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I changed the actor to portray Sirius because I wanted one that was closer to the 30s he was originally. While I did like Gary Oldmanâs portrayal it is a fanfic.
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For a Sirius Black x OC in the works should he live or die like in canon?
Yes let him live
No stick to canon
This is for me only
not a lot just forever
luke (eternity) x reader
ao3 pinterest board!
so i bash around the house and the poison stains my mouth she comes, i let her and we share a paradise and i roll them once or twice can't get much better or in which luke finds a new love after death.
part I. part II. (coming soon)
a/n: luke deserves someone to bake him cookies and hangout with him so thatâs why im here⊠all the fun fluff stuff happens in part 2... but i am still very proud of this lol MY FIRST FIC ON HERE AND MY FIRST FIC OF 2026
spoilers for eternity!
PART ONE OF TWO word count: 14,590
"What will I do now?"
That was the question you asked your Afterlife Coordinator when you had chosen your Eternity. The answer you got was simple.
"Whatever you want."
You were a child of 1952, and you died in 2025.Â
73. Lung cancer.
When you arrived at the junction, you were not the fine age of 73. You were 24. It had been so long since you saw yourself in that way; you had almost forgotten what your face looked like.
One moment you were old and frail and being watched over by a kind neighbor boy, and the next you were 24 on a train.Â
You had gathered pretty early that you had died. What other explanation was there?
Her AC's name was Lilah. She was sweet, although it freaked you out that you were put in the care of a 9-year-old girl. Lilah had told you that she was technically 108, which you still could not wrap your head around.
You decided on Mountain World.Â
A nice place to spend the rest of your life for all time. You liked the outdoors, although you weren't that sporty in life, being dead was a good time to learn how to do things, and get new hobbies.
If you were going to be dead for the rest of time, you might as well work on bettering yourself, right?
You had arrived at the beginning of winter. It was strange to you that they had seasons; the Mountain World president (which was apparently a thing) had told you that people liked the seasons changing. It helped them keep track of time and not get bored.
What was the point of keeping track of time if it was going to just go on forever and ever? Maybe it was just nice to know. That time can stomp forward, and one can be a part of it even in death.
You checked the map. Your cabin that you had been granted was somewhere near here⊠You heard music playing in the distance.
"When did you leave heaven? How could they let you go?
How's everything in Heaven? I'd like to know
Why did you trade Heaven for all these earthly things
Where did you hide your Halo?"
A song from your childhood. But this wasn't the Nancy Wilson version. It was a male singer. He didn't sound nearly as good.
You walked towards the music. Loud piano keys and trumpets filled the serene woods. It wasn't snowing, but the ground seemed to crunch when you walked like it had been freshly frozen over.
You saw a cabin in the distance. The door was wide open. You thought for a moment about not going inside⊠but you were already dead. What possible harm could looking inside do to you?
You walked towards the door and finally into the cabin. It was incredibly messy inside. The curtains were pulled to a close, blankets and various food items were all over the floor, including a half-eaten box of pizza. The lights were off, and the record player in the corner was the only item that seemed well taken care of.
You knocked on the door. It seems like the polite thing to do.
"Hello?" You called out.
Someone groaned out in response. Your eyes widened. Were they hurt? This was supposed to be a version of heaven, right? You shouldn't get hurt in heaven!
You walked inside carefully and looked around for the source of the groan.Â
It took you a second before you realized a man was lying on the floor in the center of the room. He blended in with all the trash and chaos scattered around, so you didn't even see him at first.
He was lying face down in what appeared to be his own vomit.Â
"Oh Jesus," you cried to yourself before rushing over to his side.Â
His eyes were closed, and he was muttering to himself.Â
"Hello? Are you alright? Should I call someone?" You said, holding his face.
His face was cold. How long had he been passed out?
His eyes opened slowly. His vision blurring. He blinked and looked at you, confused.Â
Blue. Bright blue eyes stared at you.Â
"Why are you in my cabin?" It was the first thing he said.
"I was just walking by, and I heard music, and I wanted to check if everything was okay," you answered.
He looked around his cabin in confusion.
"Fuck me," he muttered to himself.
You finally let go of his face.Â
He pushed you away. You fell back onto a discarded throw pillow.
He got up slowly. He stumbled slightly before standing straight. You looked up at him.
God, he was handsome⊠dark brown hair that had wisps of grey. A mustache that made him look like Clark Gable. A muscular frame and broad shoulders.Â
However, you couldn't ignore the fact that your attractiveness to him was dampened by the fact that his face had spatters of vomit and his hands were drenched in sweat.
"God, when did I get home?" He spoke to himself.
He had a deep voice. A voice that could read audiobooks. You missed audiobooks⊠You wonder for a moment if you would be able to listen to them hereâŠ
"Well, you're okay, so I'm⊠just gonna goâŠ" You got up hastily and wiped your hands on your bell-bottoms.
"You're new," he said to you horsily.
You blinked.Â
"I'm Luke," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
He seemed incredibly uncomfortable with you seeing him in this state. You introduced yourself with a shy smile. He whispered your name to himself before asking.
"Where's your uh⊠cabinâŠ" he rubbed the remaining vomit from his face.
"Well, I think I got lost. They gave me a map, but I think I got turned around and-"
"Let me see it," he said, holding out his hand.
He had nice hands⊠bigâŠ
You cleared your throat and took the map out of your pocket. You handed it to him. He examined it closely, looked at you, then back at the map. Then, he laughed.
"What?" You asked.
"You're on the wrong side of the lake," he said with a wide grin.
"Oh⊠I guess I can go back⊠I think I have a flashlight-"
"I'll row you across the lake; it'll be faster. Besides, you're right across from me anyway," he handed you back the map.
"Oh, you really don't have to do that. I'm sure you have better things to do," you said gently.
"Not really," he answered blandly.
The song ended, and the room filled with static from the record player.
"Just let me take a quick shower, okay? I'll be right back," he quickly walked towards the staircase and up the stairs.
You wanted to protest, you should have protested, but you didn't. He probably felt like he was obligated to help you since you checked up on him.Â
You looked around the cabin. Should you clean? That seemed rude, to go through a stranger's things like that. The place was so dirty, though, that you felt like you should at least open the curtains for some light. So, you did.Â
You could see across the lake from the window. There was a cabin with a large "WELCOME TO YOUR FOREVER HOME!" banner hanging across the patio.
How had you missed that? It was so obnoxiously big and bright.
You decided it was best just to stand outside and wait.Â
There was a bench overlooking the pond (and your house). You decided to sit there. Your book bag and luggage are placed next to you. You inhaled sharply. The air was so fresh. Your lungs were not battered and bruised. You could smell everything. You shut your eyes and listened to the serene world around you.Â
You weren't sure how long you sat there. Maybe you just got lost in listening to the world and your own thoughts. You were interrupted by Luke clearing his throat behind you. You turned to look at him.
He had certainly cleaned up. He no longer smelled of vomit and beer, that was for sure. He wore jeans and a dark green flannel as well as a heavy brown jacket. You frowned at his face.
"Did⊠did you shave?" You asked carefully.
He blinked and rubbed his mouth, looking away from you. "Uh⊠yeah."
You laughed. "Why?"
From your understanding, there wasn't a point in shaving or doing your hair or nails. Your body would regrow everything the next day.Â
"I⊠It's a routine I have." He answered somewhat coldly.
You nodded. "Well. I like your mustache."Â
You stood up and grabbed your two bags. Luke continued to stare at you, in an expression you could not read.
"What?" You asked, looking around.
"You like my mustache? You saw it for like not even ten minutes." He said, slightly stunned.
You shrugged, "yeah I mean I don't know. I think it makes you look sophisticated. Like Clark Gable in Gone With The Wind."Â
He blinked at you.
"I mean, it's your face, you can do whatever you want. I'm not judging you or anything. I'm not shaving my legs in the afterlife, that's all I'm saying."
He nodded.Â
"Let me get the canoe," he muttered, walking away from you.
Had you said something rude? It's not that he was ugly without the mustache or anything⊠it was hard to believe Luke had the capabilities of being ugly at all. Facial hair didn't change anything.Â
The canoe was barely a foot in the water. He had already pushed it out into the lake. You rolled up your jeans to keep them from getting wet.Â
You brought your bags to the canoe. Luke took them from you quickly and put them in the boat. He sat down on the far end and held onto the oars.Â
You stared at the small rowboat.
"What?" Luke asked you with a somewhat irritated expression.
Maybe the hangover was just starting to kick in.
"I've⊠never been in one before." You said gently.
His expression softened.
"Oh⊠okay⊠uh, here give me your hand, I'll help you in okay?"Â
You took Luke's hand and put one foot in the canoe. It felt like it was rocking back and forth.
Maybe it was the different sensation of the rocking of the lake from the ground, or maybe it was the fact that your shoes were slightly slippery from the mud that you stepped in that hadn't been frozen over yet⊠regardless of the reason, you lost your balance and fell forward.Â
Luke managed to catch you without tipping the canoe over. You let out a squeal. His hands landed on your hips.
Your faces were close together. You hadn't been this close to a man in almost 10 years.Â
The moment was short-lived as Luke gently pushed you back. He kept his hand on your arm as you sat down.
"I'm sorry," you said, clearing your throat.Â
He didn't reply to that and simply began to row the boat. You watched as his arms flexed with each movement. Should you ask for help? Something told you Luke wasn't the type of man who accepted help⊠especially not from women.
