must feel right now with your world crumbling beneath your feet, letting you fall into the mud. He'd been wading through the mud for a while, Lemon too. The very least he could do was offer you a hand.
So you gave him your bag and he took it with a smile, like you did him a favour.
  Across the other side of the car park, a man dozing in the driver's seat of a car with suspiciously darkened windows just so happened to wake up. He looked on as you, Lemon and Tangerine made towards their car. He hadn't even been awake to see you go inside the building in the first place. Although you'd changed your hair from the photo he'd been given, that was definitely you walking out of your apartment building unharmed.
You were supposed to just be some civilian. You weren't even supposed to be in your apartment right now, hence why he'd fallen asleep as his partner went inside to set up shop and wait for you.
They'd barely treated the order for your death as a job, more like a holiday with some first-degree murder sprinkled in.
Yet there you were alive and well and that meant his partner was dead.
  Tagging: @icy-spicy​ @simpingforclaudette @cockete @padfoot-1959 @revenstaz @family-video @multifandomfanfic @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @ashyyslashy @ifilwtmfc​ (please feel free to let me know if you’d like to be added to the Tangerine tag list <3)
587 notes · View notes
matsukaah · 2 months
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☆°•a.n - This fanfic was my first finished since 2018, so maybe it's not a big deal, but I'm proud of it and I hope you like it If there is any coherence error, it is due to English not being my native language (but it was reviewed by @icecreamonstrawberrypie 🩷 and I am very grateful!!)
☆°•warnings - 3.5k words, some swearing, just a relaxing experience
☆°•context - In this short story, you prepare to spend the next three days at your boyfriend's house. Gyutaro is a man who wants to give you the best days of your life, even if in a clumsy way, he wants to try the things he always wanted to do, Gyutaro wants to show that you are worth everything the world can offer
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Gyutaro – Slumberparty
Today is very cold, but you can’t help but take quick steps, your luck is not to be far from the Shabana brothers’ residence, where you intend to spend the night. Your backpack is a “little” heavy, as you ended up filling it with necessary and unnecessary things, just in case. Due to both of their busy schedules, it is difficult to have the opportunity to spend quality time with their boyfriend, but they planned these three days together meticulously.
You can’t imagine how nervous he is, Gyutaro wanted to make sure that his days with him were perfect down to the smallest detail, making a point of tidying up the house from start to finish, almost as if he had committed a crime in that apartment and had to be clean. We also talked to Ume, as she is used to having girls’ nights out with her friends, sometimes with you, so if there’s a master on the subject, it’s her, getting lots of tips on games, games, movies that should be watched and foods that should be purchased. Like a butler he bought everything he thought he might like, even scented lemon-scented candles, but he wasn’t nervous, it was just a precaution (he was).
Hearing the knock on the door caused adrenaline to circulate throughout his entire body, almost crashing his brain, running desperately to the door, like a dog anxiously waiting for its owner. Seeing your face after so long alone made me sure I was about to die if I didn’t see you again, hugging your body with affection, burying my nose in your hair, smelling the fragrance of your shampoo, rolling my eyes in pleasure He pressed a little more, until he heard you complain, you know? Of not being able to breathe.
“I missed you too, sweetie, but shall we go inside? The backpack is heavy” you said modestly, since it was really fat.
“S-Sorry darling, let’s go in..” Gyutaro mentally cursed himself for not having noticed this before, taking your backpack in a gentlemanly manner, guiding you into the apartment.
The atmosphere was pleasant with the light acidic and bittersweet smell of lemon, you knew that Gyutaro had turned this house inside out for your arrival, it makes your cheeks heat up as you can’t help but smile. The sofa had been rearranged to be in front of the television, with some games purchased from the online store open on the screen, and even some DVDs of old games that Gyutaro had a certain passion for, and that he loved to share with you, from classics like castlevania, horror like Resident Evil is his passion, but he really loves games with nice graphics, especially if they are co-op, so he can share them with you. Gyutaro may have spent a lot of money on several consoles, even though he doesn’t use them all, he likes having them, and as they are the small luxuries he allows himself to have, he doesn’t mind spending so much. He recently bought Overcoocked2 for the two of you, he thinks it would be romantic to play a game like that with you, besides, he has seen several reports of people close to him who play together, some funny videos of people freaking out over the game itself, but it can’t be that bad, can it?
