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smileysuh · 11 months

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Big Bear & Bee

🌙 staring. Johnny x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You swallow thickly, leaning back against Johnny while you gain your courage. You know he’s not the type to force anything on you, and something tells you that if you don’t make this first move, you might miss your chance. Turning in his arms, you look up into the bear hybrid's chocolate brown eyes. Then you’re kissing him, putting all the passion that’s been brewing into the meeting of your lips. You thread your fingers through his soft hair, eager to get close to him, closer than you’ve ever been before.

tw/cw. protected sex, multiple positions (girl on top/missionary), pussy eating, praise, dirty talk, bear hybrid x human, fingering, overstim, size kink, big dick!Johnny, pussy stretching, slow burn, mentions of baby/child fever, sex while she wears a dress, etc... I pet names: (hers) bee, princess, gorgeous. (his) John, Big Bear.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 15.9k

🍭 aus. hybrid, bear/uncle!Johnny, human/honey shop worker!y/n, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. huge thank you to @sehunniepot for helping me through writing this and being my beta reader- Nikki is truly one of my best friends, and if you haven't already checked out her writing, she's got John fics for days - her Olympian Johnny is one of my favorite fics ever 💕

As a bear hybrid, Johnny has been in many honey shops in his life. He’s frequented hole-in-the-wall mama and papa honey selling places. He’s visited corporate brand locations so big and full of different types of honey that they made his head spin. He’s even given a chance to side of the road, farm fresh honey sellers.

Even with all of this experience, there’s only one place that he’s truly come to love, and that’s Queen B’s Honey Company.

Nestled between an ice cream parlour and a fifties style salon on an old street on the side of town, near the farming district, Queen B’s has a certain charm that’s always scratched Johnny’s honey itch just right.

With soft cream coloured walls, and touches of old wood that line the space in shelves and fill the room with various display tables, the store is somewhere between scandi and revitalized farm aesthetic, a style that Johnny adores.

Housing a wide array of honey, in sticks, jars, canisters and tubs, the honey shop has everything a bear like John could ever need, and that’s not even including all the hand made pottery that sits on the top shelves. Plants are speckled here and there, adding a floral scent to the sweetness in the air that’s inherent to the Queen B establishment.

There’s art too, all somehow relating to honey, and everywhere you look, there’s a recurring theme of bees and bears.

It’s a tale as old as time - the bears and the bees - and one that has always immediately brought the hybrid an indescribable sense of peace.

Even with all of this, however, Johnny’s favourite part about the store has to be the kind workers that calmly bustle around, always quick to lend a hand or ask how his day is going. Specifically, you draw Johnny in like no amount of honey ever could, and he’s pleased to arrive at the store once a week to often find you working.

Johnny might be a big shot club owner and entrepreneur by night, but by day - especially in the comfort of Queen B’s - Johnny sees himself as more of a calm dude just trying to support a local business. Despite his attraction to you, he’d hate to put himself out there and make you uncomfortable - at your workplace no less - so in the months he’s been frequenting your establishment, your short interactions have only ever pertained to honey, and he can live with that.

The front bell chimes softly as Johnny enters Queen B’s, and Johnny meets your smile with a grin of his own. “Good morning!” you call out, a common greeting that still somehow makes his heart beat loudly in his chest.

“Hi,” he nods, breaking your gaze to inspect the front display, where all your store’s new products are laid out like candy in a candy shop for the honey-loving bear hybrid.

He tries to be nonchalant, but as the only person in the store, Johnny knows he’s captured your attention. There are days when he’s one of a handful, and you often take care of those who’ve come before him, only to head his way and ask if there’s anything you can help him find. Today, he has all your attention, and it takes effort for him not to watch you approach.

There’s something about the soft yellow apron that you always wear, or the yellow scrunchies and ribbons in your hair. Your white t-shirt and blue jean ensemble under your work apron is just as much a part of the beautiful colour scheme, and there’s no three colours in the world that Johnny likes together more than cream, honey, and denim blue, especially on you.

“We’ve got new honey sticks,” you tell him, as you come to join him by the front display. He loves how you know what he normally buys, that you remember him so well.

“I see that,” he nods, sneaking a glance up at you. “Are they any good?”

You nod. “Very good, at least, I think so.” You begin to tell him where the honey is sourced - from a local apiary - and the way that the honey sticks are naturally flavoured with the seasonal blackberries, raspberries and other such ingredients that grow in the surrounding area, all organic of course.

Johnny listens, although half of his mind is much more pleasantly occupied watching your lips. The way you speak has always enchanted the bear hybrid, and he’s more than happy to watch you work hard to give him all the information you can.

“Sounds good,” Johnny says when you’re done. “I might just have to get five of each.”

“I can prepare that for you if you’d like to continue looking around,” you smile. “We also restocked the blackberry honey jars from Overgrove Apiary. I know we were out last week and you got something else, so…well, I called our merchandiser over there and got a new batch just yesterday.”

You're a woman after his own heart…and maybe also his money, but Johnny can never tell if your interest in him is beyond that of a professional.

“Thanks, I really appreciate that,” Johnny tells you honestly, watching you begin to collect five of each honey stick into a simple brown paper bag for him.

“Don’t mention it,” you say softly. “Anything for a regular.”

He wonders again if that’s all he is to you, a regular, and Johnny finds himself putting his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, fiddling with the golden ring on his thumb. “It’s nice to be taken care of,” he says finally.

Your eyes meet, and you’re quick to look away, but the soft smile on your face is enough to make Johnny’s heart race again.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today? Or just the honey sticks and blackberry jar?”

“I think this is good for now,” he tells you, following when you immediately turn to head to the till.

It’s a nice silence as he watches you check everything through the system, and when you give him the total, he pulls out his soft, brown leather wallet from his back pocket. He always pays in cash, and despite the fact that he never asks for change, opting to give you a tip that goes into the tip jar, you still ask if he’d like the coins back.

It’s one of Johnny’s joys of the week to tell you, “keep the change,” as he reaches for his brown paper bag of goodies.

“Can I-” your voice draws his eyes, and he wonders what you might ask him. This is not part of your normal interactions, and he holds his breath waiting to see what might come of it. “Never mind, it’s probably a stupid question.”

“Good thing I like stupid questions,” he assures you, giving you the space to continue.

“I was just-” you take a deep breath. “I’ve looked into certain hybrids like yourself enjoying honey, and Winnie The Pooh always told me that bears like honey, but you can’t always rely on cartoons, can you?” Johnny chuckles at the idea. “As a regular, I was thinking maybe I could ask you about your personal experience with our products?”

“That’s a good question,” Johnny says, thinking about it for a moment. “You know my affinity for the blackberry honey - I’ve always had a sweet tooth - but in truth, all the honey sticks are for my niece. She’s the real addict in the family.”

“Really?” Your eyes have widened, and Johnny thinks it’s possible you’ve never been prettier than this moment. “I always- I mean, in the months you’ve been coming in, I just always assumed the honey sticks were for you-”

“Easy mistake,” he smiles.

“You’ve never come in with your niece,” you point out.

Johnny nods, looking around the perfect store. “Yeah. There’s a lot of expensive stuff in here, the pottery, the displays- I didn’t want to bring her in and be a bother so usually I pick stuff up before going to grab her from her school. It’s my day to babysit,” he explains, “and it’s nice to start it off with a little goodie bag.”

He goes to reach for the brown paper bag in question, but you’re quick to pull it away from him. “A goodie bag?” you repeat. “If I'd known this was a goodie bag, I would have put some tissue paper in here-” you’re already reaching under the till, taking out some cream coloured paper with golden spots and bees on it.

“It’s okay-”

“No,” you insist, “your niece is going to love this, trust me.” You press the fun tissue paper into the bag, and the soft crinkling sound makes Johnny smile. “Maybe a bow too?”

“She really doesn’t need a bow-”

“Most little girls like bows, Uncle Big Bear,” you tell him, reaching for the yellow ribbons next to the register. But then your hands freeze. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just called you Uncle Big Bear-”

“That’s okay,” he assures you.

“It’s not,” you shake your head, averting your gaze, and Johnny corrects himself from earlier. He’d thought seeing you shocked made you cute, but seeing you flustered makes you even cuter. “That was really unprofessional-”

“Trust me, It’s okay,” he tells you again. “Look, if you really feel bad about it, you can call me Johnny. You can say ‘most little girls like bows, Johnny’ and that will be fine by me. How’s that sound?”

He loves the way your careful hands wrap a pretty bow around one of the bag handles even as you look up at him with shy eyes. “Most little girls like bows, Johnny,” you say, voice quiet.

“Then I’m thankful you’ve given me tissue paper and a bow,” he grins. “Thanks for all of this,” he picks up the finished bag of goodies.

“You’re welcome,” you nod, biting on your lip. “And Johnny?”

He loves the way his name sounds coming from you. “Yeah?”

“Please bring your niece in. We’re a hybrid and child-friendly store. I’m sure she’d love it here.”

Johnny takes a moment before nodding. “Okay,” he concedes, giving you one last once over before heading to the door.

When he picks up his niece from school, she’s ecstatic to receive a new and improved goodie bag, giggling over the cream and gold, bee and polka dot tissue paper. She immediately tears into one of the honey sticks.

While you’re often on Johnny’s mind after his Queen B visits, today, he can’t get you out of his brain.

You’re halfway through completing a transaction with an older customer when your favourite regular walks into your store. The sight of him makes you do a double take, because today, he’s not alone.

He’s brought his niece in, just like you’d asked him to.

At about waist-high next to the gentle giant bear hybrid, the little girl looks absolutely adorable. She’s in a yellow and white polka dot dress, with two sparkly scrunchies keeping her dark hair up in pigtails just behind her large fluffy ears. Her hand is clasped in Johnny’s, and her eyes are full of wonder as she steps into the space.

“Thank you for shopping with us,” you say to the lady you’re helping, quickly finishing up so your attention can return to Johnny.

His niece is tugging on his hand now, attempting to run up to the display case that’s stocked with all your new honey stick flavours.

“These ones!” the little girl insists. “These are the ones you got me last week!”

“I know, Winnie, I know,” Johnny smiles, joining the little cub in front of the table of treats. “Your favourite was the peach one, right?”

“Uh huh!” The little girl, Winnie, nods enthusiastically. “But I also liked raspberry, and strawberry, and apple, and cherry-”

“Slow down there, cub,” Johnny laughs, bending down to lift his niece up so she can see the display better. “We’ve got all the time in the world to make your choices, right?”

“Right,” Winnie confirms, nodding solemnly as she gazes down at all the honey sticks.

“I think we’ll be needing a basket,” Johnny notes. “Can we go grab a basket?”

“Yeah!” Her enthusiasm makes you smile, and you reach under your till to grab something to carry their honey in, approaching the two with a heart that’s currently melting in your chest.

“Welcome to Queen B’s,” you say, drawing both of the bear hybrid’s eyes. “I heard a basket might be in order?”

You hold it out for Johnny, and he gives you a grateful smile while accepting it. “Yeah, thank you,” he adjusts his niece on his hip. “Winnie, this is y/n, she showed me all these new honey sticks last week and wrapped your goodie bag up in a bow.”

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” The little girl grins, flashing a toothy smile that shows her sharp canines are just starting to grow in.

“She loved the bow,” Johnny tells you. “Didn’t you, Winnie?”

“I loved it, see!” She thrusts out her hand, and you find the yellow ribbon wrapped around wrist.

“That’s very pretty, Winnie,” you smile, also noting her cute yellow nails. She’s a girl who has an obvious favourite colour, and it’s cute in comparison to the neutral blacks and browns Johnny often wears.

“Is it okay if she chooses her own honey sticks?” Johnny asks, holding his niece closer to the display stand.

“Of course!” You’re a little shocked by how polite Johnny is. Even after telling him you’re a kid-friendly store, he still double checks to make sure he’s not crossing any lines.

“Did you hear that, Winnie?” Johnny looks down at the cub in his arms. “You can choose which ones you want, but I promised your mom to only get twenty today. Do you think you can count to twenty for me while you grab your treats?”

“Of course I can!” Winnie insists, reaching out her little hand to circle a bunch of the peach flavored honey sticks. When she pulls the treats back to her chest, she begins counting, and Johnny joins in. The first five are easy, but she begins to falter a little at six and seven.

Johnny is as patient as ever, helping her through to ten before he stops her. “Is ten enough, cub? That’s half of twenty, you know.”

“Ten is enough,” Winnie sighs, dropping her chosen sticks into the basket before reaching to return those she won’t keep.

“What else?” Johnny asks, beginning to bob his niece up and down on his hip as she surveys the options.

“Two raspberry,” she concludes, and Johnny holds her closer to the tin of raspberry sticks. She plucks two out.

“What’s ten plus two?” Johnny questions.

“Uh…” Winnie looks up at her uncle and you watch him mouth the word twelve, which Winnie announces a moment later.

“Good job,” Johnny praises her. “Ten plus two is twelve. Okay, what’s next?”

“Two cherry.”

“What’s twelve plus two?”

“Uh…” again, Johnny mouths the answer, and Winnie declares “fourteen!” which earns her a few coos of admiration and another ‘good job’ that has you practically melting.

You suppose standing and watching the two is somewhat intrusive, so with a nod to Johnny, you step back, busying yourself on a nearby display case that needs some fixing.

You listen to the bear hybrids count all the way to twenty, and you hear Johnny congratulate Winnie again for counting so high.

You’d always gotten the vibe that Johnny is a softy, but seeing him in action is something else, and you find it harder and harder to stop the smile from appearing on your face at all his sweet actions.

Instead of approaching the till, Johnny asks Winnie if she wants to see some of the pottery on the walls, and the cub lets out an excited “Yes!”

“But remember,” Johnny says, voice turning serious as he puts his basket down and adjusts the girl in his arms, hands going onto her waist so he can lift her high enough to see the tall shelves, “keep your paws to yourself.”

“I promise,” Winnie giggles. “Uncle John! Look! This one’s a beehive!”

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Johnny nods.

“Very pretty,” Winnie confirms.

“Maybe I should get your mom one of these for her birthday,” Johnny says. “Do you think she’d like a honey jar?”

Winnie nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Which one, cub? This one? Or…” he moves over a few feet, showing her another ceramic honey pot, “how about this?”

“They’re all so pretty,” Winnie admits.

“Well, how about you think about it, and when we come back next week, you can help me choose one. How’s that sound?”

He truly is a gentle giant, and you find yourself grabbing a few extra honey sticks from a display near the till in preparation for Johnny’s approach.

“Okay, cub,” he says as he carries his niece over, “I’m gonna have to set you down now so I can pay.”

“Okay,” Winnie nods, allowing herself to be placed back on the ground. She tucks in close to Johnny’s leg, looking around the store while Johnny sets the basket next to your till.

“How’s your day going?” Johnny asks, flashing you a smile as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

“It’s going great,” you admit. “I was wondering if you’d actually come in today.”

“I told you last time, Monday’s the day I babysit.”

“And I told you to bring in your niece,” your eyes dip to the small bear hybrid still clinging to his leg, “I’m very glad you did.”

“Me too,” Johnny smiles. “How much do I owe you?”

You give him the price of his twenty honey sticks, moving them from the basket to a pretty goodie bag you’d prepared. Johnny hands you two bills, and as always, tells you to keep the change.

“Wait,” he says when he watches you put five extra honey sticks into the bag, “I didn’t buy those-”

“They’re on the house,” you assure him. “I understand that your sister made a twenty honey stick cap, but I figured, maybe Winnie will share some with you, so… here are extra ones. They’re a different brand, Overgrove Apiary, and they’re all blackberry, which I know is your favourite.”

“Wow,” Johnny accepts the goodie bag, immediately handing it off to Winnie, who reaches in to tear a honey stick out. “Thank you, I uh… I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” you assure him. “And by the way, the ice cream parlour next door has a new flavour out. It’s honeycomb.”

“Honeycomb!?” Winnie is midway through tearing open the stick in her hands, and she looks up at you with wide eyes.

“You’re trying to get me in trouble with her mother, aren’t you?” Johnny laughs.

“I’d never even think of doing such a thing,” you grin.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” Johnny looks you up and down, and you feel your skin heating under his gaze. “Have a good day, y/n.”

“You too, Johnny.”

You’ve been looking forward to Monday all weekend, and when Johnny walks in at 3:30 with Winnie on his shoulders, all the tension from your long day leaves your body.

“Hi, you two,” you greet them, coming from around the till to give them your full attention.

“Hi, y/n!” Winnie exclaims, waving enthusiastically at you.

“How’s your day going, cub?” you ask, looking up at the little girl clinging to Johnny’s head.

“It’s okay,” Winnie sighs.

“That doesn’t sound okay,” you note, reading her body language.

Your gaze dips to Johnny and he gives you a look. “Some kids were being mean to her in school today,” he confesses.

“What?” you look to Winnie again. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

“It wasn’t,” she confirms with another loud sigh. “They were making fun of my ears.”

“But you have such wonderful ears,” you compliment her, frowning at the fact that the world is still full of people who are very much anti-hybrid.

“That’s what I told her,” Johnny nods.

“Uncle John wanted to know their names so he could go and gobble them up,” Winnie tells you, flashing a mischievous smile. “But I told him I could handle it. They might not like my ears, but they don’t know how to dress good either, so-” the cub shrugs, “how am I supposed to listen to girls who don’t know how to dress good?”

You find yourself laughing at her sass, nodding along. “That’s a very good point, Winnie. I have to admit, I liked your dress the first time you entered the shop, and I see you’re in an even prettier one today.”

“This one?!” Winnie looks down at the cream coloured poofy dress adorning her form. “Uncle John got it for me for my birthday.”

“Well, he also has an eye for fashion, doesn’t he?” You smile at Johnny, and he grins back at you.

“He does,” Winnie agrees. “Even though mommy says he should wear dress pants with a button up, I like his t-shirts.”

“I do too,” you nod. You’ve always liked Johnny’s style, the way he can wear a nice pair of dress pants with a casual shirt and sneakers.

“You guys are too nice to me,” Johnny insists, and you can see the hint of a blush in his pretty complexion.

“No such thing as too nice,” Winnie insists, “you taught me that, Uncle John.”

“I guess I did, didn’t I?” he sighs. “Anyways, you remember our mission today, right cub?”

“A honeypot for mommy,” the little girl on his shoulders nods.

“That’s right,” Johnny begins to move towards the shelves holding ceramics, and you shadow the pair.

“Is there anything that stood out to you the last time you were here, princess Winnie?” you ask.

The little girl kicks her feet with joy at the new title you’ve given her, and she nods. “The beehive.”

“The beehive,” Johnny repeats with a sigh, and his gaze shifts to you. “Our little Winnie is nothing if not predictable.”

You enjoy the sentiment, the use of the word ‘our’ as if you’re already a part of their little family. You certainly feel connected to the two bear hybrids, although you’ve only really been getting to know Johnny for a short time.

You hope you can get to know them better.

“Is this the beehive honey pot you want?” you ask, pointing at a lovely handmade ceramic on the top shelf.

“Uh huh, that’s the one,” Winnie nods, playing with Johnny’s ears as she holds onto his head. “Mommy’s going to love it.”

“I’m sure she will,” you agree. “Let me just get the step ladder so I can reach it-”

“No need,” Johnny assures you, stepping forward and reaching up to grab the honey pot. You marvel at how tall he is- “Here,” he holds it out for you, “would you mind taking that to the till while we grab our twenty honey sticks?”

“I don’t mind at all,” you smile, accepting the ceramic and holding it close to your chest.

Johnny helps Winnie off of his shoulders and the two head to the display case that holds your store’s best goodies. You walk over to the till, scanning the price tag of the honey pot and getting it prepared.

You wrap it in bubble wrap before placing it in a nice gift bag and adding tissue paper to obscure the pot. This is a present after all, and you take your time making it look nice.

You’re just finishing your task when Winnie and Johnny approach holding twenty honey sticks, and they wait patiently while you scan them too.

“Hey Winnie,” Johnny looks down at his niece, “How about you go take a look at that display case over there,” he suggests, “I’m sure there’s some stuff in it you haven’t seen before.”

Winnie looks confused for a moment, but then she shrugs, skipping off to look at the array of jarred honey in a display case a few meters away.

You cock a brow at Johnny while he pulls out his wallet.

“Listen,” he says, voice low as he pulls out cash, “I know this might be overstepping, and I’m sorry if that’s the case but… I’d really like to take you out some time.”

“Take me out?”

“On a date,” Johnny clarifies. “Again, shoot me down and there will be no hard feelings-”

“I’d love to,” you tell him.

“Really?” He breaks into a smile, and it makes your heart flutter with excitement.

“Really,” you confirm, reaching for a Queen B’s Honey business card. “Let me give you my number,” you say, grabbing a pen to write your digits on the back of the piece of paper.

When you hand it to Johnny, your fingers brush, and the contact makes your whole body light up with energy. You can tell from the way Johnny looks down at your number, skin flaring a slight pinkish colour, that he has no clue of the effect he has on you. “Thanks,” he mutters, voice cracking. “I’ll uh, give you a call later.”

“Wow, a call, not just a text,” you smile as you take Johnny’s cash, putting it into the register and counting out change.

“Let’s just say I’m old fashioned,” the bear grins sheepishly at you.

“I like it,” you confess. “It’s part of your charm.”

“I have charm?”

“Tons,” you nod.

“Good to know.” He licks his lips, looking down at you with those chocolate brown eyes that have always made you feel like melting into a puddle on the floor.

Winnie returns to grab her bag of honey sticks, and Johnny gently picks up the present for his sister. “Say goodbye to y/n, Winnie.”

“Goodbye, y/n. See you next week!”

“You better,” you grin. “I’ll be eager to find out how your mom likes her new honeypot.”

“She’ll love it,” Winnie says with the confidence that only a toddler truly possesses.

You adore her already.

“I’ll call you,” Johnny says again, giving you one last smile as you say goodbye and he turns to leave your store.

You watch him go, holding Winnie’s hand while the little girl skips along.

You kind of feel like skipping too.

Old fashioned Johnny is sweeter than the honey your store makes, and he calls you on Monday evening to see if you want to go to a fair on Thursday night. “You’re not scared of heights right? I can take you on the ferris wheel? They do fireworks at nine thirty for the kids but uh, I thought you might like watching them.”

He’s a gentleman, and you agree to all his ideas.

Waiting until Thursday is something like torture, but you somehow make it to the end of your shift and go home to get dolled up for Johnny. It will be the first time he sees you not in a work outfit, and you want to impress him.

You’d noted how proud he looked of Winnie’s dress when she’d mentioned he’d bought it for her, and you think Johnny might have a thing for cutesy looks, so you find your sweetest dress. It’s still modest, and when you look in the mirror, you realize you sort of look like one of those cute elementary school teachers you’ve seen in movies.

Finishing the outfit off with red lipstick, you think it’s a happy medium, after all, you will be at a fair with lots of children running around.

Johnny picks you up from your house, pulling up next to the curb in an old black muscle car convertible that takes your breath away as you approach.

“Wow,” you whisper, looking between him and the vehicle he’s leaning against.

“I should be saying that to you,” Johnny grins, straightening and holding out his hands. “You look amazing. Can you do a little spin for me?”

You allow him to grab your hand, and he helps you do a twirl that makes your dress dance.

“Perfect,” he tells you. “I’ve always liked your work outfit, but this dress is something else.”

“Really?” you beam up at him, allowing the bear hybrid to pull you to his chest.

“Would I lie to you?” he asks.

You stare into his eyes, and after a moment’s consideration, you shake your head. “No, you wouldn’t.”

You almost think Johnny’s about to kiss you, but then he swallows thickly and turns his head away, looking at the road. “Should we get going?”

“Yes, please.”

He drives a little wilder than the calm persona he exudes when he’s in your shop, and you find yourself giggling as he races down streets. It feels exhilarating to be in a convertible, the warm summer air rushing past.

Johnny grins at you when you laugh, pushing the car even harder to bring you more joy.

You’re already completely dazzled by the bear hybrid by the time you get to the fair, and the night just keeps getting better and better.

He holds your hand as you walk through the crowd, and he even wins you a massive teddy bear at one of the fair games. His baseball skills are no joke, and he easily knocks down all the bottles, triumphantly holding the teddy out to you as his prize.

“For me?” you ask in shock, accepting the toy.

“Of course, everyone needs a Big Bear in their life,” he tells you, and the glint in his smile makes you think you’ve already found yours.

The two of you go on a few rides, with you clinging to Johnny’s side during rough twists and turns. He keeps you and the teddy bear safe, laughing while you scream in delight. It feels like being a kid again. It’s something you’ve never really experienced, being at a fair on a date with a cute guy who seems to want to give you the world.

It’s nine twenty before you even know it, and Johnny leads you to the ferris wheel.

“We should get to the top by the time the fireworks start,” he tells you before pulling out his wallet and stepping close to the teenage boy working the ride. “I’ll pay you twenty bucks to give us an extra five minutes at the top.”

“I can do that,” the teenager nods, quickly pocketing the bill before helping you both onto the ferris wheel. “Here, I’ll take care of the bear for you,” he says, as there’s no way you both will fit on the ride with the massive stuffed animal. The seats are for two adults, and Johnny pulls out another five to give to the attendant before sitting next to you.

The bar is secured in place, locking you in next to the bear hybrid who smoothly puts his arm behind you, laying it across the back of the seats. “It’s a nice night,” he tells you.

“A perfect night,” you agree. “I’m so happy you asked me to do this with you.”

“I’m happy you came,” he smiles. “I wasn’t sure if asking you out while you were at work was a good idea, but, I guess after seeing you interact with Winnie, I just couldn’t pass up on the opportunity.”

“Your niece is wonderful,” you breathe.

“She’s a good cub,” Johnny nods.

“Seeing as we’re going to be on this ride for a while, do you mind if I ask you some questions about yourself? We’ve spent the whole night doing things, and I don’t actually know that much about you.”

“You can ask me anything.”

“Let's start with what you do for work?”

Johnny laughs. “Any guesses?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re not a nine to five kind of guy-”

“I’m not,” he confirms.

“You dress so well, part of me wants to say you’re involved in fashion or something.”

“Good idea,” Johnny grins, “but unfortunately no, I’m not involved with any fashion work. I think my job is a hard one to guess, so I’ll just tell you. I run a club with a few close friends.”

“You run a club?” you blink at him.

“Don’t look so shocked, Bee,” Johnny smiles, and your heart does flip flops at the new pet name. “It’s a hybrid bar in midtown.”

“A hybrid bar,” you repeat.

“Humans are allowed in the front section, but we have a back that’s exclusive for hybrids. It’s a safe space for us, and I’m there a lot, especially during the weekends, keeping an eye on things,” he explains.

“Tell me about the friends you work with?”

“First, there’s Hyuck. He’s a pretty peculiar guy. Then there’s Renjun, and Yuta, he’s a wolf hybrid. But at this point, I’m friends with a lot of the workers too. We have this raven manager, Doyoung, and I love watching him run around like a stressed chicken with his head cut off-” Johnny smiles to himself. “You’ll have to come by sometime and meet them.”

“That would be nice,” you nod. “I mean, you’ve seen me at work so often, it would be interesting to see you in your own element.”

“Honestly, I’m not so sure the club is my element. It’s a good way to make money, and I don’t have to do much- it’s one of the perks of being a part owner. But if I had to choose between your store and the club, I think I’d rather be at the honey shop.”

“So you can watch me run around like a stressed chicken with my head cut off?” you tease.

“You always seem so put together,” Johnny tells you.

“That’s because you often show up when no one else is in the store. You should see what it’s like during a Saturday rush.”

The bear hybrid laughs. “Maybe I’ll have to pop by, then.”

You’re only halfway up the ferris wheel, and you’re a little surprised when a sudden loud pop marks the beginning of the fireworks. You tear your gaze from Johnny, focusing on the blue and green explosion that’s lighting up the dark sky.

“Wow, this view is amazing!” you exclaim.

“It is,” Johnny agrees, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that the charming man hasn’t stopped staring at you just yet. “I knew you’d like it here.”

He adjusts his arm behind you, finally resting his hand casually over your shoulder, and you immediately tuck yourself closer to the bear hybrid. His large body is so warm and comforting, and you enjoy the peaceful quiet that settles over you both as you watch the fireworks.

The ride moves, bringing you closer to the prime spot at the top of the ferris wheel. You can feel yourself getting giddier- you’ve never been on a date like this. Never experienced something this perfect.

“You’re cute,” Johnny says.

“I am?” You look at the bear hybrid next to you.

“Uh huh,” Johnny nods. “The way your eyes light up when you’re watching the fireworks- I’ve never seen anything prettier.”

“Stop, you’re such a charmer,” you blush, hiding your face against the crook of his neck.

“Just being honest,” he tells you, stroking your shoulder.

The ride begins to move again, and you pull away from Johnny to marvel at the view again.

From the top of the ferris wheel, you can see everything. The whole fairground is laid out below you, twinkling and brilliant. The fireworks are dazzling, filling the sky with colourful explosions.

You turn to Johnny and something comes over you. You want to say thank you, but the words themselves won’t suffice, so instead, you lean close, pressing your lips to his cheek. Johnny practically freezes, and when you pull away, you see a red lipstick stain on his skin.

Johnny turns his head to look at you, gaze darting down to your mouth-

Again, you’re hit with a surge of confidence, and this time, when you lean in, it’s not his cheek you’re aiming for.

Johnny’s lips are soft, gentle against your own, and then his hand comes up to cup your face. You don’t want to pull away. You can tell he doesn’t want you to either. His mouth parts, tongue gently teasing your bottom lip, and you let him deepen the kiss.

Your body is tingling with energy as you lean closer to him, grabbing at the front of his shirt. When your own tongue darts out to taste him, the bear hybrid lets out a groan, and you mirror it with a pleasured sound of your own.

A loud bang makes you jump a little in his embrace, and Johnny smiles against your lips, releasing your face so you can turn to admire the large firework that’s just been set off.

“John,” you breathe, “this is perfect.”

“It’s how I wanted our first kiss to be,” he muses. “As much as I wanted to kiss you when I picked you up, I knew waiting would have its rewards.”

So he wanted to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him, and the thought has your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

You can’t help but press your lips to his again, smiling into the kiss while Johnny tugs you closer. His free hand slips down to your thigh, and you moan at how good it feels.

It’s shocking how just kissing Johnny is already doing so much to your body- as if some primal instinct is taking over.

You’re not sure how long you remain lip locked, but when the ride jolts into motion again, you break the kiss, laughing a little as you bury your face against his neck.

The bear hybrid holds you tighter, and you remain in his embrace for the rest of the ride.

When you reach the ground again, Johnny holds out a hand and helps you out of your seat. The teenage ride attendant gives Johnny the bear stuffie, and he carries it for you as you walk through the fairgrounds towards his car.

You’re amazed with how comfortable you are with Johnny, and the ride home is filled with as many speed fueled giggles as your drive to the fairground had been.

When you reach your house, Johnny even walks you to the door.

You kiss him again, loving the way that his size dwarfs your own. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, not wanting to let go. But all good nights must come to an end, and after a long makeout session, you finally pull away to catch your breath.

“When can I see you again?” Johnny asks.

“Monday?” you suggest.

“With Winnie?” The bear hybrid laughs. “Are you sure you’re not using me to get to my niece?”

You grin, enjoying his playful banter. “I was just thinking that you said you work most evenings on the weekend, and I work during the day, so our schedules are conflicting.”

“Right, yeah,” Johnny nods. “What are you doing Tuesday, after work?”

“You tell me.”

“Movies,” Johnny states. “I want to take you to the movies.”

“Is there anything good showing?”

“Probably,” he shrugs. “I figure anything will be good if you’re there with me.”

He’s such a sweet talker, and you give him a kiss, thanking him for the lovely evening. “I’ll see you Monday, John.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Why are you rushing, Uncle John?” Winnie asks as Johnny speeds down the street after picking her up from school.

“No reason,” he says, although it's partially a lie.

He’s excited to see you, even if it’s just for a short interaction while Winnie gets her honey fix. However, his niece is right, Johnny is going a little too fast, and it’s almost torture for him to slow down.

He all but hops out of the car when he parks in front of your shop, opening the back door for Winnie to exit the vehicle as well. They enter Queen B’s Honey with enthusiasm, although the cause of that enthusiasm is very different.