"SoâŠ" you began.
"I died in Korea," Luke replied bluntly.
You looked up at his face. He wasn't even looking at you when he said it. Just behind you as you moved further away from his cabin.
"What?" You asked.
He glanced at you, "I died in Korea."
"OkayâŠ"Â
"Weren't you about to ask how I died?" He looked at you, puzzled.
"No." You scoffed, looking away from his perfectly sculptured face.
"Oh⊠sorry, that's usually one of the first things people askâŠ" he cleared his throat awkwardly.
"I was gonna ask how long you've been here. In Mountain World," you clarified.
"Oh uh five years I think. I kinda lost track of time," he said, contemplating.
You nodded, "I just got here."
"Yeah⊠I know," Luke laughed.Â
Right. You had already had this conversationâŠ
"I died of um⊠lung cancer," you said sheepishly.
It seemed rude to ask people how they had died, but Luke clearly didn't care about the unspoken rule.
"I'm sorry," Luke said.
He seemed genuinely apologetic. You gave him a subtle smile.
"Oh, it's alright. I smoked cigarettes since I was 18; it's a miracle I didn't kick it earlier," you shrugged.
"What year did you die?" You asked him after a moment of silence.
He thought for a few minutes before answering.
"1952."
You laughed.
"What?"
"The year you died was the year I was born. Isn't that funny?" You giggled.
He had a contemplative look on his face. You stopped laughing. Maybe he thought you were poking fun.
Silence once again found itself between you two. You decided to look out onto the lake rather than at him.
"Are you married?" Luke asked you suddenly.
"I was. He died ten years before me, I think he's in the beach world or something."
"Why didn't you go with him?"Â
You swallowed. He was staring at you so intensely that it made you want to jump ship. You managed to be saved by the two of you arriving at your cabin.
"Whoa⊠It's so big!" You yelled.Â
Luke turned to look at it, "yeah I mean I think it's the same size as mine."
You jumped out of the canoe and rushed towards the house.
"This is all mine?!" You yelled at Luke, jumping up and down like a child on Christmas morning.
He took your bags out of the canoe.
"Uh, yeah. It's your ideal home, at least that's-"
"But it's all mine? Do I share it?" You questioned.
"No. It's yours," he answered with a furrow of his brow.
"Wow!" You laughed.
There was a wrap-around porch. You ran around it. You had always wanted a house with a wrap-around porch. You had never told anyone that. How did they know?
You hadn't run in so long. Your feet stomped hard on the wood of the porch floor.Â
Luke watched you with his hands in his pockets, seemingly amused at your reaction.
"This is amazing!" You called out to Luke.
You let out ragged breaths.
"Holy shit, I forgot how weird running is," you gasped out.
"Weird?" Luke brought your bags up the stairs.
"Yeah, I think I forgot how to do it, ya know? I used a walker in my last few years, and so I think I just⊠forgot how to run? Did you go through that?" You asked stretching your back.
"Well, I died when I was 30, so I think I just always retained the knowledge of running," he answered.
Both of you went inside.Â
It was like a cottage out of a fairytale. Funny enough, there was a television. It didn't look like one from your childhood, boxy and heavy; it looked like one of the newer models that your son-in-law had told you was "all the rage." The thing that caught your eye was a bookshelf as tall as the ceilin,g packed with books.Â
You walked towards it. You ran your fingers along the various spines.
"Were you a librarian or something?" Luke asked you.
He placed your bags on the floor.
"No, I was a nurse. But I loved reading so much⊠I never had enough time for it."
"Well⊠all you have is time now." Luke sighed.
You pulled out a copy of War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy.
"I had a copy of this for years, but I never got around to reading it," you looked back at Luke, who was in your kitchen drinking a glass of water.
"Oh, sure, make yourself at home," you laughed, tossing the book on your coffee table.Â
He chugged the rest of the water.
"Sorry, I haven't drunk anything all day," he coughed and hit his chest.
"There's food in your fridge by the way," Luke said, rinsing off the glass.
"Really?"Â
"Yeah, I think they give everyone a fridge of their favorite foods when they first arrive."
Luke said it was as if it were a regular occurrence. The whimsy of this place must have worn off on him.
You opened the fridge. The first thing that drew your eye was a bottle of wine. A particular bottle of wine. Pinot Grigio, 1950. You drank it for the first time in 1986 when your husband took you on a trip to France.Â
You took it out and looked at it carefully. The bottle looked the same, even down to the small rip on the wine's wrapper.
Tears swelled up in your eyes. Luke looked at you, slightly uncomfortable.
"Well⊠I should head back," he said to you.
You continued to stare at the wine bottle.Â
He made his way past you, lightly touching the small of your back. It sent an electric shock through your entire body.
You put the bottle down and followed him out the front door.
"Are you gonna be at that party tonight?" You asked him as he made his way down the porch steps.
"What party?" He turned to look at you.
"I think it's like a celebration for the first snowfall that's supposed to happen tonight. I'm going. I hope I'll see you there," you rocked back and forth on your heels.
"Oh well, I'm not really a party guy," Luke sighed.
You instantly deflated.
It would have been nice to have at least one person you know at the event. It's not that you were socially awkward; it was just that you wanted someone who knew their way around. Luke seemed like the golden candidate. He must have been here a while, and he was your neighbor! You told yourself not to be too disappointed.
"Yeah, sorry, but have fun." He gave you a polite nod.
"See ya around then, neighbor!" You waved him goodbye.Â
He got into the canoe and immediately started rowing. You watched him for a couple of moments before heading back inside.Â
As soon as you closed the door, you burst into tears.
You hadn't cried since arriving at that station. Lilah had told you that some people never cry when the realization of death hits them. It's just a quiet embrace that there is now a new stage. You wondered if all the people you knew who died cried. Maybe it was your overly emotional nature showing up again.Â
You sat on the plush couch that practically sank into the middle. Then you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
You must have cried so hard you slept because when you woke up, it was several hours later, and your face was damp.
You had rolled yourself into a little ball, a tick you had ever since you were a child. Every boyfriend you had (and eventually your husband) had made fun of you for it. You weren't sure why you did it. Your mother said it was you replicating yourself in her womb.Â
Your children didn't do this particular tick, however. It was singular to you.
You stretched and looked around your cabin. It really was beautiful. More beautiful and spacious than you could ever afford in life.Â
The party! You thought.
You were gonna be late to the celebration. You hadn't even unpacked your suitcases. You looked through everything and stopped when you saw a particular dress. A prairie dress, brown with small white flowers and lace details. You hadn't seen the dress in years⊠decadesâŠ
You took it out and ran your fingers over the lace trim. It must have been from the mid-70s. Your bohemian and hippie phase that your parents hated with a passion.
You put on the dress quickly and grabbed a pair of white heels that you could not remember having ever owned in your life. You wanted to do your hair and makeup, but decided just to leave it alone. It was the afterlife. Why were you worried about makeup?
You were always a punctual person in life. You always wanted to be at a place ten minutes early; it drove your husband and children crazy. Anxiety and dread always filled you when you would arrive at a place, and you were not the first one there.Â
You forced yourself to walk slowly. You were always rushing and taking things fast in life; perhaps in death, you should take things slow. Despite your nerves screaming at you to rush, you took each step slowly. The sun was just beginning to set. You followed the cobblestoned path, looking around at the vast landscape before you. You heard an owl in the distance. You wondered if it was an owl that had died, and this was his heaven as well. You had tried asking Lilah about the intricacies of animal death, but she told you, "Not to worry about it."
You heard music in the distance, although you could not place the song this time around. You made it up the stairs slowly. As soon as you reached the terrace, you were greeted by someone handing you hot chocolate. You took the mug to warm up your hands. You sipped your hot chocolate and looked around.
It was then you saw him.
Standing in the corner, with an almost somber look on his face, was Luke. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand. He gazed around the room. Finally, the two of you made eye contact. You waved a little too eagerly. He bit back a smile.
You made your way through the crowd and over to him. He must be the tallest person in this whole placeâŠ
"Hi neighbor," you greeted.
"Hi," he greeted you back.
"I thought you weren't a party guy?" You joked.
"Yeah, well⊠I realized I didn't have a lot to do tonight, soâŠ" he looked at the ice in his whiskey.
"Well, I'm glad I know at least one person here," you said, touching his arm.
A blush went to his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by someone joining you two.
"Flower crown?" A woman in a uniform gave you a polite smile.
"Um⊠why a flower crown?" You asked, looking at the flowers
"Tonight's celebration is for the Slavic goddess Morana, who is the goddess of winter, death, and rebirth. The purple Crocus on the crown symbolizes rebirth, while the white Snowdrops symbolize death and the coming winter," She explained it all in a teacher-like tone.Â
"That's morbid," Luke comments behind you, sipping what you assumed to be whiskey.
"Well, I'll take one, they're very beautiful." You said politely.
The woman placed the flower crown on your head. You thanked her, she gave Luke a hard look before leaving the two of you.
"Flower crowns aren't my thing," Luke explained to you.
You laughed, you took it off your head, and leaned up to put it on Luke. Despite his statement, he let you put it on him.
"Oh, now see, I think it looks lovely on you," you laughed, looking up at him.
"Yeah?"Â
You nodded, "I would know I made many a flower crown in my day."