On the small table in front of the sofa there were several snacks, sweets and snacks that looked juicy, several sheets, pillows and stuffed animals that you shared as if they were your children. He will never admit it, but he hugs them while sleeping alone, as some of them are permeated with his scent, making him comfortable. But you know the truth, you’ve already come to see him as a surprise seeing him cling to the stuffed animals, it’s a rare and lovely sight.
On the floor you can also see some board games, and even a twister, you feel loved, for all the effort that Gyutaro showed in just a three-day date, it’s not easy to find a guy who is that passionate, or who has already If you’ve done half of what Gyutaro has already done for you, it would be foolish to let him slip through your fingers. He made sure to put your things near the couch, in case you needed to get something, and even though Gyutaro had rehearsed in his mind all kinds of things he wanted to do to you, now that you’re here he feels anxious, doing his thing. Breathing becomes deep and unregulated.
“Where.. I-I mean, do you want to do something darling?” The stumble in his words makes your face heat up, even though they’ve been dating for so long he still acts like a teenager in love.
“how about we play? You already got everything ready anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner, I would have helped you” her sweet words made Gyutaro feel proud, after all, his efforts had been recognized by the most incredible person in the world in his eyes.
“Ah yes.. I bought some new ones.. I also have a gift for you..” he guided you to sit on the couch next to him.
Looking forward to the surprise, his heart was beating fast, Gyutaro signaled with his hands, telling you to close your eyes, which he did without hesitation. He felt a light weight being placed on his thighs.
“you can open it...” he said nervously due to the tone of his voice.
Looking at it, it was a box, which glittered in dark purple wrapping paper, with some bows, undoing them with regret, since they were beautiful, he could appreciate the contents. With a plush pinkish interior, with a video game controller themed on the character Kuromi from Sanrio, with personalized buttons, all made to order and some by hand, you can see through small errors in the painting and deformities that only make it special, feeling a smile form, making your cheeks hurt. You looked at Gyutaro with eyes full of gratitude, until you looked at his hands, which had similar control to yours but the character Badtz-maru, you knew which character it was because it also belongs to Sanrio, but of course, also because it is the romantic couple and Kuromi. His control seemed to have been done more sloppily, making it obvious that his priority was to make his being more pleasant.
“If you don’t like it, I can do it again” he said nervously, even if he had tried hard, for you he would do it again until he died.
“Did I like it? I loved Gyu.. you the best I could ever dream of..” your sweet words made Gyutaro’s sleepless nights and a ton of tutorial videos worth it.
Seeing the crooked smile and red cheeks on his face made her heart beat faster, basically grabbing him at this opportunity, giving him little kisses on the cheeks, until she reached his mouth, where she stayed for a while. Gyutaro could spend all day glued to yours, honestly, but there’s still a lot to be done, he hugs your waist as he enjoys the moment. When they separate he can’t resist putting his face in your neck, his face is probably red, it would be shameful for you to look at him in that state, and you can’t hide it, his body is hot and sweaty, that always happens.
“We have to debut them, don’t we? I wanted to test a game that I bought, for both of us... I thought it would be cool, Overcoocked2, what do you think?” he said slyly, sincerely embarrassed, sinking deeper into your neck, squeezing your body in a sweet embrace.
“No matter what we do.. if we do it together I’ll like it” you said in a sweet voice, your smile was remarkable, as you stroked his hair.
“I’M GOING TO ASK YOU JUST ONCE, is the oven fucking your fucking brain?” Gyutaro spoke like a madman as thin veins protruded from his forehead, furrowing his eyebrows.
“I’m the one asking you, I say “cut the fucking tomato” and tell me you brainless person, what do you do besides throw them on the floor???” you said back in irritation, pointing at his face, it was the third time they had remade the same level involving pizza, always having different problems.