Winnie goes straight for the honey stick display, but Johnny’s much more focused on you. You’re restocking a few honey jars on a top shelf, wobbling a little on your stepping stool, and the bear hybrid is quick to rush to your aid.

“Hey there,” he breathes, steadying a hand on your waist. “Carefull, Bee.”

“Oh, hi, John,” you grin down at him.

“Hi, yourself,” he smiles, watching you put the last jar in its place.

You turn, resting your hands on his shoulders as you step down to the floor, and Johnny loves the way you’re so much shorter than he is. He could just eat you up-

“Hi, Winnie!” You wave at his niece over his shoulder.

“Hi!” she calls back, and when Johnny turns, he sees his little cub is already reaching to grab a few peach honey sticks from their jar. She’s occupied, and it gives Johnny the chance to talk to you one on one a little, something he’s very grateful for.

“How was your weekend?” he asks.

“Busy,” you laugh. “You?”

“Busy,” he grins. “Was thinking about you a lot.”

“You were, were you?” There’s a twinkle in your eye, and it all but bewitches the bear hybrid who still has a hand on your hip. “Did I really leave that good of an impression?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he confesses. “Were you thinking about me too?”

“More than I care to say,” you nod.

“Are we still on for that movie tomorrow?”

“Of course, unless you’ve changed your mind-”

“Never.”

“Uncle John!” Winnie’s voice snaps Johnny out of his daze, and he tears his gaze from your lips to look at his niece.

“Yeah, cub?”

“I can’t reach the cherry honey!”

“Oh no,” Johnny says in an animated fashion, letting go of your waist to go help Winnie. “We can’t have that, can we?” He lifts his niece up, helping her grab a handful of honey sticks. “Woah there cub, how many of these have you got already?”

“Just a few,” she insists, adding her new goodies to a hand already holding a large number of peach sticks.

“Just a few,” Johnny chuckles. It’s obvious that Winnie has forgotten her candy cap. “Can you count to twenty for me?”

“Just twenty?” Winnie whines.

“You know we’ll both get in trouble with your mom if you have any more than that.”

Winnie sighs with exasperation, putting a few of the cherry sticks back in their jar.

“There we go,” Johnny grins. “Just peach and cherry today?”

“They’re my favourites,” Winnie insists.

It’s a shame that his little cub doesn’t take longer choosing honey, as it means there’s less time with you, but Johnny also supposes that he shouldn’t be monopolizing on goodie time. He’ll get to see you tomorrow, even though it pains him to head to the till and say goodbye to you so soon.

“Have a wonderful day, you two,” you grin.

“We will,” Johnny promises. His day is already fantastic now that he’s seen you, and he’ll carry the memory of helping you off that stool for many hours to come. “Don’t work too hard.”

“No promises,” you wink.

God, you’re perfect.

“Don’t be mad,” Johnny says, which is not a great start to a call thirty minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up for your date, “but when Winnie heard I was going to the theater with you, she insisted on coming because there’s this new Disney movie that’s showing, and her mom jumped at the idea to have her own date night-”

You listen to the bear hybrid ramble with a smile on your face, and when he finishes, he asks you if you’re okay with Winnie tagging along. “I’d love for her to join us,” you tell him. “You know I adore Winnie.”

Johnny lets out a loud sigh on the other end of the line. “Have I ever told you how perfect you are?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, you are. Very perfect. Thanks for understanding.”

Half an hour later Johnny’s at your door, but he’s not in the convertible muscle car. Instead, an SUV is waiting on the curb, and you see Winnie waving at you frantically through the window.

“You look amazing,” Johnny breathes, taking in your dress with a smile.

“You clean up well too, John,” you smile, enjoying the brown checkered pants and white shirt he’s wearing.

“I’m sorry about this-”

“Don’t be,” you assure him. “As I said on the phone, I’m happy for the little cub to join.”

“Yeah,” Johnny sighs. “This was supposed to be a date-”

“It can still be a date,” you tell him, and you truly mean it.

It’s obvious to you that Winnie is a big part of Johnny’s life, and if you’re going to be part of his world too, it only makes sense for you to embrace his family.

When you get into the car, Winnie is quick to say hello, and she’s practically bouncing in her seat in the back of the vehicle. “It is you!” she exclaims. “Uncle John told me you’d be coming, but I didn’t really believe him!”

“No?” you smile. “Why’s that, cub?”

“Because you’re a princess, and he’s just Uncle John!”

“Ouch,” Johnny laughs, slipping behind the wheel. “That hurts, Win.” He turns the key in the ignition, casting a glance at you. “Do we all have our seatbelts on?”

“Yes, John,” you smile, and your sentiment is echoed by Winnie in the back, “of course, Uuncle John!”

“Why?” he presses, looking over his shoulder at the child in the back seat.

“Because safety is the most important thing!” she all but yells, and you think this must be something of a ritual for the two of them. It’s sweet, and it makes you fall even harder for the bear hybrid.

“Can we turn on my music?” Winnie asks next.

“Of course, cub,” Johnny nods, reaching for the center console, fingers pausing over the play button. “That is, if Miss Bee doesn’t mind the Lion King soundtrack.”

“Not at all,” you assure him.

Music fills the car a moment later, as does Winnie’s high pitched singing voice. When it reaches the chorus of the song, even Johnny joins in, and you wonder how many times he’s listened to this sound track with his niece.

It’s a soft experience, and one you savor every second of as Johnny drives you to the theater.

Winnie insists on walking between you and Johnny when she exits the car, holding both of your hands and doing little jumps that force you and her uncle to lift her off the ground while she giggles.

Once inside, you wait in the concession line and Winnie tells you all about the movie you’re going to see. She’s a massive Disney fan, and you enjoy listening to her talk. You catch Johnny staring at you a few times, and he always flashes you a smile when you meet his eyes.

Johnny gets a large popcorn with extra butter, and when he hands it to Winnie, she notes, “This is as big as me!”

In the theater, Johnny’s adorable niece once again insists on sitting in the middle, and Johnny lets out a small sigh but doesn’t argue with his niece. When you take your seats, however, his arm immediately goes along the back of the chairs, and his fingers find the back of your neck, gently stroking your skin.

He smiles at you when you turn to look at him, giving you a small wink before he entertains Winnie with a discussion on what colour his tail would be if he was a mermaid. Winnie decides hers would be yellow, and when Johnny says his would be green, she insists his would be brown because he’s a brown bear hybrid.

“Does that make you a yellow bear?” Johnny questions teasingly.

“A honey bear,” Winnie corrects. “And Miss Bee would be pink.”

“Really?” Johnny’s brows raise. “And why’s that, cub?”

“Because she has a pretty pink soul,” the child smiles, looking up at you. “And also, your dress is pink, and I like it.”

“Thank you, Winnie, I like your dress too.”

Winnie kicks her feet happily and Johnny rubs his thumb along the back of your neck in small, warm circles.

The lights dim, the movie starts, and you find that you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself. It’s nice to have Johnny’s gentle touch, a constant reminder that - although you’re here with his niece - he’s still doing his best to be attentive to you.

The film flies by, and before you know it, the three of you are exiting the theater. Winnie is dragging her feet, obviously exhausted from a long day at school and an evening movie, so Johnny picks her up, holding her tight to his chest while she wraps her legs around his waist and all but passes out on his shoulder.

At the car, you help Johnny put Winnie into the back seat, and when he closes the door, he turns to you. “Thank you for all of this.”

“Stop thanking me,” you smile. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Me too.” His hands find your waist, and he tugs you closer- only for his phone to ring.

“Shit,” Johnny cusses, the first swear word you’ve heard from him. “One sec, it’s my sister.”

He answers the call, assuring Winnie’s mom that the movie went well and they’ll be home soon. When he hangs up, Johnny tugs you to his chest again, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips.

He seems reluctant to let you go, but he opens your car door for you all the same, shutting it gently behind you once you’re tucked inside.

The drive home is quiet, as Winnie has fully passed out in the back seat. Johnny’s hand is on your thigh, and you place your own on top of his, playing with his fingers.

When you reach your house, Johnny exits the car to walk you to your door, where he kisses you, cupping your face and taking your breath away.

“I want to see you again,” he says, still holding you close.

“I’d love that.”

“How about Thursday? The club usually isn’t that busy on Thursdays. You could come meet a few of my friends.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I think I’d like that.”

“Perfect,” Johnny leans in to kiss you again, and as much as you’d love to melt against him, you’re very aware that Winnie’s mom is waiting for her back home.

“Drive safe, please,” you say when you finally pull away.

“I always do.”

You laugh. “That’s debatable.”

“You just don’t trust my driving skills yet,” Johnny insists.

Before you can stop him, he gives you one final kiss goodbye, and when you watch him turn to walk back to his car, you find yourself wishing he didn’t have to leave.

On Thursday night, you face the dilemma of figuring out what to wear for your date with Johnny. The past two experiences had been fairly classic, with a fair adventure and a trip to the movies, both perfectly suitable locations to wear a cute dress. But tonight, you’re going to a club and you wonder how that should affect your clothing choice.

After much contemplation, and about ten different outfit try-ons, you decide to stick with your usual baby doll style. Johnny seems to like it when you dress cute for him, and you’re banking on the fact that the bear hybrid likes you for you, as opposed to the girls who frequent his club in all forms of scandalous attire.

You’re feeling a little anxious about visiting a hybrid bar, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s not that you personally have anything against hybrids, you’re just used to only being around one or two at a time.

You suppose maybe this is how Johnny feels, being a hybrid in a human dominant world, and the thought makes you a little sad. He always gives off such an air of ease and calmness, as if he doesn’t have a bother in the world. You wonder what adversities he’s had to overcome to get to that mentality, or if he was simply born that way.

Before you know it, Johnny’s picking you up. The convertible muscle car is back, and you take a moment to appreciate him leaning against it on the curb.

He’s dressed up tonight, more so than usual. His dress pants are paired with a button up, and its black silky material is soft to the touch when he pulls you to his chest for a kiss. “You look perfect,” he tells you, pinching at your chin and looking you up and down. “My perfect little honey bee doll.”

“I’m happy you like my dress,” you grin, swaying your hips so the skirt picks up.

Johnny grabs your hand, giving you the space to help you twirl while he lets out a whistle of appreciation. “I always like your dresses,” he admits. “I like your jeans and white t-shirt work outfits, but, I mean…when you walked out on our first date in a dress, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Good, I can’t take my eyes off of you either.”

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him into one last kiss before he opens the car door for you and helps you inside.

The ride is a peaceful one. He asks about your day, tells you about his own, and before you know it, you’re pulling up in front of his club. “You ready to meet my friends, gorgeous?” he asks, reaching over to give your hand a squeeze of reassurance.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before exiting the car.

When you enter the club, with Johnny’s hand securely on the small of your back, it feels like any other bar you’ve been to. The staff are mostly hybrids, but you notice a few humans dressed in black too.

“It’s nice in here,” you tell him, beaming up at the man who makes you so eager to please.

“If you like this, wait till you see the back room,” Johnny grins, leading you past the bar.

“Oh,” you swallow thickly. “Didn’t you mention that the back is hybrid exclusive? Are you sure we should be going back there?”

“You have a good memory,” the bear nods. “It’s hybrid exclusive, but I'm a part owner, so I figure I can do what I want. Besides, this front section doesn’t have a VIP seating area, and my friends prefer to be in places where people can’t overhear us.”

“Are you planning on giving me some trade secrets, John?” You cock a brow and the bear hybrid laughs.

“Something like that.”

You reach the back door, where a bunny hybrid looks you up and down, his large, floppy ears twitching before his gaze shifts to Johnny. “Yuta said you’d be coming in tonight.”

You notice a puppy hybrid of sorts standing a few feet to the side, and his beautiful face is unreadable, his eyes fixed on you.

“Of course he did,” Johnny smiles at the bunny. “There’s not much Yuta can keep from you, is there, Markie?”

The bunny hybrid’s cheeks flare a cute shade of pink and he lets out a cough. “He’s uh… he’s waiting for you in VIP. Hyuck’s there too.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Johnny says, applying a small amount of pressure onto your lower back which prompts you to step past Mark and through the open doorway.

Johnny was right about the hybrid exclusive section being nicer than the front, and you hurry to take it all in with your eyes. As you scan the space, it’s hard not to notice a few looks you get from people within the room.

You’re not sure if it’s because you’re with Johnny, or because you’re a human, but when your eyes catch the gaze of a man behind the bar with large, black raven wings, you get the feeling that it might be the latter.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” you ask, tucking closer to Johnny’s side.

“Definitely,” Johnny nods, leading you toward a set of stairs that leads to the VIP section. “Especially up here.” He takes your hand as you ascend, and you see a booth with two men sitting in it.

One has white hair to match his ashy wolf ears, and you think this must be the Yuta that Johnny has mentioned to you. The other man has his back to you, and you don’t see any obvious hybrid markings.

Johnny hadn’t mentioned much about this ‘Hyuck’ friend of his, other than him being peculiar, and you begin to wonder if Hyuck might be human like you. It would definitely make you feel more comfortable.

“Hey, guys,” Johnny greets his friends as you come to a stop in front of the table. “How’s it going?”

Both the men turn to look at you, and like the hybrids at the door, their gaze shifts down and then back up. The wolf is the first to stand, pulling out of the booth to shake your hand.

“I’m Yuta, and you must be the honey girl,” he flashes you a smile complete with sharp canines that glint in the light. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

“Johnny has been talking about you for months,” Hyuck breathes, but he doesn’t stand. “It was good to hear he finally grew some balls-”

“Hyuck,” Johnny groans, a warning in his tone. “Be nice.”

“You love bears probably want to sit next to each other,” Yuta says, slipping into the booth next to his friend and giving you the other side of the bench.

“Thanks,” Johnny nods, allowing you to sit first before he moves next to you, his arm immediately taking its place behind your shoulders. “Have you two been here long?”

Hyuck shakes his head, playing with the glass of amber liquid in front of him, but it’s Yuta who speaks. “Not long,” he assures you both, obviously the more talkative of the two. “Hyuck was here before me though, something about fucking his girlfriend in the staff bathroom-”

Hyuck grins mischievously and you wonder if this is a common occurrence for him.

“Does your girlfriend work here?” you ask, hoping to get into Hyuck’s good graces.

“Yeah,” his gaze shifts to the dance floor below. “She’s the sexy little bunny running around in that cute black dress.”

“She’s very pretty,” you smile.

“It runs in her family,” Yuta comments.

You’re confused for a moment before Johnny is leaning in close to your ear, “the bunny at the door, Mark, is her brother.”

“Oh,” you blink as you look at the men in front of you. “So you’re dating siblings?”

“I wouldn’t call what Yuta does with Mark dating-” Hyuck grins, earning an elbow in the ribs from the wolf on his side.

Johnny lets out a chuckle. “They’re both being very bad club owners, if you ask me.”

To be fair, both Yuta and Hyuck seem like the types to date their workers, but you suppose you shouldn’t hold that against them. These are Johnny’s friends, and you’re not about to start judging them now.

“So, Hyuck,” you look at the man across from you. “I can’t help but notice you don’t have any uh… any hybrid marks? Let me know if I’m being too forward, but are you human, or?”

Hyuck scoffs. “Definitely not.”

“And before you ask,” Yuta buts in, “his hybrid type is classified information.” The wolf flashes you a wink, and you suppose you should drop the topic. However, you can’t help the pang of anxiety that clutches your heart when you realize you truly are the only human in this back room.

“Johnny,” you look at the bear sitting next to you. “Are you really sure I should be here?”

“It’s fine-” Johnny goes to assure you again, but you can tell from the darkening of Hyuck’s gaze that maybe he doesn’t agree.

Before you can say anything else, Hyuck’s bunny hybrid girlfriend shows up. She smiles at Johnny, asking if he wants the usual, but when her eyes move to you, and you see her nose do a small wiggle, you realize she’s clocking you as a human.

“And what can I get your friend?” the bunny asks, and you’re thankful that she’s still being polite to you, but you can’t shake the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Actually, I think maybe I need some air,” you admit, taking a deep breath.

You suddenly feel very claustrophobic, and it might have to do with being surrounded by predatory hybrids. You don’t know what Hyuck is, exactly, but you’re sure he’s something big, because he acts like he’s got the biggest cock in the room.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asks, standing up from the booth to give you the space to escape your seat.

“Yeah, I just need to go outside for a moment,” you shake your head, turning to apologize to his friends before moving past the bunny hybrid and walking back down the stairs.

You can hear Johnny following you, but you’re in something of a rush as you weave through hybrids staring you down on the dance floor. When you get to the door leading to the front section, Mark stops you with a hand on your forearm. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine, thank you-”

Johnny appears behind you, taking control of the situation as he tells Mark, “She just needs some air.”

The bunny hybrid lets you go, and you scurry to the front door, finally making your escape onto the street where you feel like you can finally take a breath.

Johnny stands two feet away from you, watching you with an empathetic expression. He gives you time to take a few deep inhales before reaching for your hand and pulling you to his chest. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably overreacting-”

“You’re not,” he assures you, cupping your face and giving you a soft smile.

“I just… I feel like… everyone should have a safe space, you know? And I worry that, as a human, being in that back section was sort of like… invading the sanctity of your hybrid only zone. I’m really sorry, John, but I’m not sure if I can go back in there.”

“That’s okay,” he nods. “Maybe I was being…” he searches for the word, “presumptuous tonight. I wanted you to meet my friends, but I didn’t think too hard about how you might feel in that environment. I’m sorry I put you in this situation.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry-”

“Well we can’t both be sorry,” Johnny grins. “So maybe neither of us should be. Maybe tonight just didn’t work out, but that’s okay.”

“Really?” Relief floods your system as you look up into Johnny’s soft brown eyes.

“Really,” he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “What do you say about going somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else?”

“How about my place?” he suggests. “I was planning on inviting you after this, but we could go there now if you want. No pressure though.”

You take a deep breath before you find yourself nodding. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good.” His thumb smooths by your cheek.

“Do you have to go back inside to say goodbye to your friends? I feel bad about making them come down here to meet me only to run away-”

“Trust me, those two would be here watching their bunnies even if we didn’t come out tonight. I’ll just send them a text and explain the situation. We can always meet them another night, at another bar.”

“And you’re sure they won’t hate me?”

“I don’t think anyone could ever hate you, Bee. You’re much too sweet for that kind of reaction.” Johnny smiles. “In fact, I bet Hyuck will be impressed.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because you care so much about the sanctity of the hybrid zone. Much more than I do.”

“You really think your friends will be alright?”

“Without a doubt.” He leans down to press another sweet kiss to your lips, but this one lingers. When he finally pulls away, you’re left wanting more, but he’s already reaching behind himself to open the door to his car for you. “Let’s go, gorgeous. My house is nicer than this place anyways.”

Johnny’s right about his house, it’s much nicer than the club. You guess you shouldn’t be shocked that he’s got a place just out of town, nestled amongst the trees of the forest. It’s a sleek place to live, and you admire the wood detailing of the upgraded cabin like exterior.

“This is a big house,” you muse, as you follow Johnny up the stone steps.

“Too big for me, I think,” he admits. “But it was one of the only places I could find with acreage in the forest, and I wanted a space that felt like home, you know? Winnie loves it here, some nights she sleeps over and we have a fire in the back with s’mores, other days I take her on some of the hiking trails- my land connects with the national forest, and we’ve got easy access to one of the better hiking paths in the park.”

Your heart melts a little. You know Johnny is a fabulous uncle, but you hadn’t realized the true extent of it.

“I love how close you are with Winnie,” you admit. “It can be rare to find a single guy who’s so doting on his younger family members.”

“Then I’m glad we found each other,” Johnny grins. “I’ve had ex’s in the past who would get mad about the time I spend with Winnie, but not you. I really did appreciate how well you took her date crashing that other night.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t a problem. I had a wonderful time.”

Johnny flashes you a grin as he lets you into his house, and you marvel at the interior being as lovely as the outside had been.

“Wow…it feels even bigger inside,” you note. “Will you give me a tour?”

“Of course,” Johnny tosses his keys down on an entryway table, grabbing your hand to begin showing you around.

The lower level has a state of the art kitchen with french doors that open to the outside deck, and Johnny tells you about the barbecues he hosts here. “We even had a family reunion out back two years ago,” he admits. “I’ve got extra rooms, so my grandparents stayed here, and a few of my aunts and uncles- it was a really good time.”

“That sounds like a wonderful reunion,” you smile, enjoying how deep his love for family truly runs.

There’s a large dining room, and a living room with glass windows giving views to the forest. In the corner there’s even a toy chest, and Johnny explains how he bought so many things for Winnie through the years that he just started keeping some at his own house for the time she’d be here with him.

You love that he’s not a man afraid to share his space with a six year old, even if the toy chest does stand out amongst the other furnishings.

The second level is where the bedrooms are, and Johnny lets you peek into Winnie’s room, where there are even more toys overflowing in baskets.

Two more guest bedrooms brings the grand total of sleeping locations to a whopping four, and you can’t help but ask the question that’s on your mind. “Do you think you’d ever want to raise a family here? You’ve got more than enough space for it.”

“Oh, definitely,” Johnny nods. “Some days, when I’m here alone, I think about how much nicer it would be to have a few of my own cubs running around…” he licks his lips, pausing to look at you. “I don’t think we’ve ever talked about whether or not you’d want to have kids.”

“But I’m sure you can guess my answer,” you smile.

Johnny nods, grinning. “I bet you’d love to be a mom, and you’d be good at it, too.”

“Thank you,” you feel heat rising in your skin. “I guess my affection for kids is hard to hide, huh?”

“It’s sweet,” he tells you, “just another one of those perfect attributes of yours.”

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you melt against him, enjoying the warmth of his body.

When Johnny moves away, you’re in something of a daze, and you blink up at him.

“Saved the best room for last,” he tells you, reaching down to take your hand and lead you down the hallway to the final door.

His room truly is the most impressive of them all, a master bedroom if you’ve ever seen one. With floor to ceiling windows along an entire wall, and a large space fitting a bed as well as a seating area, tv and fireplace, you think you could be very satisfied spending a lot of time here.

“Wow, John,” you let out a breath. “I can’t believe this is real, I can’t believe you actually live here-”

“So you like it?” he questions, pressing his body against your back and wrapping his arms around you, head on your shoulder. “My bear cave?”

“If this is a cave, I never want to go back to a real house,” you laugh.

“I might hold you to that,” Johnny says, voice low.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of being in his embrace. And that’s when you feel something hard beginning to press against your bum.

You swallow thickly, leaning back against him while you gain your courage. You know Johnny’s not the type to force anything on you, and something tells you that if you don’t make this first move, you might miss your chance.

Turning in his arms, you look up into Johnny’s chocolate brown eyes. Then you’re kissing him, putting all the passion that’s been brewing into the meeting of your lips. You thread your fingers through his soft hair, eager to get close to him, closer than you’ve ever been before.

You can definitely feel the outline of his cock against your abdomen now, and his hands reach down to find your hips, anchoring you to the front of his body while his tongue glides against your own.

“John,” you moan when his lips move to your neck, “I need you.”

“Yeah?” His tongue grazes your sweet spot and you shiver in his embrace, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of him.

“More than I’ve ever needed anything,” you tell him, meaning it with all of your heart.

With a groan, Johnny reaches down, grabbing your ass and prompting you to jump so you can wrap your legs around his hips. In just a few steps, he can lower you to his bed, and you expect him to follow, to press you against the mattress with his large body-

But instead, he pulls away, looking down at you with dark eyes filled with lust. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, reaching down to play with the bottom of your dress. “I’ve been dreaming about how you’ll taste on my tongue.”

Your pussy throbs at the idea, and you gaze up at him with a body alight in anticipation. “Then… then you should taste me, John.”

The bear hybrid lets out another groan, and then he’s falling to his knees on the edge of the bed, large hands grabbing at your legs to pull you closer.

His lips find your calf, and then your knee. When his face is between your thighs, his pretty ears brush your skin and make you shiver.

“Ticklish?” he grins, continuing to pepper your thighs with soft kisses.

“Very,” you confirm, reaching down to pull the skirt of your dress higher, revealing your underwear to the man between your legs.

“Shit, Bee,” Johnny says, voice shaky as he looks at your core. “You’re soaked through your panties,” at first, his words make heat rise through your body, embarrassment- but then Johnny’s taking a deep breath, and he looks up at you when he comments, “It’s so hot.”

His hands grab at your hips, and in one motion, he’s pulled your pussy to his mouth, tongue pressing against the light pink fabric of your underwear.

It feels amazing, but it’s also such a tease- you can feel the wetness of his own tongue, but it’s just out of reach.

“Johnny, please,” you whimper, pushing your hips forward, wanting more-

His nose brushes by your clit and your legs shake on his shoulders, a gasp of pleasure leaving you as you throw your head back and close your eyes.

His fingers hook in your panties, and it’s a relief when he finally pulls them down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder before diving into your pussy. This time, there’s no fabric in his way, and his tongue licks at you directly, a sensation that drives you completely wild.

“John, it’s so good-” you groan, feeling the need to praise the man who pushes his tongue into your core.

He moans in response, and the vibration has your body tingling. You could get lost in something like this, and you can already feel your mind going practically blank. All that matters is the here and now, you and Johnny.

His nose brushes your clit again and a squeal of delight escapes you, your hands flying to grab at his soft hair and fuzzy ears. “John-”

He pulls his tongue out of your wet hole, licking a full stipe of your pussy before he begins to circle your clit, and you swear you’re in heaven.

You can feel tension building in the pit of your stomach, and you know you’re not going to last long like this. No one’s ever eaten you out before with such vigor, such a need to have you like putty in his hands, and you’re more than happy to comply. In fact, you don’t think you’ll be able to help yourself.

His lips suction around your clit and your legs shake on his shoulders, your grip tightening in his hair, which only makes him groan again. You gasp at the feeling, pushing your hips up, needing more contact-

“I’m close,” you whisper, pussy throbbing as he worships your most sensitive spots.

Suddenly, you feel something else, a finger slipping into your tight hole, and you let out another sound of pleasure. One digit becomes two, and they crook up expertly, reaching a spot that has you crying out.

“That’s it,” Johnny says, pulling just off your pussy, breath teasing your entrance. “I want you to cum, Bee. Want you to cum so bad-”

You let out a strangled gasp from the praise, and when his lips return to your clit, fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, you know you’re going to be a goner.

You pull on his hair, legs shaking as you teeter on the edge of ecstasy. When Johnny growls, the vibrations are enough to send you over, and your pussy clamps down on his fingers, whole body overcome with pleasure that brings a tear to your eye due to the intensity of it all.

He continues his motions, helping you through your high until you’re wiggling in his gasp. His free hand smooths against your abdomen, keeping you still while his tongue and fingers begin to slow.

When he pulls his mouth away, you can finally take a full breath, shuddering in the aftershocks of one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

“You’re just like you were in my dreams,” Johnny tells you, pulling his fingers from your core to suck on. He lets out a groan at your taste. “Sweeter than honey.”

You shouldn’t be in love with Johnny only after three dates, but with lines like this one, you know you most definitely are. In the after haze or your orgasm, you can’t even find it within yourself to care that he has you wrapped around his finger.

“Johnny,” you whisper his name, opening your eyes to look at the man who’s now standing by the edge of the mattress. “Need you now.”

“Let me just grab condoms,” he tells you, heading for the bedside table while tugging his shirt off.

Your pussy throbs just at the sight of him. He’s so big and built and bear-like, in the best possible way-

He undoes his pants, pulling out a condom package that he opens with his sharp teeth. Part of you thinks you should be getting naked too, especially when his briefs come down to join the pants on the floor, but as you watch him roll the rubber onto his large cock, you think maybe he’d enjoy it if the dress stays on… for just a little longer.

When Johnny turns to join you on the bed, you pat the space next to you. He quirks a brow, but follows through, falling flat onto his back. You take the opportunity to mount him, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips while you adjust your skirts, letting them fall over you both delicately.

“You can take this off of me in a minute,” you tell him, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, “but you’ve always told me how much you like my dresses, so I thought-”

“You look amazing,” Johnny confirms, grabbing at your hips and urging you to grind down against his cock, which is caught between your bodies. “My cute princess.”

“My big bear,” you smile, lips moving to his neck while you continue to swivel your hips.

Johnny lets out a groan of appreciation and you kiss him again, tasting yourself on his tongue. You reach under your dress, wrapping your fingers around his cock and squeezing, which earns another moan from the man who makes such perfect sounds.

“How am I going to fit this inside of me?” you ask.

“You can go slow,” he assures you, already panting from your hand alone.

You pull away from his lips, sitting up straight and lifting yourself so you can adjust him beneath you. As you begin to lower yourself on his cock, you find yourself moaning desperately from just the head and the way it stretches you out so well.

You’ve taken some well endowed men before, and the tactic that always worked was small bounces, allowing your pussy to get used to the intrusion as you slowly work your way to fullness. However, Johnny’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had.

“Relax,” he tells you, rubbing circles on your hips through your dress. “Take your time, princess.”

But you don’t want to take your time, you want him inside of you, completely. You want to feel him everywhere, and soon, you’re fully sinking down on his cock, eagerly bending over to press your lips to his again while you both moan at the feeling.

You begin to ride him, thighs straining with the effort, but the reward is worth the muscle ache, and you get lost in the feeling of his cock splitting you open. Johnny begins to meet your thrusts, abdominal muscles flexing with effort while his tongue invades your mouth and he eats up your sweet sounds.

“As much-” Johnny breaks your kiss, gasping. “As much as I like your dress, I want to see you.”

You straighten again, easily pulling the fabric from your body so all that’s left is your bra. You begin to reach behind yourself to undo the clasp, but Johnny beats you to it, sitting up and easily removing the last piece of clothing keeping you from him.

“Shit,” Johnny groans, cupping one of your breasts with his large hand while his lips find your other nipple. His teeth graze the sensitive bud and you cry out, tangling your fingers in his hair while your pussy clenches around his cock.

Johnny moans beneath you, pulling his mouth from your breasts. He looks up at you with a wildly desperate expression. “Can I take over?” he asks, breathless. “I don’t think I can hold back anymore.”

“Please.” No sooner is the word out of your mouth than his hand is securing around the small of your back and he’s rolling you both, pressing you down against the mattress as his large body dwarfs your own.

“If it’s too much, let me know,” Johnny tells you, swallowing thickly while gazing down at your form. “I can be rough sometimes, even if I don’t mean to be.”

“I’m sure I’ll be okay,” you smile, cupping his face. “I’ve never actually said this before but… Big Bear, break my back like a glowstick.”

Johnny laughs. “You got it, Bee.”

His lips find your neck, and you close your eyes, grabbing at his strong shoulders as his hips begin to move.

Now that he’s on top, he’s somehow fucking you even deeper than before, and each glide of his cock against your inner walls has your toes curling in pleasure.

He sucks on your sweet spot, making you gasp as his movements get rougher and rougher, the bed beginning to rock from the force of his thrusts.

“John,” you whimper, body alight from the feeling of him, “Don’t stop-”

He only grins, fucking you harder, one hand lifting your leg higher on his hip so his cock can hit a spot deep inside of you that has you gasping-

“Oh my god-”

“Close already, Bee?” Johnny chuckles.

“You just feel so good,” you tell him.

You’ve never experienced anything like this, and you’re not sure if it’s due to his big cock, his ability to use it, or the fact that you actually sort of love the guy you’re literally making love to.

“That makes two of us,” Johnny says, kissing you again and taking your breath away.

You try to focus on his lips, to slow the orgasm building in the pit of your stomach, but it’s hard to distract from the cock that's splitting you open like nothing ever has before.

“Shit,” your bear hybrid breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against the crook of your neck, “If you keep making sounds like that, I’m not going to last long-”

“Me neither,” you confess, although he already knew that. “John… you’ll cum with me, right?”

“How could I ever say no to you?” he groans, fingers flexing against your hips. “You’re already so tight, if you cum, I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself.”

You moan at his words, stroking your fingers across his strong back. “Please, I’m so close-”

The bear hybrid practically growls, and the sound goes straight to your core, making you throb around his cock.

“You feel so good, I’m going insane-” you continue your praise, as every time you speak, he somehow fucks you harder. You’re not quite sure where he’s getting his stamina from, but you’ll never be one to complain about it.