"Attention, tonight's festivities are about to begin!" A woman clapped her hands on the stage.Â
Diane, the Mountain World president, looked physically older than you. She appeared to be in her early 50s. A thick British accent and a small frame. She had bright green eyes and a slim face. She dressed nicer than the other workers who were handing out drinks, food, and flower crowns. She seemed nice enough.
You wondered how long she had been here to be president.Â
"Hey, you wanna go for a walk?" Luke whispered to you as Diane began her speech.
"Will we get in trouble?" You whispered back.
He shook his head. You bit your bottom lip before nodding. You linked your arm through his, and you both slowly walked away from the crowd.
"She gives pretty much the same speech every year; you really aren't missing out on much," he murmured.
His breath felt warm against the cold of your neck.Â
"Do they do this at the start of every new season?" You asked him.
He nodded, "Believe me, after the eighth one, you'll be sick of it."
The two of you walked further and further away from the others, arms still linked together like an old married couple.
"You look nice, by the way," Luke comments, looking at your dress.
"Thank you! You look very nice as well."
He wasn't wearing a suit or a tux, but he still looked nice. A brown wool jacket, on top of what seemed to be a denim jacket, and a blue t-shirt.Â
"Can I ask you something?"Â
You both stopped to sit on a bench. You sat close, your knees touching. He was much warmer than you were.
"Sure."
You bit your bottom lip before looking at him. He was so handsome⊠You don't think you've ever met a more attractive man.
"Were you married?" You asked.
His calm features quickly changed. He looked away from you, his posture straightening. Your arms were still linked together. You touched his hand gently.
"I just asked cause, well, you asked me, so⊠I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude-"
"No, you're not rude⊠not at all⊠yeah, I was married and when I died in Korea⊠she remarried." He said each word painstakingly slow.Â
There was a moment of silence.
"I waited for her," he muttered.
"What?"
"I waited for her⊠for sixty-seven years. Then uh⊠well, it didn't work out." His voice was raw, and he sounded as if he might cry.
He continued, "I don't think I knew her, we got married young, ya know. Then I died⊠so when I saw her again, she was different than this person I had imagined in my head, maybe it wasn't love, or maybe it wasn't just as deep a love as I thought it would be," he let out a shaky breath.Â
You weren't sure what to say to him.
Well, that explained the time discrepancy. He had died in the 50s but had only been in Mountain World for 5 years. You had wanted to ask about it earlier on the canoe, but you decided against it.
"It was all just⊠a waste of time," he finished. He leaned back against the bench with a sigh.
"I don't think any form of loving someone can be a waste of time," you said after a few moments.
He looked at you, waiting for you to continue.
"I think love is just something that helps people grow. Even if the relationship doesn't work out, it doesn't mean it was a waste of time because you learn something. The love is an act that is innocent."
Just then, the snow started to fall. White, delicate crystals fell softly onto the ground. In the distance, you heard cheering and clapping. The music changed to a louder, more eccentric. You couldn't place the song; you wondered if they played this one every year as well. You laughed.
"They act like this isn't something that happens every few months," you laugh.
You turned your head to look at Luke. He was closer to you now than he was before; he was leaning his head down slightly to be closer to your face. Even sitting down, he was still taller than you. So obnoxious for a man to be tall even when sitting. A shiver went up your spine. A snowflake fell on your cheek, and he wiped it away. His fingers lingered on your cheek before pulling away.
"You cold?" He asked, still close to your face.
"Yeah," you answered.
You weren't that cold in truth, but you had very few winter clothes packed with you. When you were alive and in your late thirties, your husband got a job in Chicago. You had dealt with winter snowstorms before. The winter clothes you were forced to wear were not fashionable or cute; they were a necessity. Perhaps that's why those jackets and mittens never found their way into your closet here. They were not items you loved but rather items you needed.
You felt something wrap around you. Luke had taken off his brown leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
"I don't want you to be cold!" You objected, trying to shrug off his jacket.
"Stop, I have another one on. I was getting hot anyway." Luke waved you off.
It was quiet between you two for a couple of minutes. You glanced at him; he had a calm look on his face that made your heart beat faster. You wanted to sit in silence with him, but you heard loud yelling coming closer. You turned your head to see a man whooping and hollering towards you both. He was complexly naked, save for his snow boots.Â
"Oh my-"
Luke covered your eyes. His hand could practically cover your whole face.
"Matt, do you have to do this every year?" Luke groaned out to the naked man.
"Hey, look who came out of his depression cave!" Matt said back to Luke.
"I think I'm gonna go home now," you said to Luke, his hand still covering your eyes.
"Matt, go behind the tree so she doesn't see it," Luke instructed.
"Luke, I had three children and worked in an ER. I have seen penis's before," you crossed your arms.
"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to see his," Luke said gently.
"What's wrong with mine?! You're just mad cause you want the first dick she sees here to be yours!" Matt protested.Â
It was a good thing Luke had covered your eyes, 'cause his face and ears went bright pink with embarrassment. You frowned at the man's crude comment.
"Okay, I'm going home," you pushed Luke's hand from your face and began walking away from the two men.
"It's nice to meet you!" Matt called out to you.
You waved your hand back without turning around. Luke ran after you, catching up to you easily.
"He and some other people always streak during the first snowfall. It's stupid," he shook his head with a laugh.
"Have you done it?" You asked him.
"My mother raised me better," Luke answered, putting his hands in his pockets.
"Hm, well, your mother isn't here. If you want to strip, you definitely can; she will never know." You patted him on the shoulder.
"You're just trying to get my second jacket," Luke bit his lip and looked away from your smiling face.
"I'm quite warm in the one you gave me, actually," you wrapped the jacket around your frame tighter.
"You know you never answered my question from earlier today; why didn't you go to your husband's Eternity?"
You stopped walking and looked at him with an almost scowl. Why did he keep asking you that damn question?
"Why do you ask?" You try your best to be polite.
"I don't know, you were the one who was talking about how love isn't a waste, and everything. Did you not love your husband or something?"
Something about his tone of voice irritated you. Like he had a right to know everything about you and your life when you had met him covered in his own vomit.Â
"I'm not judging you," Luke said, reaching out to touch your arm.
"Well, it sounds like you are," you snapped back.
He blinked in surprise at your mood shift. You scoffed and began walking away from him. He grabbed your arm and pulled you close to his chest. You blinked in surprise.
"I know you were alive in the 1940s, but women don't like being grabbed like this," you looked up at him.
"Some do," Luke whispered.
"I don't." You gritted your teeth.
He let his hand travel from your arm to around your waist. Despite yourself, you couldn't bring yourself to slap his hand away.
"My wife, when we came here together, she left for her second husband." Luke breathed out.
"How is that possible? I thought we weren't allowed to leave our Eternity?" You asked.
"I helped her escape. I think the workers know about it, but they can't prove it." Luke said to you.
You could see his breath now. The temperature had seemingly dropped by 20 degrees in the last 10 minutes.Â
"You just met me⊠why are you telling me this?" You asked gently.
He stepped back from you, his hands in his pockets, and gave you a shrug.
"Because you're a good person," he said, his eyes starry, "I don't think you'll tell anyone."
As a nurse, people would confess things to you on their deathbeds. Horrible things.
"I cheated on my wife."
"I killed a man in '86 through a hit and run".
"My husband thinks our son is his, but it isn't."
When death was close, you wanted a clean conscience; you acted as a priest in most situations. Telling people it was okay and they were forgiven⊠even if they probably shouldn't be. So⊠you were used to keeping secrets. You would keep Luke's because he had entrusted it to you and only you.
"I'm really sorry, Luke," you choked out.
Luke's life seemed like a Greek Tragedy.
Dies young. Waits for his lover for 60 years. Changed her mind once she had already been with him. Sophocles was in some Eternity writing this exact scenario.Â
You reached out and held his hand, squeezed it tight. He caressed your cheek.
Oh God⊠You thought.
You weren't that naive about how men acted when they tried to make a move. It appeared that even men who were born in the 1920s played by the same handbook.
Next, he's gonna tell me I'm beautiful.Â
"You're really beautiful, ya know," he purred, his breath fanning your cheeks.
"Jesus," you could almost roll your eyes, but you wanted to be gentle.
You were likely the first womanâperson who had shown him kindness without a hidden agenda.Â
"LukeâŠ" You put your hands on his chest and turned your head away from him.
"What?" He asked, genuinely confused.Â
"I think we should be friends. I don't think this is⊠I don't think this is what you need right now," you said somewhat sternly.
He blinked. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, you were sure.Â
You prepared for him to yell at you, call you a tease or a bitch, but he simply rolled his shoulder back and stood tall.
"Okay," he said after a few moments of silence.
You smiled warmly at him.
"Can I walk you back to your cabin?" He asked somewhat awkwardly.
Christ was this his first time being rejected?
"Wouldn't you rather stay for the rest of the party?"Â
"Not really, I don't really care for fireworks."
You frowned, "Fireworks, they haven't lit any-"
Just as that moment, loud popping sounds screamed into the air and exploded. You jumped at the sudden noise. You looked up to see various fireworks painting the night sky. One was a snowman, another a snowflake.
Luke laughed at your reaction.
"I told you, you get used to all the parties after a while."
Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage. The two of you began to walk back to your cabins.Â
"Very impressive fireworks, though I must say," you commented.