“HOW IT IS? DON’T COME WITH THIS! I’ve been cleaning up the shit you do since the beginning, and I’m the brainless one here?” he said, placing his finger on your forehead and pressing it.
“my sister has more cooking skills than you” he spat in your face in a rude tone, smiling cynically.
“you? I cleaned the plates, cut the cheese, put it in and took it out of the oven, because SOMEONE HERE doesn’t know how to cook without burning it, you knew you can’t sell charcoal, right? Or do I have to explain this to you too?”
The discussions to see who was to blame didn’t result in much, in the end they knew that both were to blame, especially since the game was in na already difficult phase. In the end, they were slightly sullen with each other, in a trivial way, moving on to another game that was less stressful, in Gyutaro’s words. “Love in dangerous spacetime” super cute and basically made to play with your partner, except that he didn’t notice that the game requires the couple to use their brains, something you two are not in a position to do, causing more fights between the two, seeing whoever was doing most of the work protecting your ship still managed to complete much of the game. Seeing you get easily irritated even over little things made Gyutaro laugh, after all you two were arguing over such a silly thing, to make things better he decided it was time to eat some of the snacks he had bought, inviting you to join in. He, of course, did not deny it.
Gyutaro wanted you to feel amazing, he thought of several romantic things to do together, even if he was embarrassed to say and do it. He really wanted to feed you in his mouth, like in the movies he’s seen, he started eating some of the spicy snacks he bought, they’re really tasty, despite being fiery and even sour, for him it just makes them tastier. He wanted to share the experience with the person in his life so he held one between his fingers shyly guiding it to her face. Initially she didn’t understand, but his shy face made her heart melt, even though she had never tried the snack, to know if it was to her taste, having this first experience with him seemed magical, eating from his hand, that if Gyutaro could, I would jump with happiness.
Of course, until you start coughing and watering from the burn and acidity, wrinkling your forehead, the salt in question was really crumbly, releasing several crumbs into your throat, making your cough worse. Gyutaro felt desperate, getting up quickly, stumbling over his steps to get water, quickly bringing it in a glass. As soon as you managed to take it, you took a deep breath, giving small coughs, your chest hurting a little.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have given that..” he lowered his face in shame, since he wanted to try that idea.
“no, no, my dear.. it was na accident, I liked it, only the crumbs went into my throat” she used her hand to signal him to return to her side.
Gyutaro bent down, approaching you shyly, feeling horrible for having caused this problem “try again darling.. but this time, use some sauce, it will ease it for me”
You didn’t understand why he wanted to practice this type of romantic interactions, since they weren’t that common for him, but if he wanted to do it, you were willing to do what was necessary to make it happen. And also because if you don’t support him now, he may not try new things with you again for fear of your negative reactions. He nervously held out another one, it wasn’t like him to upset you, so if you wanted to try again, he would. He used a light peach-colored sauce, bringing it to his lips and biting it slowly. Finally being able to enjoy the flavor, and it really is delicious, the burning isn’t bad, it’s even good once you get used to it. Gyutaro felt good, having managed, even though it wasn’t the first time, to see your eyes light up from the taste, and literally eating out of his hand is pleasurable. To reciprocate you did the same, you opened a package of snacks with a well-seasoned flavor, with a meat flavor, the smell was enchanting, having your hands approaching him made his face burn, he was almost in a state of hypnosis as he enjoyed you, as if you were a painting, he bit the snack from your hand, lightly biting the tips of your fingers.
Even though Gyutaro isn’t a big fan of sweet things in general, he loved exchanging treats with you, taking advantage of the size of the gummies to pass them between your lips, and feel how soft they were. When you did the same to him, Gyutaro felt like he could eat out of your hand like a pigeon for the rest of his life without getting tired, but of course, at some point you stopped eating to get some rest. He looked at the floor with the intention of continuing to entertain you, in no way did he want you to be bored, he chose a simple, “barrel pirate”, the tension of each of the small swords being implanted into the barrel, he was eager to see the little pirate jumping, seeing his nervous look, and light drops of sweat on his temple, so much so that he didn’t notice that as soon as he stabbed one of the small swords, the little pirate flew violently, scaring Gyutaro, giving na outrageous scream, as his mouth trembled in disbelief, and seeing you laugh at him made him feel embarrassed.