Johnny lets go of your hip, and then he’s pushing his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit.

A strangled moan escapes you at the contact, your eyes clenching shut as your body is suddenly teetering on the edge-

“Cum for me, Bee,” he pants against your throat, “I can’t hold it any longer.”

Your entire body tenses as pleasure erupts through you, muscles screaming at how good everything feels. Gasping sounds slip past your lips, and you hold onto Johnny’s shoulders tightly, mind completely blank as the most intense orgasm of your life overtakes you.

The bear hybrid lets out groans of his own, hips twitching as he fills the condom, fucking you through all the pleasure. When he kisses you, you’re already breathless, and his lips don’t help the situation. You’re completely overwhelmed by Johnny, and you’ve never loved anything more.

As you come down from your highs, his thrusts slow, and he stills on top of you, cock buried deep in your pussy while you both catch your breaths.

“Wow,” Johnny says, laughing a little to himself as his kisses move to your neck again. “That was even better than my dreams.”

“You’ve been dreaming about me a lot, haven’t you, Big Bear?” you grin, tracing nothings on his shoulders.

“More than I care to admit.” He swallows thickly. “And something tells me the dreams will only continue.”

“They better,” you smile up at him when he pulls away from your throat.

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

With one last kiss to your lips, Johnny rolls off of you and stands up. You can’t help but watch him as he heads to the ensuite bathroom. His body is the most perfect thing you’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing and experiencing.

You take a few breaths while you wait for him to come back, trying to ground yourself.

After the bathroom, Johnny heads into his walk-in closet, coming out a moment later in a pair of black briefs. “I got you a shirt,” he says, holding it out for you. “As much as I love that dress, I think this might be more comfortable for you.”

“Thanks, Big Bear,” you grin, taking it and putting it on. The fabric swallows you up, and you smile at how good it feels to be wearing his clothes.

“I was thinking…” he sits on the bed next to you, hand smoothing up your thigh, “I’m pretty hungry after that workout. Can I make us something to eat?”

“I’d love that,” you say, sitting up.

“Good,” he takes your hand and pulls you to your feet before finding your panties on the floor. “Here, you might want these too.”

You laugh, accepting the underwear and bending over to slip them on.

“So what’s on the menu, chef?” you ask, following him out of the bedroom.

“Well, I know it’s not much, but I was thinking avocado toast.”

“Sounds perfect,” you grin, padding down the stairs after him to the main floor.

In the kitchen, you take a seat at the large island table, watching him as he heads to the fridge and pulls out a few ingredients.

You’re once again struck by how wonderful the silences can be with John. There’s no pressure to fill them with words, and you can simply relax while you watch your Big Bear hybrid work.

His muscles are particularly enthralling as he pulls out a knife and opens the avocado, setting half of it down before he begins to peel off the skin.

“Look at you go,” you smile, “opening that bad boy like a pro.”

Johnny flashes you a look and then lets out a laugh. “I used to absolutely brutalize avocados,” he confesses. “Yuta’s dad owns a sushi restaurant in Japan, so he knows how to do all this cooking stuff. The first time he saw me open one of these he nearly had an aneurysm.”

“Was it that bad?”

“I used to leave the peel on, slice it up, and then try to scoop it out with a spoon,” Johnny grins at the memory. “So yeah, pretty bad.”

You’d never have guessed Johnny would have had such humble beginnings with knife wielding, but you suppose everyone starts somewhere.

You enjoy watching his hands while he works, laying the peeled avocado flat while he slices it in perfect chunks. He’d put bread in the oven at the start, and as he finishes up with the avocado, he pulls the pan of toast out, the colour a nice golden brown.

“Do you make this sort of thing often?” you ask.

“Often enough,” Johnny nods. “Winnie likes her avocados almost as much as her honey.” He places the green slices on the bread, using a fork to press them down before he grabs salt and pepper.

“Can’t wait to try it,” you grin.

“There’s just one last ingredient though,” Johnny tells you, finding a jar of honey sitting on the counter. You watch as he drizzles the golden liquid on top of the avocado, and you can’t help but find the bear hybrid incredibly charming. “There we go,” he smiles, putting all the pieces onto a plate before coming around the table to join you on the bar stools.

“Cheers,” you say, holding up one slice for Johnny to gently touch with his own.

“To the bears, the bees, and the honey that connects them,” he muses.

“To us,” you agree, picking up on the metaphor.

You know that there’s technically nothing special about avocado toast, but it’s still one of the best things you’ve eaten in ages, and you find yourself groaning after the first bite.

“Is it really that good?” Johnny laughs, watching your expressions with a smile.

“Better than good,” you confirm. “If running a club doesn’t work out, you could always be a chef.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Johnny nods with a smile. “You haven’t even tried my barbecue yet.”

“Something tells me you know how to handle your meat.”

The bear laughs at your comment, and you realize too late the sexual connotation of your words.

“I didn’t mean-” you go to correct yourself, but you end up face palming instead, letting out a groan.

“You’re too cute,” Johnny assures you, resting a hand on your knee. “Hey, listen, if you want me to drive you home, I can, but… how would you feel about staying the night?”

“Really?” you blink at him.

He nods. “Really.”

“I think I’d love that,” you admit.

“Perfect, then it’s settled. Mi casa es su casa.”

You smile at the notion of his house being your house. “Since when did you speak Spanish?”

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me.” His thumb rubs circles on your thigh.

“Well,” you reach down to cover his hand with your own, “I can’t wait to find out more.”

Johnny had closed the blinds last night, so when you wake up in a literal man cave, you kind of want to see the sun. However, Johnny looks so peaceful lying next to you, his plump lips just slightly parted, his fluffy ears twitching from whatever is happening in his dream land- and you think it would be a shame to wake him so abruptly to the light.

You take the time to appreciate him, wondering how you ever got so lucky to end up where you are now. You’d always had a crush on him, but you’d never expected it to be anything more.

You’re so happy that he’d felt the same way you had. If he’d never made a move and asked you out, well- you don’t want to think about that.

When you shift ever so slightly, Johnny’s eyes open, and he squints at you, letting out a groan. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice gruff from sleep.

“I’m perfect,” you tell him. “Are you waking up now?”

“It’s too early,” Johnny grunts, pulling you closer and burrowing his face in your neck.

“I guess I’m used to waking up at this time,” you note.

“Do you have to go? Is there work?”

“I’m thinking of calling in sick, that is… if you want me to spend the day with you.”

“Fuck, yes please.” His breath is hot against your throat.

“I’m just going to step out to make the call, and when I come back, do you mind if I open these blinds? I know this is your bear cave and all, but if you’re going to sleep a little longer, I’d love some light to read a book or something.”

Johnny only groans, but you take it as an affirmative as you untangle yourself from his grasp.

Five minutes later, the room is lit with sunshine and you’re slipping into bed next to him again. Your family has always been extra close with the owner of Queen B’s Honey, so calling in had been simple, and you’re excited about what your day with Johnny will bring.

You’ve found a book to read, some fiction off Johnny’s bookshelf, and when you get under the covers, Johnny is quick to cuddle up next to you again. “Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, voice as groggy as ever.

“Of course, Big Bear,” you smile, adjusting to allow him to curl up next to you. He lets out a deep breath once he’s settled, and you smooth your hands through his hair, gently scratching at the base of his ear.

Johnny lets out a deep groan. “Feels good.”

He falls asleep just seconds later, and you continue stroking him while you read.

Time flies by, and you’re not sure how long you’ve been reading when Johnny finally wakes up again. He lets out a soft groan, cuddling closer to your side. “Good morning.”

“Hi, sleepy bear.”

“I had dreams about you,” he says softly.

“You did?”

“Uh huh,” his hand strokes by your thigh.

“What happened in your dream?” you press, gently scratching his fluffy ear.

Johnny lets out a laugh. “Maybe I shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Was it something bad?”

“Something good,” he confirms. “It involved a few cubs running around.”

Your heart thumps wildly in your chest. “Wow, John, I didn’t know you were really thinking that far ahead in the future for us.”

“I can’t help it,” he confesses, rolling onto his back to look up at you. “I know we’ve only had a few dates, but… well, I’ve been into you for months. It’s at a point where I don’t even really look at other girls, and I’m fine if you don’t want to be exclusive or anything-”

“Who said I don’t want to be exclusive?”

A lazy smile covers Johnny’s face, and he sits up, cupping your cheek in his warm hand. “You really want to give this a try?”

“I’d be stupid not to, don’t you think?”

“I mean… I’ve met girls who will only see me as a hybrid, as someone to mess around with for a little while before finding a human partner again. I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t see a future for us.”

“Oh, John,” you shake your head, “I’m not like those other girls.”

“I guess not,” he leans in, pressing his lips to yours.

You feel so blessed to be able to give this a shot with Johnny, a real shot. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, and as he pulls you into his arms, you have a feeling that everything is going to work out better than either of you could possibly imagine.

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🔮 preview. “Give me a sec and I’ll pull off to a residential street,” he tells you, flicking his turn signal on. “It will take a minute or two longer to get home, but something tells me you won’t mind.” He’s literally the perfect man, and you’re working to get his zipper undone the moment you’re off the main road. Johnny lifts his hips, helping you tug his jeans down just enough to get at your prize.

cw/ tw. Exhibitionism, blowing Johnny while he drives, hand job, sex outside in the forest on a car, car sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise, quickie, etc… I pet names: (hers) Bee, Princess. (his) Big Bear, John.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2k I teaser wc. 350

🌙 staring. Johnny x afab!reader

bonus

Going to a baseball game is one of your favourite family outings. Between you, Johnny, his sister, and his sister’s husband, the four adults can handle the four cubs that run around you like excitable little rascals at all times.

Hotdogs and popcorn are cheap, and Winnie, as the oldest of the group of kids, spends the whole game explaining what’s happening to your sons, who are much too young to care about baseball.

You and Johnny sit on either side of Winnie, each holding a wiggling three year old twin in your arms. Winnie’s mom and her dad are in the row just in front of you, their own two year old in their grasp.

“So now,” the nearly ten year old Winnie explains to the toddler in your arms, “the bases are fully loaded, and the game is almost over, so the guy with the big bum has to make this hit-”

Johnny murmurs the name of the player up to bat, but Winnie ignores him. She has names for each man on the pitch, and it just so happens that the man swinging has the biggest butt.

The crack of the ball against the bat alights the stadium in cheers as everyone at their bases begin to run, and Johnny stands, holding his toddler while he watches. His baseball cap is backward, but it’s still clear by the jersey he’s wearing that he’s a home pitch superfan. “Go, go, go!” he screams. “Run, butt guy, run!”

You love him, and your perfect family.

You stand too, as this last run of the game is important to your evening plans. If your home team wins, Johnny’s sister will take your twins for the night and give you and Johnny some alone time. However, if her away team wins, you and Johnny are on babysitting duty.

“Go, butt guy! Go!” Winnie cheers, and you find it almost comical how the little girl has no clue that she’s helping cheer on the odds of her sweet Uncle John getting laid.

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pedgito · 4 months

Text

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Six: Epilogue

Chapter Summary: You spend a year trying to forget about Joel, with no avail. And Joel, who's life has changed in ways he never anticipated lead to a year full of obstacles, until one fateful day when he sees you again.

Chapter Warnings: (6k) : no outbreak, the aftermath, lots of feelings, some parenting issues within joel's relationship with sarah's mom, reader still having no idea wtf to do with her life, intense feelings between joel/reader, underlying lust for each other (i mean, are we surprised?), open-ended ending

Life doesn’t just fall back into place, as much as you wished it had.

For you, it takes more than a few days or weeks, rather several months to not ache from the loss of Joel, something so special to you for such a short period of your life. His gift, the small carved wolf he’d given you for Christmas sat beside your bed, something you fell asleep to and woke to every morning—after a while, fortunately, it was less of a burden to look at and more of a beautiful reminder.

Your relationship with your family slowly improves, though it is rocky at first. You’re an adult, but it doesn’t stop the constant prying questions and worries about your life—something you have to set boundaries around. But, as a whole, you find that giving them a chance to improve and better their relationship with you is better than nothing at all.

And you want to say that you’ve figured out college and exactly what you wanted to do with your life, but it isn’t even close to being on your radar—and you enjoy your job now, working as one of the few employees at your local bookstore along with a serving job at the diner down the road, closer to the suburbs. You still keep your apartment in Austin and the commute from the city to there isn’t horrible, but it could be better.

There are long weeks, a few moments when Joel fades from your mind almost completely—but as fate would have it, something would remind you of him.

At first, it was nearly everything.

Coffee in the early mornings when you walked beyond the coffee shop beside the bookstore, the smell of coffee beans like a pavlovian response, heartbeat skipping at the memory of Joel, smiling softly around the rim of his cup as he sipped away. Sometimes so noisy that you know it was only to annoy you.

Or, it’s music. God awful country that had you grimacing at the first note, knowing Joel would be nodding his head along without a problem, somehow managing to find some enjoyment in it. Other times, it’s the music you listened to often, knowing he’d take interest in and probably like himself. Usually you would have a quiet playlist of music playing over the radio in the bookstore and even that takes a few months to feel like less of a thing.

Sometimes, it was nothing at all. A gruff clear of the throat could make you think Joel was in your presence, the sight of that green flannel he never took off, worn on a body that didn’t belong to him.

You’d like to think that Joel didn’t matter to you. That he didn’t matter at all.

But, that was so far from what was believable.

And to his credit, he does get you the money for the cabin refunded.

It comes a few weeks after you arrive back in Austin, toward the end of January. It didn’t have any other note than a ‘Sorry for the inconvenience over the holiday and that you couldn't stay—here's your refund for the cabin’. So, essentially, Joel had lied to them.

You couldn’t even blame him, really. He’d done well on his promise.

For Joel, there are waves of intensity when he thinks of you.

He doesn’t go out often anymore, keeping himself inside rather than finding a reason to go out on weekends and late nights after a rough day at work—he’s found easier ways to cope with the loneliness, taking up his wood carving more seriously. He set up a small area in his bedroom that he spends most of his time in now, carving out and selling personalized items for extra money on the side.

Sarah had to explain him through setting up his own shop online over the phone, but once it was said and done, he was able to manage fine.

And, maybe it was some other-worldly being sending him a gift, but a few months after he arrives back in Austin, still reeling, he gets a call from Sarah—mostly her crying and a lot of Joel consoling her down to an understandable, calmer state. In that time, he learns of just how much has changed since he’d went away for that month and in the short period that he didn’t have contact with Sarah due to her mother and her resistance to allowing Joel any leeway or fairness in their strained relationship, if you could call it that.

Sarah was hysterical, going on and on about how she was never going to see him again.

“Babygirl, slow down, please,” He begged, struggling to make out anything beyond the sobs, “I can’t understand you when you’re cryin’ like that. Are you okay?”

“I’m—I’m not supposed to call you.” She stammers, her cries dying out slowly, “She said I was grounded and took my phone but dad—she’s going to get me in trouble when she finds out that–that I called you.”

“That’s not possible, alright?” He tells her, trying to remain level-headed, “You can call me anytime you want, you know that.”

“She—She won’t tell you,” Sarah’s voice is hushed, like she’s hiding and trying not to get caught as she talks over the other line, “but mom got a new job, it’s in Las Vegas.”

Joel feels the anger beginning to build quickly, having a faint idea where this was heading but not wanting to direct any of it toward his daughter.

“Baby, go find your mom and put her on the phone.” He tells her soft but stern, feeling his phone pop under his grip, hoping that he hadn’t cracked it, but trying to simmer down his rage for his own good.

“She’s gonna be mad, dad.”

“Sarah,” He tells her once, and it’s enough, “Get your mom.”

The talk doesn’t go well, but it also doesn’t go horrible either.

“You’re not takin’ her from me,” It’s the first thing he says, not allowing a word from her as he hears her breath over the phone, “and you’re not gonna get her in trouble for tellin’ me either.”

“Joel—”

“No, I don’t want to hear what excuses you have this time.” He continues, “We have a custody agreement—you break that, I’m takin’ you to court without a goddamn second of hesitation. You already keep her enough from me as is, knowing she likes it here more. You’re never around, you leave her with a nanny all the fuckin’ time. And you want to up and move out of the state without tellin’ me?”

“I was gonna tell you—”

“What, when you were already moved?” Joel retorts, “That why you took Sarah’s phone away, because she was tryin’ to warn me about all this? You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ nerve to think you can just take her like that.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been so irresponsible you would have her more. It’s not my fault you made choices that endangered our daughter and uprooted my plans, having to become the sole provider because you’re goddamn alcoholic—”

“Look, I know the choices I made. I’ve paid for them, for years now. It was one—one fuckin’ time in my life. If you think I’m gonna let you take her from me now, like that, you’ve lost your mind. I will take you to court over this.”

In the end, it does end up going through the process of rearranging custody—Joel no longer tied down by his charges and his willingness to openly test as asked, whenever, and that he take primary custody of her in the weeks that her mother would be away in Nevada for work, which ended up being about a week within every month.

It’s a big shift for Joel, but one he takes on willingly and with so much confidence that it doesn’t phase him, in fact, it feels like nothing has changed. Just that Sarah is a constant in his life, physically, rather than something out of his reach.

By July, she’s with him full-time when she’s not with her mother, and even those weeks are often cut short, called off for emergencies and ultimately ending with Joel having to pick her up after a few days—it didn’t bother him, it never would.

And he’s thankful for Sarah, because she occupies his mind entirely.

He feels bad for the days he doesn’t think of you at all, so wound up in his own daily life and routine that he doesn’t even have a minute to think about anything else—but, maybe it was better that way.

But, there’s a brief moment when the first snowfall happens that year, later in November around the time that Sarah is taking a break from school for the holidays, that she hits him with a question he doesn’t expect, nor does he understand how she even came to the conclusion in her own mind.

“Hey, dad,” She speaks curiously, head turned to him over the couch to look at him where he stood in the kitchen, “who took that picture last year that you sent?”

“What are you talkin’ bout, babygirl?” He asks, standing over the stove as he cooked dinner, lounging in his pajamas and cooking something of a semblance of what could be Thanksgiving–but, it was just him, Sarah, and Tommy, so it wasn’t as extravagant as it needed to be.

“That picture of you with the snowman last year—for Christmas?” Her eyes are searching his face, not for an answer but rather because she has that innocence that children and young teen hold, the obliviousness to everything but what is going in their world—Joel shakes his head, your face flashing in his mind as he white knuckles the spoon he’s using to stir and thinks about lying.

He wants to lie. He should.

But, he can’t remember a time he’s ever lied to Sarah outside of something for her own protection—and this was something Joel thought of fondly, his time shared with you.

So, he doesn’t lie.

“I, uh—met a friend there. She helped me out and took a picture to make sure I could send somethin’ to you, seein’ as I didn’t get to spend the time I wanted with you last year.”

“Oh,” Sarah chews at the inside of her cheek, “a girl?”

“Yes, babygirl.”

Sarah nods—the meticulous and intelligent child she is, she catches the lingering smile on Joel’s face and leans in, arm slung over the back of the couch as she asked another question.

“So, when you say friend—” She purses her lips together, eyes squinting with accusation

“Sarah.” It’s a warning to ease off, but if anything, it makes her giggle.

“Oh, so, not a friend.” She surmises, “Got it.”

She was too damn smart for her own good.

“Do you still talk to her?” She asks, fully aware of how things were with Joel and her mother, that they didn’t get along from the jump despite their willingness to work together to make sure she had some semblance of a normal childhood with both parents in the picture—it was never the way she wanted it to be, but it was out of her control.

She was fourteen now, she had the right to understand things. She questioned Joel everyday, sometimes about things even he didn’t understand. And he’s thankful to have her around, knowing she keeps him on his toes, never knowing what to expect.

“No, babygirl. I don’t.”

Joel’s bitterness about it isn’t evident in his voice, but she sees it in the way his eyes flick away briefly, toward his room. But, the knock at the door is a lifesaver, pulling them both out of the moment.

“Should be uncle Tommy, get the door.” He tells her.

She doesn’t ask about it again, thankfully. Joel doesn’t know how much more he could handle explaining to her, knowing you were only a memory to him now.

Christmas comes quick too, the year flying by as Joel switches into full dad mode without a single hesitation. School, sports, teenagers—it’s a big change but he handles it with as much ease as he can, along with work and everything else he’s taken on.

“Dad, you remember that bookstore we passed the other day?” Sarah asks, bugging her dad from the passenger seat as they leave their third store for the day, giving Sarah free-range to spend her money she’d accumulated over the holiday. “Next to that coffee shop you like to go to sometimes.”

“Yeah—that your last stop for the day?” Joel asks curiously, but also silently hoping she’d agree, exhausted out of his mind and ready to take a nap on the couch the moment they got home–a mix of older age and being a parent, never feeling like the sleep he got was enough.

“Yes, I promise.” Sarah smiles, settling into her seat comfortably and clicking the seatbelt into place.

Luckily, it isn’t too far of a drive from where they were, a few blocks down and a couple of turns later and Joel is taking an open parking spot in front of the coffee shop, not anticipating how busy the bookstore would be and Sarah can see it all over Joel’s face.

“People still read, dad.” Sarah chides, “You know that, right?”

‘Course I do, smartass.”

He was well aware of a certain someone’s reading habits.

The day after Christmas is almost never calm, packed to the brim with kids eager to spend their parent’s money on books and toys and things that would inevitably get trashed or lost eventually—but it’s nice. The shift will fly by, you’ll make a lot of children happy, and you’ll go home. An easy day.

So easy that it seemed too good to be true.

You find a lull in the rush, slipping into the backroom to grab a box of books for reshelving, too busy in your own head as your crouched on the floor behind the counter to open the box, unaware of the presence of a couple customers that loomed near the front entrance, circling a trove of books while a crowd of others filtered out through the front doors. The bells ring and despite looking, you still let out the normal greeting and a few kind words.

“Welcome in, I’ll be with you in a minute.” You say sweetly, tucked away and out of sight.

“Oh, that’s alright—my daughter is just havin’ a look around.”

And if there was a surefire way to make your heart stop—it was that voice.

That voice you knew so well that there wasn’t even the smallest doubt in your mind.

You take a deep breath, lugging the open box in your arms as you haul it to a nearby table and Joel doesn’t even think before he’s offering to help, still blissfully unaware of the trap he’s set himself up in, only freezing when you push his hand away gently.

“I’ve got it, Joel.” You say softly, your face tilting up into view and his eyes pulling to yours in an instant, the mix of panic and relief setting in at the same time—the feeling so intense he almost forgets where he is. “It’s fine.”

Joel clears his throat, glancing over at Sarah who is a few aisle deep, in her own world as she sifted through the selection of books.

“Well, I guess you found me.” You said playfully, a way to ease the worry that you could see crossing his face, thinking that he’d crossed a line unknowingly. Joel never asked where you worked, never even put together the connection or possibility that you could work in a bookstore this close to his home, the area he visited almost weekly. He’s gotten coffee next door more times than he can count on two hands and the idea that you were just a few feet out of reach—something dies inside of him. “Hey.”

His fist curls, restraining the instinct to reach out and touch you, held tight at his side as he trades a few quick looks between you and Sarah, like he’s fighting a losing battle within him.

It’s been a year. A year since he’s seen you, months since he’s thought about you like he did those first few weeks, vivid dreams like he was back in the cabin all over again. It all rushes back in an instant and you can see it in the trading gaze you share, your breath shallowing, slightly turning away to continue the task at hand, organizing the books in neat piles. Joel looks on the brink of saying something again before a young girl, bright and shining smile and ringlet curls that frame her face perfectly, bouncing at her shoulders as she comes to stand beside Joel.

Sarah. This was Sarah.

“Dad, come on,” She yanks at his wrist, fingers curling around his forearm, “I need you to carry the books I wanna buy.”

“O—okay, babygirl.” He nods, a responding touch as he placates her impatience and nods, “Let’s go.”

And when he leaves, even if it was just briefly, you have a moment to breathe. It stings, eyes squeezing closed as you force away the threat of burning tears, staring out at busy street to force yourself to think about anything but Joel—you were finally at a place where things felt normal, like you hadn’t been reeling over him for most of this time.

The roles were switched, where Joel should’ve been the one still caught up with the idea you, he was moved on and focused on other things—but you, it was the most intense heartache you’ve ever felt seeing him again.

He’s so much softer around her—a color to him that radiates around him. He hasn’t changed in the sense that he mostly appears the same. Same ridiculous flannel over a plain shirt, straight-cut jeans over heavy boots, for work or not. That same watch snug around his wrist, hair slightly grown out and curling at the ends, facial hair in full force.

It was like no time had passed.

But clearly, so much had.

Eventually you wrap up, hiding behind the counter again as you store the empty box away, tapping mindlessly at the surface of the counter as you try not to look his way and fail, catching his gaze everytime. He was looking at you too and he couldn’t stop—looking helpless as he hauled a mountain of books in his arm, pulled along by the younger girl.

Time passes slow, feeling torturous until Joel and Sarah finally make their way to the front counter, a forced smile flashing across your face that no one would be able to see through—it was perfected for times like these, feeling so out of your body that you worked on auto-pilot, scanning the books with a few off-hand compliments of how much you loved a certain one or if you enjoyed it, earning an innocent giggle from Sarah.

Joel smiles subtly, a hand on Sarah’s shoulder as he squeezes.

You note it, glancing up at Joel kindly.

He was happier, so much happier than you met him a year ago. And you had a good idea why.

You read out the total and Sarah hands over a wad of cash that you sift through, gathering her change and carefully placing her books in the paper bag, listening to Joel and Sarah’s idle conversation.

“Oh, can we stop at the coffee shop next door that you like to go to?” Sarah asks, “Please? Last stop, I promise.”

It hurts, the instant it leaves her mouth you feel the way Joel locks his eyes on you.

He’s been there, right under your nose this entire time.

How long? How long had this been going on? Before? After?

The coincidence of Joel being the one in that cabinet seemed insignificant then, but not now.

“Yeah—yeah, uh—can you wait in the truck for me?” He asks, praying she doesn’t ask any more questions. “I’m gonna check if they have somethin’ real quick.”

Sarah eyes him weirdly, glancing at you briefly before she shrugs. “Okay.”

Joel watches her leave, waits until she’s in the truck and out of sight before he speaks.

“I didn’t know.” Joel says immediately, “I swear—god, if I would’ve just—”

“Hey,” You stop him, placing a hand against his palm that is pressed flat against the counter, “you’re fine. It’s okay.”

Were you okay? No.

Working so hard to get him out of your mind was all for naught now, his palm turning face up to curl around your own briefly, his eyes flicking up slightly.

“I gotta go or she’s gonna bite my head off,” He tells you, but is quickly reaching for something in his back pocket.

His phone, which he swiftly slides across the table.

Is he asking for your number? Duh, of course he is.

“Just—in case you need anything.” Joel offers lamely, but you take it. “I—I thought you said you lived in the city?”

“I do,” You punch your number in quickly, without hesitation, “doesn’t mean I work there too.”

Fair point.

He wants to talk. You can see it on his face.

But, not here. Not like this.

He swipes his phone back, pocketing it with his free hand. And he nearly slips his hand from your own before you’re gripping him tight, holding him prisoner under your gaze.

“I’m free,” You tell him quickly, “L-later, after seven. Just—just text me, okay?”

The please felt too strong, so you restrain it in your mind.

A year—an entire fucking year. Wasted. There were so many questions you had, so many things you wanted answered. But, more importantly, you just wanted Joel.

Joel in whatever form he could offer, even if that was just a few minutes of his time after your shift, just for closure. Closure was all you needed to get over him.

“Got it, darlin.” He nods, pulling his hand from your grip gently. “I’ll be seein’ you.”

At least this time it was true.

Joel’s never been so thankful for Tommy in his life, cancelling his plans at the drop of hat for Sarah—which, given that it was his favorite and only niece, it was never an issue.

Joel didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone, even at her age, and having Tommy around offered some peace of mind—but it also led to a line of questioning Joel wasn’t ready to answer.

“Got a hot date then?” Tommy jokes when he shows up at his front door later that evening, “Who is it?”

Joel closes the door with a silent click as he ignores his brother, walking back into the kitchen to pocket his car keys and sending a quick text to your number.

Joel: Now a good time?

You: I’m closing but I’ll be off in the next half hour.

Joel: Okay.

He was leaving already anyways, his mind itching for answers to lingering questions and the urge to be near you again after so long—his once clear head now filled with the thought of you, distant memories now vivid scenes playing in his head.

“Give me a couple hours,” Joel tells him, “that’s it—Sarah’s in her room, doubt she’ll come out for the rest of the night.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow in question, searching in the fridge for a beer he won’t find—it was a bad habit he was trying to break himself, so he settles on a can of soda and taps the top of the aluminum can before opening it.

“Some kind of project—I don’t know,” He didn’t try to understand anymore, Sarah was always working on something and Joel didn’t need to know everything, so he let it be, “just two hours, alright?”

“Got it, brother.” He tips the can gently in a way of saying get the fuck on already and leave, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

As if there was anything Tommy wouldn’t.

Joel rolls his eyes and leaves without another word.

When he pulls up around the back of the line of shops, the lights are already off in the surrounding businesses and he can spot a shadow by the backdoor, fumbling with a doorknob. He rolls down his window so you can see his face, like you might’ve forgotten the truck he drove—the same hunk of metal he brought with him then.

When you turn, you spot him with a smile. You hold up a finger in wait as you toss you belongings in your car, quickly locking the vehicle and pocketing your own keys into your jacket as you made your way to his truck, brimming with anxiety and uncertainty as you climbed inside, welcomed by the warmth of the air coming from the car vents, settling in as comfortably as you could.

It was exactly the same, aside from a small picture of Joel and Sarah that hung around the rearview mirror—it looked new, it had to be. You smile again, unsure and awkward.

“So, uh—”

“I didn’t know.” Joel quickly interrupts, easing the curiousness you had around the one question you were terrified to ask.

Had he known the entire time? Had he just been avoiding you until he couldn’t anymore? It seemed unlikely, but the doubt slipped in regardless.

You nod slowly, squeezing your hands together, the cold still prickling your skin uncomfortably.

Joel notices, turning in his seat to reach toward the back, pulling out a spare blanket he kept in the back for no particular reason other than just to have it—but suddenly he’s eternally thankful that it’s there.

“Thank you, Joel.” You tell him, draping it over your crossed legs.

He’s missed the way you say his name so gently, like he wasn’t the monster he constantly viewed himself as.

“Do you wanna go somewhere?” Joel asks softly, hand gripping the steering wheel firmly, the other resting relaxed against his thigh.

“Uh, sure—I don’t really feel like going anywhere public, if that’s okay.” You tell him honestly, “I’ve been around people all day and I just need a minute.”

Joel understands, “I got the perfect spot for that, darlin’.”

And for a moment, you’re shifted back to before, the gentle smile he throws your way like a sudden flash of the Joel you’re familiar with.

Joel found the spot by accident, really. Years ago. It was on the outskirts of the neighborhood he lived in, a small cutoff near a flock of trees that led out to a larger opening and a small cliff—only a few feet of a drop off, but it granted a nice view of the city and businesses that lined the surrounding neighborhoods. And luckily, on a night like tonight with no glow of the moon to cast down, they were nearly invisible from where Joel had parked under a hanging tree, turning his truck off with finality as they were soon shrouded in darkness and silence, only the luminescence from the nearby streetlights allowing some type of visibility.

“So, how has your holiday been? With Sarah and all?”

You knew it was his turn this year, he’d explained that much. You felt terrible for pulling him away from her, even if it was just for a brief, selfish moment.

Joel laughs quietly, fumbling with his keys in his hands.

“Yeah, about that—” Joel doesn’t see why he needs to make up an excuse or be vague, considering how much you knew then and how much you know now, so he tells you, “she’s been with me since around the end of summer, not full time but mostly—to answer your question though, it’s been good.”

“O-Oh, and that’s…good, too. I’m hoping?” You ask hesitantly.

“Her mom was tryin’ to move without lettin’ me know—Sarah told me because she was scared. It was a long process but we eventually worked out an agreement with stipulations. Regardless, I’m happy with how things are now. Her mom was never around much for her anyways—like she was more of a chore to her than anything.”