"Yeah, it's all very impressive," Luke said back with a smile.
------------------------------------------------------------
When you woke up the next morning, you panicked. You were not in your Illinois condo, the bed was too soft, and the wall did not have your family portraits. Then you remembered.
Right. Dead.
You stared up at the ceiling for a couple of moments. This was your new ceiling. For the rest of time.
You made your way out of bed slowly, like you did when you were alive. You stretched (you could stretch so easily now!) and yawned.
You made your way down the cabin stairs. You brewed a cup of coffee, poured it into one of your favorite mugs (you canât believe you have all your mugs in the afterlife), and went outside.
The snow had left the yard and forest covered in a white blanket. The snow seemed to sparkle against the sun. You looked to see that the lake was completely frozen over. You sipped your coffee and watched a squirrel jump from tree to tree.
You could see Lukeâs cabin perfectly from yours. The door to his cabin opened, and out came Luke in a black jacket and a wool hat. He sipped something from a can. He put the can down and began walking into the three feet of snow. He hadnât noticed you watching him.
Getting on his hands and knees, Luke began shaping various balls of snow into a variety of shapes. He stepped back and looked down at what appeared to be a sculpture of a bunny rabbit. He frowned at it and groaned quite loudly. You saw his lips move, and he kicked the bunny until it was back into a blob of snow. He went back into remaking it.
It was so childlike the way he would be satisfied with his own small creations⊠cute and innocent the way he would smile when something came out the way he wanted.
You went back inside your cabin after watching him for what seemed to be an embarrassing amount of time. You leaned against your door and smiled to yourself. You ran upstairs to get dressed, looked in your closet, and really had to find a way to get some winter clothes. All you had that was appropriate for the weather was a multicolored striped turtleneck, dark brown boots, and dark wash flared jeans.
You went back downstairs and into your kitchen. A thought occurred to you, and you immediately preheated your oven.
Brownies. You hoped he liked chocolateâŠ
You remembered your recipe perfectly. You and your grandchildren used to bake when they were younger, but they had grown out of it once they got cellphones.
When you finally finish, you let them cool for ten minutes before cutting them and putting them on a plate. You grabbed a jean jacket and closed the door behind you. You were tempted to just walk across the frozen lake, but you decided to follow the path to Lukeâs cabin.
He was still outside. It had been almost three hours, and he didnât even look tired. His cheeks and ears were a shade of light pink, but other than that, he seemed to be in his own world, not even registering the cold. He was talking to himself, but you couldnât register what the hell he was saying.
He was near the bench that sat in front of the lake. He was sculpting what appeared to be a woman sitting on the bench, staring out at the lake.
âThatâs not how her hair is,â you heard him say as you walked closer.
âHello!â You called with a smile.
That seemed to have startled him out of his sculpture-induced psychosis because his eyes widened and he stumbled back onto his ass. Your eyes widened, and you rushed over to him, holding your plate of brownies tightly.
âAre you alright? Iâm so sorry I didnât mean to frighten you,â you gasped out.
âYou did not frighten me, Iâm a grown man,â Luke defended, still on the ground.
âRight.. of courseâŠâ You stifled a laugh.
He groaned and stood up, stretching his back.
âI brought you brownies,â you held out the plate to show him,
He looked down at the plate.
âWhy?â He asked.
âI donât know, I just thought it would be nice to make them for you.â
He took the plate from you and examined the brownies closely. You looked down at the statue on the bench.
The statue had her hands in her lap; she had no real facial features except for her hair, which seemed short.
âYou gotta give her a friend,â you commented.
You looked back at Luke to see that he had already eaten three of the brownies, chocolate covering his lips as he stuffed them into his mouth. His cheeks were puffed out like a baby's. You covered your mouth so as not to burst out laughing.
âThewyâre gwood,â he said, his mouth still full.
âWell, Iâm glad you like them,â you smiled.
He finally swallowed the cement of chocolate and rubbed his mouth on his sleeve. He handed you back the plate of brownies. There were still some on the plate, something told you Luke could probably stuff all of them into his mouth in one go.
âWhat do you mean she needs a friend?â Luke asked you looking at his sculpture.
âWell, it would be nice if she were sitting with someone, donât you think? So they can talk,â you shrugged.
He thought for a moment. He grabbed a chunk of snow, and he began sculpting a man for his snow woman. You watched in amazement.
âYouâre really good,â you said, watching him form a hat for his snowman.
âEh, Iâve just been doing it a lot, helps clear my head,â Luke comments.
âI could barely do a snowman, and youâve done deer! Thatâs amazing,â you reassured.
He stepped back next to you. You both looked at the snow couple.
The man was sitting close to the woman, with her head now resting on his shoulder. The manâs eyes were closed, and he had a smile. The womenâs eyes were open, and she smiled as well, wider than the men's. It was like they were having their own little conversation.
âI donât know if I like it,â Luke said, his hand under his chin, examining the sculpture.
âItâs cute! Theyâre lovers in the snow,â you defended.
He glanced at you. He looked down at the plate of brownies.
âThese are fucking incredible by the way,â he took another brownie off the plate.
âThank you, itâs an old family recipe,â you beamed.
âShould have been a baker while you were alive,â Luke bites into the warm brownie, not caring about the chocolate chips spilling onto his hands.
âYeah, well, I enjoyed being a nurse. I like taking care of people,â you looked back at the snow couple.
âYouâre good at it,â Luke smiled softly at you.
You looked back at him. No one had ever actually told you that before. In your 73 years of being alive, no one had ever told you that you were good at anything. Not a good wife, a good nurse, a good mother⊠You came to the conclusion that you were painfully average.
âReally?â You asked like a child.
âYeah, you are. I bet you were a good wife when you were with your husband,â he licked the chocolate off his fingers.
You swallowed.
âI donât think I was⊠if I were a good wife, I would feel more sad about not being with him for all eternityâŠâ You looked down at your plate of brownies.
âHey, arenât I supposed to be the one whoâs sad about their marriage?â he pinched your cheek.
You laughed and pushed his hand away.
âYou let him go down his own path⊠thatâs a very admirable thing to do⊠if anything, heâs a bad husband for not waiting for you!â Luke scoffed.
âOh no, he was fine. It was ten years we were apartâŠâ
You stopped yourself. This was Luke, who waited 67 years for his wife. Your husband couldnât even last a whole week waiting for you. Lilah had told you he picked his afterlife in just three days! Three!
The wind blew, and a shiver went up your spine.
âLet's go inside,â Luke said to you, gently, his hand on the small of your back.
You nodded.
He had cleaned his cabin since yesterday. You could actually see the floor now, which was nice. You put the brownies on the coffee table. Luke threw some logs of wood into the fireplace and lit a match. The fire immediately started. You held out your hands and let out a dreamy sigh. Luke gave you a soft smile before walking into the kitchen.
âYou really gotta get some winter clothes,â Luke commented from the kitchen.
âI know,â you rubbed your hands together.
âWhy donât you just order them from the catalogues?â Luke asked.
You turned to look at him. He was pouring two glasses of whiskey.
âWhat catalogues?â You frowned.
He looked up at you. He finished pouring the two glasses. He came into the living room and put the two glasses on the coffee table next to the brownies. You watched as he opened a drawer and plopped a large book on the couch. You sat down on the couch and flipped the book open to the first page.
BUILD YOUR DREAM WARDROBE FOR ALL OF TIME!Â
âYou just circle what you want, and it can get delivered in like two days,â Luke said, sitting next to you, drinking his whiskey.
âHoly shit,â you whispered, flipping through the book.
It was massive, spanning from the 1900s all the way to the 2020s.
âIf you want something from earlier in time, itâs like a separate book that they give you. You just circle and tear out the pages, put them in the mailbox,â Luke explained.
âGroovy,â you smiled, flipping to the section titled 1970s.
âI donât think people say that anymore,â Luke said as he sipped his whiskey.
âYeah, thatâs what my grandkids said, but I like it,â you shrugged.
Luke handed you a pen, and you graciously accepted it.
âI recognize some of the stuff in here⊠I wanted a Penny Lane coat so badly, but I could never afford the actual nice ones,â you showed Luke a picture of a model in a brown leather Penny Lane coat.
The coat had cream fur. You werenât sure if it was real or fake fur, but you didnât even care. You drew a big heart around it and tore out the page.
âI feel like a teenager,â you said bashfully.
Luke laughed.
He watched as you drew hearts around various items.
A bluish-grey jacket with fur on the sleeve cuffs and hood. A purple suede maxi dress with embroidered daisies on the end of the skirt. A denim jumpsuit with a heart cut out on the upper back. Gogo boots⊠so many gogo boots.
âYa know this is all gonna have to fit in your closet,â Luke looked down at your pile of torn-out pages.
His head was leaning against his hand as he watched you.
âI can make room. A woman always needs a wide variety of shoes.â
âBut youâre just picking the same pair of boots, but in different colors,â Luke grabs one of the pages and looks at it skeptically.
âTheyâre not the same! This one has laces, and this one doesnât! This one has a higher heel than this one!â You moved closer to him to explain the intricate differences between each of the boots.
âOh, I see, I see,â he said plainly.Â
âOh, shush, itâs my eternity, and I wanna dress how I never got too in life,â you took the pages from him.
âYou should order stuff tooâŠâ You look at his clothes skeptically.