“if I feel that foot on my face, I swear I’ll bite” Gyutaro said distorting his body, now with both of them playing twister, he had inhuman flexibility, almost bending his entire body, he looked like a towel being squeezed.
“if you bite me, I’ll kick you, I’ll break what you call a face” you said nervously, moving your foot over a red circle, indicated by the word that comes with the game.
It was kind of difficult to know the position you were in, the two of you looked like two snakes stuck together, moving was challenge enough. Until Gyutaro tried to make a complicated movement, passing his arm directly over his body, he fell over his torso, causing his body to hit the ground violently.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH” you grabbed his stomach tightly, as if he had sunk, Gyutaro’s bones had beaten aggressively against his flesh, you mentally asked yourself, how someone as thin as Gyutaro could be so heavy.
“HONEY I’M SORRY” to say he was desperate was na understatement, heheld your body and placed you on the couch, looking for hot water to ease your pain.
He felt bad, but at the same time, he liked that you were so needy, after calming you down, Gyutaro did what he could to make your moment comfortable, even though he had his ups and downs, and lowest, he loved every second, and if he could he would live them again, but it’s already two in the morning, if they don’t rest they won’t be able to enjoy the next few days. He scratched his own neck, trying to remember something he felt he had forgotten. He gets up hurriedly, going to the bathroom without giving much explanation, leaving you watching television, which doesn’t have anything very interesting to watch, that is, a documentary about praying mantises, they are graceful and with their unique way of living, strangely reminiscent Gyutaro.
Gyutaro returned to the room, his body surrounded by a towel, but still dry, he signaled for you to follow him, you in turn opened your backpack, taking yours and following him, as soon as you entered the bathroom you saw the bathtub full, with lots of water. Foam, and some rubber things, and candles. Your boyfriend looked at your face looking for your approval, even though he told himself that you would like it, he needs you to confirm it, his eyes sparkled with appreciation.
“When did you have time to do this? You’re amazing Gyu..” you couldn’t stop smiling, you could almost feel your eyelashes getting wet.
“so... I had left the bathtub filling before you arrived... I wanted it to be perfect so, I came to finish arranging things here..” he was really looking forward to that day, Gyutaro just won’t admit that he had forgotten the tap running for too long, so the floor is wet.
“Don’t you get tired of being amazing? So strong, affectionate.. handsome..” it was really difficult to praise Gyutaro without him disdaining himself, or silently denying it. But you made a point of showing him that he deserved the praise, the good things he has are his own merit.
“don’t say that.. for you this is just the basics that I can offer..” he loved it when you said sweet things to him, it makes his heart beat like crazy.
“you’ve done much more than any man I’ve ever seen in my life... if you want to know what I think... you’re perfect” showing that he is everything to you is the least you can do.
To make sure Gyutaro wouldn’t start his anxious daydreams and intrusive thoughts, you corner him near the bathtub, signaling him to get in while you undress. Instantly he does so, and turns his face so that you feel more comfortable taking off your clothes, even though you’re going to take a shower anyway, he feels unworthy of looking at your body, just by wishing he imagines you I would feel sick.
He stares at his own reflection in the water between the bubbles, even with the banner with quality products, aromatic candles, he feels dirty, as if he were covered in dirt, and that his presence contaminates the water like a toxin. His heavy sighs make it clear to you the kind of things he already has in mind, knowing him well enough for that was difficult, since he closed himself off from the world.
Without warning him, you enter the water, approaching him immediately, placing yourself between his legs, allowing him the view of your face lying on his chest. The water feels so good surrounding your bodies, relaxing you both, you take the opportunity to show the love your boy deserves. Investing your lips against his collarbone and neck, his mouth, you love how his lips tremble when you get closer, you almost feel like you’re going to devour him, and if you could, you would, a smile forms on your face, the which makes Gyutaro feel nervous, in a good way.
��If we were praying mantises, would you let me eat your head?” You said mischievously.