“You deserve her, Joel. Sarah. I think she’s good for you, being around and stuff.” You tell him, despite how much you didn’t know or understand. He seemed lighter, happier, less burdened by his own thoughts.

“Thanks,” He says softly, “—and you, how have you been?”

He drops his keys in the cupholder and turns more toward you, knee hiked up slightly onto the seat—mimicking his actions you move too, feeling like you were back on the couch in the cabin, amped up and ready to talk for hours about nothing and everything.

“I’ve been okay,” You pull at the sleeve of your jacket, running your finger along the pattern of your sleeve, the bumps in the stitching, “I spent Christmas Eve with my parents, if that’s any indication.”

Joel smiles wider than, knowing you listened and took his advice.

He was lucky to have a second chance—sometimes that’s all anyone needed.

“I missed you—” You utter quietly, overwhelmed with the feelings as you look away, eyes turned downwards and stinging with tears that you couldn’t stop from flowing, blinking them away and wiping at the even quicker, “fuck, I’m sorry.”

Joel has an arm open to you silently when you look up, no pestering or ordering you around, allowing you to make the choose to seek comfort from him if you felt comfortable with it, knowing that a year without someone was a long time—and even longer when you had no inclination of ever seeing that person again.

But really, there was no way you would have been able to avoid each other any longer.

This had to mean something.

You scoot into his arms, adjusting the blanket over the both of you and crying quietly, the low hum of the wind picking up outside of the truck causing the cab to sway slightly. Joel squeezes you gently, hand tucked and curled around your bicep.

“It took me months to stop thinking about you,” You admit, “I tried—so hard, nothing worked. And then the one day that I don’t have a moment to stop and let my mind think, you walked in. What the fuck does that mean, Joel?”

Joel wipes your tears wordlessly, letting the emotion flow through you, feeling a rush of them all at once. He had learned to bury his own, keeping that steely gaze as he tried to remain steady for you, like an anchor.

“You know–Sarah asked about you a few weeks ago,” Joel tells you suddenly, pulling your gaze up to him in subtle shock, “not—not like that. She doesn’t know about you, but she asked about that picture, about who took it. I didn’t even think about that at the time, but she’s so damn intuitive.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her what she should hear,” Joel explains, “That I had a friend there—’course she knew it wasn’t just that. But, she’s young. She doesn’t need to know about any of that.”

You nod quietly and Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I just—I feel guilty for being so caught up in all of the shit going on in my life that I haven’t thought about you in so long. But, then I saw you today and it’s like my brain can’t focus on anything else. And I know if I let this go it would bother me more.”

“So, you need closure?” You ask hesitantly, wondering if that was the purpose of this.

And you could accept that. You would have to, no matter how much it hurt to do.

Joel’s brow furrows in frustration, “No—no, that’s not even—”

Joel sighs again, heavily through his nose.

“Darlin’, I don’t know what I want anymore.”

You stare up at him sadly, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as he looks down at you too, looking just as distraught.

He does know one thing he wants, but he’s not sure in what capacity he was allowed to have it—after all, you did say that he and you would never work in the real world.

Those words were more apparent than ever, Joel feeling forced to hide you. He didn’t want that, he couldn’t live like that. But, here he was—staring you down with nothing else on his mind other than the urge to kiss you, consume you, and keep you here with him for as long as he could.

He didn’t want to let you go again.

You need him to kiss you, hoping that the desperation in your eyes comes across to him, feeds him the signs he’s so desperately seeking and that you could pretend this could work for a brief time.

Neither of you ask, instead you both move at the same time. Lips connecting in a gentle kiss that is riddled with hesitancy, Joel’s hand slowly coming up to cup your cheek. The press of soft flesh against each other, inhaling sharply as you parted briefly before returning the kiss more forcefully, leaving Joel desperate to have you around him. He’s pulling at your arm, hoping that his silent conveyance of urgency will help.

You hike your leg over his, spreading yourself out over his lap easily, lips never disconnecting, too caught up in the moment to allow for even the smallest breath of air, kisses traded in a messy battle as Joel squeezes and grabs, like he’s trying to memorize you again, leaving no part of you untouched.

“What do you want, Joel?” You ask through a slew of kisses, finally able to fist his shirt and push him away a few inches, catching his lustful gaze, pupils dilated.

“Baby—I,” He chuckles, a sad noise that doesn’t come across as humorous, your head cradled between his hands, thumbs rubbing at the underside of your jaw, “I’m used to wanting things I can’t have. This ain’t new to me.”

You don’t speak, feeling he has more to say as he kisses you once more, a slow and passionate press of your lips before he parts again, briefly.

“My luck has changed. I’m aware. And everything in me is tellin’ me to push it and hope that I won’t have to let you go again, but that isn’t up to me.”

“There’s things you can’t separate yourself from, you know that.” You tell him, “And if you tie yourself to me, the things people will say about you—that they’ll say about me. You can’t be okay with that, can you?”

“I don’t care about them or any of that,” Joel tells you honestly, “the only thing I care about is the people in my life—baby, I want you in my life. Doesn’t matter how. But, if we cut ties here, tonight. I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. I worked so hard to stop thinking about you and I can throw that away for some half-assed closure.”

Sex. He meant sex, knowing you both were already halfway to the point of thinking it.

“I just—how do we know if this is real?” You question him.

It’s a valid thing to worry about, knowing how different things are on the outside, not miles away in a cabin that was only accessible to the both of you.

“I can show you, if you give this a chance.” Joel counters—and you try to search his face for any sign of hesitancy or uncertainness about you, but all it bleeds is adoration.

Something akin to love but not quite.

“How about a date first?” You ask softly.

Joel laughs heartily now, letting you slump against him as your foreheads pressed together.

“Alright, a date first.” Joel agrees.

“Think you can handle that?” You tease.

“Baby, I can handle you just fine.”

It isn’t what you’re asking, but the answer makes your heart thump rapidly all the same. You weren’t sure where this would lead, but you were willing to take that risk for Joel.

Thank you for anyone who has stuck with this all the way through with my weekly posting or anyone who is binge-reading this all at once and has finally reached this chapter! I appreciate you, thank you (again), and please always feel free to come yell at me!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x fem!reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #my writing #MMITW #pedrostories

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vintagepascal · 11 months

Note

I have an angsty/fluffy request!!!!! I feel like P has been getting more annoyed with the paps lately and I feel like if they stressed out his love he would get so po'ed, so maybe something about him getting mad or anxious about it (thats the angst), and reader comforting him and then some type of fluffy ending? I don't know if that makes sense but I think it's a fun concept. Ty if you decide to write it!!

LETHAL

AN - thanks so much for requesting love! hope this does it justice :) I used the inspo from that article where Pedro says his protective side is lethal hehe

word count - 3,200

rating - mature

content warnings - angst, no smut, fluffy ending, paparazzi involvement, slight catcalling, but literally the sappiest shit you've ever read how tf did I even conjure this shit oh my god

summary - pedro just wants to take his girl out for a nice date night, but someone at the restaurant sells you out

----------------------------------------------------------------------

No one was supposed to know. The two of you had done everything right - called ahead with specific instructions but not given your real names, gone at non peak times, asked for a private table in the back of the restaurant away from the windows, taken your car instead of Pedro’s because it was less recognizable. And still, as Pedro scribbled his signature at the bottom of the receipt, you cautioned a look outside and you realized that what you suspected was true as yet another car pulled up to the curb.

“Pedrito,” you used your softest voice, reaching across the white tablecloth for his hand. He wrapped your fingers up in his automatically, eyes finding yours. The sparkle in them dulled when he saw the look on your face. “We should probably go.”

“You haven’t finished your wine, amor.” His voice was tight, and you saw him crane his neck to get a view of outside for the first time, though he didn’t have a clear view like you did. It wasn’t hard to guess why you were ready to end an otherwise perfect date night early.

“That’s okay, we have more at home,” you smiled, moving your napkin nicely off your lap and onto the table. The first flash of a bulb went off and you swallowed hard. At the table to your left, you saw your favorite security guard, Mateo, stand up.

“Time to go,” was all he said.

You saw Pedro’s hand ball up into a fist, and he sucked in a breath between his teeth.

“No one was supposed to know we were here. Someone must have tipped them off.”

You reached for his hand, smiling when he opened up and offered you his fingers to lace your own through.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s really not,” he countered. You knew he was at his wits end, considering the paps had managed to find him every day this week. He didn’t have much choice since he had to go to the gym each day for training, but he’d begged you to stay in the house as much as you could so they’d leave you alone with the promise of a nice date night on Friday to make up for it.

“Hey.” You ran a thumb across his cheek quickly, hoping no one had a zoom lens where they could find you somehow. “Let’s just get home, yeah? It’s gonna be fine.” He looked down at you, some of the stone softening in his eyes as he did. He squeezed your hand twice before looking over at Mateo who dutifully began to walk forward. It wasn’t lost on you that he stood in front of you rather than Pedro.

It was more than you anticipated. As soon as the front door opened you were practically blinded, flash after flash going off. You wove your arm around Pedro’s bicep, trusting him to guide you in the direction the car was in. You walked as quickly as you could in your heels, only slowing slightly when you realized your dress was starting to ride up your thighs a bit.

You could barely make out most of the words that were being yelled at you, but one voice stood out above the rest of the frenzy.

“Nice legs sexy, let us see em!”

And you weren’t the only one who heard.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Pedro turned, and he would have stopped walking if Mateo’s strong grip on his shoulder hadn’t kept him moving towards the car.

“Get in the car Pedro,” he said matter of factly, opening the door. Pedro waited for you to slide across the backseat first, blocking the opening just in case your maneuvering revealed anything you didn’t want on display.

“I want his name,” Pedro demanded.

“In the car,” Mateo repeated, shaking his head. Pedro looked at you quickly, saw that you were tucked back into the seat as far as you could be and felt his chest tighten. It didn’t matter then, all he needed was to be closer to you. He ducked in and the door shut behind him.

Mateo was quick to circle around to the driver's seat and you were on the road almost immediately, the crowd already scattering behind you in search of their next victim for the evening.

“Fucking assholes,” Pedro growled, eyes trained out the back windshield for only a moment before he turned to you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” It couldn’t have taken more than 30 seconds for you all to get to the car, but your pulse was racing and your ears were ringing and despite your best efforts, your eyes were watering just slightly from the adrenaline. You fought it and won, determined not to cry and add any more fuel to Pedro’s fire. Very little made him mad, but when you were mistreated, there were no bounds he wouldn’t cross.

“Are you sure?” He found your hand against the leather, eyes hardening when he felt how clammy it was and realized you were hiding how upset you actually were.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, trying to play it off. “That was just a lot.”

“I’m sorry, so so sorry.” His voice was small again.

“Don’t apologize for them, amor. You didn’t ask for that, it’s not your fault,” you reminded him, lifting his hand up to your lips and kissing his knuckles softly. This wasn’t a new conversation.

“You wouldn’t have to deal with any of that if you weren’t with-“

“Pedro, stop. You know I don’t care about the pictures.”

“The fucking nerve of that guy to say that shit to you…” You could feel the anger roll off him in waves.

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard some shit like that, it’s not the last-”

“And that makes it okay? That’s supposed to make me feel better about it?” He looked at you, exasperated, and somewhat confused that you weren’t as upset as he was.

“No, of course it’s not okay, but I can handle it. I’m fine.”

You saw him open his mouth again to argue and you knew it would be futile, so you used your last line of defense. You leaned over and kissed him, bracing your hand on his thigh and molding your lips to his. Of course he kissed you back - he’d never had that much self control, but his lips were unrelenting at first, words unsaid keeping his mind racing and away from you.

“I’m okay Pedrito,” you murmured, kissing along his jaw, smiling when your lips found the smooth heart shaped gap in his beard. “I’m safe, I’m happy, I’m here with you.”

Your words pulled him back a fraction, your lips helping his jaw to unlock from where he had it clenched. He ran a warm hand along your thigh, trying to ground himself.

“Bésame,” you asked. His eyes softened - something about you speaking Spanish always got to him and he obliged you, leaning over to kiss you sweetly. He cupped your face gently, getting lost in you for a few minutes of the drive until you were both satisfied. You settled afterwards, with your head on his shoulder, smiling each time he pressed a kiss to your forehead or your hair.

But you could still feel the tension in his posture, see it in the way he led you into the house when Mateo parked the car, and you knew the storm hadn’t passed. So it wasn’t a total surprise that Pedro stopped in the living room instead of following his usual path to the bedroom.

“Hey,” you tried. “I’m going to go change, are you coming?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” You watched him pull his phone out of his pocket, mind already on his next task. You didn’t push it - his heart was in the right place. Always the protector. And so you went about your evening, changing out of your dress (though it would have been easier with Pedro there to help with the zipper) and into a cute matching pj set, perching in bed and waiting.

And waiting. And waiting.

Your patience waned after 15 minutes, and you peeked your head out of the bedroom doorway, only barely able to make out the outline of your boyfriend standing on the living room balcony, the sliding door half open and his agitated voice flowing in.

You settled yourself with a deep breath and moved back into your room, then to the bathroom and over to the clawfoot tub, starting up a bath. When all else failed, you always turned to water. You took your time doctoring it up with all your favorite products until the bathroom resembled a bit of a spa. The only thing missing then was Pedro.

So you went in search of him, again unsurprised to see him still on the phone. You caught the tail end of his conversation as you pushed the sliding door out of your way.

“- had to be someone there… Yes, I can respect that you don’t think it was, but I am very respectfully informing you that you’re fucking wrong. Someone within that building sold us out to the paps, and you’re going to figure out who it was, so I can figure out who the hell was outside harassing my girlfriend and who the fuck they work for.”

You slid your hand up Pedro’s back as a way of announcing your presence, coming around to his side and ducking under his arm that was braced against the railing. You wedged yourself between him and the metal, facing him with a smile that he briefly returned, phone still pressed to his ear. With a wiggle of your fingers you motioned for him to hand it to you, your other hand resting on his hip.

With a small sigh he gave in, passing you his phone. You could hear the restaurant manager babbling and you muted the mic for a moment so you could speak freely.

“I’ll be right there expired a while ago amor,” you teased.

“I’m sorry baby, I just-”

“Don’t let that dick steal any more of our night. We’re okay. I’m okay. I’m safe, I’m happy, I’m here with you,” you repeated your words from earlier, getting up on your tiptoes to brush your nose against his. His resolve was fading, but there was still a dull fire in his eyes, aching to defend you.

“We don’t get enough time like this as it is, let’s enjoy it, yeah?” You hummed, kissing him only once before checking to see. As expected, it worked, and your Pedro was back, all traces of his anger gone from his face. He took his phone back, hanging up without another thought and slipping it away into his pocket.

“Sorry cariño, I got carried away.”

“Apology accepted in the form of you, in the bathtub with wine in the next two minutes,” you grinned, kissing him again and ducking under his arm before disappearing to the bathroom.

He didn’t disappoint. You had barely stripped and sunk into the water when he returned, two glasses in one hand with a bottle of wine in an ice bucket in the other.

“Looks like I missed the show,” he teased, looking down at your pile of clothes on the floor.

“That’s what happens when you’re late. But hey, I’m in my seat and ready for the next act.”

That got a chuckle out of him, paired with a blush that warmed your heart. He took care of you first, pouring two glasses of wine and passing one to you before he got to work taking off his dinner clothes.

You attempted to dog whistle for him, which only ended in you breathing aggressively on your two fingers with a bit of spit ending up in the bathtub, and Pedro giving you a look of pity before you were both laughing.

“I’ve really got to teach you how to do that love.”

“Oh shut up and get in here.”

You offered him a hand, scooting up so he could settle in behind you. As soon as he was in the water he was guiding you back to lean on his chest, arms coiling around you to hold you to him as he kissed your temple.

“Does this mean we’re never going to that restaurant again? Cause my capellini was really good,” you ran your fingers up and down his arm that crossed your chest.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke. “I can make you good capellini.”

You leaned to the side until you could look back at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“I… can hire you a chef to make you good capellini,” he grinned sheepishly, laughing as he held you against his chest. You relished in the sound as it echoed off the tiles, kissing his skin.

“I’m kidding baby, we don’t have to go back,” you reassured him. Deciding you’d spent long enough unable to see his face, you maneuvered so you were next to him instead, resting your cheek on his chest with your legs intertwined under the bubbles. It was blissful, and you only sat up to sip your wine or kiss him.

You enjoyed the silence and soft kisses, light traces of each other’s skin under the water through your first glass, but your tongue loosened up by the second one.

“Can I ask you something kinda serious?”

“Anything amor,” he hummed, interest piqued.

“Would you ever trade it? The fame, for getting your privacy back?”

“If you’d asked me that before I met you, I would have said no. But I think the answer now might be yes.”

You pushed up off his chest so you could see his eyes, waiting for him to explain.

“It comes with my job, and my job is all I ever wanted. It’s been my dream since I can remember. I worked my whole life for it, and somewhere deep down I always knew that there were downsides that would come with it if I ever made it big. You hear the horror stories of the crazy people, the stalkers, the paparazzi. And when you’re just trying to make it, it almost makes you jealous in a way. It’s like ‘damn, well if anybody gave a fuck about who I was maybe I’d have to worry about that’. And then you get your break-”

“And people are asking to put their thumbs on your eyeballs in the streets of NYC,” you grin.

“Yeah, yeah exactly. But when it was just me, I could always stomach it because it was also a reminder of like ‘hey, you made it. This is happening because you made it into the big leagues’, you know? But it’s not a fun or glamorous part of it. And now it’s affecting the people I love, and I can’t do normal fucking things, like take you out on a normal date night without us getting swarmed. And you deserve that. You deserve to get your capellini in peace, and I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to give you that, because that part of my life is always going to be there.”

The sadness on his face brought tears to your eyes, and you turned his face to look at you.

“You’re worth it Pedro.”

The sadness didn’t budge.

“I mean it,” you continued. “You’re worth all of it. You’re worth more.”

The next kiss was deeper. His lips caught yours with a new appreciation, his teeth catching your bottom lip making your breath freeze in your chest. His arms moved under the water, shifting your body around until you were straddling his thighs, your elbows braced on his shoulders, fingers in his wet hair.

When you finally broke free to catch your breath, he was looking up at you as if you’d hung the moon.

“I need you to remind me of that. On the bad days,” he whispered. It wasn’t often that he asked you for reassurances, and the entire premise of it made you melt.

“Of course baby. Of course I will. You’re always going to be worth it to me, because I love you.”

“I love you more.”

You shook your head at that, folding down to rest your head on his shoulder. He traced his finger over your spine, back and forth slowly as he kissed your skin.

“You know, we don’t have to stay in LA when you aren’t filming,” you mused after a few minutes.

“Where would you want to go love? I’ll take you wherever you like.”

“No, I don’t mean a vacation. I mean, we’re in the worst city for privacy in the world. Even New York is better than here, and we already have your place there.”

He pondered it for a moment, twirling a piece of your hair in his fingers. “I wouldn’t mind spending more time in New York. Don’t know that it would solve our paparazzi problem though, they’re still pretty bad there.”

“Then we could go even further. Not long term, but I mean hell. Oscar has that second house in Hawaii he always offers to us, you know he’d let us stay. Or we could go to Chile, see your family.”

“Chile? You’d go to Chile?”

“Why not?” You asked. “I mean, I don’t know that I’d want to move that far away, but of course I’d love to go for longer than just the few days we got to go last time.”

“You’d do that for me?”

You weren’t sure if it was the wine, or the pure bewilderment on his face, or maybe the realization that he just couldn’t fathom how much you truly loved him, but you began to laugh.

“What do I have to do to get it through that brain of yours hmm?”

“You’re worth it-” you punctuated it with a kiss before you continued. “I love you-” another. “I’d do anything for you.” He was smiling then, leaning up to meet you. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

“Yeah?” He murmured against your lips, chasing you in a bid to kiss you longer.

“I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.” The words stumbled off your tongue before you could stop them, but you didn’t care, you were too wine drunk and in love to think about them.

Pedro caught them though, kissing you again with a smile and waiting for you to lean back.

“Tomorrow huh?”

You blushed as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well in that case I need to call the jeweler and see if they’re still open this late.” He dramatically pretended to check his watch, making you roll your eyes at his antics.

“Ah yes, nothing like a Friday night ring shopping escapade.”

“Who says I still need to shop? I bet they’d let me pick it up, it should be done.”

You felt your mouth drop open, but you couldn’t quite find the muscles to close it. Pedro kept his smug smile for a moment, basking in it as he reached up with his finger on your chin.

“You’re worth it,” he returned your words, leaning up to kiss you again. “I’d do anything for the future Mrs. Balmaceda Pascal.”

#my writing #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal writing

566 notes · View notes

supernovafics · 1 year

Text

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 5.3k words

summary: in which during the summer of ‘84 steve visits family in chicago and meets you at a record store. the two of you immediately have a sort of pull towards one another and decide to start something that’s only meant to be a summer fling. as the end of summer nears, you realize that you may be in way too deep, and you take a step back from it all. however, maybe things can actually work out in the end for you two? or maybe not

warnings: explicit language, implied smut, some fluff, a lot of angst

author’s note: very much inspired by the song “end of beginning” by djo (the entire decide album fully makes me wanna sell my soul lmao) this started out as such a small idea and then somehow expanded to being over 5k words…. hope you enjoy! lol ((already working on a part two so don’t hate me for how this ends :0))

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was pretty obvious that you were avoiding Steve like the plague. Phone calls to your home were left unanswered, messages from him that were relayed to you by your parents were left unresponded to, and when he showed up at your house looking for you, you told your parents to tell him that you weren’t home.

However, if anyone were to call you out on your current behavior, you would deny it.

Because technically, everything was completely fine between you and Steve.

There was no defining moment that made you start avoiding him. In fact, the day before you stopped talking to him, the two of you had spent the night watching a movie at the tiny old theater in the next town over. Well, actually, “watching” was an overstatement because you two mainly did other things that did not involve really paying attention to the two-hour movie.

And although that entire night had been good, great even, you still spent the next three days avoiding Steve. It was an impulsive decision, but it was also one that you knew, or at least felt like, was the right one.

You were starting to like him too much, and that concerned you because he was leaving Chicago in less than a week to go back to Indiana, which meant that what you and he had going on was going to be over.

It was a fact that both of you were well aware of and had agreed upon at the start of the summer.

However, as it got closer to that date, the thought of actually having to let him go and end things felt painful. Therefore, you decided that the “going cold turkey” idea was the best way to protect yourself. And although a part of you missed Steve, you forced yourself not to think about him.

However, it turned out that not thinking about someone was much easier to do when they weren’t standing right in front of you, which Steve currently was.

Now that you truly thought about it, you could see that it was only a matter of time before he showed up at your job. The record store was where you met him in the first place, and he practically knew your schedule as if it were his own since he had picked you up at the end of almost all of your shifts for the past month and a half.

Your mind and heart felt conflicting things at this specific moment. As much as your heart wanted to see him, your mind knew that he was only making things harder. A tearful, heartbreaking goodbye was what you truly wanted to avoid.

It was then that you wished that the store was much more crowded than it actually was because since there was barely anyone browsing around, it made it easy for Steve to walk up to the front counter, which you stood behind.

“Can we talk?” He asked, and instead of meeting his gaze, you busied yourself with grabbing the Hall and Oates vinyl that someone was going to buy, but ultimately decided not to, and moving to place it back on its rightful shelf.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” You ultimately told him, still evading his eyes and beginning to pick through the shelf even though there wasn’t anything to organize or fix on it.

“I think there’s a lot to talk about, actually.”

You finally looked at him, and when you saw the look on his face that was a mix of confusion and sadness, for a moment, you finally felt bad for not talking to him and giving him no explanation as to why.

“I have to do some stocking in the back,” You told Steve, knowing that he would be able to easily read between the lines of what you said.

He knew exactly what that “code” meant, but with what had happened the last few days he wasn’t sure if he should follow you to the back room. The last time the two of you had been there was a week ago, and in Steve’s mind, things were much clearer then, than what they were like now.

You placed a bell and sign on the counter that said, “Ring if you need help,” and then began heading to the back. When Steve didn’t start following you, you looked at him. “You coming?”

He gave you a small nod and finally moved, following you the few feet to the room that said Employees Only. He softly shut the door behind you both, and you flicked on the light switch that turned on the one light bulb hanging in the middle of the room that did almost nothing to provide the space with any light.

Maybe coming back here wasn’t the best idea because being in the place that surprisingly held pretty fond memories of you and Steve made it feel way too easy to fall back into the dynamic you’d become so used to with him. It almost felt like second nature to slot your lips against his in the barely lit room, and you really wished you could allow yourself to do it.

“Where have you been these past couple of days?” Steve asked, pulling you out of your conflicting thoughts.

A silence lingered for a brief moment as you thought of what to say in response to that. Ultimately, you settled with, “I’ve been… busy.”

“I leave in four days,” He said, reminding you of a fact you truly wanted to forget about. His face softened, and you had to pull your eyes away from his. “Is there any way you can be not busy?”

“The fact that you’re leaving in four days is exactly why I’ve been making myself busy,” You muttered, but Steve heard you clearly.

A confused look crossed his face.“What do you mean?”

A small sigh fell from your lips, and it was funny because, at that moment, you wanted to tell him nothing but also everything circling your mind. “I– I know what we agreed on at the beginning of the summer, but it’s just… I don’t know. It just feels so hard now? In the beginning, it was so easy, and I honestly liked that we had an “expiration date” set for this, but it all just feels so different now. Because I can feel myself liking you way too much, and I simultaneously love and hate that because you’re the first person I’ve ever truly liked. But you’re leaving, so obviously, I can’t allow myself to like you too much because I would be an idiot if I did, and I would just end up hurting more than I already do right now. And the thought of having to say goodbye to you makes me actually wanna throw up.”

You knew that you were rambling at that point and that you should stop because what you were saying probably wasn’t making a lot of sense. But Steve had always been insanely easy to talk to, so it was pretty understandable why you were word-vomiting all over him. “So yeah, that’s why I’ve been avoiding you like the plague for the past few days, and I would’ve continued if you hadn't shown up here.”

During the entirety of your ramble, your eyes were looking everywhere except for Steve, and when you finally let your gaze land on him, you noticed a certain look on his face. “Why the hell are you smiling right now?”

Your incredulous tone only somehow made Steve smile wider. “Because for the past three days, I thought you hated me for some reason. But now I know it’s the exact opposite.”

“Honestly, I wish I hated you,” You told him. The statement was mostly a lie. “It would make things so much easier for me.”

“Well, I’m really glad you don’t,” He said softly and moved a bit closer to you, placing his hands on either side of your waist.

You almost leaned into his touch, as you’d done what felt like a million times before, but you refrained from doing so and instead backed up a bit. “Steve…”

You could feel yourself slowly falling back down that hole of wanting him, and although it was a path that could only lead to heartbreak, your motivation to push him away and never talk to him again was declining.

Still, you managed to find your voice at that moment. “You should go.”

Steve disregarded your words because he could hear how much you didn’t mean them and instead asked a question of his own. “Am I really the first person you ever really liked?”

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, and you suddenly felt annoyed by all of your previous honesty. But you also wanted to roll your eyes at the question because Steve knew the answer; he knew pretty much everything about you. “You know how I was before we started this.”

For most of your life, you had always been completely content with being alone romantically and having only a handful of friends you loved and would die for. There was never anyone that made you want to step out of the bubble you created for yourself. Somehow Steve was the exception.

However, the immediate pull you felt toward him wasn’t enough to change you. Instead, it was your best friend Vanessa, who also worked at the record store, that noticed how you were around Steve and gave you the much-needed nudge to actually attempt to pursue something with him. Because just the idea of you having feelings for him had felt utterly foreign to you.

“You randomly came into the picture and changed everything for me. And I think I’ll probably always be grateful for that,” You said after a brief stretch of silence. “But, I can’t allow myself to see you again after we leave this room. It’s too fucking hard for me.”

In the beginning, you convinced yourself that a situation like this couldn’t lead to heartbreak because of the fact that the ending was set. However, now you thought that maybe that made things worse because everything you felt for Steve was still right there, and it also wasn’t gonna go away any time soon.

“I don’t wanna end things.”

“Me neither, but you leave in four—”

“I don’t want this to be over,” He interrupted you. “I want to make it work with us when I go back.”

You were rendered speechless for a brief moment at his words. Too many things started running through your mind, and although your immediate thought was to let yourself smile at his statement, there was a question that you knew you needed to ask. “What about Nancy?”

Her name felt foreign on your lips because, for the entire summer, you kept her pushed to the back of your mind.

Steve told you about her, and the fact that they were on a break for the summer, once you and he grew closer, which was something that happened insanely fast. And that was where the arrangement between you two started.

Nancy was a big reason why you now saw the “summer fling” you agreed on with Steve as doomed from the start.

The life Steve was living with you while he was in Chicago for the summer wasn’t his real life. He was always, always going to go back to Indiana and pick things up right where he and his girlfriend had left them off.

That is what you kept telling yourself, and that upsetting thought only aided in your need to avoid him for his last week in Chicago. Maybe that assumption was wrong, though.

“I’ve barely thought about her the entire summer,” Steve said, and you could hear the honesty dripping from his words. “And when I have, it’s only been about how to end things for good with her because I only want to be with you.”

His words contradicted everything you convinced yourself of, and you didn’t know how to respond to that. Your mind was running in a million different directions, allowing no coherent sentences to form. The only thing you could say at that moment was, “Oh?”

“Yes, and I know that we’ll be able to make this work,” Steve began explaining, and you forced your mind to shut off for a moment and solely listen to him. “We’ll both be seniors, so our schedules with school won’t be too bad, and we probably won’t have a shit ton of classes. Also, the drive is only three hours, which will be like five for you to do since you’re a bad driver, but that’s still not too crazy. I’ll happily drive up here most weekends. And then there are the holidays too.”

For the first time since the conversation with Steve started, you smiled. Not at the bad driving comment; in fact, you gave him a light shove for saying that. But, it was endearing hearing how certain he was of the fact that the two of you could actually make things work, even though you’d be in two different states.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, huh?” You asked, a smile still planted on your face as you shifted closer to him and let your arms circle loosely around his neck.

His hands found their rightful place on your waist and squeezed lightly. “Yes, and I wanted to say it that night at the movies, but you just wanted to make out with me the entire time, so it was hard to get a serious word out.”

You could hear the jokiness in his tone, but you still rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up. You were the one that initiated it right when the lights went low, and the previews started.”

“And then you just couldn’t get enough of me, baby,” He said before fully closing the space between you two and slotting his lips against yours.

You had wanted to laugh at his previous words or give your own sarcastic comment back, but you let all of that melt away, and instead, you simply kissed him back; something that had been done many times in that back room.

One of Steve’s hands was cupping your cheek while the other slipped under the t-shirt you were wearing, and feeling his cool hand against your warm skin sent a slight shiver down your spine. Your hands found a home in his hair, and you loved hearing the low groan erupt from his throat when you gave it a light tug.

The two of you were so lost in the kiss and making up for the time lost since you hadn’t seen each other in days, that neither of you heard the door open or saw Vanessa open it.

“Y/N, what do–” The rest of her question stopped short when she saw the two of you. She had known that you had been avoiding Steve for the past few days but refrained from calling you out. However, at that moment, she gave you a look that said, “You better explain everything when we’re alone,” and you gave her a small nod before shutting your eyes in embarrassment. Surprisingly, in the many times you’d brought Steve back there, something like this had never happened before. “Oh, um, sorry to interrupt… this. As you were.”

The door softly clicked shut, and when Steve leaned in to kiss you again, you immediately pulled back, detaching yourself from him and letting your hands fall limp at your sides. Your body was on fire at that moment, but you refrained from doing anything about it.

“Nope. No more of this right now,” You told him. The embarrassment from the situation had yet to wear off and allow you to continue kissing him, even though you had been thoroughly enjoying it. “I’ll see you tonight, though?”

“You’re not gonna start avoiding me again?” Steve asked, and you knew he was mostly kidding, but you could also hear a tad bit of seriousness behind his words, which made sense to you. However, things were completely different now. You actually surprisingly felt hopeful about what was to come instead of dreading the next four days before he left.