âWhatâs wrong with the way I dress?â Luke asked, offended.
âNothing. Many people find lumberjacks very attractive.â You shrugged and went back to the book.
âYou take that back!â He took the book from you.
âNo man should have six different plaid shirts, it's not necessary!â
âSays the woman who just circled like eight of the same boots!â
âTheyâre not the same!â
The two of you continued bickering until Luke eventually gave in and agreed to order new clothes. You moved closer to him and watched over his shoulder as he flipped the book back to 1940.
âNo do 50âs at least!â You said hitting his shoulder.
Without much pushback, he flipped to the 1950s.
He would point to certain clothing items, looking to you on if he should get them or not. The two of you sat snuggled together as the fire burned, looking at sports coats.
âGod, I forgot how ugly 1950s fashion was,â you scrunched up your face at the plaid jacket.
âWell, you were a kid through the â50s, so thatâs probably why,â Luke pointed to a green sweater with big black buttons.
You nodded, and he circled it.
âDonât get anything in blue,â you said when he tried to circle an argyle blue sweater.
âWhy?â
âYour eyes are blue, it clashes. You should wear warmer-toned colors,â you suggested.
He blinked his bright blue eyes at you.
âI like blue,â he said with a frown.
You rolled your eyes, âOkay, just do a darker shade of blue, then nothing too bright.â
âBut you said I should wear warmer tones. Isnât bright blue a warmer tone?â
âNo, you should do earthly tones if youâre gonna do blue.â
âHow do you know this?â Luke asked you.
âI donât know⊠Itâs color theory. Also, my youngest daughter went to fashion school, so she kinda just told me all the colors.â You shrugged.
âWas she a fashion designer?â Luke asked genuinely interested.
âYeah⊠my other daughter is a teacher, and my son is a chef,â you explained to him.
âYou must be very proud of them,â Luke looked back at the catalogue.
âIs it strange that I donât like to think about them?â You asked sheepishly.
He looked back at you.
âWhat?â
âI donât like thinking about them, it just⊠it makes me too sad⊠I dwell on how they are and what they're doing and how my grandchildren are, and it just⊠it makes me too sad. I canât go to that memory theater thing, I think I would just⊠break down and sob.â You laughed, but Luke had a grave look on his face.
âIâm sorry for asking, I didnât⊠I didnât want you to think you canât talk about it with meâŠâ Luke whispered, rubbing a stray tear from your face.
When had you started crying?
âNo, no, itâs fine⊠God, you must think Iâm a horrible mother,â you rubbed your eyes.
âI donât think that,â Luke said, touching your hand.
He was so warm. God, you told him literally last night that you two should just stay friends, and you knew in your heart that it was the right thing, but all you wanted right now was for him to lie on top of you and kiss you all over. Your entire body felt too hot⊠God the last time you had sex was during Obamaâs first administration.
Suddenly, a knock on the door startled both of you.
You looked at Luke.
âWere you expecting anyone?â
Luke looked at you, âYouâre like the only person Iâve had a conversation with in almost three years.â
âOkay, well⊠thatâs concerning,â you noted.
Luke got up and moved towards the door. You trailed behind him, curious. He opened the door to reveal Diane, the Mountain World president, smiling with a manila folder clutched to her chest. You peeked behind Lukeâs shoulder to look at the woman.
âWell, Hello Luke!â Diane said with a warm smile.
She glanced over at you, peeking over Lukeâs shoulder.
âAnd our newest member, how lovely to see you,â Diane acknowledged
âWhat do you want?â Luke asked, irritated.
You elbowed his side.
âHello, Madam President,â you greeted.
âOh, thatâs not necessary, just call me Diane dear,â She laughed and waved you off.
She didnât acknowledge Lukeâs comment.
âI was looking for you, but then you werenât at home, so I thought I would try here,â Diane said with an easy smile.
âWhy would you try here?â Luke asked.
Diane turned to look at him, finally acknowledging his presence.
âWell, Linda said she saw you two walk off during the party,â Diane explained.
Who the fuck was Linda? You thought.
âWell, anyway, may I steal you for a moment for a quick chat?â Diane turned back to you.
âOh⊠Um, sure, okay,â you touched Lukeâs arm gently to silently signal that you would be back.
You and Diane walked further from Lukeâs cottage together. You could feel his eyes on you the whole way. You turned back for a moment and gave him a little wave. He nodded back at you.
âAre you liking it here so far? Do you like your cabin?â Diane asked you. She stopped walking to lean against a tree.
âOh yes! Itâs wonderful. Everyone is really nice, I am so grateful to be here!â You put your hands behind your back so the woman could not see you fidgeting.
âWell, good, Iâm glad. This is your eternal salvation, and itâs important that you enjoy it,â Diane said, opening up the manila folder with her.
âYou were a nurse for almost 45 years, thatâs quite impressive. You helped a lot of people when you were alive,â Diane read from the folder.
You werenât sure what to say to that, so you remained quiet.
âYou took care of so many people. Your husband, when he got sick, thousands of patients, your children, your grandchildrenâŠâ
âWell, I like taking care of people,â You commented.
She glanced up at you, then back down at the folder.
âNo one took care of you, though. You died while serving a neighbor boy some tea,â she flipped a page in the folder.
Jerome. A sweet boy, he would come by every week to help you around the house. He was a Boy Scout, but you liked to think he did enjoy talking with you.
âWell, yes⊠but he helped me quite a lot this past year-â
âI just donât want you to spend all of eternity taking care of someone else. You did that enough in life. I believe itâs time to take care of you,â Diane closed the folder and held it to her chest.
You were quiet for a moment before speaking again, âBy someone, do you mean Luke?â
She took a sharp exhale.
âWeâre friends, I enjoy his company, I donât⊠I donât baby himâŠâ
Perhaps you did⊠a little⊠You did bake him brownies without him asking. You helped him even at your first meeting when he was face down in his own vomit. But he helped you as well! He rowed you across the lake, he walked home with you last night⊠he helped you pick out clothes!
âGood, he is a grown man; he does not need you fussing over him,â Diane scolded lightly.
Maybe you liked fussing over Luke. That was just a personality. You were a fusser!
âWell I wonât take up any more of your time, have a wonderful rest of your day,â Diane squeezed your arm gently.
You know she was just trying to be nice. It was her job to make sure everyone in this afterlife was happy and taken care of. She wasnât trying to be cruel, but it sure did feel like she was telling you what to do.
You walked back to Lukeâs cabin slowly, unsure of what to even say to him about the meeting. Perhaps you should just keep it to yourselfâŠ
Luke was sitting on the snow-covered grass. He was building a small snowman, muttering something to himself. You watched him for a moment before getting closer.
He looked up at you.
âWhat did she want?â Luke asked.
You shrugged and sat down next to him in the snow.
âShe was just checking in to make sure I was okay since Iâm new and all,â you replied.
Technically not a lie.
He nodded and poked two sticks into the small snowmanâs sides.
âWhatâs this little guy's name?â You asked
âThey donât have names,â Luke stated.
You frowned, âHow mean of you! They all need names. Names are our first identities. Come on, a no-name choice is bad.â
âOkay⊠how about Frosty?â Luke suggested.
âNo, thatâs terrible,â you scowled.
âYou just said no name was bad!â Luke laughed, throwing his arms up in the air, exasperated.
âWell, donât be clichĂ© about it⊠How about Francis? Thatâs a good name for him, he seems dapper,â
Luke sculpted what appeared to be a top hat and placed it on the snowmanâs head.
âOh, see, he looks so cute. Doesnât he look like a Francis?â You asked Luke.
âI donât know what a Francis looks like, so Iâll take your word for it,â Luke replied.
The rest of the afternoon was spent naming the various snow sculptures Luke had made. He wasnât creative with his names, but he did try. When the sun was beginning to set, you bade him goodbye. Carrying the pages of clothes to your chest.
Diane was probably right. You shouldnât spend all your time taking care of and spending time with Luke⊠but you liked it. Why should you have to change a core part of yourself just because you were dead? You enjoyed taking care of people; it gave you meaning and purpose. If it werenât Luke, it would be someone else.
You were happy it was Luke, though. He needed it more than the othersâŠ
------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning, your clothes had arrived. Almost twenty boxes worth of winter clothes were left on your front porch; surprisingly, they were not too heavy to bring into your home. You opened all the boxes as quickly as possible, giggling to yourself as the tissue paper the clothes were wrapped in flew through your living room.
You looked at the chocolate brown jacket you had been gushing over. Suede with a fur collar and fur cuffs that were the softest things you had ever touched. This was a coat that needed to be seen by the entire population of Mountain World. You put on a wool plaid skirt that also came with your shipment and a pair of black boots.
As you were about to leave the house, you caught your reflection in the mirror. It was still weird to see yourself so young. You poked at your supple cheek. Part of you wondered if you were just dreaming, maybe in some coma. Perhaps you had imagined Luke. Maybe he was a doctor; he was speaking to you, and your brain had taken his words and formed a new version of him.
It seemed plausible⊠You shook your head. You didnât want to think like that. It was too depressing.
Maybe you should stop looking at yourself in the mirror. You read it was bad for people's self-esteem.
You grabbed your copy of War and Peace and left the cabin. You considered checking in on Luke but decided against it. However, it nagged at your brain the entire walk to the snow slopes. Your heart hammered into your chest as you walked up the balcony steps.