“I would beg you so” he wasn’t lying.
To end your first night, the surprise was now on your part, you had some orders in your backpack, it was great that they arrived at the promised time. You showed Gyutaro two pajamas, a big one with a shark for him, and a seal one for you, you know very well that he is passionate about marine life, he especially loves sharks, especially when you compared him to one. To say he liked it is na understatement, he loved it, it almost flew into his hands when he had it, it’s soft inside, as if it were surrounded by a warm, fuzzy throw.
“What would a slumber party be without pajamas? I have one for Ume too, it’s also a shark, when we make the three of us she will have one too” Gyutaro felt warm inside, and it wasn’t just because of the clothes, you had thought about his sister too, that was more than enough. Enough to make sure he keeps you by his side.
“Thank you.. I know she will like it.. I love you” he said nervously, it was obvious that he loved you, but saying it was difficult, a sudden fear of being rejected stuck in his throat, but now it seemed ideal.
“I love you too... someone perfect like that deserves the whole world” decided to share the sofa to sleep together, you push him slightly so that you can lie down on top of him.
“I would give you the world” he whispers, feeling his eyes getting heavy with each blink, he doesn’t want to sleep, he still wants to have more fun.
“I know so... I will only accept this world if you are with me” your sweet words made him cling to your body, getting drunk on your scent, while caressing your back, watching your breathing gradually become quieter, as the few falling into their deep sleep.
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toadstoolwriting · 7 months
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Star Crossed- Chapter Three
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Warnings: More google translated Russian, angst (?), german asshole and cursing
Word Count: 2k
Series Masterlist
Chapter Two
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The night had gone better than you expected after the phone call. The alpha, Bucky, seemed content sitting on your couch as you read a book. You had attempted to check on the bandages, but each time you got close, he would pull away from you, so you decided to leave it alone for the time being. At least he didn't seem to be in any immediate pain. It's not like you had anything to help him anyway. You knew you should have bought a first aid kit when you moved in two years ago. 
You were extremely nervous about leaving him alone there. Something inside you was nearly screaming at you to stay near him. You had never really been the kind of omega to feel the need to care for alphas, but something about him made you want to ensure he was okay and to be near him at all times. It was a very new feeling for you.
You must have fallen asleep reading because you awoke to a knock at the door. Immediately upon awakening, you jumped up, the book falling on the floor, and looked at Bucky. His eyes were on you, but his body was pointed toward the door, with squared shoulders and his feet in a wide stance. You tried to calm your pounding heart as you made your way to the door. It was probably your neighbor or something. As you had made contact with the cool brass of the knob, a hand wrapped around your wrist, stilling your actions. 
"Нет, не открывай дверь. Мы не знаем, кто это" You looked at Bucky; his jaw was set, and a scowl was on his face. You really wish he spoke any English. 
"I have to open the door. What if it's my neighbor?" You half-whispered. This close to him, you could smell the sour lemon radiating off of him. You really wondered if you would ever be able to sense what his base scent was. It always felt like it was corrupted by something. Right now, there was very evident fear.
"Оставь их в покое. Это может быть Hydra" His hand was still on your wrist, squeezing lightly. Another knock sounded from the door, this time louder than the one that woke you up. 
A voice also came from the other side saying your name, "I just wanted to come check on ya to see if you needed a ride." John, thank god it wasn't the police coming to find the alpha in your living space. You thought it might be the neighbor; sweet old beta across the hall would sometimes bring you breakfast. But with the loud knocks, you had doubted your assumption. Usually, her knocks were quiet, and she never knocked twice.
You moved your wrist from under Bucky's grasp and lightly pushed him to the other side of the door so you could open it without him being seen. It's not like it would help, though. His scent was filling up the entire space. 
"Hey, John! It's good to see you." The alpha in question was waiting there, his hands stuffed in his pockets and an eyebrow raised. He took a second, looking you over and around the space before speaking. 
"Yeah, yeah, you need a ride to the station?" John wasn't really one for formalities at the best of times. As of right now, he looked stressed. You guess it had something to do with last night, given that the "burglar" had targeted his business.