You looked up at him and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Never.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It wasn’t surprising that you were the first one to wake up. For some reason, your body would never allow you to sleep too far past nine o’clock, no matter what you’d done the night before.

You carefully detangled yourself from Steve’s warm body, not wanting him to wake up just yet, and headed to your bathroom. Once you finished brushing your teeth and showering, you slipped the grey t-shirt that Steve had shown up in last night back on your body because you loved how it looked and felt on you.

When you walked back into your room, you mentally saved the image of Steve in your bed. It wasn’t the first time you’d snuck him into your room, but it would be the last for a while. And you were glad that your parents were gone for the weekend at some business conference so that you didn’t even have to sneak him in this last time.

Steve looked peaceful, and you didn’t want to have to wake him, but it was his last day in Chicago, and you wanted to make every hour count before he left that night.

You slipped back into the bed and faced him on his side. You ran a hand through his hair and pressed soft kisses on both of his cheeks, his nose, and then his forehead before finally landing on his lips.

He was surprisingly quick to kiss you back, and you smiled, which allowed Steve to deepen the kiss further before he abruptly pulled back. “Mm, minty.”

“I wish I could say the same for you,” You joked, and he immediately poked your side, which made you laugh. You leaned in to kiss him again to show him that you really didn’t care about his morning breath.

Steve’s hand trailed under your, his, t-shirt and began rubbing your bare side in small circles. You sighed contently into the kiss at the feeling of his warm touch, and you wanted to move even closer to him, but you had to force yourself to pull away before things moved further, as they had last night.

You pushed some of his hair away from his eyes, and then your hand lingered on his cheek. “You leave tonight.”

He gave you a small nod. “Yeah.”

“So, we need to get up now,” You told him. “I have a lot of things I wanna do with you today.”

Steve let out a soft groan before turning his head a bit so that he could kiss the inside of your palm. “Why can’t we just do more of this?”

“Because I want to be disgustingly cheesy and sentimental with you today and just drive around and go to a bunch of the places we’d always go to this summer.”

He smiled at your words. “You’re never cheesy and sentimental.”

“You bring out this cute side of me, Harrington,” You told him and pressed a quick kiss to his nose. “Also, I’m gonna force you to finally try deep dish from my favorite place.”

“You’re evil,” He said before finally sitting up in the bed. His gaze suddenly shifted away from you and instead focused downward as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. “But, um, last night… Last night was good, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his sudden shyness. “Yes, very good.”

During that summer, you’d done everything else with him, so last night was kind of the final piece of the puzzle. It was honestly a bit surprising that it'd taken this long. And although you never necessarily cared too much about your virginity and losing it, you were glad that your first time had at least been with someone that you truly cared a lot about, and you knew he felt the same way toward you.

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure,” Steve said with a nod as he continued to expertly avoid eye contact with you. “Because I know we’ve done a lot of stuff, but I just wanted to make sure that last night was good and everything, y’know? And that it was great for you and how you wanted it to be for your first time and–”

You stopped his rambling by pressing your lips against his. “I know. Everything was great, don’t stress. And I’d happily do it again with you right now if you weren’t leaving tonight and there wasn’t a bunch of other stuff I wanted to do with you today.”

He smiled at that and muttered out a soft “Okay,” before giving you a kiss on the cheek and getting out of bed to head to your bathroom.

You slipped on a pair of dark denim jeans and your old pair of black Converses. When Steve exited the bathroom, you silently admired him and the fact that he was only currently in his boxers, and you resisted the urge to go up and wrap your arms around him and kiss him for what felt like the thousandth time that morning.

“As great as you look in my t-shirt, I need it back,” He told you as he pulled on his jeans.

You were quick to shake your head. “Nope, it’s mine now. But…” You walked over to your dresser and started rummaging through the second drawer until you found the band tee you were looking for. The shirt was pretty oversized on you, so you knew that it would more than likely fit Steve just fine. “You can borrow this.”

Steve slipped the shirt over his head. “This is also mine now. Although I do feel like a fraud since I’ve never listened to the band before.”

“If anyone asks your favorite song from them, just say, ‘Anything from their first album. I can’t decide which one,’” You said as you moved toward him, now allowing yourself to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Got it,” He nodded and smiled as his arms circled around your waist.

You pressed your lips against his, giving him a quick peck, before finally forcing the two of you to leave your house.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Although it was one of those days that you knew you’d remember forever, it saddened you how quickly it all flew by.

From going back to the park where you and Steve played basketball during one of your first few hangouts with each other (and you surprisingly beat him, but you knew that he let you win) to laughing at how much he hated the deep dish pizza you finally convinced him to try. And then next thing you both knew, it was night, and you were sitting in the driveway of the house he and his family had been staying at for the summer.

A comfortable silence that felt sad, at least on your end, lingered in the car as music softly played, and Steve held your hand in his lap and traced mindless circles on your palm.

When he looked over at you, he intertwined your hand with his and pulled it up to his lips to kiss it. “Don’t have that look. Remember, this is only the end of the beginning. I know I’m leaving now, but we’ll have so much more time together. Once I’m back in Indiana, we’ll figure out the best time for us to see each other again, okay? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You smiled and laughed at his last statement before leaning over the center console and pressing your lips against his. The position was entirely uncomfortable, but at that moment, you didn’t care.

“I have something for you,” You told him when you pulled away and then reached into the backseat and grabbed the brown paper bag that you had been looking for, which was folded at the top to hide the contents inside. It was upsettingly the only thing in your house that could double as a last minute gift bag.

Steve eyed the paper bag for a moment before his eyes lifted to yours. “You packed me lunch?”

“Shut up, no,” You said with a small laugh. “Just open it.”

He unfolded the top of the bag and looked inside. His gaze met yours again for a brief moment before he pulled out the five cassette tapes that were inside the bag. “No, these are all your favorites.”

You could only smile at him. “Yes, I know and I’m not giving them to you, just letting you borrow them for the time being until I see you again. Mainly because you told me you never listened to these albums before, and I have a feeling you’ll like most of them. And when you do listen to them, you’ll think about me, which is a small plus.”

He placed the tapes back in the bag and then leaned in to kiss your cheek. “I’ll always be thinking about you. Also, I now feel like an idiot because I didn’t get you anything.”

“I don’t care. This was a last minute thing I thought of anyway,” You said with a small shrug. “But, I’m now expecting a really big gift when you come back.” You kissed his lips. “And I’m only slightly kidding.”

He laughed, and you smiled, wishing that you had a camera to take a picture of him and the two of you at that moment. It was that right time when the sun was starting to set and made everything look just perfect. You desperately wanted to have so many more perfect moments like that one with Steve, and the only thing that could curb your sadness at that moment was remembering the fact that, eventually, you would.

You glanced at the time it said on the dashboard. “You should go before I get sad again, and I want this goodbye to end as happily as it can.”

Steve nodded and then leaned in to slot his lips against yours one more time. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” You nodded back and watched as he opened the car door, grabbed the paper bag, and stepped out. “Wait.”

You quickly got out on your side and rushed over to where he was now standing by the shut passenger side door, staring at you curiously. You wrapped your arms around him almost immediately, and Steve didn’t hesitate to hug you back and hold you tight against him.

No words were said, mainly because no words needed to be said as you simply held each other and let the tender action speak for itself. Your eyes screwed shut, and you forced yourself not to cry because even though it felt like it, you knew that it wasn’t goodbye forever.

You pushed up on your toes and kissed him for what you knew would be the final time for a while. It was a slow kiss that was long and drawn out, and you would’ve kept it going forever if it wasn’t for you needing to catch your breath after about a minute.

“Okay, I just needed to do that real quick,” You told him, still pretty breathless.

“I’m really glad you did,” Steve said softly before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You returned to your car and watched as he gave you a wave and smile and then walked inside the house. You sat idly for a moment, simply looking at the red door he just stepped into and closed behind him, before forcing yourself to drive away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Hours later, you were sat on the couch in your living room, mindlessly scrolling through television channels, unable to settle on anything, when you heard the phone ring. You almost didn’t answer because you weren’t necessarily in the mood to, but you decided against it when you realized it was probably your parents.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Steve said, and you could hear the smile in his tone. “We’re stopped at a gas station right now, and I just wanted to hear your voice real quick.”

“That’s very disgustingly cheesy and sentimental of you,” You told him, letting a smile take over your features.

“You bring out this cute side of me, Y/L/N,” He said, and you laughed a bit. “Okay, I gotta go, my mom’s giving me a look. I’ll call you when I’m home.”

And when the phone rang a few hours later, around two in the morning, you were smiling as you answered it on only the second ring. You talked for over an hour about nothing but also everything, and the only thing that made either of you want to hang up was the fact that you both were insanely tired and could barely keep your eyes open.

You both said your goodbyes, which lingered longer than expected because neither of you truly wanted to hang up. And finally, things ended with Steve saying, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

That “tomorrow” call never came, and you let a week pass before you allowed yourself to get worried and nervous. It didn’t take long for you to want to start overthinking things, but you tried your hardest to refrain from doing so. However, you failed miserably.

You called his house on the ninth day, and when the call connected, you immediately breathed out a sigh of relief. However, when a male voice that wasn’t Steve’s, and instead it was his dad’s, said, “Hello?” your immediate relief was wiped away.

“Hi, is Steve home?” You asked. You were sat cross-legged on your bed and nervously playing with the phone cord. After a week of radio silence, you were essentially questioning everything that you had just felt so certain and sure of. Even though, when it came to Steve, you had almost never been nervous, right then, you truly couldn’t help it.

“No, he’s out right now,” His dad answered, and you were about to simply say “Thanks” and then hang up, but you could hear the phone being pulled away a bit as if he was talking to someone else but still wanting to keep you on the line. “He’s out with Nancy, right? Was it this? Their third date this week?”

You assumed he was talking to his wife, Steve’s mom, and you couldn’t hear her response to his questions, but you knew it didn’t matter; you had heard everything you needed to, which was actually more than enough. You hung up without saying anything else, mainly because words couldn’t form in your throat right then.

Although you’d never gotten in a fight with anyone, what you were feeling in that moment felt equivalent to a punch in the gut. You truly wanted to pretend that none of this was happening while simultaneously screaming and crying.

However, you didn’t do any of that because the only thing circling your mind right then was one of Steve’s final words to you. “Remember, this is only the end of the beginning.”

Turned out he was wrong and a liar; more so the second one. It wasn’t the end of the beginning for the two of you. Apparently, it was only just the end.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know ur thoughts<333

(((part two here!)))

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #joe keery x reader #joe keery x you #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #stranger things fluff

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melanieph321 · 3 months

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Ruben Dias x Reader - Fake Love Part 7

Reader is a kindergarten teacher. Nothing more nothing less. But following an accident whistle vacation in Dubai she somehow makes her boyfriend believe that she does somthing else for a living, something that earns her way more money than she has. Her boyfriend, Ruben, is just happy to have found someone who understands him so well, someone who doesn't want him for his money since money isn't an issue for neither reader or himself. Or so thinks. Would finding out the truth ruin their newfound relationship? Readers thinks so, and does everything to keep up the lie, although it has some bad people from the middle east looking for her.

Enjoy!

"Okay, how much is that?"

"About 7 000 total."

"Ugh, we're still 13 000 pounds short." You groaned, falling back against your couch.

You and Alicia agreed to sell all the things that she had bought, in order to pay Mr Siddiq back. You managed to sell most of her designer items online, and some of the items that she hadn't even worn yet were returned to the store for a refund. You spent all week living like savages, glued to the computer, making phone calls to meet up with potential buyers.

"I don't understand why we can't eat, though? Or have heat?" Alicia asked, wrapping her body up in a blanket.

"Eating costs." You muttered. "So does heat. All of our money is going to paying back Mr Siddiq. I've told you this."

"Yes, but like you said, we're still 13 000 pounds short. I don't think we will be making that much money in 24 hours and I'm starting to get hungry."

You rolled your eyes. You really couldn't with Alicia. How could her financial judgment have been so poorly? I mean, her mother is an accountant for God's sake. However, it might have been her dad who used to spoil her as a child. The thrill of a man paying for everything she pointed to must be her aspiration in life. But today Alicia's aspirations had gotten you in a lot of debt.

"Would you please pick up your phone, my ass doesn't want to vibrate forever, and I'm pretty sure your boyfriend is calling me now."

It was true, you recognized Ruben's number on Alicia's screen. You stood up to take the call, disappearing into your bedroom.

"Ruben?"

He had been calling all week. But with everything going you weren't in the right head space to talk to him, let alone be honest with him.

"Hey, baby. Is everything alright?" He sounded concern, probably because you were talking to him through someone else's phone.

"Everything is fine. Life is just pretty hectic right now."

"Oh, sorry if I'm disturbing you..."

"It's fine Ruben. Hearing your voice is really what I needed."

"Good." He shriped and you imagined the dimples that came with his smile.

"I've actually got some news that might cheer you up?"

"Really? A man named Mr Siddiq and his entire family sadly passed away in a plane crash?

"Yeah, I'll be in London this weekend for our away game against Chelsea."

"Oh"

"Oh?"

You perked up. "I mean, that's...that's really nice Ruben. But I'm not in London this week?"

"No? Where are you then?"

Don't lie, don't lie, don't lie.

"Stevenage!" You blurred out, immediately regretting it.

"Stevenage? What is that?"

"Um, it's a city. Where I grew up actually. Where my parents live."

"Oh, you're visiting your parents?"

"Yes, so I'm pretty busy."

"I'd love to meet them someday."

"You do?" You paused, Ruben's answer suprised you.

"Of course. Wouldn't you like for me to meet them?"

You had just gotten comfortable calling Ruben your boyfriend, him meeting your parents would mean another milstone reached before you had told Ruben who you really are.

"Sure." You mumbled.

"Let's make it happen someday." He said, sounding happy about the fact.

"Um, I've got to get back to work..."

"Of course. It was nice to hear your voice too. Can I call you again later tonight?"

"Um, sure."

"Alright, talk to you later then. I love you."

"Bye Ruben."

The room fell silent as you ended the call, however the guilt and shame inside you was louder than ever. You dragged yourself back to the living room, handing Alicia back her phone.

"You good? What did he say?"

"He said he loved me." You plotted down on the couch, eyes staring blankly into space.

"Oh my god, really? What did you say."

"I said, bye Ruben."

Alicia frowned.

You turned to her with tears in your eyes. "He's never gonna talk to me again when he finds out."

"Finds out what?" She cought you as you slumped into her embrace. "That you're nothing but a gold digger?"

You sat back up. "That's not funny Alicia."

Her shoulders shrugged when she laughed.

"I am not a gold digger. You on the other hand...."

"Okay, okay. I get, I messed up. I'm the bad guy in all of this. But speaking of gold diggers...." She said, with that look that often haunted your dreams. "Wouldn't it be easiest to just ask Ruben for the remaining money? I mean surely he's good for it, and if he really loves you..."

You batted your eyes. Baffled by what was coming out of Alicia's big mouth. Surley anyone would agree that now would be the only right time to slap your best friend in the face. "Alicia." You said, with the lowest most calmest tone you could extract from yourself. You were convinced that this was the only way that she would understand you, if you were babying her.

"Yes, Y/N?" She said, with that naive twinkle in her eyes.

"Have...you...learned...nothing. You are NOT. I repeat NOT, borrowing money from anyone ever again, especially not Ruben."

"Then how are we gonna pay the last 13 000 back?"

"I'm...." You said, getting up and walking over to grab your coat. "I'm going to talk to someone I trust and know will lend me the money, with a promise that I'll pay him back with interest."

Alicia looked over to where you stood. "It's not Byron is it?"

"That's none of your business." You hissed, slamming the door on your way out.

Byron agreed to hear you out over a beer. You met in a small pub in town and to your suprise Byron agreed to lend you the money.

"And don't worry, you won't have to give me all of it until June."

"It's okay." He said.

"It is?" 13 000 punds was alot of money. However, there was something else on Byron's mind, a question.

"Is this you?" He asked, showing something off his IPhone.

Heat rose to your face seeing a photo of you in the club with Ruben and his friends, Ruben's arm waying over your shoulder as you sat next to him.

"Um..."

You had seen it before, the photo, going around the internet, with the caption talking about Ruben and his new boe. It was first posted on Lauren's Instagram. Lauren who was Ruben's teammates girlfriend.

"Yes, yes that's me." You sighed.

Byron nodded. Of course it was you in the photo, he wasn't blind. People in Stevenage watched Football and knew of the hype around it. You only belong to the few people who didn't.

"How do you know Jack Grealish and Ruben Dias ?" He followed up, in a way that sounded more like you were being accused of a crime rather than asked a simple question.

"I um....met them during a night out with friends." You lied. He wasn't Ruben, you had no problem lying to Byron.

"And so the two of you...?" He was reffering to Ruben.

"Took a photo and then went our separate ways." You nodded. "Yeah, that's pretty much what happened."

Byron didn't look to believe you, but proceeded. "It's obvious that you're seeing someone Y/N, I mean you never come over for game nights anymore and I've seen you texting someone when you should be paying attention to your class."

You chuckled. "Byron I have no idea what you're point is, but if this is you criticizing the way I teach my kindergarten class then..."

He shook his head. "No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" You really didn't have the time. You should get back to the apartment, help Alicia sell her clothes. And Ruben would want to facetime soon.

"I like you Y/N."

"There it is." You sighed.

"And I'm not lending you the money so that you'll finally agree to be my girlfriend, but...."

"But?" You frowned. "There is no but in this Byron. Either you lend me the money out of the kindness of your heart, or you don't. This is not an exchange of services."

"Then, no." He said, fixing his posture as he sat across from you.

"No? What do you mean, no?"

He got up to leave, grabbing his jacket. He looked down on you with pitty on his face. "Life is about choices Y/N, and you seem to keep making the wrong ones."

With that he left.

You got back to your apartment, pretty sure that smoke was coming out of your ears.

"Y/N, there is something you should..."

"Not now Alicia."

You stomped across the living room.

"But you should really..."

"God, not now Alicia." You hissed, not meant to take your anger out on her. Nevertheless the damage was already done as Alicia crumbled where she sat on the couch. "I'm sorry I..." You ran a hand down your tired face. "I just got to facetime Ruben first. I have to tell him that I love..." The handle to your bedroom door pressed down just as you were about to do it. The door opened and he appeared in the frame.

"Ruben?"

He grinned. "You sounded down over the phone so I brought something that might cheer you up."

"W...what?"

He stretched out his arms. "Me!"

Warmth erupted inside you. You stumble forwards, melting into his giant embrace. Although this was a bad thing, a really bad thing that he was here, you really needed to be held right now.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

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holybatgirlz · 6 months

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Portrait Gallery Visits

read on Ao3

Summary:

Sophie and Benedict take a little trip together to the Royal Academy.

Word Count: 10k+

Notes: a little first date Benophie fic.

---

"I have the day off?"

Mrs. Wilson nodded. "Lady Violet gives all the staff a day off each month, and with all the hard work you've been doing recently, I thought it best to make sure you used your day."

Sophie frowned. Staring at the older woman in confusion, she tried to think of an occasion, any occasion, where she recalled another staff member she worked with saying they'd been given individual days off. She had never had one since becoming a maid, certainly not with Araminta, and minus her periods of unemployment since leaving Penwood House, time off was unheard of in her life.

She studied the older housekeeper skeptically. Was Mrs. Wilson lying to her?

"I really do not need it," Sophie told her. "I already promised Miss Hyacinth I'd help her with her French work. And I'm helping Miss Francesca with preparing for tonight's ball. Not to mention all the work needed for Lady Bridgerton's ball later this week. I'm far too busy to be taking the day off work."

Somehow, Mrs. Wilson was able to force the kind smile on her face to stay and not let it turn into one of alarm and surprise as she watched the young woman continue to ramble on about all the tasks she had to attend to, what it was she had already done and what currently needed to be completed. She listed the different chores that she’d planned to complete that day, ones Mrs. Wilson had not realized were lacking and had been overlooked. And it was her job to manage Number 5.

Getting the young Miss Sophie out of the house would be more challenging than she thought.

"I've already promised Lady Bridgerton you'd be notified, and with only a few days left in the month, it's best you use it now or lose it," she told her, shooing the girl towards the servant's door. She'd at least already been able to get a cloak around Sophie's far too-thin shoulders and a basket of food in her arms, so she had something to eat later.

Sophie's little confused frown deepened. "But…what do I even do?"

Oh, this sweet summer child was going to need more help than Mrs. Wilson realized.

"Well, you can go for a walk. Get some air. It will be good for you. And I made sure you have some of your pay with you," she motioned towards the basket, held in the crook of Sophie's arm. "I put it in the basket. Consider it a little gift. The markets should also be open if you want to get something small. There is a chocolatier near Piccadilly who sells quite wonderful treats for a good price. Maybe you could go there?"

"Um…alright, then," Sophie told her, still looking completely lost at the concept of not working for the day. Making it all the more apparent to the old housekeeper that something was truly off with her.

It wasn't normal for a girl of her age to be so adamant about working. Not that Mrs. Wilson wasn't grateful for her; Sophie was good at what she did. And she did it quickly, too, without question. Everything was done perfectly, but Mrs. Wilson noticed how Sophie tended to overstep, taking on tasks she should not have been doing as a maid. While some of the older staff had been happy about having less work to do when they woke up and found Sophie had already done it, the younger staff were the opposite.

Some of the younger, more gossip-minded maids weren't entirely happy about how close Sophie was getting with the three Bridgerton sisters. Their employers. It couldn't be ignored how Sophie was one of the only servants to repeatedly sit for tea with the three sisters and their mother, not that it was by her own choice, and Mrs. Wilson couldn't ignore how Benedict had suddenly begun showing up more. The same Bridgerton son who got her the job.

And the poor girl was going to work herself to death if she didn't slow down. She needed at least a day to breathe and relax.

"I'll see you this afternoon," Mrs. Wilson remarked, gently pushing Sophie closer to the door and outside. "See you later, Sophie. Have fun."

She then promptly shut the door in Sophie's face before she even had the chance to change her mind and return inside. Waving her off from the window, Mrs. Wilson waited until Sophie made it most of the way down the servant's alley, rather slowly as she kept looking back at the kitchen door, wondering if she should really leave and looking terribly lost in her thoughts, before finally disappearing around the corner, to which Mrs. let out the breath she'd been holding, her body sagging with relief.

"Is Lady Bridgerton planning to implement this day off for all staff? Or just the new little maids with blonde curls and big green eyes?" Bessie, the cook who'd worked for the Bridgertons for years, inquired knowingly as she continued stirring the morning porridge.

Bessie knew well enough what it was her old colleague was doing, seeing as Mrs. Wilson had waited till all the other staff members had gone off to attend to their duties before she caught Sophie for a private little chat.

"Oh, hush you," Mrs. Wilson shushed. "That girl's been working herself to the bone. You saw her this morning. She looked about to collapse from exhaustion."

"And what do you plan to tell her ladyship or the young ladies when they come looking for her?" Bessie asked.

Mrs. Wilson shrugged. "I'll just tell her she went to run some errands for me. I think we can manage one day without her."

—

Sophie was completely lost.

Not really. She knew where she was: Regent Street, the hustle of early morning business happening around her as she wandered down the road and through the city. Horse-drawn carriages passed her on the street while Londoners of all classes did their business around her. Her worry of Araminta being in town meant she’d stuck to the back roads, the quieter streets of London.

But she barely heard any noises around her as she continued down the road, lost in thought.

She was at a loss about what to do with herself for the day.

She'd never had a day off before, not since Araminta had forced her into a life of servitude. Not even with the Cavanders or the brief jobs she held between leaving London and arriving in Wiltshire. She'd worked every day from sunrise to sunset, sometimes even into the evenings since her father’s death.

Yes, she'd been a guest while staying with Benedict in the country, but she'd also done work around the home, helping the Crabtrees manage the manor and helping Benedict recover from his fever. She'd not been as busy as she'd usually been as a maid, not even now with the Bridgertons at Number 5, but she hadn't taken an entire day of just doing nothing. No matter how much Mrs. Crabtree demanded her to.

But the thought of Wiltshire, of her time at My Cottage, brought up a bigger problem in her life.

Benedict.

It was probably why she’d been keeping herself so busy. Without anything to do to keep her mind elsewhere, she was stuck thinking about him. His charming looks, his crooked smile, how passionate he spoke about his artworks with her, how sweet he looked whenever he attended to his nieces and nephews when they were visiting. The days she'd spent getting to know him better had shaped the fantasize she still had over him. For better or worse.

Not to mention, thinking about him always led to her thinking about the pond incident. The image of him coming out of the water all those weeks ago, completely nude, after she'd stumbled upon him during his morning swim. Her cheeks burned as she remembered that, making her shake her head as if she could rattle the thoughts out of her mind.

She had to stop thinking about him. It was embarrassing and childish. Not to mention improper. He was nothing more than a distraction, a gnat that constantly flew around her head, annoying her. And she knew her feelings for him would only lead to further pain and heartbreak.

"Well, isn't this a surprise? Off to do some morning shopping, are we?" the sweet sounds of Benedict's voice floated around in her skull as if he was sitting on her shoulder, guiding her through her day.

Sophie sighed. "And now I'm hearing him," she muttered to herself sarcastically. "Wonderful."

"Sophie, I'm standing right behind you," Benedict's voice said with an amused chuckle, and this time, Sophie realized it wasn't in her head.

She spun around quickly, shocked to find that Benedict was, in fact, standing right behind her. Where the hell had he come from? Glancing around the streets, she tried to figure out where it was he'd appeared from or if he'd been following her this entire time. Not realizing she'd walked right past him as he exited White's a few doors behind them, her head so far up in the clouds that she hadn't seen him wave her down or hear him call out after her. She certainly hadn't heard his footsteps as he moved to catch up with her as she walked on.

Oh, she was never taking another day off again. Ever again.

"How do you do that?" she asked him, stunned.

A dark brow quirked up. "Do what?" he asked back.

"Find me," she clarified an annoyed edge in her tone this time.

But Benedict only smiled. Slowly his sly, lopsided smirk, dragged the corner of his lips upwards as he stepped towards her, towering over her. Looming over her. She mentally cursed him for being as tall as he was. Making Sophie have to tilt her head back just to look up at him. Just so she could see the mischievous glint in his pale, morning-blue eyes as he looked down at her. Tried to ignore the building desire within her that made her want to climb him.

"Like I could ever lose you. Only a fool would let you go," he told her, voice soft.

She stared at him, lips parting, hating how her heart began to start beating erratically in her chest. His voice sounded soft and loving, giving her goosebumps despite the sun shining brightly on them, keeping them warm. All she wanted to do was listen to his voice.

"Besides, you are far too irresistible to ignore. All the more reason to keep you all to myself. I wouldn't have to worry about you disappearing," he said, more flirtatiously this time. His eyes roamed over her gown of pale green.

Or maybe not.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Good day, Mr. Bridgerton," she told him curtly as she opened her eyes and stepped around him, making her way back down the street in the direction she'd come from

He seemed surprised by her dismissing him as if that wasn't a common occurrence for them as of late. She heard him call out behind her. "Sophie, wait!"

"I'm not in the mood," she told him loudly as he followed her, catching up with her in only a few quick strides. Barely breaking a sweat as she huffed and puffed next to him as she tried increasing her pace. Damn those long legs of him. It was entirely unfair for him to use her short height against her.

"What exactly are you doing?" he asked, easily keeping up with her. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I have the day off," she told him bluntly.

He frowned. "The day off?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wilson says your mother gives all the staff a day off each month. She made me use mine today since the month is almost over," Sophie continued without even looking at him.

Benedict gave her a confused look, opening his mouth to tell her that was most certainly not true before quickly stopping himself. He slowly realized what Mrs. Wilson had done was a gift. If Sophie had the day off, then she finally had free time. No longer running after his sisters or attending to household chores at Number 5. She was free.

Free to spend time with him.

"And what do you plan to do? With your day off?" he inquired curiously.

"I am not spending it with you. That's for certain," she replied back swiftly as if knowing what he would say next. "I think I'll go to the park. Or maybe just walk around the area. Or buy some chocolates."

He smiled. "You have no idea what to do, do you?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, making Benedict stop too. Her head whipping in his direction to look at him. He watched her dark emerald eyes narrowed into slits as she glared, but she'd proved him right. And even Sophie knew that as she took another deep breath.

"I do not need to explain myself to you," she told him with a huff.

"Have you never had a day off?" he asked.

"Coming from someone who has never worked a day in his life, I'm surprised you would even know what a day off is," she snapped before continuing on in her hasty walk down the street. Her cheeks turning pink.

All Benedict could do was laugh, a loud one bursting from his lips, almost sounding like a snort, as he watched her try to escape him.

He truly adored annoying her. It always brought out that stubborn personality she kept hidden behind polite submissiveness. It had slipped out here and there while she was working for his family. He'd noticed her snarky little remarks were more likely to come out if she was chatting with Francesca about her suitors. He was pretty sure it was why Eloise had come to like Sophie; her biting remarks tended to go unnoticed by his mother, much to his and his sisters' amusement.

He loved knowing that he was probably the only one in all of London she'd shown her true self to, her wit and intellect, her fiery passion and kind compassion.

And there was no one else whose company he'd rather keep right now than hers. She filled a hole in his heart, left there by his silver-dressed companion after she disappeared on him two years ago.

"Come with me," he told her.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Did you not hear me? When I said I had no interest in spending my day with you?"

"I know something you can do."

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Bridgerton, but I'm not interested."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely," she replied defiantly.

"What a shame," he remarked with a mock pout. "I was so excited to show you my paintings."

She stopped in the tracks, again, slowly turning to look at him once more. "What paintings?"

"The ones the Royal Academy is exhibiting this weekend," he told her.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You went through with it?"

She'd been the only one to know about it, about him contemplating returning to the Royal Academy. He wasn't confident he would at this point. The knowledge his original acceptance had been tainted, paid for by his brother, had continued to cloud his confidence in reapplying, but the Royal Academy had a yearly summer exhibition, an event where any artist, known or unknown, could submit their works in the hopes they'd be chosen. Only three pieces were allowed to be submitted to the committee, and Benedict had to pay a fee for each one, but the stress had come from picking which works he would submit. It was why he'd been in Wiltshire to begin with, to focus on his selections. The committee could not guarantee any would be selected, but after finally impulsively entering his choices, he'd heard word the day prior that all three of his paintings had been accepted.

And Sophie had been the cause of it all. He'd told her about it in Wiltshire. About his hopes and dreams of being a famous artist. About how he'd stopped painting after discovering Anthony's role in helping him get that dream. The only reason he'd reopened his box of paints that he'd tucked away after leaving the Royal Academy had been because of the Lady of Silver, the only way he could get her out of his head was by drawing her. Painting that night over and over again. And other pieces because of it. She'd become his muse, reigniting his skills, but Sophie had become his champion, batting away his anxieties with her own confidence and support. Pushing him to submit the paintings, telling him it was better to live with a rejection than never knowing what would have happened if he hadn’t gone through with it.

When he'd mentioned the exhibition, Sophie had immediately told him to do it, having seen his old and new works hidden around My Cottage. Peeking at his drawings and sketches while he'd slept off a fever. Her encouragement had been the final push he needed to get over himself.

He hadn't even told his family yet. He couldn't. Only after he told her first would he be able to.

"You got in?" Sophie seemed surprised, stunned by the news.

"All three of the works I submitted were accepted," he told her, chest puffing up with pride.

Her stunned shock shifted to delight as she smiled at him, excitement buzzing through her. Excitement she felt on his behalf because of him.

"Oh, Benedict, that's wonderful!" she remarked, and Benedict felt his heart swell as she used his first name instead of the formal 'Mr. Bridgerton'.

In her giddy excitement, she threw her arms around him to hug him, and Benedict was all too willing to accept, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her body against his, lifting her off the ground, breathing in the smell of vanilla and nutmeg as he held her. For a moment, the whole world around them disappeared, and Benedict only felt utter content by having her against him.

Then, Sophie snapped away from him, as if she'd been burned, making him quickly put her back down. As if she'd just remembered that only moments ago, she'd been annoyed with him. And that touching him was certainly not something she'd been allowing between them since they both arrived in London.

But instead of getting angry again, she just grew embarrassed.

"Um…congratulations," she told him nervously, her cheeks turning pink.