A few people were sitting at various tables. Talking over coffee and cigarettes and multiple stacks of pancakes. You sat by yourself at a table facing near the top of the mountain. You didnât mind being by yourself; you were pretty used to it, even when you were alive. You were never the type of person who had a big friend group. You knew many people in your life, even traveling with fellow Bohemians around the West Coast when you were 17, but you didnât think of them as friends, just people you smoked pot with. You were social, you could talk to anyone about anything, but often you felt people lost interest in you. You only had three real friends in your life, and one of them was a childhood pet, and the other was the person you were married toâŠ
You pushed the thoughts out of your head and cracked open your book. You managed to get another thirty pages into War and Peace before you were interrupted.
âHey, howâs the book?â
You looked up to see Lukeâs comforting face. He was wearing a ski suit and a red-and-white beanie that looked handmade. He had a small smile on his face. He lifted his goggles so you could see his bright blue eyes, sparkling in the sun.
âHi,â you greeted him.
For some reason, his presence seemed to relax you.
âHi,â he greeted back.
âHowâs the book?â He asked once more.
âOh! Itâs good so far I like Pierre I think heâs my favorite character,â You dog eared the page and shut the book.
He sat across from you, leaning his snowboard against the rail that overlooked the mountains.
âYou snowboard?â You nodded at the snowboard.
âYeah I mean I havenât done it in a while but I thought I would try doing it again. Fresh snow and all.â
His cheeks were pink, but you werenât sure if that was because he was embarrassed or because of the cold.
âHi Luke,â a trio of women greeted him as they walked by the table.
They did not greet you. The blonde of the group waved at him, and Luke awkwardly saluted back.
âDo you know them?â You asked Luke.
âI meanâ Not like well like I know themâbut like okay not know I just um they⊠yeah I know them.â He cleared his throat and sank deeper into the chair.
You watched him squirm, avoiding your gaze. Luke was saved by a waiter coming over to the table.
âWould either of you like to order anything to drink or eat?â
âOh, umâŠâ You hadnât even looked at the menus on the table.
You opened it quickly and were hit with various items in cursive writing. It always took you forever to order at restaurants, which irritated your husband greatly.
âSheâll get an espresso martini and an order of the French toast, extra fruit, and Iâll just get a water,â Luke ordered.
The waiter wrote the order down quickly and walked off. You looked at Luke.
âHow did you know I like French toast?â You asked.
He shrugged, âYou mentioned it yesterday, remember? When we talked about foods we were excited to eat again, now that calories and blood sugar arenât a thing anymore.â
You thought back. Right⊠you did have that conversation⊠how did he remember that and you didnât?
âIâve never had an espresso martini before,â you said to him.
âYouâll like it. I was a bartender for like 60 years, I can tell what type of drink people order or will like,â He scratched at the wood of the table.
âWhat happens if I donât like it?â You asked.
He thought for a moment, âI donât know, guess I'll just die.â
âThatâs not funny!â You pouted, hitting him on the arm.
He cracked a wide smile. He leaned on his palm on the table and gazed at you.
âSo whatâs your drink?â You asked, leaning close to him.
âI drink everything,â he comments.
âWell, okay, but you have a favorite! Let me guess⊠whiskey? Bourbon?â
âAll bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon,â Luke explained to you.
âReally? Hm okay⊠umâŠâ  You didnât know that many drinks.
âBeer?â You furrowed your eyebrows at him.
âAll men like beer, but not really, no,â Luke laughed at your expression.
âFuck, I donât know, just tell me.â
âCognac,â Luke finally answered.
âI donât know what that is,â you blinked.
âItâs French,â he replied.
âIâm sure.â
Your food and drinks came a moment later. The French toast was the prettiest you had ever seen, fluffy golden brown with a drizzle of maple syrup, with a side of the most red strawberries and the most dazzling blueberries. Your mouth started to water.
âMy God,â you whispered.
âSee, I wouldnât steer you wrong!â Luke laughed, popping a blueberry into his mouth.
You took a sip of the espresso martini, and your eyes grew wide.
Luke smiled somewhat smugly. You almost wanted to say it was disgusting to prove him wrong, but you would be betraying yourself. You downed the whole thing in three gulps.
âHey, hey, easy now, those things are strong,â Luke said, taking the already empty glass from you.
âIâm a big girl,â you commented back, already feeling the alcohol burn your empty stomach.
He looked at you warily before finishing off his water.
âIâm gonna go, I promised some people Iâd meet them at the top of the mountain⊠donât drink too much, you can get drunk here,â Luke cautioned.
You waved him off c,utting into your French toast. He bid you goodbye, taking his snowboard with him. You watched him leave. Just when he was put out of sight, you waved over your waiter.
âHow many of these are you allowed to give me?â You asked him.
âAs many as you would like,â the waiter smiled.
âOkay, I need you to bring me one every time my glass is empty, okay?â You waved the glass around.
He nodded and took the glass from you. He turned to leave, but you grabbed his arm.
âWait, one more thing,â
âYes?â
âCan I get a cheeseburger, please? With lots of onions?â You pouted.
The waiter laughed, âYes, maâam.â
Hours blurred together as did your vision. Your book was discarded, as were your shoes. You werenât sure how much you had eaten, but it was more than you had ever eaten in your entire 73 years of being alive. Cheeseburger, a slice of cheesecake with raspberry drizzle, two orders of French toast, a fruit salad, Sauerbraten with a side of mashed potatoes and asparagus, a hot dog with ketchup, and 9 going on 10 espresso martinis. You were holding the waiter hostage in conversation.
âI knew an Allen when I was alive? You donât look like him, though,â you slurred, holding his hand.
âIâve been dead for 500 years, so it wasnât me,â the waiter replied somewhat blandly.
âWere you married? I was married for a long time, heâs in the beach heaven or something I was gonna go, but I donât think it would have been a goodââ you hiccuped.
âMaâam, I have other tables-â
âMy mother never liked him, but my father did, and I think thatâs why I married him,â you held the waiter's hand close to your chest to prevent him from leaving.
âHey kid⊠You alright?â
You and the waiter turned to look at Luke. He was slightly sunburnt on his nose and had a tan around his eyes where his goggles didnât cover. Another man, a little shorter than him, stood next to him with a snowboard at his hip.
âLuke! Do you wanna finish this grilled cheese?â You asked to let go of the waiter's hand.
The waiter took this as an opportunity to bolt away from you.
âSteven, Iâll see you later.â Luke patted the other man on the shoulder.
Steven gave him a polite smile and waved goodbye. You waved back obnoxiously. Luke kneeled before you and examined your face.
âHow much did you drink?â He asked.
You pulled on his left ear and giggled.
âDumbo,â you sang to him.
He blinked.
âOh my God, did you die before watching Dumbo?â You asked, cupping your hands around his ears.
His ears were cold. You frowned at this.
âI have seen Dumbo,â he replied.
âBut I've been, done, seen about everything, when I see a elephant flyâ you sang close to his face.
âOkay, wow, I am taking you home,â he muttered.
âI want one more martini,â you let go of his ears and looked for your martini glass.
âI think you had enough,â Luke shook his head.
âI've had ten, which sounds like a lot-â
âThatâs a lot.â
âNo, itâs not!â You cried out, poking him in the stomach.
Luke put your arm over his shoulder, he helped you stand, and caught you by your waist when you stumbled. Your legs gave out from under you. He managed to keep you standing somehow.
âWow, youâre a strong guy,â you said, looking up at him.
âThank you,â he laughed awkwardly.
âWait! My bill! I have to pay!â You cried out, reaching into your pockets.
âItâs free, remember?â Luke furrowed his eyebrows at you.
âRight, Iâm deadâŠâ You whispered.
He grabbed your book and stuffed it into the deep pockets of his snowsuit. As he began walking with you, he noticed your feet dragging along.
âThis isnât gonna work,â he muttered.
He was carrying you like one of his fellow troops. You were not a wounded soldier, you were a drunk young (old) woman. Finally, he decided to lift you up and throw you over his shoulder. You let out a âweeâ and threw your arms out like a bird.
âAre you mad at me?â You asked him after a few minutes of him carrying you home.
âNo, of course not,â Luke answered, letting out a small huff of air.
âDonât be mad at me,â you cried, running your hands up and down his back as a way of calming him down.
It sent shivers up his spine, but he didnât say anything.
âI like it here,â you said, looking up at the bare trees.
Luke didnât reply. He held on to you tightly as you squirmed in his arms.
âStop moving, I donât want to drop you,â he said gravely.
You muttered something and quit moving.
Finally, both of you reached your cabin.
âHome sweet home,â Luke said, opening the door.
However, with the way you were situated over his shoulder, you hit your head on the door frame.
âOw!â You cried out.
âFuck,â he muttered, putting you down and holding your face in his hands.
Your body fell forward. He brushed the hair out of your face and looked at you.
âSorry, you okay?â He asked tenderly.
âMy head hurts,â you pouted at him.
âFrom the alcohol or the doorframe?â Luke asked.
âBoth,â you slapped his chest.
God, he had a nice chestâŠ
âCome on, let me get you to bed,â Luke held your waist.
You gestured up the stairs to your bedroom.
âI donât put out that easily, so donât get any funny ideas, mister,â you poked his cheek.
Your legs felt like they were made of Jelly; they wobbled with each step.