You were hoping to avoid going down to the station for the time being, at least while Bucky was in your care. You also weren't the best liar, and it's not like you could just walk in there and tell them that you helped the man who broke into your boss's establishment and brought him to your house. 
You took a deep breath. "Actually, I was hoping to do that later. Something came up that needs my attention right now." You smiled at John, one of those awkward "what-can-you-do" smiles.
"Unfortunately, I am afraid you can't do that, missy. That german asshole... what was his name...Detective Schwarz said to have you come in as soon as possible." He took a breath, "real piece of work, that one."
A noise came from behind the door, causing you to look in Bucky's direction. His hands were on his head, covering his ears, and a pained look was on his face. The scent of fear filled the room. You looked back at John and gave him a quick, apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, John. This is really important, but I must deal with something. I promise I'll go this afternoon, but right now, I have to close this door, bye." You said it so quickly that some words jumbled together as you shut the door. Turning back to Bucky, you moved closer to him, hoping to help somehow. 
"What's wrong? What's going on?" You moved your arms out to touch him, but he backed away. "What is it?" 
He stumbled to the ground, sitting with his back resting against the door. You followed him down, trying to figure out what to do. 
Your instincts pushed you to get closer. Facing him, you leaned into his neck, scenting him. You tried to radiate calm, caring energy as you nuzzled his neck. It took a second for you even to realize what you were doing. You felt his shoulders move down before feeling his arms around your torso, pulling you into him. His breathing slowed from the short breaths. He dipped his nose against your scent gland, taking long whiffs, assumidly breathing you in.
"Bucky," you exhaled, feeling so relaxed in this position you didn't know how long you had been like this. You hadn't known him for a whole day yet, and here you were scenting him, and he was as well! You had never been even close to doing so with any other alpha you had been around. You tried to get up, seeing as his breathing was normal and his scent had become sweet, almost like lemon meringue. But his arms squeezed you a little tighter, keeping you in place.
"Don't go," his voice was deep and strained, almost as if it hurt him to utter those two words. Wait, he can speak English... this entire time, he could speak English, yet here you were, thinking there was no hope for communicating with him. You wondered why he could suddenly say it now and not earlier. 
You gave him a few more moments like that, him holding onto you like you were the single thing keeping him tethered to the earth. You moved very slowly from his grasp, keeping close in case he needed you. You looked into his eyes. This was your first time looking at them so closely. They were beautiful crystal blue, seemingly as deep as the ocean. 
"What's wrong?" You whispered, his eyes dilated at your voice. His chest moved as he took a deep breath, carrying you with it. He must have been searching for the right words because it was several moments before he spoke. 
"Handler." His voice was quiet and shook as if saying the word terrified him.
"Handler? I don't think I understand."
"My handler." The phone rang, making him tense under you. Seriously, people needed to leave you alone. Unfortunately, it seemed like that knocked him out of the moment you two were having because he gently moved you to the side as he got up and made his way to the living room. 
You grumbled as you got up, making your way over to the phone. Sparing Bucky a look as you passed by, you didn't know what he had gone through, but between the wounds he still had from the day before, and how he reacted to that one name, you knew it had to be quite traumatic. You grabbed the phone, slightly irritated about it interrupting. 
"Hello?" You practically growled into the phone.
"Hello, this is Detective Schwarz at the Cushing Police Department. I wanted to ensure you came in today to give your statement." This guy definitely had a prominent german accent that was for sure. Your eyes move to look at Bucky, sitting on your couch, hunched over, looking at his hands, quite unaware of the person on the other side of the phone.
"Hello, may I ask why you called?" You were trying to keep your voice as even as possible, but it was challenging.
"Ah, yes, I wanted to make sure you came in to give your statement. Normally, we wouldn't allow you to do it the next day, but given your... designation. We wanted to make sure you were comfortable and ready to. Must have been quite scary for you, knowing the place you worked at was burglarized a mere minutes after you had left it." His tone irked you. It was one alphas did when they looked down on you. Something you were very familiar with growing up. 
"No, I am fine, thank you." You forced out through gritted teeth.