"Would you like to see them?" he asked, trying, and failing to ignore the emptiness that had returned within him the moment she pulled away. The moment her touch left him.

"Oh, I do not believe I will have the time to attend–" she started.

"I mean right now," he clarified quickly.

She frowned. "How would we do that?"

Benedict only shrugged. "Let's call it an artist's privilege. I'm allowed to check on my works before the exhibit."

"Um…I don't know…" she trailed off hesitantly, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she thought it over.

"The Academy is just down the road," he told her, motioning towards the street ahead of them that would lead them both to it. "I'll have you in and out before you know it. It shouldn't take less than an hour. Promise."

She studied him. "You promise?"

"Absolutely," he told her, even though he planned to keep her there as long as possible.

After a moment, she nodded. "Alright. Lead the way."

Benedict smiled, excitement flaring within him. He held out his arm for her to take, but Sophie merely shook her head and began walking, making him let out a small chuckle as he followed, directing her towards the grand gray and white stone building used by the Academy for its classes and exhibits. He still knew the back entrance Tessa had once shown him, leading Sophie towards it so no one would see them sneak in.

Technically, he hadn't lied to Sophie when he said he could see his works before the exhibit. That was true. He could come and go as needed, but waltzing through the front door with a woman who was not his wife nor known to the Academy, he was bound to get looks and questions from the others.

But Sophie made no remark as they entered through the back, quietly following him as he brought her towards the exhibition rooms, which, mercifully, were empty. It was still early enough in the morning that the majority of students and teachers weren't roaming the halls yet. And Benedict had it on good authority that the curator would be sleeping off a rather horrid hangover this morning, given his piss poor performance at cards the night before. They had the place all to themselves for now.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, he watched as Sophie glanced around the room, taking in the many paintings of varying sizes that decorated the walls as she walked around the statues of marble and bronze placed throughout the rooms.

"Are these all submissions too?" she asked him.

"Some are," he answered. "Others are donations or works that have been loaned out temporarily from private collections."

"They're quite good," she told him, studying a painting of Cupid and Psyche lounging on a chaise together, one Benedict had been told was on loan from Brussels, made by a French painter while in exile.

"Really?" he asked her, coming up to stand next to her.

"You don't like it?" she asked back.

"It's not that I don't like it, it's…" Benedict paused, trying to figure out what to say next. It wasn't bad, the painting of Cupid and Psyche, it was rather well done, if not more hyper-realistic then the other paintings hanging around them.

It was just better than his. All the paintings around them were. The one in front of them was from an already established painter, as were the other donated and loaned ones hanging around the room.

At least his works were in the next one. Not put hanging next to established and known painters.

Maybe he should have them taken out and pull them from the exhibition. It was too good to be true for all three of his works to get picked on his first submission to the contest, but he hadn't spoken to anyone except Sophie about it. There was no way Anthony could have learned about this and involved himself in this without Benedict noticing.

This was a mistake. His heart began to hammer away in his chest. He shouldn't have taken Sophie here. His paintings shouldn't be hanging on these walls. This was wrong. The exhibition wasn't opening till next week; he could get Sophie out of there and wait till the curator arrived, make up some excuse, and get the paintings removed before–

"I doubt it's any better than yours," Sophie commented, her calm voice slicing through his thoughts, stopping his heart momentarily and dragging his attention back towards her, away from his anxious thoughts.

"I wouldn't go that far," Benedict said sheepishly, motioning towards the painting. "This one is from a far more established painter than me."

"I've seen your works, Benedict," Sophie told him, giving him a small smile. Nothing but genuine kindness in her eyes. "I liked them much more than this one. Then the works of other more established painters I've seen."

"Really?" he asked, hopeful.

She nodded. "And well, you have far more talent than that one," she pointed quickly towards the muddled painting of some kind of animal hanging nearby. "I can't tell if it's supposed to be a terrier or a chicken."

Benedict laughed. "I think it's supposed to be a horse."

"Oh, that just makes it worse," she replied, looking horrified, and Benedict could only laugh harder. Her smile returned as she saw him laughing, saw the tension easing away from his shoulders as he relaxed.

"The one next to it would have probably been saved if it had been skied," he told her, playing along, pointing to the portrait of an older, gruff, and angry-looking gentleman with a cane hanging next to the supposed horse painting. The background needed to be lighter and looked unfinished as a result. A window in the background or a few trees would have helped.

Sophie cringed as she saw it. "Forgive me for not noticing, but I was rather distracted by the model's severe expression."

An expression that made the man look rather…constipated.

He was unable to prevent the smile on his face from dropping, pointing towards another painting nearby. Seeking her opinion still.

"What about that one?"

Sophie leaned closer toward the wall, studying the painting for a moment.

"The hound deserves better," she told him as she leaned back, making him chuckle.

He hummed. "And the one next to it?"

"I can tell you with complete confidence that a woman's chest is not supposed to look like that," Sophie replied, looking rather insulted by the female model's appearance.

He couldn't stop smiling at this point. And when Sophie saw his, she only returned it with one of her own.

"You are quite the critic. You're certain you aren't an artist?" he said to her.

"I can barely draw a flower," Sophie remarked back, giving him a look.

"How do you know so much about it then?" he asked, and Sophie frowned, looking away from him.

"My father," she answered softly, the smile on her face dropping and Benedict stiffened. "He had quite the collection of works in his home. From different painters. Practically decorated every inch of his home. He liked art. It was the only thing we ever talked about. When he talked to me, that was."

"I didn't mean to bring him up," Benedict told her apologetically.

She shook her head. "It's fine. I used to study the paintings growing up. Tried to imagine what the words within them were like. Got pretty good at noticing all the little details and how they differed from one another, but I never had the talent for it, though, I'm afraid. But my father would tell me more about them if I asked. He was quite good at noting the flaws and errors. Could even tell two of them had been painted over by the original artist and that one his grandfather had purchased was a fake. He was a very…critical man."

Critical. Critical could mean cruel.

"He never said anything to you about–?" Benedict gently started, and Sophie shook her head again, knowing where he was going with this.

"He never spoke up about it to begin with. I could never tell if he just didn't want to talk about it or didn't know how to. It was just one big elephant sitting in the room whenever we were together," Sophie told him. "And he rarely ever told me off. He left that to the servants. The housekeeper and my governess specifically. He'd left them to raise me anyway; might as well let them handle the tougher conversations or discipline."

An uncomfortable pit began forming in his stomach. It was hard to imagine what it was like for Sophie growing up. Besides the matter of her being an illegitimate child, Benedict couldn't begin to imagine not being close with his father, who had been nothing but loving and supportive. A man who had been the complete opposite of Sophies, who supported his artistic interests. Charcoal and some paper were an easy way for his father to keep him distracted when he was little. He'd do it whenever he was watching him and Anthony while working in his office. Benedict had always been the calmer one of the two, Anthony had been more excitable and rowdier when they were little, so his father would keep Benedict quietly drawing so he could keep a closer eye on Anthony.

Even though it annoyed Benedict's mother to no end when she would come to check on them and find Benedict covered in black smears of coal.

" He's got talent , Violet ," his father would tell her with a chuckle as she huffed, wiping at Benedict's cheeks in an effort to clean him up. " I'm only trying to nurture it ."

And his father would keep his little doodles. Little inside jokes Benedict would draw and leave on his desk for his father to find, to give the old man a good laugh. Weeks after his death, Benedict found some hidden away in his desk drawer after he'd been helping an overwhelmed Anthony locate documents. He was so surprised to see it, having never thought his father had actually kept them, that the grief he'd been struggling to control had clawed its way back up his throat, and he'd had to excuse himself so he could try (and fail) to get a hold of his emotions.

His parents had both supported him in any endeavor he took, not just his father. His mother had wanted him to further his skills after he finished at Cambridge, offered to help send him to Paris or Florence so he could study, but he declined, not wanting to leave his family behind. His brother was now the viscount and Colin was starting at University himself, but there were still five other young Bridgertons their mother was left raising on her own, two of whom were only toddlers. Benedict couldn’t leave them behind like that.

But he had support. He had love.

Sophie never had any of that.

And he hated it.

"But he's gone now, not much that can be done about it. No point lingering in the past," she added stiffly, as if trying to convince herself of that.

There was an anger in her tone whenever Sophie spoke about her father, but now it sounded less like anger and more like disappointment. She didn't seem to hate him, though, which Benedict couldn't believe; however, he didn't think Sophie hated anyone.

Well, maybe him. Sometimes.

She then straightened out her back, holding her head high as she glanced over at him and forced a bright smile. "But enough about me, you said you were going to show me your works."

"There in the other rooms," he told her, still feeling guilty about inadvertently bringing up her dead father.

She nodded, making her way towards the opening leading into the next room. A room just as extensively decorated as the one they'd just been in. Benedict slowly followed her in, lingering a little ways behind and watching as she did the same as she had when they arrived. Carefully making her way around the room and looking at the works hanging around her.

"Which ones are yours?" she asked.

"You don't know?"

"Well, you didn't tell me which ones you submitted."

Benedict felt a slight tug at his lips. "And here I thought you liked my works."

She stuck her tongue out at him for that.

"Guess," he told her, chuckling.

"Benedict," she whined softly, head tilting to the side .

"I'm not telling you. You have to guess," he informed her.

She let out an over dramatic sigh. "Fine," she told him, turning back away from him and scanning the walls.

He watched her slowly waltz around the room, studying each and every painting. He watched how her curls swayed with every moment of her head. Her day off meant she hadn't pinned any of them up. Her ringlet curls hung loosely around her face, the tips brushing against her shoulders. Soft, perfect circular curls that looked like they were made from gold, shining whenever the sun caught them, and Benedict wanted nothing more than to run his hands through them.

She gave each portrait a moment of her time, and for a second, Benedict thought she'd walk right past them. She looked just about to, and then she stopped.

"This one," she told him, pointing to it.

A smile tugged at his lips. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"You're absolutely certain it's mine?"

She nodded. "I know that pond anywhere."

He came to stand next to her, glancing at the landscape painting he'd submitted. The one of the small pond behind My Cottage, with the little hill leading to it, the two large willow trees rooted by its banks, and the expansive field behind it that led towards a forest far off in the distance.

The very pond he'd had the most awkward encounters of his life with Sophie at.

But that hadn't stopped him from painting it. He'd gone out one early morning to get it right as the sun was coming up. The sky of the landscape was a soft, dewy pink, and gentle orange, with just a few dabs and swipes of white to be clouds. He'd even added a tiny little detail.

In the distance of the painting, right under one of the willow trees and sitting on a blanket, was a small figure resting against the trunk. Dressed in white.

Sophie had come outside while he was painting that day. He'd already gotten most of the painting done and was focusing more on the leaves of the trees and bunches of daisies that were growing around the pond, but he couldn't help himself when he saw her relaxing under the tree, reading one of his books as she munched on an apple. His hands had moved without his brain telling them to, adding her to the painting. The angle he'd gotten her at meant most wouldn't notice her at first. One would have to look closer to find her hidden behind the tree, golden curls blowing in the breeze.

"Is that supposed to be me?" Sophie asked, pointing to her mini-painted form.

"Hmm, I suppose it is. How did that get there?" Benedict hummed playfully, getting a gentle tap to the arm from Sophie.

"You didn't need to include me in it," she told him. "I would have moved if you had asked."

"And disturb the quiet respite you were enjoying at the time?" Benedict shook his head. "I'm a gentleman, Sophie."

A dark blond brow rose on her smooth face, telling Benedict she was having a hard time believing that, but she didn't push it.

"That's one," she nodded towards the painting in front of them. "You said three works were accepted, so where are the other two?"

"That's number two," Benedict told her, pointing towards the still life hanging next to the landscape.

He'd gone with one of each; landscape, a portrait, and a still life. Frankly, Benedict was surprised his still life painting was accepted. It wasn't anything new or interesting. Some fruits on a plate with a goblet. Nothing extraordinary by any means. It was even smaller than the other two. Simple.

"I like it," Sophie remarked, once again cutting apart the anxious thoughts before they had a chance to sink their claws into him. "It shows off your skills. How good you are with light and detail. And the silver looks almost real. The blues and oranges you have from the fruit and plates makes it more eye-catching, too."

Maybe she was right. Maybe the addition of his mother's blue china to hold the citrus fruits he'd used and the lighting work he'd done on the silver goblet to give it its metallic shine had been intriguing enough to have it hanging amongst the rest.

"You need to stop second-guessing yourself," Sophie told him, and he looked to see she was watching him. "You are a talented artist, Benedict. People will see that when they see your work. And I'm certain your family will also be proud of you when they see them."

He didn't doubt her. He couldn't. The certainty in her voice, the sincerity shining in her eyes was all he needed to know for a fact she meant what she said.

"You are far too kind," he told her. "Kinder than I deserve."

She shrugged. "I meant what I said. You are a talented artist."

He blushed and Benedict Bridgerton was not the kind of man who blushed. But he actually blushed at her words, like he was some young schoolboy seeing a pretty woman for the first time. He just couldn't help how Sophie set something off within him. Made him feel pride and confidence with a few little sentences and a soft smile. How he felt more than just happy when he was around her. He felt content, as if all the missing pieces in his life had just slid back into place.

"Now, the third one," she glanced around. "That one in here too?"

"In the next room. They thought it went better with the paintings hanging in there," he told her.

"Alright, then," Sophie said, heading off.

Benedict waited before following. Needing a few moments to let his heart relax and for his cheeks to stop burning, regaining his composure and confidence before he headed in after her.

He found her already standing before his last piece, staring up at it. Frozen in place. He smiled. She found it already.

"It's not my best portrait," he told her as he approached. "I had difficulty getting the face right. Unfortunately, the model could not sit for it, so I had to go off my memory alone."

The Lady in Silver. His muse. He thought it only fitting to have her amongst his submissions. Of the three, she was the one he hoped would be accepted if the others weren't.

He’d made it so she was standing by a stone railing, leaning against it as she looked away from the viewer. It was the only way Benedict could conceal the fact that he couldn't paint her full face without using a mask, having to do a side profile instead. He'd painted the scene like it had been that night, with the moon shining down on her. It was the only one hanging on the wall that had set at night. And that was how it should hang, contrasting sharply against its neighbors and drawing in the eye of anyone who passed it.

It was, in all frankness, his best work.

Hair pinned up with pearls, dressed in silver satin, Benedict had spent hours getting each pinned curl perfect, each strand of hair just right, and making the dress look like liquid silver in the moonlight. The lace detail he'd done on the sleeves and bodice had almost killed him. He'd been forced to take multiple breaks due to his hand cramping under pressure.

Sophie was silent as she stood beside him, staring at the painting with wide, surprised eyes.

"I wanted to have her facing the viewer, but…well, it didn't look right," he explained, feeling nervous now as Sophie continued to say nothing.

"It's good, Benedict," she told him suddenly, sounding breathless. "It's really, really good."

"You think so?" he asked, giving the portrait another look.

Sophie's wide eyes darted towards him, a fearful glint settled in them as she watched him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to realize how suspiciously similar she looked to the woman in the portrait before him. But the recognition never appeared on Benedict's face as he stared at his masterpiece, glancing over towards her to flash a proud smile.

"When did you–?" she started, her eyes snapping back towards the painting.

"I've been working on this one for almost two years," he told her as he chuckled. "I didn't think I would finish, let alone in time to submit it here. It was killing me not getting her face right, but I finally did. I finally finished it."

He still hadn't realized. She couldn't believe it. The evidence was standing right in front of him. She was standing right before a portrait of herself, and he still hadn't realized.

That stupid, gorgeous, idiotic, wonderful fool. She wanted to scream at him.

But she couldn't. It was better he didn't realize, she reminded herself. He couldn't know who she really was. It would just make all of this worse.

"You know what I just realized?" Benedict asked.

If she hadn't already been rooted in place, frozen stiff to the point she looked like the marble statues around them, Sophie might have run. Instead, she slowly looked back towards him, waiting to hear what he had to say, praying he hadn't figured it out.

"One of my classmates. Wilkes. He submitted a piece I was told was accepted. He's a god-awful portrait painter, and if that's what he submitted, I'm sure you'll get a good laugh," he chuckled. "Come on."

Relief and disappointment filled her. It was better he didn't realize, she reminded herself again.

He reached out and grabbed her hand. The moment his fingers touched hers, she felt a shock go through her, making her snatch her hand back quickly as Benedict seemed to feel it, too.

"Sorry," he told her.

She shook her head. "It's fine."

"Are you alright?" he asked, finally noticing her worried expression.

She nodded. "Of course."

"Sophie, what's wrong?" he asked earnestly, his hand coming to rest on her arm.

"Nothing. Nothing, I'm fine. Really," she said, forcing a smile.

"You're still enjoying this, right?" he asked carefully.

"Of course. I was just…I was just a little surprised by the last one."

"In a bad way or…" Benedict gave her a concerned look.

"A good way," she clarified, chuckling. "I mean it, Benedict. I don't know why you keep making me say it, but you're good. Really good. Far better than the rest of them."

Benedict beamed. His expression was soft as he looked at her, a crinkle around his glittering eyes as he smiled. "You are a phenomenal woman, you know that?" he told her gently, and Sophie felt her cheeks begin to warm.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she replied, shaking her head as she let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm serious. I wouldn't have done any of this if it wasn't for you," he said. "I only submitted them because you pushed me to. If you hadn't strong-armed me into doing this, I would still be caught up in my own insecurities."

"I don't think I needed to strong-armed you into doing anything," Sophie said back, a little defensive.

"Still, I owe you. A lot. For all of this," Benedict continued. He shook his head. "I haven't even told my family."

Sophie blinked at his admission, surprised, but he only continued.

"I wanted you to know first. Need you to know before I tell the rest of them," he admitted. "I love my family, but they're not why these paintings are hanging here. You are."

Her warm cheeks only got hotter, burning hotly now. Sophie caught her lower lip between her teeth, chewing nervously on it. There was warmth pooling below her navel, a tightness building.

"You know," he smirked. "Nobody's around. We can do whatever we want."

Sophie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as Benedict only chuckled softly.

Of all the moments for him to ruin.

She sighed, shaking her head. No matter how much she was enjoying herself right now, there was no chance in hell that she would lose herself in the desire she felt for him.

Then a hand came to rest on her hip, a gentle tug, and her feet moved without her telling them to, stepping closer to him.

"Benedict," she warned softly, placing her hand over his. She wrapped her fingers around it, ready to pull it off–

"We're alone," he whispered, leaning in closer.

"Benedict…" she repeated again, swallowing as his face came closer to hers. Her heart was drumming against her sternum now.

"No one will know," he assured her quietly, rotating his hand to catch hers now.

"This can never work. You know that right?" she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "So stop it. Please."

Benedict stared at her. A small arrow appeared between his brows as he watched her, trying to understand why she kept refusing him when they both knew the desire was there. But he didn’t say anything.

Then he sighed, leaning forward, and rested his forehead on hers. Well, more like the top of her head, with her height, his nose pressed into her curls, his lips hovering over her forehead.

"Must you remind me?" he asked with a sad little laugh. He was joking, but his voice was still laced with disappointment.

She only huffed a sigh, training her eyes toward his chest. "I'm trying to make this as painless as possible. For both of us."

His hand was clutching hers tightly but not painfully. It was more desperate like he didn't want to let go of her. Sophie waited quietly, not moving. She trusted him; no matter how often he tried to push her boundaries, he always stopped when she asked, and she didn't want him to let go of her. Instead, she focused on one of the buttons on his scarlet red vest, waiting for him to pull away.

Finally, he did. Benedict sighed, his lips gently brushed over her forehead as he gave her a soft kiss before pulling away, releasing her hand as he moved back.

"You'll be the death of me," he joked lightly, to her or himself she wasn't sure. He was smiling again, but it was a forced one this time.

"I should go," she told him softly. The warmth had evaporated, leaving only an uncomfortable feeling of sadness behind. Disappointment of her own.

"Sophie–" Benedict started.

She shook her head. "No, it's for the best. I should–"

"Oh!" another voice interrupted her. "I didn't realize anyone was here."

Turning around to where the voice had come from, Sophie saw a tall, pretty brunette standing in the doorway. A woman she didn’t recognize.

But Benedict did.

"Tessa?" Benedict asked behind her.

The tall brunette glanced away from Sophie and towards Benedict. A smile lit up her face as she saw him.

"Benedict? Is that you?" she asked, stepping towards them–towards Benedict. "God, how long has it been?"

Benedict let out a small chuckle as he moved past Sophie and towards her, giving her a quick hug to greet her, leaving Sophie standing awkwardly behind him.

So, they were friends. That was…okay.

"How are you?" he asked as he pulled back.

"Well, well," Tessa replied. "Bored, though. Everything got so dreadfully boring around here after you left. No one throws a party like you did.”

Benedict chuckled.

“Not to mention, I was rather insulted that you didn't tell me you were leaving,” Tessa added.

"Well, I um…I didn't want to be a bother," Benedict awkwardly replied.

"You shouldn't have taken your brother's actions to heart," Tessa told him. "You had talent, Benedict. It wasn’t something to waste. But I heard you'll be in the summer showcase?"

He nodded. "Yeah. A few of my pieces were accepted."

"I'm glad to hear," Tessa said, still smiling.

"Enough about me. What about you? What are you doing here? Have this lot finally recognized your talents and given you a spot?" Benedict questioned.

Tessa chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm still modeling. The Academy refuses to consider women capable of using a paintbrush or a chisel, but I got one of my pieces selected for the exhibit. And something far better than the Royal Academy."

"And what's that?"

"A position studying in Florence. Apparently, they are a bit more accepting of women learning the arts in Italy," Tessa replied happily.

"That's wonderful, Tessa," Benedict remarked.

"I'll still have to work for it, but I certainly have you to thank for my male figures being more accurate. It certainly was what got me accepted in the first place," she explained.

Benedict chuckled. "You deserve it, Tessa," he told her.

Tessa's dark eyes glanced over towards Sophie, who was lingering in the shadows behind them, trying to stay out of sight. The brunette cocked her head to the side, studying her. A sly smile still ghosted over her lips.

"Who's your friend?" she asked.

"Oh, Tessa, this is Sophie. Sophie, this is Tessa, an old friend from when I was studying here," Benedict introduced them quickly.

Sophie nodded politely. "Nice to meet you."

"Is she your latest? She's a pretty little thing. Wherever did you find her?" Tessa whispered loudly as she leaned towards Benedict, teasing him.

"Tessa," Benedict warned.

"You should get her to model here? She'd be well received," Tessa commented to Benedict. "Those looks are divine, and those curls. You must tell me how you get them like that, Sophie. Mine refuse to listen to me. Maybe you could come over to my place before I leave. I'm certain we could exchange tips and–"

"Tessa," Benedict almost snapped, making the young woman perk up a brow at him in intrigue.

"Ah, not the sharing sort, are you?" she said knowingly before turning back towards Sophie. "Apologies, I didn't mean any offense."

Sophie only nodded her understanding, still unsure of what to say or do. She couldn't see any maliciousness in Tessa. The tone of her voice was playful yet kind, flirty even.

Flirty. She was flirting, Sophie realized. And that was when Sophie finally understood Tessa's remark about her male figures and Benedict. The way Tessa brushed a hand over his arm when they had greeted one another, trailing it slowly down.

They weren't friends. They were former lovers.

She should have realized there had been others. The charming, gorgeous Benedict Bridgerton wouldn't have much difficulty getting any woman he wanted into his bed.

No wonder he had no issue asking her to be his mistress. He'd probably already done the same with others. Maybe even with Tessa. Sophie was just another name on a list of women he'd been with and cast aside. Another conquest for him.

And Tessa had already assumed she was.

God, she was so stupid. Was this just an attempt at forcing her hand? She should never have agreed to come here with him.

"I-I think it's best I go," she told them.

"Sophie, are you alright?" Benedict frowned, sensing her discomfort.

"You're welcome to stay. The more the merrier, I always say," Tessa smiled sweetly, oblivious to the chaos occurring. "You can tell me what this one has been up to since I last saw him. I'm certain it was nothing good."

"Oh no, no. I think it's best I let him tell you," Sophie said quickly, shaking her head as she stepped away from them. "I should get going anyway. It's been a long day. Excuse me."

"Sophie! Sophie, wait!" Benedict called out after her.

But she'd already disappeared into the next room, fleeing towards the exit, forcing Benedict to chase after her. He left a surprised Tessa behind, not even turning back to explain or say goodbye as he ran after her. He didn’t even think, he just made a split second decision when he saw her flee to follow her. And that's what he did.

And he caught up with her quickly enough. Those damn legs once again. Sophie grabbed the basket she'd left by the door, and had already slipped into the hallway and then out the side entrance when Benedict caught her in the alleyway. His hand snatched her wrist to stop her, pulling her back.

"Let me go," she ordered, shrugging him off her.

"Let me explain," he shot back, grabbing her arm.

"Get off me!" she shouted, ripping herself away from him. "I do not wish to speak to you."

"Sophie, please–" he started to plead.

"What?!" she snapped. "What could you possibly have to say to explain this?"

"She didn't mean any harm. Tessa was just being herself," Benedict told her. "If she offended you, I know she didn't mean to."

Sophie scoffed. "You mean when she assumed I was your mistress, and you didn't correct her?"

Benedict frowned. "When–she didn't say anything–?"

He stopped. She had. He hadn't even noticed. Just happy to see a familiar face, he didn't notice she'd implied he and Sophie were together. And when he stopped her from propositioning Sophie, he'd only confirmed his interests.

He sighed. "Sophie–"

"I have no need to involve myself with whores," she snapped at him.

"That's out of line, Sophie," he told her sternly as if admonishing one of his sisters for a cruel remark. "Just because you're upset with me doesn't mean you need to refer to Tessa as a whore."

Sophie stopped, blinking at him, her mouth open in stunned surprise. Staring at him as if he'd just grown another head. As if she couldn't believe what he had just said to her.

Then, the shock changed to something else. Amusement. With a look of disbelief still on her face, she started laughing at him. Hysterically. Enough that she was left clutching her side as her chuckles descended into a fit, and Benedict found himself uncomfortable with her reaction, unsure what he'd done to cause it.

"She was not the one I was referring to as a whore," she finally told him as the chuckles subsided, looking at him like he was a fool.

Benedict frowned at her, confused, as he slowly processed the words she'd just said. Then, like hers had, his pale eyes widened in stunned surprise. She'd been speaking of him. And the glower she now had told him it was most certainly him she'd been referring to. Sophie was focusing on keeping her breathing steady to prevent herself from yelling at him.

His frown deepened. Appalled, he asked. Just to make sure.

"Me?"

"Yes, you!" she shot at him, louder this time. The anger began burning brightly again in her mossy eyes.

As if struck by a bullet, Benedict stumbled back from her as the insult hit his ego. He won't deny that he'd slept around, finding himself in the company of a new woman each season these past few seasons, but that had been before Sophie. That had all stopped after he met the Lady in Silver, probably even before that, too, if he thought about it. Watching his siblings fall in love and marry, seeing them start their own families, had stirred something deep within him. He realized he was pretty lonely and wished for more than a fleeting fling.

Sophie had probably been the first woman he'd found himself falling for in two years, unable to tear his eyes from her petite form, blonde curls, and bright jeweled eyes. Every time she stepped into the room, he found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was the first woman in years he'd desired, even when his mind still harassed him about his silver-dressed companion. The one he had yet to find.

Not to mention, he was a gentleman. His mother had raised him better. He'd been nothing but respectable to all his previous partners and to any lady of the ton he met.

And being a gentleman meant he knew marriage was not an option when it came to Sophie, no matter how much his heart screamed at him to ignore society. To just flee to Scotland with her.

Maybe he should. It would make everything easier.

But, somehow, even though he knew he was not some cad, that his gender granted him only respect from his peers when they learned of his sexual exploits, being compared to that of a high-class cyprian or some light-skirted doxy was a comparison he found himself not entirely comfortable with.

Especially when it was coming from Sophie.

She was still glaring at him, her small chest expanding and contracting with each hasty breath she took. Her nostrils flaring. She was furious; her round cheeks had gone pink from rage, her eyes rimmed red, and why wouldn't she be upset. Intentional or not, he'd embarrassed her.

He knew Tessa's remarks were not said in judgment but in a friendly jest, mocking him more than Sophie if he was honest, but Sophie, a young woman whose own birth had been the result of premarital affairs and who he knew, from his own teasings, was not comfortable with conversations of sex, had seen it as degrading. An insult.

He'd stood there like an idiot while Tessa implied Sophie was his latest lover.

He sighed. He was a fool. A giant damn fool. "Sophie, I'm sorry–"

"I don't want to hear your apologies," she snapped. "I've heard enough."

"Sophie, I don't think of you like that," Benedict told her. "You're far more important to me than some little fling. That’s all it was for Tessa too."

“You asked me to be your mistress?” she retorted, furiously.

“You said it yourself, we cannot be together,” he shot at her, repeating her earlier statement back.

“And yet you continue to try. To try and ruin me just so you can have me all to yourself,” she angrily remarked.

“Sophie, I love you,” he replied quickly.

He’d said before, but even then Sophie hadn’t believed him. Even though he knew she felt the same towards him, she wouldn’t say it back and she wouldn’t believe him when he said it to her.

And she didn’t this time either. Sophie only scoffed at him as she shook her head. She turned to leave, moving away from him, but Benedict wouldn't let her get away. Reaching out and grabbing her again, he pulled her back.

"I said let go of me–" Sophie started, fighting against him as he pushed to turn around.

And then his lips were on hers.

She should have pushed him away, told him no, and been done with it. He would have let her leave.

But the moment his lips were touching hers, any capability she had at being rational evaporated.

Because she did love him, she did, and kissing Benedict was like being set alight. Not in the painful, burning way, but the exhilarating, being sent over the edge and back that felt like every one of Sophie's nerves had just ignited, all buzzing with desire and excitement. Even furious with him, her anger only shifted to passion. The tightness below her belly returned as she felt herself get warm.

Benedict let go of her shoulders to catch her waist again, snaking around her to come and rest on her back. A spin of the feet and Sophie was against the brick wall. His grip on her waist pulled her hips closer to him, his fingers digging into muscle. She tilted her head back, letting him kiss her harder, her hands clutching at his shirt, then his neck, nails scratching lightly over skin before pushing up into his hair, making him groan against her. The smell of citrus and sandalwood filling her nose.

His hands were pulling at the fabric of her dress, dragging the skirts up her legs until it was brushing at the back of her calves, then going higher, but Sophie was too caught up in the desperate passion she was more focused on pulling him closer to realize what he was getting close to.

And she couldn't help it. A small moan left her lips when his fingers lightly skimmed over the skin of her thigh, almost tickling. Slipping from her lips like a desperate gasp as she got a moment to breathe. To pull air back into her lungs.

Reality followed close behind.

Her reaction was instant. Like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped on her, dosing the fire racing through her veins, Sophie jumped away from Benedict, pushing him back.

"Stop it," she ordered.

"Sophie–" he stepped towards her.

"No, just stop!" she almost screamed at him.

He stopped, hands up in surrender. He looked guilt-ridden. Unsure what to say. A desperate, lonely look in his eyes.

Good, she thought, he should be.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Sophie. Just let me at least walk you back to Number 5," he offered sincerely. "Please, Sophie."

She shook her head, jaw clenched, as she turned away from him.

"I think it's best if I return alone . Good day, Mr. Bridgerton."

Then she slipped away from him without another word, not bothering to glance back as she left him standing there in the thin alleyway. Alone. Despair and regret lingered in the air.

But the feeling of his lips on hers, the ghost of their kiss, burned the entire walk back.

#my fics.#benophie #bridgerton #Bridgeton fics

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free-for-all-fics · 4 months

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Phantom of the Opera AU Prompt inspired by Spookies (1986)! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! 💍🤍💐

After taking a wrong turn, a group of teenagers and young adults find themselves in a mysterious but dilapidated Opera House and try to throw a party, believing it to have been abandoned over a century ago since it’s full of dust, cobwebs, and broken furniture. There are objects still frozen in various stages of melting or falling apart, and both the walls and carpets are blackened and singed. At the center of the destruction is a broken chandelier lying in the main concert hall. The gold paint is tarnished, the metal having rusted over time. It looks more like a sickly green with bits of brown and a lot of the glass ornaments that once made it sparkle are shattered. The Opera House shows obvious signs that there must’ve been a great fire that engulfed almost everything. As it stands, it’s little more than a charred coffin that houses the remains of all the people who once populated its halls and filled its many rooms with music, grand parties, and laughter. The group of partygoers seriously doubt that they’ll get caught trespassing, confident that no cop would ever bother coming here.