âWell, youâre incredibly drunk, so that was not what was going through my head anyway,â Luke said, holding your waist tighter so you wouldnât fall.
âIf we were alive at the same time, you probably wouldnât have looked my way. Men didnât flirt with me a lot, I only had one boyfriend before my husband, ya know,â you explained drunkenly to him.
He was quiet, so you kept talking. He was learning that you were even more chatty when you were drunk.
âI had sex with a couple of guys though, ya know, with I was a hippie and free love and all that, but I think they just wanted someone to fuck. I donât think they liked me all that much. I kinda just did it to feel someone on me.â Your eyes glazed over as you both finally made it to your room.
âIâm sure they liked you,â Luke said, helping you with your jacket.
âNo⊠they didnât, but I didnât really like them either, so I guess itâs fine.â
Your fingers were intertwining with his as you both unbuttoned your jacket. Luke tried to ignore how soft your hands were against his.
When you finally got your jacket off, you let out a sigh of relief. You unzipped your skirt and threw it in the corner. Left in only your boots, underwear, and a white long-sleeved shirt, you walked slowly to your bed.
Luke looked away as you sat on the plush mattress with a slight huff. You pulled on your boot, but it wouldnât budge.
âDo you need help?â Luke asked.
You nodded in embarrassment. He gave you a half smile before getting on his knees in front of you. He lifted your boot against his stomach and began to unzip it. You placed your hand on his head.
He stopped unzipping your boot and looked up at you. You gave him a tender smile, entirely innocent to how this looked. He felt the back of his neck begin to sweat.
âYouâre perfect,â Luke whispered, looking down at your shoe.
âWhat?â You asked him.
âNothingâŠâ he finished, unzipping your shoe and quickly making work of your other one.
You removed your hand from the top of his head and pushed yourself back towards the headboard. Luke remained kneeling for a few moments before standing.
âCan you stay with me till I fall asleep?â You asked, pulling a blanket up to your neck.
âSure,â he nodded, pulling a chair up next to your bed.
You lay down and looked at him, batting your eyelashes.
âI bet women would chase after you when you were alive⊠and dead,â you sighed.
A blush bloomed on his cheeks. âOh, I guess.â
He looked away from you, clearly embarrassed.
âDonât shave your mustache anymore,â you frowned, looking at his face.
He had shaved it, again, you just now noticed in your drunken state.
You reached out your hand and touched just above his upper lip. He froze. You pulled your hand away after a couple of seconds of stroking the bare skin.
âOkay, fine, I wonât shave it,â he swallowed.
âYay,â you giggled.
âIfâŠâ he began and then stopped himself.
âIf what?â You asked.
He might as well say it. There was a decent chance you werenât even gonna remember this the next morning.
âIf we were alive at the same time, I would have noticed you. I think I would have liked you very much,â Luke said, covering your hand with his.
You laughed and rolled your eyes. He frowned at your reaction.
âYou wouldnât have, but thatâs okay. At least I met you now,â you whispered to him.
âCan I say something and you wonât judge me for it?â You asked him.
He nodded.
You wet your lips before speaking.
âI donât think my husband was the love of my life,â you covered your face with both your hands.
âWhy would I judge you for that?â Luke asked, slightly confused.
âWell, wasnât Joan the love of your life?â You asked him back.
He swallowed. He had forgotten he had mentioned Joanâs name in passing to you.
âWell⊠yeah, I guess she was,â he thought.
âThatâs so beautiful, you had this epic, tragic love story, and all I have⊠are just normal, small moments. When he died, I was sad, but it wasnât even the saddest I had ever feltâŠâ You blinked back tears and stared at the wall.
âWhat was the saddest?â Luke asked.
He took your hand in his and interlocked your fingers with his. A silent gesture that felt as if he was holding onto you for dear life so you could not drift away from him.
âItâs a little pathetic but⊠I had a dog named Lily as a kid. I loved her so much, she was this chocolate lab, ya know, she was so beautiful, she slept in my room every night and waited up for me when I came home from school. When I moved away from home, she came with me. I took her on my hippie van and⊠we just went everywhere together, and then I met my husband.
And ya know, he was allergic to dogs, and it was okay for a while, but when we moved in together, it became a real problem. He said it was him or the dog, and I chose him⊠I sent Lily to live with my parents. A couple of months later, she died, hit by a car. I remember I couldnât even leave bed for two days I didnât eat or drink all I did was sleep and cry over that dog. I think that dog was the first thing I ever loved and the first thing I ever lost.â
You wanted to pull your hand back from Lukeâs, but he wouldnât let you. He just held your hand tighter.
âI was a good wife, Luke. I really- I did so much for him⊠I donât want you to think I was a bad wife,â you cried.
The tears couldnât be stopped. The tears rolled down your cheeks and stained your pillow. Luke finally let go of your hand, and you covered your face once more, feeling disgusted. He hated you. He thought you were pathetic, a loser, a selfish bitch who missed some dog more than her husband. You were sickening. You didnât belong in a beautiful afterlife; you belonged in the fire depths of some hell, where all the most evil people in the world go.
You felt the bed dip beside you. You removed your hands from your damp face and saw Luke lying down next to you. His clothes discarded, he was left in his boxers and a white undershirt. Before you could admire how strong his thighs were or how muscular his calves looked, or even really register that he was almost naked in your bedroom, he pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly. He rubbed his thumb over your shoulder. You couldnât remember the last time someone held you so tightly.
No one has ever held you so tightly.
âIâm sorry,â you swallowed, trying to pull away from him.
He wouldnât let you.
âCome on, donât do that, donât apologize to me, okay?â He spoke into your hair.
You nodded, but you still couldnât stop crying. You inhaled his smell; you wanted to put his scent in memory.
âYouâre a good person, ya know, I knew that the moment I met you,â Luke rubbed your back in small circles.
You didnât say anything, not sure if you genuinely believed it.
âI donât think you have it in you to be mean⊠your life would have been easier if you did, but youâre notâŠâ
You looked up at him and sniffed.
âI donât think youâre mean either,â you whispered.
He wiped a falling tear from your cheek, âI can be⊠but I wouldnât be to you.â
âWe havenât known each other that long, you donât know that.â
âI would never be mean to you⊠I couldnât do it.â
He held your face in his hands like you were made of fine china. He didnât want to break you.
He leaned forward and kissed your forehead.
Gentle. So, so gentle.
His lips lingered on your forehead.
âIf we were alive at the same time, I would have married you in a second,â he swallowed hard, holding you even tighter to him.
You were now lying on top of him. You liked being on top of him like this, although part of you worried you might smother him by accident, but something told you that Luke would welcome that.
âAt least weâre dead at the same time... well, kinda.â You smiled, almost hopeful.
He laughed at that. Not a full belly laugh, but an easy-going laugh that made his smile almost shine. You could stare at Lukeâs smile for the rest of your time. Just the two of you in a room staring at one another.
You leaned forward, moving to kiss him; you yearned for your lips to connect. To taste him. However, in your drunken state, you missed and laid a kiss on his nose. Luke seemed not to catch on that this was a mistake because when you pulled away, he kissed your nose back.
Perhaps it wasnât the best idea to try to lay a kiss on him when your entire world was spinning.
You lay your head in the crook of his neck and shut your eyes. Luke murmured a song into the top of your head, but you could not recognize it. It managed to drift you off to sleep, and you welcomed it with open arms.
The next morning, you woke up alone with a major headache. Hangovers existed here⊠right⊠What a stupid thing to have still exist in heaven. You were tucked into bed with an array of pillows around you. You turned to look at your dresser to see a note, a glass of water, and a pill.
You grabbed the note and read it.
BE RIGHT BACK. DRINK THIS & TAKE THIS ITS ASPRIN. DONT LEAVE CABIN! - LUKE
You read it again and blinked in confusion. You realized he misspelled aspirinâŠ. How did he even get aspirin?
You downed the water and swallowed the pill. You wondered for a moment if you could smoke weed here. You hadnât smoked weed in almost 40 yearsâŠ. You wondered if you should ask about it.
You felt bile burn your throat, and you ran to the toilet. Throwing up for a solid 29 seconds. No room for a breath, just vomit. You wiped your mouth and then looked at your throw-up, not even being able to tell what any of the specs of food even were.
You decided to brush your teeth and take a shower. Your headache was pounding less, but you still felt it. The warm water soothed an ache in your back. For a while, you just stayed under the shower until the entire bathroom filled with steam.
You grabbed an old Diana Ross shirt you got at a concert in the '80s and a fresh pair of underwear before going down the steps of your cabin. You grabbed an apple and a box of Lucky Charms. You eat the cereal with no mil,k choosing to just pour it into your mouth.
You lie on the couch watching an episode of Happy Days on your TV. Apparently, the TV played all your favorite television shows on repeat. Neat.
There was a knock on your door interrupting your lazy daze. You got up, not even bothering to put on pants, and you opened the door to see Luke in his snowsuit. He breathed heavily and had a wide smile on his face. His face was red once more, but you werenât sure if it was from sunburn or just from the cold.
It was snowing again, small white flakes fell from the sky, covering the already blanket of snow covering the grass.
âGet dressed, I gotta show you something,â He huffed out.
You blinked, âWhat?â
âJust⊠just get dressed! Put on pants, come on, itâs really important!â He said, jumping up and down.
âAlright, Jesus, just⊠give me a second.â You waved him off.