"Excellent, then you'll have no problem coming in by noon? If you don't think you can make it, we can always come to you, where you're comfortable in your nest." By now, you were seething. This pathetic excuse of an alpha just insinuated being in your nest. The audacity of him and all the other police officers on the force! Had they no shame?
You bit your lip before speaking, "No, sir, that won't be needed. I'll be there at 12."
"Wonderful," He didn't even leave time for you to respond before he hung up. Now you understand what John meant when he said the detective was a piece of work. 
You sighed, feeling most of the tension leave your body. Something in the back of your mind made you have a bad feeling about this, though. But you really didn't need the police coming to your apartment, especially with Bucky around. You had no idea how he would react to them, especially if the detective showed up. 
You looked at the clock in your living room, 11:30 a.m. Great. You made your way over to the loveseat you had occupied last night. 
"I have to go to the police station to give my statement." as soon as you said police, Bucky's head snapped up in your direction. You rubbed your hands together for some reason, very nervous to make him upset. "If I don't, they'll come here, and I would rather that not happen. I won't be long. Just please stay here. We'll figure out what to do when I get back."
Honestly, you didn't know the end goal here, to get him away from here. Something inside you hurt at the idea of him away from you. It's not like you could run away with him, though. You had a whole life here, and you couldn't just give that up for some alpha you met last night. Sighing, you looked back up at him. Trying to read his face, it had returned to what seemed to be a permanent scowl.
"Okay," was the only thing he said. You nodded and went to get ready as quickly as possible, trying to look like you didn't have a rough night last night when you arrived at the station. It was only a fifteen-minute drive, but you were still cutting it close in time.
You were ready, at the door leaving your apartment, when you looked at Bucky again. He was looking at you with the same scowl. You wanted to give him a hug but shook the thought out of your mind. Shutting the door behind you as you left. Unaware that once you had made your way out of the complex, a certain alpha had also left your apartment.
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A/N: Thank you for reading! I think I'll try to make these progressively longer.
What do yall think is going to happen when reader goes to give her statement?
Also, did you know lemon meringue was popularized in the 40s? According to my google search, at least. What a coincidence.
Constructive criticism is encouraged!
No beta we die like men
See you in the next one - Phrog
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avocado-writing · 2 years
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Had to really keep this one concise, bc I could have gotten very carried away with it!
GN!Reader x Tangerine
Tagging: @honestlywtfisgoingon​​ @white-wolf-buckaroo​ @felhomaly @sinfulrefugy​​ @venusthepirate​​ @lunarpansexual​ @wanderedaway​​ @georgiee-riviere​​ @mushywutty​​​​ (thank u konront for the gif!)
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Tangerine is a businessman, or that’s what he likes to call himself anyway.
It just so happens that his business consists of beating the shit out of anyone who upsets or disrespects his boss. And he’s very good at beating the shit out of those sorts of people. So good he’s made a career out of it, actually.
A lot of people see him and know enough about him that they keep well out of his way. And honestly, he likes it that way. Being feared.
Or at least he thought he did.
And then he sees your smile.
They’re walking down the street, on the way to a bakery Lemon has convinced him they need to go in before they start work today. 
“Best croissants I’ve ever had in my life,” Lemon assures him. Tangerine wrinkles his nose up.
“Croissants? What’s wrong with a sausage roll?”
“There’s nothing wrong with a sausage roll, but I’m not gonna start my day with it, am I? Croissants are breakfast food.”
“I’ll break something in a minute,” Tangerine mutters, but Lemon has pretty much learned to ignore him at this point.
The bakery does smell lovely, Tangerine will concede that. And the display case is full of delicious-looking, meticulously-crafted little cakes and pastries. 
It’s not them that he ends up staring at, though.
Your smile lights up the whole room. Like a fucking ray of sunshine dressed in a bakery uniform. As soon as you spot Lemon, you’re already holding out a little takeaway bag.
“Morning, Lemon! Here you go - regular order, hot out of the oven,” you say, cheerfully. Lemon grins.
“What would I do without you, eh?”