The group of partygoers have no qualms about breaking into places they’re not supposed to be, even though they don’t have any idea what they’re looking for or hoping to find during their explorations. It could be anything from candles to light after their flashlights die or valuable antiques to steal and sell, but each member of the group is filled with an insatiable curiosity. A curiosity that, unbeknownst to them, is going to get them all killed. They show no respect as they break the door down to enter your old dressing room and venture down the stairs that lay behind the shattered, ornate mirror. Down, down, down, the rickety stairs seem almost endless as they squeak from disuse whenever pressure is put on them by the nosy protagonists, as if they’re on the verge of collapsing from under all their combined weight. They come to a lake. Using the boat that’s tied up by the shore, they row towards Erik’s lair, their eyes caught by the warm yellow candlelight up ahead, which highlights the sparkling treasures that lay beyond. They glint with the same light of their greedy eyes.

Whatever they were hoping to find down there, it definitely wasn’t your corpse lying in an ornate black coffin. It’s uncanny how perfect you look, as if you had just died less than a week ago. But their bodies are racked with violent chills and they involuntarily shiver with fear and disgust when they look upon you and see you’re dressed in your wedding gown. A wedding gown which looks to be an antique from the 19th century. Unbeknownst to them, they’re going to soon discover that Erik still resides inside his Opera House and keeps watch over you. To him, you’re his beautiful young bride but, in actuality, you’re his long-dead wife. For over one hundred years Erik has kept your corpse perfectly preserved through an unrevealed method, forever frozen and impervious to the effects of time that would’ve otherwise ravaged your lovely countenance.

He was branded as a living corpse from birth and, even today, his face is only a semblance of a face. No power in this world or the next could change that. The price is high just to keep himself as put together as he is. It took him many, many, many years, but he’s learned to accept the burden that chance has seen fit to lay upon him. Whether a curse from God or a gift from the Devil, he’s spited them both in his pursuit of getting you back and has fashioned a life as good as he’s been able, even if it’s an undead one. Alongside you he’s somehow kept himself ageless and undying and, although he’s resigned himself to his fate, you’re exactly the same as the day he married you. You’re exactly the same as the day he found you, after you so cruelly and selfishly left him. Nothing about you has changed. Nothing physically, at least. He can’t account for what you’ll be like mentally or emotionally once you wake up. He still wants you as a living bride, not a dead wife. He especially doesn’t want you as a living corpse remade in his image. Even after so many decades, he can’t bear to destroy your beauty, to subject you to his fate of eternal ugliness.

He should’ve never left you alone that cursed day. Had he known what you intended to do to yourself… He was blinded by his love for you and was a fool to have underestimated you, but there’s no point dwelling on any of it now. He’s paid the price for his past mistakes and has learned from them, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t be so naive next time. While he’s no longer a lovesick fool, he’s still faithfully remained by your side since your death, believing himself to be the ever so doting and loving husband. Unlike you, Erik believes in keeping his marriage vows. Ever since you died, he’s made a habit of always talking to you, professing his love for you, and sharing with you his progress. He’s not sure why he keeps doing this day in and day out. You’ve never moved a muscle or said anything to him, as he knew you wouldn’t. As much as he wanted to believe he was talking to you and hoped that maybe you could hear him somehow, he was really talking to himself. It could be to cope with his loneliness and to prevent himself from succumbing to the abject bleakness of his reality. Believing in a beautiful lie seemed better than an ugly truth, and if he had to keep telling himself these lies to keep himself motivated, so be it. It’s too late to give up now. He must finish what he started and see it through to the end. For you, for himself, for your love.

Although he can do so at any time, he won’t die in order to join you. Dying is so much easier than living, yet he keeps choosing to endure this Hell of his own making, this half-existence. He’s not dead, but he’s not exactly alive either. His stubborn refusal to die might make him a coward in the end, but he can’t bear it if you’re lost to him forever. He strongly believes that an angel like you must’ve been forgiven and accepted into Heaven despite your sinful act, while he’d only be damned to the pits of Hell upon his death, if there truly is an afterlife. Or maybe he can’t die at all because neither Heaven nor Hell want him there. He’s thought of that possibility as well. Out of fear of the unknown or out of love for you, Erik remains in this limbo. Whether by choice or by fate, he’s just here. Frozen. Never moving backwards nor forwards. It’s a rather boring and monotonous existence.

The spell or ritual Erik performs requires human sacrifices to give both himself and you eternal life, and while the exact methods of how he accomplishes this are unknown or unclear, he dons his mask and reprises his Opera Ghost/Phantom persona whenever unwitting trespassers arrive. This spell or ritual allows him to steal the youth and beauty of other men and women, which he then uses to restore your withered corpse and his own decomposing body. While the victims age rapidly until they’re so elderly they can barely move, he kills them swiftly and disposes of the bodies so nobody will ever find them, if they don’t turn to dust first.

One horror after another threatens the teens and young adults as they try, in vain, to run away and escape the Opera House. Erik uses his supernatural powers to possess someone and infiltrate the group. He uses his skills as an actor to impersonate the victim he’s possessing while simultaneously instilling doubt and distrust amongst the group, doing so gradually so they’re not entirely aware they’re being manipulated until it’s too late and they become paranoid and irritable. He then uses smoke and mirrors to make them believe the Opera House is haunted by horrifying ghosts and monsters that are coming to get them. He literally scares some victims to death as they suffer a fatal heart attack, while others are isolated and strangled to death with his Punjab Lasso or simply fall to their death while being chased. The last ones remaining are driven into turning against each other and committing murder themselves out of a desperation for survival, then committing suicide out of guilt and regret for the horrific act they’ve done out of impulse. One-by-one they’re each killed by Erik or by their own hands, bringing him ever closer to awakening you from your sleep-like death.

In his mortal life, Erik turned you into his object of obsession. From the moment he saw you perform on stage, he became fixated on you and had to have you for himself. While you were vulnerable and mourning a recently deceased loved one, he emotionally and mentally manipulated you by pretending to be an angel that was personally sent to you from Heaven by that loved one. He used your fear of disappointing your loved one and being abandoned against you by threatening to leave forever and return to Heaven as a consequence for your transgressions. He used manipulative and abusive tactics, and preyed on your fears and insecurities to ensure your obedience and coerce you into listening to his instructions. He stalked you and followed you to the cemetery whenever you visited the graves of friends and family you lost, some of whom died before you were born or when you were too young to remember them. He watched you and, whenever you prayed in the Opera House chapel, his yellow eyes turned green with envy. He wanted you to worship him and only him. He wanted you as his wife so he could dress you up in beautiful gowns, take you out on walks in the garden he built underground, and spoil you with lavish gifts. He wanted you to swear your love for him and only him. He wouldn’t let you take another man into your heart. Not even a dead man or a god. If he so much as thought that you’d fall in love with another or betray him, he’d be forced to suspend that man from the rafters with his Punjab Lasso until death or have the Siren drown him in the lake. He wouldn’t compete with a corpse.

He tried to court you properly like any other gentleman, but you were stubborn and his patience quickly wore out. He tried his hand at romance, but you refused all his gifts and burned his letters in the fireplace, so you left him with no choice but to kidnap you and keep you prisoner under the Opera House. He wanted to make you feel guilty for hurting him. He blamed you for his actions, and he made sure that you knew it. This was all your fault. You made this happen. In his home by the lake, in his domain, you were caught on the horns of a dilemma presented to you by a man you believed to be the son of the Devil himself. It was eleven o'clock, time for you to decide life or death. He was terrible, he was quite mad, he tore off his mask and his yellow eyes shot flames! He did nothing but laugh!

“I give you five minutes to spare your blushes! Here,” he said, taking a key from the little bag of life and death, “here is the little bronze key that opens the two ebony caskets on the mantelpiece in the Louis-Philippe room. In one of the caskets, you will find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both very cleverly imitated in Japanese bronze: they will say yes or no for you. If you turn the scorpion round, that will mean to me, when I return, that you have said yes. The grasshopper will mean no.” And he laughed like a drunken demon.

You did nothing but beg and entreat him to give you the key to the torture chamber, promising to be his wife if he granted you that request. But he told you that there was no future need for that key and that he was going to throw it into the lake! And he again laughed like a drunken demon and left you.

Oh, his last words were, “The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper! A grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!"

The five minutes had nearly elapsed, and the scorpion and the grasshopper were scratching at your brain. Nevertheless, you had sufficient lucidity left to understand that, if the grasshopper were turned, it would hop, and with it many members of the human race! There was no doubt that the grasshopper controlled an electric current intended to blow up the powder-magazine!

"Not a word, my dear, or I shall blow everything up." And he added, "The honor rests with you, my love. You haven’t touched the scorpion-” how deliberately he spoke, "My dear hasn’t touched the grasshopper," with that composure!

But it wasn’t too late to do the right thing. There, you opened the caskets without a key, for Erik was a trap-door lover and he opened and shut what he pleased and as he pleased. You opened the little ebony caskets, looking at the little dears inside. Weren’t they pretty? He told you that, if you turned the grasshopper, you would all be blown up. There was enough gunpowder under your feet to blow up a whole quarter of Paris. If you turned the scorpion, all that powder would be soaked and drowned. To celebrate your wedding, you would make a very handsome present to a few hundred Parisians who were, at that moment, applauding a poor masterpiece of Meyerbeer's. You would make them a present of their lives for, with your own fair hands, you would turn the scorpion. And merrily, merrily, you and Erik would be married! A pause; and then:

"If, in two minutes, my love, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper… and the grasshopper, I tell you, hops jolly high!"

The terrible silence began anew. Realizing that there was nothing left to do but pray, you didn’t kneel but instead just closed your eyes and clasped your hands together. Your blood beat so fiercely that you had to take your heart in both hands, lest it should burst. At last, you heard Erik's voice: "The two minutes are past. Goodbye, my love. Hop, grasshopper!”

"Erik, do you swear to me, monster, do you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn?”

"Yes, to hop at our wedding.”

"Ah, you see! You said, to hop!"

"At our wedding, ingenuous child! The scorpion opens the ball. But that will do! You won't have the scorpion? Then I turn the grasshopper!"

"Erik! Enough! Erik! I have turned the scorpion!"

You expected several times to be raped during your abduction and imprisonment. You felt so vulnerable and exposed, especially whenever you were forced to take baths in Erik’s lair. You kept a pair of scissors hidden under your many layers of skirts, always close by and ready to kill yourself if he ever tried anything, but it turned out the Phantom respected your privacy and honor. He swore he wouldn’t touch you until you were wed, but that did little to assuage your fears and anxiety. If anything, it made you more paranoid. Your wedding day was set by Erik and non-negotiable. Nothing you could say or do would postpone or delay it. It was fast approaching and you dreaded it, but not nearly as much as you dreaded your wedding night. He forced you into an old wedding dress. The style was so out of fashion you wondered how long he had kept it, but were too afraid to ask. You didn’t want to know. If you hadn’t dressed yourself in the white gown, he would’ve done it himself. You’d rather he didn’t touch you or see your body in such a state of undress, so you complied with his demands.

Erik’s hands snatched up the gossamer veil. He pressed the band of it down onto your head. You flinched as it touched your scalp. In return, Erik pressed down harder and you hissed in pain. You sobbed as he pushed down on it a final time, the pressure stabbing into your head. He pressed it so hard onto your head that it dug into your skull. Your bouquet was arranged by Erik himself, and had been made up of black roses that reeked of death. Their scent was so strong it made you feel dizzy and nauseous. But scattered among the dark blooms were a few red roses as well, along with smatterings of baby’s-breath. Leaves peeked out from among the flowers. Blindly, his hands grabbed up the wedding bouquet and shoved it into your hands. His hands, far larger and stronger than your own despite their extremely thin and bony appearance, felt as cold as ice. When his fingers brushed yours, it felt as if you were touching Death itself. There was no rosy tint to his sallow cheeks, no warmth radiating from his skin. You wondered if his heart was even beating at all, if he even had one underneath those layers of black clothing he always wore. He forced your hands to squeeze around the bound-together stems and you gasped as thorny pain pricked your palms and fingers.

“These are the flowers you will hold for our wedding. I have proposed to you every night in my music, but if you want me to produce a ring,” one of his hands flourished in the air and, seemingly out of the darkness, appeared a plain gold ring, “I readily can. You are to be my bride, my angel of music, my one and all. You will be here in the darkness with me for all time. I can make you just like me,” he insisted, “You can walk the world as I do, beside me. We can walk in my forest on Sundays, just as they do in the world above.”

You unwillingly became his living wife and consummated your marriage. You did your best to just lie under him and bear it. You just closed your eyes whenever you could. Whenever Erik ordered you to open your eyes and look at him, you just stared at the wall behind him. He didn’t notice the difference and thought you were holding eye contact. Luckily for you, he didn’t last very long. After it was over and Erik fell asleep, you snuck out of the bed so you could vomit, your bile falling into the lake. It was the first and last time he held or touched you in such an intimate manner, and you were so relieved that he didn’t care about sex beyond fulfilling his husbandly duties, as he called it.

Throughout your marriage, Erik was much more blatantly and deliberately abusive to you as time went on. Even after revealing himself to you, he was still controlling, emotionally and mentally abusing you just as much as he did when he was your Angel of Music. As punishment for any action he deemed as impertinence, he’d keep you locked in a tiny room hidden behind a wall in his lair. There were no windows and it was full of furniture that once belonged to his deceased mother, whom you believe he also murdered. He’d leave you in there for days, unlocking the door only to bring you food and ask if you had calmed down. He would only let you out if you promised to behave and do as you were meant to, and love him.

In return, he’d reward you by letting you ask him one question so long as it didn’t involve him, or he’d take you out for walks in his garden which he had built himself. It was full of fake foliage and painted animals, carefully crafted to seem as realistic as possible. While it was beautiful in a way, it was still dark and creepy. It only made you want the sun, but this imitation would be the closest you’d ever get to being allowed outside. On top of that, he physically struck you a few times. For ten years you suffered under Erik’s control and influence, subject to his deluded form of love that was, in actuality, mental, emotional, and physical abuse. Day in and day out, it was the same as your body was slowly beaten down and your psyche was chipped away piece by little piece. The days blended together into an endless hour of misery until you could no longer keep track of time. You needed to break free from this endless cycle while you were still strong enough to do so, before you suffocated under his crushing embrace and became just an empty shell of your former self, a mindless doll for Erik to play with until you broke. His words repeated like a broken record until they were drummed into your skull so hard you could recite them verbatim from memory:

“You insolent girl! You don’t love me yet, but you will,” he said once more, “You must. You must love me. You have no choice. You will never leave this place. You are as much mine as the Opera House.”

You tried to escape more times than you could count but were recaptured every time. No matter how far you ran, no matter where you hid, Erik always found you sooner or later. You attempted to escape every chance you had, but the more you failed, the more you gave up on life. If your only option was to rot in this chamber forever, you’d escape a different way. The first time you tried, Erik found the scissors and took them away from you before you could use them on yourself. He tied you up so you wouldn’t be able to interfere or get in his way while he removed any and every object he deemed sharp or otherwise dangerous, not caring that the coarse ropes dug into your flesh and were hurting you. Any object he thought you could use to kill yourself was taken away. You weren’t even allowed sewing needles for needlepoint. He wanted a living wife, not a dead bride. He lived a life where trust and faith were impossible luxuries and he wouldn’t take any chances. Not even with you. After your little stunt with the scissors, Erik’s trust in you had been completely broken. He no longer let you hold or touch anything that could be used to make you bleed. He thought he had taken every precaution to ensure not only that you wouldn’t, but that you couldn’t hurt or kill yourself.

But he had overlooked that you didn’t need to bleed in order to die. Your desperation to take back some control of your fate culminated in you committing suicide by poisoning yourself with laudanum as pure as you could get it. It was powerful stuff and good for sleeping, but too much of its pure form and a person just never woke up. You drank a large dose of the drug during the premiere of “Don Juan Triumphant”. You purposefully chose that day of all days to spite Erik. In your final act of defiance, the laudanum was extremely bitter on your tongue, but your revenge tasted sickeningly sweet. You could hear the crescendo of the music from above echoing down into the caves just when you felt yourself fall into a drugged sleep. You felt warm and then…nothing.

Upon finding your corpse, Erik still refused to see the error of his ways towards you. He was so angry and disappointed in you. That anger and disappointment suddenly and quickly mutated into hate, bitterness, resentment, animosity, and so on. His bloodstreams had been seized as these volatile emotions were coursing through his veins, his heart beating a frantic pace until it was consumed completely. He felt as if he could’ve suffered a heart attack and died in that moment, but the feelings kept spreading like a disease, infecting every part of him until it took over every inch of his being. His lungs, his liver, his nerves, his brain. He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t know how to cope with these emotions that were attacking him all at once. He was overcome. They spilled over and into his voice. He didn’t know how to get them out, to expel them from his body and take back control. So he did the only thing he could do, which was direct these scary and nauseating feelings towards you or, more specifically, your corpse.

He decried you as a devil for not loving him, his words as venomous as a pit viper. But the feelings of nausea only worsened as a horrible pit of guilt churned in his stomach. He almost immediately fell to his knees and started sobbing. He begged your forgiveness as he cradled your cold body and rocked you back and forth, chanting over and over and over that he didn’t mean it. In his madness, he turned to dark sorcery and forbidden magics to turn himself into a living corpse, incapable of being touched by death. He disposed of the dress you died in and dressed you up in your bridal gown, the white fabrics a stark contrast to the blackness of his coffin where he used to sleep. He’s kept you preserved inside, just as young and beautiful in death as you were in life. Sleep meant so little to him in life, and it means even less to him now. He used to go fourteen days without food or rest, and now he doesn’t eat or sleep at all. He has no need for it. He’s watched over you for many decades, doing everything in his power to bring you back to him. And now with the deaths of this most recent group of victims, he has enough sacrifices to satisfy the blood price. It’s time for you to wake up.

“At last, for over a century I have waited. I have sacrificed the youth of so many so that you might live. And yet, I would trade all my powers for some way to make you see how helplessly I love you, that I even kill so that you might live. What a cruel joke. My power is nothing compared to the power your beauty has over me. I am your prisoner, a slave to that which I can never possess.”

Although he’s excited when he sees you begin to move and is eager to have you back, he doesn’t want to rush you. He had hoped to ease you back into the land of the living so, instead, he waits just a few minutes more until you pull yourself out of your dream. You slowly begin to stir. Everything feels so heavy. Your eyelids flutter and your fingers twitch. Your head moves from side to side, as if struggling between the realms of wake and dream. You do your best to shake off the daze you’re under. When you finally muster up the strength to wipe away the rheum that the sandman sprinkled over your eyes and pry them open, the first thing you see is Erik. He’s leering over you with a relieved smile that’s supposed to be loving. You gasp in horror when he stretches out his hand to caress your cheek and hair. In his euphoric state, he mistakes it for a gasp of elation or happiness, until your voice breaks him out of his reverie.

“Erik? No. What have you done? No. Release me. Please let me die. Why won’t you let this end?”

Your words nearly break his heart. You flinch and recoil from him when he tries to touch or kiss you. You’re not…repulsed by him, are you? No. You can’t be! Not after all that he’s just done for you! You’re his faithful bride, his living wife. You should be thankful to him for giving you back your life! He learned from his years of pouring over books that resurrection and immortality can be quite traumatizing for the subject, so he deludes himself and accredits your behavior to you still being in shock.

“I have waited by your side day and night for an entire lifetime. You see now that we can never be separated. We live through each other. There can be no end for either of us. I must when I will make you mine forever.”

But instead you try to get up and out of Erik’s coffin. The layers of white gossamer silks and fabrics surrounding you have tangled together and weigh you down, forcing you to stay in a lying position. The more you struggle to sit up and try to untangle yourself, the more you’re wrapped up, as if in a cocoon. Erik holds out his hand to try to help you stand, but you refuse. You don’t want his help, you don’t want to hold his hand. You don’t want to be back here or have anything to do with him. You escaped him, you were free… until he ripped you from Death’s embrace and replaced it with his own! “Stay away. I don’t want you by my side. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I poisoned myself once before and I’ll do it again, or find another way.”

“Haven’t you learned that my will to have you is greater than your will to die?”

“Even if you keep me prisoner for another hundred years, you’ll never have me!”

“But I do have you. I control your past, your present, and your future. This time there will be no escape.”

“No, don’t touch me! Can’t you see I’ve always hated you?” You get up all by yourself and run away from him, not even bothering to look over your shoulder to see if he’s following you.

He makes no move to pursue or chase after you, as if he already knows that you won’t get far and will come crawling back to him sooner or later. When you become aware of the very real danger you’re in, you tear off the bottom of your wedding dress. Erik burying you, his dead wife, in your wedding dress was such a strange and maybe even ironic thing to do, but he’s so unhinged that you’re not very surprised. Your dress accumulates more and more damage over the course of time you spend trying to run as far away as possible. When you’re outside and accidentally injure yourself, you rip the sleeve off your wedding gown and use it to bandage your bleeding wound.

In the beginning, your dress had been pure and pristine, but off-white. When you first saw it, you reflected how the color looked just a little bit off at first glance, but it looked even more ugly or off-putting once you thought about the implications of your impending marriage and doom. It was all wrong. After learning the nature of Erik’s powers and immortality, your dress gradually becomes less and less white as time progresses. It gets torn to near shreds and stained with blood, sweat, and dirt. The condition of the dress worsens as you’re forced to defend yourself and escape from the Opera House. Your ruined wedding dress reflects your loss of innocence and waning affection for Erik, but you also carry it as a symbol to represent your determination to survive the night and take back your autonomy. But the further away you get from Erik, the more you feel sick. You feel so weak, as if your body is forcibly shutting down and you can’t will yourself to move. Erik must’ve done something to you. You later make your way back to him, hiding an ice pick in the skirts of your bloodstained and tattered dress, like you had done with the scissors in your past life.

“Why must you resist? There’s no escape. Your future no longer belongs to you. It belongs to us. You won’t get far if you run. The farther you get from me, the weaker you’ll become. It’s only your resistance that’s killing you. Love me, and you will be free.”

“How can you speak of love? You’re torturing me.”

You’ve always known that Erik never loved you, not really. This act of bringing you back from the dead only cements it for you. He never loved you because, if he had, he would’ve put your happiness above his own when you were alive. And he doesn’t love you now because, if he did, he would’ve left you alone to Rest In Peace after you were dead. But instead he colluded with dark and unknown forces beyond your comprehension to preserve your corpse and raise you from the dead. He murdered God knows how many people and did all of this just so that he could possess you again. You always were and always will be just an object to him, never a person. He has such nerve and audacity to accuse you of being selfish for what you did, especially after all he’s done. Love is supposed to be selfless and, despite his protests and claims of the contrary, you know he only did this for himself. He never did this for you.

“Torturing you? It is you who are torturing me. I have devoted my life and the life of many others that you might live again.”

“Love. How could I love you when I’ve never learned how to love?”

“Let my love teach you. Tell me that you will love me, that you will love me for all time.”

“I will love you for all time.”

“No. You do not love me, but you will. You are my angel. You must. You dared to refuse my love, hence you shall suffer a fate worse than death. You shall remain fettered by my side for all eternity, until you love me!”

Your eyes skitter away from his face and down to his outstretched palms. Pale as they are, the glitter of dark rubies on his skin is a stark contrast and catch your eye immediately. Yes, Erik is a living corpse, a ghost. And a ghost who bleeds is still dangerous. But a ghost who bleeds might die. You stab Erik in the forehead with the ice pick and run away, while he cries out in surprise and pain. He pulls it out and bleeds to death, collapsing onto the ground. You run out into the middle of the road in search of a horse or carriage and are nearly blinded by bright white lights as a strange metal contraption screeches to a stop in front of you. Is that a carriage? It looks very odd. A person in weird clothing steps out and offers you a ride to the hospital, alarmed at your disheveled and bloody state. You escape with the driver as they take you away in what they call their… car? What’s a car? They try to use a term you’d better understand and, while you’re still confused, you start to get the gist when they call it an iron horse.

“Seriously, how old are you? You speak like the protagonist in a Victorian Gothic novel.”

Oh, if only they knew…

Unbeknownst to you, Erik regenerates out of his coffin, laughing maniacally.

#phantom of the opera x reader #the phantom x reader #erik x reader #Spookies AU #fic prompt #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it

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nehswritesstuffs · 3 months

Text

Give Me That Seers and Roebuccaneer Aesthetic, If You Please

So you thought you saw the last of this AU setting? Think again!

4736 words; based off of this drawing by @pancakey-haley, which is one of the funniest things I’ve seen recently; takes place in the same continuity as Double-Date from Hell and Dr. Hart-Steeler, so a pseudo-Midwestern American modern AU where there’s no powers but somehow Brook is still a skeleton and Chopper’s a reindeer and other setting-dependent things; shorter than the other two installments but I feel it still is worth a gander

The thing about Tuesday-Thursday classes was at least neither of those days were Monday, Usopp thought thankfully as he trudged into his commercial photography class. Yeah, it was still nine in the morning, but it was Tuesday, and he’d take trudging into class clutching the largest, strongest coffee he could manage then in lieu of doing literally anything before noon on a Monday. He went to his copy of the assignment handout and almost spit out said coffee. [Modern AU where Usopp has an awkward class assignment, the Hearts know things they rather wouldn't, Bepo's cousin is just as precious as he is, and the throwback vibes are strong as everyone comes together to make things a little less shitty. Kinda. Try explaining that to Law.]

“Oh, there you are Sopp-bro!” Usopp blinked heavily and saw Carrot cheerily waving at him from across the room where they both normally sat. “How are you doing this morning?!”

“Same as ever,” he groaned as he sat down. He thought he’d gotten used to chipper highschoolers in college classes that were technically way too advanced for their age with Chopper, but after having met Bepo’s cousin Carrot… well… he wouldn’t trade her cheer for anything but it still tested him. “Do you have the week’s lesson?”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna be a weird one,” she frowned. She took one of the handouts on her desk and passed it to him. “What’s a Seers store?”

He tilted his head, still a bit too tired to fully process why the little voice in the back of his brain was panicking. “It’s a… well, it was a department store. A fancier one that didn’t sell groceries but almost everything else. You know, kinda like in the Christmas movies.”

“Oh yeah! With a whole floor for toys and a cafe and those things that go chok-chunk?”

Things that go chok-chunk…? Ah, a credit card imprinter. Shit, he was too young to know that, technically-speaking.

“Yup. It was a big thing for a long time. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it considering how important the catalogue was in history class times.” He then went to his copy of the assignment handout and almost spit out his coffee.

Oh fuck no.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

No one at 1000 Sunny Rd was really prepared for Usopp to come home from classes in such a panic. Actually, when they thought about it, it was rather normal for him to come home from class all wound up in a panic, but Tuesday-Thursdays were usually pretty chill, which made today all the more interesting.

“This is bad, you guys!” he shouted the moment he came in through the front door. He barrelled his way into the open-concept living room/kitchen area, where most everyone was already gathered. The only one of the main crew who wasn’t there was Chopper since he had his own classes, and Law was there but only really as a seat for Nami as he napped upright on the couch with his arms around her waist and head resting against her shoulder.

“What’s bad?” Franky wondered. He paused the video game, which caused Luffy and Zoro to both scowl. “It’s super-unlike you to be this panicked mid-week.”

“It’s my stupid photography class,” he whined. “I’ve got to do formal studio portraits!”

“…like school ID pictures?” Zoro grunted.

“No, like Seers portraits and shit,” Usopp sniped. “I gotta do a family portrait and my instructor wants me to do my family.”

“Oooh!” Luffy gasped, sliding off the couch. “Are you gonna take our pictures?!”

“She wants me to take a portrait of me and…” Usopp shuddered, “my dad.”

“…but your dad’s on a shipping freighter in the middle of a fucking giant-ass lake,” Sanji commented from the kitchen. He put a mug of coffee on the island and Usopp took it, hoping the caffeine would help paradoxically calm him. “Did you explain to the lady that your dad works on a fucking freighter and can’t just pop on over?”

“Even if he could… I don’t know…” Usopp looked at his friends and finally noticed Law. “It’s four in the afternoon—why’s the old man napping?”

“Old Man has graveyard shift in the ER this week,” Nami replied. Usopp stared deadpan at her while Law let out a small snore. “Hey, don’t be jealous because I technically never have to work as long as he’s around.”

“Yohoho… I remember when I worked at a Seers and Roebuccaneer, making money by playing music in the appliances and tools because they were too cheap to replace the radio system in the entire building,” Brook mused. He then looked at Usopp curiously. “How many of your esteemed classmates remember Seers?”

“They don’t even remember H-Mart—how many do you think.” Usopp took a long drink of his coffee—yeah, that was the good shit.

“Oh, that’s s bummer,” Franky nodded in commiseration. “Kokoro still thinks it exists and refers to it as Hocker’s.”

“Professor Clover always called it Hocker’s before he passed,” Robin mused idly. She didn’t even look up from her book. “I didn’t realize they were the same store until I was six.”

“Yeah, and how is this going to help the fact that I probably won’t see my dad again in-person for another eight months and in nine days I’ve got a project due with him in it?” Usopp scowled.

“Muniscius comfiance,” Luffy said with all the confidence of an eight-year-old armed with their first dictionary. Everyone stared at him until Zoro grunted in irritation.

“You heard Luff—we’re gonna malicious compliance the bitch,” he translated. “Do you just have to do one of you and your old man?”

“I have to do at least two and one of them has to be that.”

“Alright; get the asshole up on a video call, take a picture of you and your phone, and then we’ll give her, like, fifteen others that’s just us dicking around. That’ll teach her to not give you accommodation.”

“Do you realize how much fucking extra work that’s gonna be, grass-head?” Sanji chided. “He’s trying to get out of work, not make more of it.”

“No, no, he has a point,” Jinbe replied. “We’re all supposed to be here on Saturday and we can have some fun with it. Seers portraits hold a certain nostalgia factor, after all, and if you ever need the skills in the future then this would be the time to practice them with such a large group of people.”

“Yeah!” Luffy beamed. “Plus, since we’re helping, you can say you managed us like you’re the head camera guy! That’s extra credit, right?”

“I don’t know if I even can get extra credit in this class…”

“Oh, I’m sure you can!” Luffy’s eyes then went wide. “That’s right! Carrot’s in your class! She can come over too! And her cousin and the rest of Torao’s friends! It can be a big party!”

“Luffy, I—!”

“Portrait party!” Luffy cheered, signaling Usopp’s doom. “Ooooh, Sanji?! Can you…?!”

“I’m on it, Boss,” the blond smirked. “I’ll have a menu by the end of the night.”

“Guys, it’s just a project—I was planning on submitting a complaint to the department…”

“Nah,” Luffy scoffed, waving it off. “A party’s always better, don’t’cha think?”

No… he really didn’t.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I can’t believe they did this to me,” Usopp groaned. He was laying on his bed at 1000 Sunny Rd, his phone cradled in his hands as he grimaced at the screen. On the other side of the video call was Kaya, who was similarly situated in her dorm room across the state. “They know this is going to be a rough assignment to begin with.”

“It’s not their fault,” she reminded him. “They just want to help.”

“Yeah, and now it’s going to involve nacho dip and Sanji’s special tzaziki sauce.” He propped up his phone with the help of a pillow and a plush chameleon so that he could almost pretend they were in the same bed. “It’s a shame you’ve got a tournament this weekend or I’d say you should come over and keep me sane.”

“We’re only hosting the high school tournament, nothing else,” she reminded him. “I might be able to take off if Merry will let me.”

“Merry will, but I don’t know if your supervisor agrees.”

“It’s Quizbowl, not the end of the world.”

“You’d be surprised.” Usopp tried not to frown as he thought of Kaya’s family-friend-turned-undergrad-advisor, a sour man who seemed to love every opportunity to cockblock them at every turn. As though there was any cock being had to block! One look at him should have screamed that her innocence was safer with him than with others (coughNamicough), so what really was the problem?!