“Have one cold, I suppose,” you laugh. It’s like music to Tangerine’s ears. Then you finally seem to see him. The next smile, directed at him, threatens to knock Tangerine off his feet.
“Who’s your friend?”
“My brother,” says Lemon, “Tangerine.”
“Oh! This is Tangerine. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Tangerine gets a funny feeling in his chest over the idea that you know anything about him. And yet, you don’t seem afraid. 
He realises there’s no way you can know what he and Lemon do for a living.
“All good, I hope,” Tangerine manages. 
“Well, mostly about how you don’t like our pastries even though you haven’t even tried one,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, simulating telling him off. You get an idea, and use your serving tongs to bag up another croissant.
“Here. On the house. Maybe I can win you over.”
Truth be told, you already have.
His fingers brush yours when he takes the bag. Lemon pays for his own order and a coffee to go, putting a lot of money into the tip jar on the counter.
The croissant is delicious.
Tangerine comes back the next day, without Lemon this time. The bell rings as the door opens and you seem surprised to see him.
“Oh, hello! It’s you again. Where’s your brother?”
“I came alone today,” he says. He has the urge to readjust his hair, even though he already fixed it about five times on his way here. 
“Did you like the croissant?”
He finds himself smiling at how easily you talk to him.
“It was lovely, actually.”
“See! I knew you’d like it. Do you want another one today?”
“What I want,” Tangerine says, “is to take you out to dinner.”
He’s nervous. He doesn’t like it. He’s never nervous. But the idea that you might say no churns his stomach like an ocean storm.
You seem surprised at this request. Wide-eyed, open-mouthed. The fact you don’t immediately answer eggs him on to say more.
“One dinner. And if you don’t have a good time, I swear I’ll never set foot in this bakery again. Can’t say the same for Lemon, though. He loves this place.”
You smile at that, regaining your composure.
“Well, alright, then. I close the place up at six.”
So he’s back ten hours later, finding you shutting the security gate over the storefront. You’re wearing a black jumper and a pair of jeans. His heart threatens to stop in his chest.
“Oh, Tangerine! You came.”
“You seem surprised.”
You shrug. 
“I’m used to being stood up, I guess.”
Tangerine wants to find anyone who’s ever stood you up and make them suffer for it. Instead he settles on walking you to the very fancy restaurant that cleared a reservation for two this evening, when he made it clear who he worked for. 
“I feel… thoroughly underdressed,” you decide, looking around after you’ve been seated. 
“What? No you’re not, love.”
You scoff.
“Oh, come on. Look around. You’re in a three-piece suit, and I have flour on my sleeve.”
He hates the way you shy into yourself. Trying to make yourself smaller, as if apologising to the world for existing.
“You look wonderful,” he states, honestly.
And there’s that smile again.
The evening goes brilliantly. You speak animatedly about your business, and he asks lots of questions about baking that you’re all too happy to answer. You order a salad, but when he guesses if that’s what you really want you seem relieved and ask for a steak instead. He watches you laugh at his jokes, respond to his flirting with your own.
Then the gunmen ruin it.
He knows his boss’s rivals around this area, and can identify another gang on sight. You let out a shocked, fearful gasp as the door is kicked in, and the assailants ready their weapons.
Tangerine, however, is a professional.
And very, very angry his date has been ruined.
“Get down,” he states, pulling his pistol out. For a moment you’re frozen with fear. But when he takes aim and shoots one of the men in the head, you find enough of your wits to dive under the table.
He’s glad you don’t see what happens. Or, at least, have a very obscured view. Because it seems like the gunmen didn’t count on him being in the restaurant. The next five minutes are brief but bloody. His suit gets stained when he pulls the trigger at one of them at point blank range and that makes him even more furious. He’s far more aggressive than he needs to be from that moment on, using his knuckle dusters out of anger than necessity.
When he’s done there’s a metallic tang tainting the air. He heads back to where he told you to hide, gets down on one knee and peers beneath the tablecloth.
Your eyes are wide, full of tears, and it breaks his heart.
“Tangerine,” you whisper, “what… what do you do?”
He smiles, thinly.
“Businessman, love.”
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