Okay, he knew the problems—plural—but he wasn’t about to unpack all that at the moment.

“What if you took your portrait with me?” she wondered. Her phone dropped to look at the ceiling as she shuffled around for a way to prop up the device on her end, missing her boyfriend’s deep blush. “I mean, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m going to school out here…”

“Don’t say that!” Usopp panicked. “We’re not that kind of together!”

“I know,” she smiled, “but it’s just… you are my boyfriend, and lots of couples don’t move it past that even if they are always together.”

“You do have a point…” He felt the blush further darken his complexion as he considered submitting one of his family portraits as just him and his girlfriend. Sure, they were talking about long-term-levels of seriousness, but a portrait of the two of them…? In a style common in family photos? He wasn’t entirely sure his heart (or his ever-suffering libido) would survive. “Maybe when you’re back this way for the summer we can do something like that and see if we can replicate the look with the ring lights.”

“That’d be fun,” she smiled. Kaya settled in under her blankets while hugging a stuffed sheep. “You have to tell me how everyone’s doing. Is Luffy still getting into trouble?”

“We don’t get into trouble with Captain Usopp around,” he bragged. Which… it was at least partly true. They weren’t getting into trouble. Not a lot, anyhow. For the moment. She giggled softly and allowed him to continue, the young man weaving exaggerations into his stories as they continued to talk each other to sleep.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Saturday at 1000 Sunny Rd was shaping up to be an interesting one.

First off, Carrot had stayed the night over so that she could be there bright and early, making it so that there was another kid Chopper’s age that he could conspire with when it came to goading Luffy into antics. It was only eight in the morning and they were already at it, with them jumping around the house in their pajamas. Then, on top of that, the Polar Tang had shown up at some point overnight, complete with Law’s trio of weird friends/coworkers/flunkies/platonic boyfriends/hype squad who were already making use of the pool while Law himself was nowhere to be found. Usopp had barely gotten the question out of his mouth when he heard Nami’s orgasm scream, at which he shuddered.

She was such a fucking traitor, getting action so conspicuously while he was left to dry. What ever happened to bestie solidarity?

“It’s been a rough week at work,” Bepo offered. He was sitting on the edge of the in-ground pool, kicking his feet in the water as he sipped a drink he’d procured from Sanji. “It was like an itch right under his skin since, I dunno, Wednesday.”

“That’s all well and fine but he needs to remember to shut the window,” Usopp sighed. He tried to block out the indecent and ridiculous noises coming from the offending couple and felt the need to be sick. “You guys have any suggestions about how to get back at them?”

“Eh, we can prank ‘em, but pranking Nami is like signing your own death warrant,” Penguin commented from the safety of a pool floatie.

“Oh, come on, I’ve pranked her a thousand times and I’m still alive!” Usopp scoffed. Law’s friends all stared at him, deadpan. “Okay, okay, okay… so maybe more like a handful of times… and I’m lucky to be alive be this point. Then how about Law?”

“Pranking him is hella difficult,” Shachi scoffed. “Dude’s almost always on his toes.”

“Had to be,” Penguin added. “Not gonna get into it, but he didn’t exactly have the most fun childhood.”

“I think you’d be more pressed to find someone here who did have a decent time as a kid,” Usopp replied, rolling his eyes. “Got anything I can work with?”

“Given how long he’s gone without despite a need, I’d say he’s got tw—” Bepo was interrupted by what sounded suspiciously like a strangled sob. “—one more round in him before he gets six and a half solid hours of sleep. Eight is if we’re lucky.”

“Do I even want to know how you know this?”

“Scientific method,” all three pool-goers said in unison. Usopp smacked his forehead and took a deep breath…

…wait a moment…

“Wait, you know I’m going to be roping people into my commercial photography assignment later, right?” Usopp posed. The others simply stared at him. “The assignment calls for imitating the style of a Seers portrait and I was thinking…”

“Oh, fuck, we’re in,” Shachi grinned. He scrambled to get out of the pool and towards his towel, drying off unevenly. “I’ve got just the thing!”

“This is news to me,” Penguin stated. “What the fuck do you have that’s got you like that?”

“All the work shit that’s still in the trunk!”

“Work shit…?” Usopp did not like the sound of that. “What sort of medical torture devices you got in there?”

“Not torture devices,” Shachi insisted. “More like there was this thing at work last week where we wore goofy outfits and took turns playing around in Pedes.” Another verbal confirmation of Nami getting fucked out of her mind cut him off and he grimaced.

“Well, most of us did,” Penguin said, taking over. “Grumpass didn’t, but that’s also, like, the only department he normally steers clear of; most do if they can help it.” He then looked from Usopp to Shachi and back, noting

All of Usopp’s synapses began to fire at once and he began to grin just as manically as Shachi (or Luffy during a particularly tasty meal). A costume cache? Oh, he was fucking in.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Admittedly, Usopp was having a lot of fun with his assignment when he stopped to think about it. He and Carrot were able to set up their impromptu portrait studio in the office area, having pooled their equipment checkout resources and were able to snag enough studio lights and varying accessories to actually function like they were supposed to instead of trying to cobble together some bastardized system using cheap ring lights and Franky’s cell phone (which had genuinely gotten him an A, but never again). They even got some neat gels and a couple softboxes, which they were sure some of the film majors were going to murder them over. Was it worth it? Always.

“So… we’re basically doing a photo booth, but with a Seers portrait vibe,” Nami said as she went through the box of clothes. Usopp did not understand how she was awake and functioning while her manfriend was still dead to the world in her bed, but he figured it was best to not think about it.

“All in the name of malicious compliance,” he replied. “I’ve already got the one with my mom’s wake portrait and the selfie of my dad up on my phone, so…”

“Please tell me it’s the slutty one that Shanks sent you as a joke.”

“His dating profile pic? It’s not like you’re dealing with a fucking amateur, Nami.” He folded his arms across his chest and pouted as he attempted to stand his ground. “Otherwise everyone else is a-go.”

“Is that why the goobers are running around crazier than usual?”

“Define ‘goobers’ in this situation.”

“The ones who kicked me out of my bedroom to ‘get Law ready for his closeup’?”

“Okay, for one, a portrait is not necessarily a closeup, but for two…” Usopp was about to continue when he saw Bepo shuffle into the room, the bear looking nervous as he clutched a vintage coin book in his paws. “Ready?”

“We’ve got ten minutes to get this going before he wakes up,” Penguin said from behind Bepo. The bear moved aside and showed Penguin in nice slacks and a polo shirt—was the penguin on his hat holding a cocktail—helping Shachi, who had found a pair of denim overalls with a duckling on the front to put with his normal sweater—where did he get the propeller for his hat—the pair pulling along a half-asleep Law, perfectly dressed for the occasion.

Usopp swallowed hard; he was going to die.

Quickly, he got the shots he needed of Law, Penguin, and Shachi before allowing the latter to cart the former off before the perfectly weary and pliable sleepiness wore off, Nami snapping a couple pics on her phone as extra insurance before vanishing herself. Bepo then went and got Carrot, the cousins posing for a few different shots before Luffy could not longer be contained and burst his way into the makeshift studio, demanding to be included in the proceedings.

Eventually, it was getting towards the end of the afternoon and both students were beginning to feel the strain of using their newfound skills continually for the entire day. Not only was it remembering f-stops and checking light meters and making sure they didn’t accidentally hit the settings reset button, but also wrangling… oh, the wrangling that they had to do. It honestly was insane. Not only did they have to attempt to control Luffy, but the entire rest of the house as well as they came in and out of the office area, dressed in both costumes and whatever their nicest (or tackiest) clothes on-hand were. It felt as though everyone else at 1000 Sunny Rd was deliberately making it rough for them when it came to actually getting things done.

“You people are going to be the death of me,” Usopp groaned as he melted onto one of the barstools by the kitchen island. A mug of coffee was placed in front of him, and a can of pop in front of Carrot as she joined them, the younger one decidedly more lively.

“I think it’s a lot of fun,” she replied. “We only have a few more to go; using the costumes were a great idea.”

“Speaking of which, I’ve noticed there’s a distinct lack of those weirdos,” he noted. Usopp glanced around—nothing. Sanji scoffed from the other side of the kitchen as he peeled potatoes.

“Nami-swan sent them on an errand, so they took the Tang and bolted ages ago,” he said.

“It’s bad enough she sends the rest of us to do her dirty work, but that’s ridiculous,” Usopp frowned.

“They know better than to invoke Nami-swan’s lovely wrath,” Sanji swooned.

“Is ‘lovely’ the correct word for it, though?” Carrot wondered.

“The simp’s a lost cause,” Usopp deadpanned. Sanji did not hear them, as he was too busy fantasizing to be of much use conversation-wise. “You’d think he would have stopped once Nami started fucking another man, yet here we are.”

“I didn’t know simping could be… uh… platonic…?”

A beat.

“Carrot, nothing about Sanji and women is platonic.”

The younger teen shrugged and grabbed a plate so she could pile on a bunch of the tiny treats that Sanji was still cooking for everyone, making sure to get enough for both her and Usopp, who they both already knew would be denied extras until later. They brought their drinks and the plate back to the office area and began to eat in relative peace and safety, keeping to themselves until they heard the crunch of driveway pebbles under car tires, signaling that whatever errand Nami had Penguin and Shachi on, they had returned from it.

“Good,” Usopp grunted through a mini spanikopita. “Now maybe I can get a real shot of those morons before Law leaves for work.”

“Possibly…? Let’s go see if they need any help!”

“You can; I’ll just stay here and prep for the next group.”

Carrot pouted for a moment before leaving the office area, letting Usopp fiddle with the light stands. He was able to rearrange the setup for a smaller group when he heard a soft knock at the door.

“Master Photographer Usopp is almost ready!” he replied. The door creaked open and he frowned. “Hey, I said I was almost—!”

The words died in his throat as he was shocked to see Kaya standing there, looking at the studio setup as though it was the most technical-looking thing she’d ever seen. She turned back to him just in time to see as he wrapped her in a hug.

“Oh! Usopp!”

“How did you get here?!” he wondered. She pressed a kiss to his lips and giggled.

“Mr. Penguin and Mr. Shachi came to get me,” she admitted. “It was a little weird, and I had to convince my sorority it wasn’t a kidnapping…”

“No… no… I don’t want to know,” Usopp decided. He looked at Kaya and all the stress that had been built up that day seemed to melt away. His mom had always told him that love could break the hold that hardships had on people and make much easier to bear, and it was times like this where he truly believed that. “I’m just glad they didn’t send Sanji as one of the conspirators this time.”

“He meant well.”

“That’s giving him a few too many benefits of the doubt.” It was then that he saw Carrot come in, carrying what looked to be Kaya’s backpack. “Isn’t that right? Letting Sanji loose on a sorority is just asking for trouble.”

“Is that why he went to culinary school and not a regular four-year university like us?” the teen wondered.

“One reason of many.” Usopp froze as Kaya took her backpack and brought out two framed photos—her parents. “Uh… Kaya…?”

“We’re not going to be able to see if the ring lights work as a substitute if we don’t have the real thing to compare it with,” she reasoned.

Okay, so maybe the chaos was worth it after all.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

That night was one of the best party nights Usopp had experienced in a while. It wasn’t the good food (Sanji outdid himself, again) or the friend-based antics (which were always a good time), but it was the fact that he went to bed that night with Kaya, the pair snuggled up together in his bed for the first time in months to combat the night chill with their shared body heat.

Okay, so what if they were fully clothed? And that there was a bedsheet separating them? And there were no bedroom activities other than sleeping going on? They all couldn’t be Nami; be realistic.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Law was honestly nursing one of the worst headaches he’d ever suffered through. It wasn’t quite a migraine—he was not nearly nauseous or light-sensitive enough for that—but it was still making him regret having gone on midnights last-minute the week prior despite the fact he was currently on days. He clutched his coffee cup a little closer—there was something to be said about the hot bean juice that made the world marginally tolerable.

After checking in on a patient he was due to operate on the following day, Law decided to make his way to the nurses’ station to follow up with Bepo. It was there that he saw that his best friend was sitting there with his cousin, the teen happily chatting away as she showed him a bunch of photos from a large manila envelope.

“Is this a personal or business visit?” Law asked as he approached the desk. Carrot caught sight of him and her grin only widened.

“Oh, there you are, Law-bro!” she said merrily. “I was just showing off the prints of the project Sopp-bro and I did last weekend! Do you want to take a look?”

“Sure.” Law sat his coffee down and began to casually flip through the photos. Seas, they looked like the kind of portraits that Cora-san had of him and his parents and brother from back when he was a kid. Everyone was in their silliest… with exceptions, of course. He looked up from the shot of him and Nami, the two of them dressed in high-waisted jeans and frumpy sweaters, to see that Carrot and Bepo were both looking at him expectantly. “Did you get the grades back?”

“Not only did we pass, but we also got extra credit!” Carrot grinned. “Sopp-bro’s also turned in a formal complaint to the department head that’s probably going to escalate.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Law then narrowed his eyes at a package that was sitting on Bepo’s desk, wrapped in brown paper and looking very suspicious. “What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s for Peng-bro and Sach-bro,” Carrot explained. “They paid special for that one.”

“Did they now?” Law didn’t like how the cousins exchanged a wary glance—when they were up to no good, it was genuinely no good. “Now why would they pay special for a school project you and Nose-ya did?”

“A frame and use of the special printer.” Law looked over his shoulder to see Shachi pushing his mobile station to its dock and plugging it in. “Kiddos went and made up a nice family portrait of us.”

“I think you mixed up ‘nice’ with ‘tacky’ again,” Law deadpanned. Shachi waited until Penguin caught up before taking the package from Carrot. “Besides, you sound like Strawhat-ya by saying ‘family’ like that.”

“We’re four of the weirdest brothers and you know it,” Penguin huffed. He looked over Shachi’s shoulder as the other man unwrapped the photo frame, both men’s faces lighting up at the contents. “Oh, Carrot, if you weren’t way too young for me I’d kiss you.”

“It’s all Sopp-bro,” the teen blushed. “It actually was used as one of the examples in class! The professor was very impressed with the composition and technique!”

“Let me see,” Law said. He took the frame from Shachi’s hand and went pale while his friends all started to giggle.

There, in his hand, was a portrait of him with the techs, an enlarged and faded-in insert image of the charge nurse in the upper right-hand corner.

“…did you shits deepfake me…?”

“No, that was all you,” Carrot supplied. “The professor really enjoyed your expression! Said it was exactly the kind of variation the portrait batch needed!”

“When the fuck did you take this?!” Law grimaced, absolutely aghast.

“You were still half-asleep and in the post-nut haze, so we took advantage of it while we could,” Penguin said. Law instead grit his teeth.

“So you took that as permission to put me in a frumpy dress, bonnet, and plastic pearls?”

“Don’t forget the coin collection,” Shachi reminded him. “I bet that was a nice touch.”

“We were the only two students that had portraits with props, so it really was!” Carrot seemed absolutely oblivious to the ire that was building in the surgeon. “He did a really good job on the compositing as well, which made it so Bep-bro’s fur wasn’t too clipped!”

“…and you people thought this was a good idea, how?!”

“It’s just a bit of fun,” Shachi said, taking back the photo frame. “Besides, it’s our family portrait, like I said. Plus it helped some of the Sunny gang.”

“You guys are dead,” Law hissed, the last word through grit teeth. Shachi and Penguin both turned on their heels and bolted, with the surgeon not too far behind after depositing the portrait back in Carrot’s hands. She and Bepo looked at one another for a moment before bursting into giggles, because they knew something Law didn’t:

Hiding underneath the goofy portrait was three others; one was everyone who was there at 1000 Sunny Rd. that day, another of the four friends in less-goofy getups, and one of just Law and Nami—one of the most normal photos taken the entire day. Not only did they have them sitting there layered in the frame, but copies had been set aside for Cora-san and Bell-mère as well.

Ah… what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

#Usopp #Kaya (One Piece)#Usopp x Kaya #UsoKaya #Nami (One Piece)#Carrot (One Piece)#Trafalgar Law #LawNa #Law x Nami #Bepo #Penguin (One Piece)#Shachi (One Piece)#One Piece #fan fiction #there are Catholics less sexually repressed than Usopp is in this fic lbrh #this is less Liar Usopp and more Clinical Depression Usopp I hope you understand #Trafalgar D. Water Law

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izloveshorses · 7 months

Text

before you came into my life, i missed you so bad

one | two |

Anya is the movie star the entire world is in love with. Dmitry is some broke owner of a dying bookshop in St. Petersburg. Her face is on every billboard, he couldn't care less about the latest blockbuster. But when their paths cross, somehow their differences-- nor half the globe separating them-- don't seem to matter.

Or a dimya Notting Hill au no one asked for.

chapter 1 under the cut, otherwise read the rest on ao3!

Anastasia Romanov may have been a graceful star on film, but she wished the paparazzi knew Anya was actually rather ordinary.

In the last week of filming, she managed to slip away out of the city center of St. Petersburg and into a more quaint residential area. She wanted to explore on her own for a bit after a rather grueling schedule, maybe get a pastry and some coffee, and otherwise just live anonymously for a few precious moments. The locals left her alone. But the paparazzi, somehow, always found her. She wondered if they had bloodhounds on leashes on their payroll.

Anya didn’t think much of it when she quietly slipped into this bookstore. Hadn’t paid attention to what kind of shop she was entering, just saw a door and a way to escape the parasites with their cameras for just a few moments of reprieve.

She hadn’t expected everything to change.

Once inside she beelined behind a shelf with her back to the door and the collar of her jacket pulled up even higher. It was overkill, she knew, with her black beret and sunglasses indoors, but she just. She just needed a break. Growing up in this industry made her a little more than paranoid, and lately they’ve been relentless.

“Is there anything you’re looking for?”

She hadn’t noticed the man until he spoke. He was sitting at the cash register, thumbing through stacks of papers and typing buttons on a calculator, using a friendly customer service voice but not really looking at her, his tone implying he hadn’t seen her yet. Maybe she hadn’t run out of luck today.

“Just browsing,” she said quickly. To prove it she made a show of brushing her fingers over the spines along the random shelf, ducking her head so he couldn’t get a good look at her if he decided to lift his head.

She finally allowed herself to really study the bookshop, and decided she liked it. There was a quiet charm about it that you just didn’t see very often anymore. Hollywood had all of those shops that were manufactured to look vintage and rustic and trendy— decorated with distressed furniture, selling new releases, hiring handsome men who also worked at the coffee shops that were just the same, in buildings that were torn down and rebuilt a year ago— but this place actually was old. The smell was musty and thick, it reminded her of her grandmother’s apartment in Paris and her father’s study all at once. There was a hush that suggested she was one of few, if not the only, customers in here at this hour.

An old clock ticked on the wall. Seven more minutes in here should be enough to throw the paparazzi off her trail. To keep up the pretenses, she selected the first random book her hand could grab and opened it without looking at the title.

“Oh, that book is terrible.”

The voice made her jump, eyes snapping up to him. He was still looking down at his paperwork but there was a teasing smile on his lips. “The author definitely has never been east of Strasbourg, let alone to Saint Petersburg,” he explained, looking up at her finally and his grin widening, dimples poking through his cheeks. Anya decided she liked his smile more than the bookshop.

Her eyebrows rose. He had surprised her, but she wouldn’t give him much more than that. And then, trying to understand what he was saying, she read the title. Travel Guide: Saint Petersburg, the Heart of Russia. Oh. He was making a joke.

In her silence he stood from the desk. It was a small bookshop so it only took two strides for him to join her in the aisle, reaching for a different title. He was tall. Like, really tall. Granted, everyone towered over her, especially when she was working with actors like Zachary Levi, but still. He was broad and carried himself with confidence that rivaled the men in Hollywood. In just a button up and a t-shirt and jeans, his presence would still command a room. She noticed he had a paperback folded in his back pocket. His dark hair flopped down into his eyes and curled behind his ears. She decided she liked that, too.

“If I may,” he started, casually, like he didn’t care about her opinion even though he was clearly working very hard to influence her purchase. “There’s a much better one… ah, here it is!” He hastily slid a different book from the shelf. “I can assure you this author has at least been to Russia. Definitely knows what he’s talking about.”

Without warning a smile tugged the corner of her mouth. She still couldn’t decide if he recognized her or not. But he was so charming that she felt comfortable humoring him, taking the book from his hand to examine it. It wasn’t part of a dull and surface-level series from a famous publishing company like the one she had inconsiderately chosen, but something lengthier, something more personal. “You care an awful lot about what kind of book I’m buying from you,” she finally said.

“Oh, you’ve got it wrong,” he said, his playful voice making her look back up at him, “I care because if you buy this and think, ‘this is the most god-awful book I’ve ever read,’ you’ll never want to come back to my bookshop. Or worse, you’ll think, ‘Saint Petersburg is the most god-awful place,’ and never want to return.”

“Hmm…” she couldn’t help it, her smile spread. “Well, I appreciate the commitment, then.”

“I’m just doing my duty as a bookseller, ma’am.”

She opened to the first page. “I see it’s signed by the author.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

That did it— that made her laugh. It was just a short huff of air through her nose, but still, that didn’t happen very often anymore. Not with strangers or anyone outside of her family, anyway. She shook her head. When she looked up again he seemed pleased, not in a predatory way, not in a gotcha way either, but genuinely delighted by her, for her. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at her like that.

His eyes found something behind her and his whole expression changed. “Ah, shit,” he muttered, “sorry— hang on.”

And he disappeared to the back section she didn’t even realize existed. Curiosity made her scoot down away from her hiding spot to watch what had soured this very nice and very normal man. There was another customer in here after all, an even more normal-looking guy. “Hey, man,” her new friend the bookseller said. “If you would like that book you stuffed into your shirt, you can buy it.”

The customer just stared. “I don’t have a book stuffed in my shirt.”

“You do. There’s a security camera back here and the monitor is behind my desk.”

Anya found the camera he was pointing to. Impressive. She made her way to another aisle, still pretending to browse while she eavesdropped.

“Look, man, it’s embarrassing enough to steal from a bookstore. But stealing from a travel bookstore? Come on. I’m probably more broke than you are.”

His back was to her, but he had his hands on his hips, his tone more disappointed and annoyed than threatening. She wondered if he knew how far he could get with such powers of persuasion. How he would do wonders in the film industry.

They went back and forth a few more times before the bookseller guy won out. She was facing the register so he gave her an aggravated yet humored smile, an inside joke smile, as he walked behind the desk. She didn’t know why she was still lingering here, now that she had been inside long enough.

But maybe she had overstayed because on his way out, the wannabe thief muttered, “Can I have your autograph?”

She winced. She should’ve seen this coming, but a lot of what had happened today disarmed her. His expression was shy yet unblinking. Staring at her with that strange want. He was already holding out his new book for her to sign. Without her control her eyes glanced over at the cashier, trying to read him. His brows were pulled together in puzzlement. It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

She accepted the pen with a sigh. “To…”

“Peter.”

When she handed the receipt back to him she started walking toward the register so she could speed up this part a bit. But the guy still lingered. “What’s the note at the top?”

Her sigh was thin. She looked up at him. Her handwriting was perfect, there was no way he couldn’t read it, but maybe he didn’t believe it. “It says, ‘To the shitty book thief, Peter’.”

Poor Peter’s face flushed red. “Thank you,” he muttered before nearly running outside.

The cashier’s smile was wide, surprised, his eyebrows high. But he moved slower now, more cautious, like he was trying to decipher the interaction that was daily for her and bizarre to him. “Just the one?” he asked gingerly as he scanned the barcode of the book and hit a few numbers on the register.

She fumbled in her purse for some cash, but she must’ve left all of that back in her hotel. Debit card it was, then.

Up until then she wasn’t sure, but now she definitely knew he wasn’t playing dumb at all when he acted like he hadn’t recognized her. Because he didn’t until now. As the receipt printed his eyes widened and he did a double take, up to her face and then down at the name printed out, the nearly imperceptible intake of breath making his chest expand. Almost reflexively his hand came up to push his bangs away from his face.

“Uh… I just need you to sign…”

She grabbed a little pen from the cup in front of the register and carefully signed her name above where it was printed. And then he surprised her again.

“This isn’t some gimmick to get your autograph, though, I promise.”

She smiled up at him, almost apologetic. “Thank you for your devoted assistance.”

She thought the joke fell a little flat but he still smiled, though she couldn’t tell if he was just in shock or was embarrassed he didn’t recognize her sooner or if he was genuinely laughing. She made sure to pick up a business card on her way out.

She didn’t look at the card until she was outside again, a bell ringing as the door shut behind her. Dmitry Sudayev, the card said.

Even though she knew she’d never see him again, somehow she found she had already memorized the shape of his name without trying.

~~~

Dmitry was an idiot.

No, worse than an idiot. Dumbass wasn’t even strong enough of a word for someone who met Anastasia Romanov in his own bookshop and didn’t even recognize her. For god’s sake, he flirted with her! Right to her face!

Not that he wanted her autograph or anything. He just… probably would have behaved more appropriately. And not pretend that a girl like that would ever give him a chance. Vlad had warned him his lack of pop culture engagement would bite him in the ass one day. Maybe this was it. Karma or something in the universe was laughing at him. Her face was plastered on every billboard and film poster and TV commercial and Oscars recap footage and he was so out of touch with the world he didn’t even realize one of the most famous Hollywood actresses in the world was standing right in front of him. She probably thought he was some loser.

Then again, she had smiled up at him, and it seemed so genuine…

The door chimed. “So sorry I’m late!” Vlad whistled his way through the shop, some tune Dmitry recognized from the radio. “The metro workers were on strike again, so the line was down.”

He looked up from his desk, where he’d been staring at his pile of paperwork in misery, hands folded in his own hair.

Vlad hung up his coat on the rack. “Did I miss anything?”

Usually, the mornings at work were so uneventful that this was their joke— that they would miss something exciting if one of them was late. But Dmitry didn’t know how to answer that in a way his coworker would believe him.

He stood from his desk, the chair nearly tipping over from the force of it. “I— need coffee,” he explained, shrugging on his own jacket. “Want anything?”

Vlad didn’t seem to notice Dmitry’s odd behavior and happily requested a latte— unless he was going to that place around the block, then he would rather have the tea, since their lattes sucked.

On the way back, drink carrier in hand, Dmitry was so lost in thought he wasn’t paying attention as he turned the corner and literally collided with someone.

“Oh my god— sorry—” he fumbled, and then his heart stopped when he realized who was now wearing his drink. She had her sunglasses on, but there was no mistaking it. It was her. “Shit— I’m so sorry, can I—”

“Don’t,” she said when he reached for her. Right. Fair. He uselessly handed her a paper napkin.

God. Could this day get any worse?

“Look— don’t take this the wrong way, but my flat is nearby if you want to change.”

She leveled a glare at him. How starkly different this was than their meeting this morning. Well, he would glare too, if their roles were reversed. “How near are we talking? Give me a numerical distance.”

He had to fight a smile. “Literally across the street. Look,” he pointed to the door of his townhouse. “See that maroon door? That one’s mine. My roommate isn’t home.”

Her expression remained the same. “If this is a trick—”

“No tricks,” he held up both of his hands. “Scout’s honor.”

She pursed her lips, looking left and right, then down at her stained top, weighing her options. “Don’t let anyone see.”

“Got it.”

They crossed the street when traffic broke, and he fumbled with his keys before pushing the door open, letting her walk inside first. He hoped she knew this wasn’t some play, he just wanted to make up for being so clumsy this morning.

“Bathroom is just up the stairs,” he said, locking the door behind them. “Take as long as you need. The sink works, but you need to turn on the hot and cold at the same time…”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said, brushing past him up the stairs.

“Do you need— clothes? Or something?”

“I’ve got some,” she dismissed. “I was going to change eventually anyway. To ditch the photographers.”

“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling more and more idiotic by the second. When he heard the door shut he scrambled to straighten up.

His flat wasn’t a mess, exactly. His roommate was tidy. Dmitry was tidy too, but the space felt a little too lived-in for company. He couldn’t remember the last time a guest stepped foot inside. His bike was by the door instead of in the closet, the throw blankets hadn’t been folded, a handful of dishes sat in the drying rack. He stopped racing around when he heard her quiet tread on the steps and he tried to lean as casually as possible against the counter.

Anastasia had changed from her black ensemble to something brown and patterned, still too stylish to blend in, in his opinion, but appropriate for the October weather. With her sunglasses off her eyes were the bluest thing in the room.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, then cleared his throat because his voice was strangely out of tune.

“No, thank you,” she answered. Her annoyance with him had dissipated a little, thankfully.

And then the lock of his door was turning and he bit back a groan. “That’s— my roommate,” he explained, “he’s harmless but— there’s no excuse for him, I’m so sorry.”

She raised her eyebrows, confused, before the door swung open. Gleb Vaganov had moved in about a year ago— there was no way Dmitry could afford the place without him— and could not have been stranger. He walked in without so much as a glance up from his phone. He literally walked between Dmitry and Anastasia, opening the fridge, like he didn’t notice either of them.

“I think the lady next door has stolen my package again,” he finally said, opening a bottle of kombucha.

Dmitry rolled his eyes. “Did you remember to check the tracking info?”

“Yes, it says it arrived this morning.”

“Sometimes they’re wrong. Or they dropped it off at the other neighbor’s again.”

“Hmm.” Gleb’s frown deepened, and he literally had to step around Anastasia to go back outside. Her smile was widening. Like she was biting back a laugh. The feeling was contagious.

“He seems nice,” she said.

Dmitry scratched the back of his neck. “He at least keeps things clean.”

“Important.”

“Right.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, unsure what to do now. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? I have tea, I think, and…” he opened the fridge. “The kombucha is off limits, I’m afraid, but we’ve got… uh, orange juice? Or leftover stroganoff if you’re hungry, or some peaches— no, those are rotten, actually— umm—”

“I’m really okay,” she insisted, her hand on his shoulder sending electricity through his body down to his toes.

He met her eyes and shut the fridge. “You sure? I feel like I’ve been a complete jackass to you today.”

“Hmm,” she stepped closer. “Other than dumping your coffee on me,” she started, and he laughed, ducking his head, embarrassed, “you’ve been quite lovely.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “You’ve been too. Lovely, I mean.” What was happening to him? Even as a teenager he didn’t bumble around this much. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

She tilted her head. “You as well.”

Still, she made no move to leave, and he made no move to show her the way out. A clock ticked.

“If…” he searched for something to say, groping for a chance to keep her here, just a second more. “If you ever need a travel book again, you know where to go.”

She gave him a smile. “I appreciate it.”

For a moment neither said a word. And then Anastasia rose up on her toes to press her lips to his.

He froze, eyes wide, gasping through his nose, completely surprised. It was quick, but his skin burned at the invisible mark she’d left, his cheeks undoubtedly red. When she dropped back down to her heels she was flushed too, perhaps just as surprised by her own actions as he was.

Well.

He tried saying something cool and funny, like, Is this how you say goodbye to everyone you meet? But all that came out of his mouth was, “Uhhhhmm…”

She took a wide step back, like stepping out of a trance. She tucked a loose hair behind her ear. “Thanks again, for the… Bathroom.”

Somehow he found his voice. “Anytime.” He blinked. “See you around?”

She gave him an odd look, and then he remembered he would probably never see her again. “Have a nice life, Dmitry,” she said instead. And then let herself out.

Dmitry didn’t know how long he stood there in the middle of his kitchen. A clock ticked. His fingers rose up to trace his bottom lip, feeling stupid and oh so giddy.

Gleb came back in with a box. “It was on the wrong doorstep!” He stomped through the kitchen with a satisfied smile. “We really ought to repaint the number on our door, that may prevent this mistake from happening again…”

Dmitry, understandably, didn’t return the enthusiasm.

He walked back to the shop in a daze, not even realizing his jacket fell in a limp pile on the floor when he tried to hang it on the wobbly rack.

Vlad frowned from behind the register. “Hey, where’s the coffee?”

#anastasia broadway #dimya #fanfiction #my writing #notting hill au #another wip!! let's go!!!!!#at least one that's presentable enough to begin sharing lol #but anyway #something light and fluffy to start our october <33 #i do appreciate Just Some Guy dmitry sudayev and Famous Person anya it has to be said

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