You made your way upstairs and put on a pair of sweatpants that you had no idea you even had. You threw on one of your new jackets, a blue trench coat with black star buttons. The inside of the coat was lined with soft wool and fur. You put on some tennis shoes you knew to be from your older years; comfortable and reliable.
You slowly made your way down the stairs.
âCome on!â
Luke grabbed your hand and pulled you outside.
âLuke, slow down, youâre gonna pull my arm out of its socket,â you laughed at his frantic movements.
Finally, he stopped and turned around to you. He put his hands on your arms that were at your sides. He gave you a cheesy grin. You were in a part of the woods between the trail that led to his cabin.
âOkay, close your eyes,â he bit his bottom lip.
âWhat? Why?â You asked with a frown.
âCome on, please?â He squeezed your arms gently.
You sighed but followed his instructions, shutting your eyes.
He let go of your arms, and you could hear him walk away, his heavy foot steps crackling in the snow. There were moments of quiet; all you could hear was the wind and the sound of a hawk. You clutched your hands together to stop your nervousness.
âOkay! Open your eyes!â Luke called.
You opened them to see him a few feet away from you. In his arms⊠a chocolate lab. The lab was a decent size, Luke was holding it like it was a puppy but the dog had to have been at least five years old.
You blinked, your face conforming into several different expressions. Luke put the dog down and whistled. That sent the dog running towards you, tackling you to the ground. The air was getting knocked out of your lungs, the dog's wet tongue kissed your cheeks and parts of your chin. You pushed its face away before properly looking at it.
It took you a moment. It had been almost 50 years, but you recognized the small patch of darker hair in the center of her chest that formed into what looked like a flower. The mark being how she got her name
Lily.
âLily?â You questioned.
The dark barked as if to answer your question. She spun around in a circle, excited, her drool dripping from her mouth.
âLily!â You cried out, hugging the dog.
She barked once more and licked the outer shell of your ear.
âOh, sweet girl, I missed you so much!â You kissed her face and scratched behind her ear.
Lily fell on her back to signal she wanted you to scratch her stomach. She always did like that.
âHello, my girl, hello, hello, hello,â you giggled, scratching her stomach in a circle.
Luke walked closer to the two of you, his hands stuffed in his pockets. A tender smile on his warm features.
âHow did⊠how did⊠how?â You couldnât form a thought.
Lily lay her head on your lap, content just to be near you.
âSomeone owed me a favor, but it took them forever to find her. Apparently, all dogs do go to heaven. I had her smell one of your t-shirts, and when she did, she went crazy. Barking, spinning around in a circle, and jumping up on me. She missed you a lot,â Luke scratched the top of Lilyâs head.
Lily let out a breath through her nose, approving of Lukeâs story.
âThis is⊠I donât⊠oh my God, Luke!â You cried, tackling him to the ground.
Lily barked at both of you and wagged her tail.
He was about to speak (no doubt about to say something cocky), but before he could, you kissed him. He was clearly surprised because his eyes were wide open. It took him a moment, but he finally shut his eyes and smiled into the kiss. His lips were just as soft as they had felt when he kissed your forehead last night. He rolled over so he was on top. Lily jumped on his back, and he groaned.
You laughed and pulled away, looking at the dog.
âLily, sit!â You commanded,
The dog did as you said and sat patiently.
âWhy⊠why did you do this for me?â You asked, looking up at Luke.
He looked down at you. He brought a hand up to rub your forehead with his thumb.
âBecause you deserve it,â he breathed out.
âYou deserve everything you want⊠and I want to give it all to you,â he swallowed nervously.
You hadnât seen him this nervous before⊠You leaned up and kissed him softly.
âYouâre really something, Luke,â you said to him.
âYou are too,â he whispered and kissed you once more.
How sweet life could be to you⊠After not having a great love in life, you get one in death, the two of you intertwined, sewn together.
You would have each other forever. For all eternity.
Okay, wait, but this is perfect! And totally can't wait for part two!
whoâs gonna drive you home tonight? - steve harrington
frat! steve harrington x sorority girl! reader
part one of ???
masterlist tag list steve masterlist
summary:
youâve hated steve harrington since the day you met him. unfortunately for you, your sorority and his frat go hand in hand, and you canât escape him. he gets no greater joy in life than to piss you off. when a frat party like any other turns into something heated with the guy you hate more than anyone else, neither of you are sure how to deal with it.
warnings:
smut (18+), protected p in v, dubcon? (theyâre both high), oral sex (f receiving), thigh riding, fingering, messy, rough sex, big dick steve, mention of masturbation (m and f), drinking, drug use (weed), pervy comments, steve is actually insufferable at first
word count: 17.5k words
a/n:
there is soooo much left of this fic, i have the whole thing outlined and iâm so excited! it will def be 4+ parts but i really wanted to share the beginning with you and hopefully it will motivate me to finish it soon đ i really hope you like it!!
The first time you met Steve, you almost slapped him.
His reputation preceded him. Even your freshman year at Ohio State University, fresh out of rush week, youâd heard plenty about Sigma Chi pledge Steve Harrington. They were singing his praises from day oneâhe was handsome, a baseball genius, the life of any party. He commanded the attention of any room he stepped into. You were a little sick of him to begin with from how your Delta Gamma sisters wouldnât shut up about him for two seconds even before that first party.
And when you walked into the Sigma Chi house for the first time, you didnât even need to be told which one was the Harrington. The world gravitated around him like he was the sun itself, and he seemed to glow like it, too. He was handsome, devastatingly so. His smile was blinding. He had a stupidly good head of hair, gorgeous sun-kissed skin dotted with moles like constellations, and big hazel eyes that made him look deceptively sweet.
Youâd met eyes from across the room, and at the time, it had felt like something clicking into place. Two puzzle pieces who had finally found where they belonged. Your breath hitched as he left the group he was talking to and sauntered over, that brilliant smile now directed specifically at you and you alone. Your heart had felt like it might burst from your chest.
âOh my god,â one of your sisters, Margot, had said, grabbing onto your arm. âHeâs coming over here.â
He didnât even glance at her. He only looked at you. He wore a polo with jeans that fit him just right, a red plastic cup clutched in his large hand. When he reached you, you could smell his cologne, something intoxicating that made your head spin. He really was everything everyone had promised.
And then he opened his mouth.
âHi,â heâd said, extending a hand towards you. âIâm Steve. And you are fucking beautiful.â
Embarrassingly, youâd giggled like a total fool, given him your hand, and introduced yourself. âNice to meet you, Steve.â
Heâd actually taken your hand and kissed your knuckles, like the prince he absolutely saw himself as. And then, that suave grin turned into something more like a cocky smirk, a look youâd grow to know and loathe. âYou know, you look like a girl who deserves the very best,â heâd said. âAnd, wouldnât you know itâby sheer coincidence, youâre looking at the best this frat has to offer.â
Okay, a little eye roll worthy, but that wasnât abnormal for these frat guys. Youâd raised an eyebrow. âOh yeah? And what could you possibly offer me?â
His smirk had widened, and he moved in, grabbing you by the hip and pulling you against him. âOh, things beyond your wildest dreams, baby,â heâd murmured, even as you gasped at the sheer audacity of this guy. âWhy donât we go up to my room and I can show you?â
Youâd shoved him back by his chest, making him stumble, the beer in his cup sloshing over the sides and onto his light blue shirt. âYouâre a fucking perv.â
Steveâs expression had immediately transformed into something harder, all traces of the charming smile from moments ago completely erased. âWhat the fuck?â
âYou donât get to just walk up and touch me. I donât even know you.â Youâd scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest. âDoes that actually work for you?â
âYeah, actually,â heâd said, looking at you with pure distaste now. âWith girls who arenât an uptight cocktease.â
Youâd laughed, but only in an attempt to keep yourself from punching this guy square in the jaw. âOh, wow. Fuck you.â
âFuck me, huh?â heâd said, that stupid smirk back in place. âYou know, thatâs a good idea, maybe it would help if I got that stick out of your ass and gave you something elseââ
âOh-kay, letâs go get a drink!â Margot had said, dragging you away before you could land the slap you were winding up. You heard him laughing behind you, the sound loud and infuriating.
âSee you around, baby!â heâd called after you. Margot just dug her fingers into your arm, pulling you to a completely different part of the house as fast as she could.
Things with Steve did not improve after that. And, unfortunately for you, you couldnât escape him. He was everywhere you turned. Not only the golden boy on campusâhis photo was used on any and all promotions for the championship winning baseball teamâbut, soon, also the president of Sigma Chi. And your houses went hand in hand.
Every party you went to, Steve was there, holding court among his adoring subjects. The guys on campus thought he was the coolest guy who ever lived, and the girls were practically stepping over each other for a chance with him. You attempted to keep your distance, but Steve loved annoying you more than he loved the girls begging to go up to his bedroom.
Delta Gamma also partnered with Sigma Chi for just about everything. As the top houses, it was just a given. Every event, every fundraiser, every charity event and mixer and rager. As much as you adored everything about your sorority and had always felt like youâd made the wrong choice, Steve was the one thing that made you question it.
It was no secret, either. Everyone knew you and Steve hated each other. Steveâs frat brothers found it hilarious, while your sisters tried their best to keep you away from each other. You just couldnât get alongâbeing in each otherâs space for too long always ended in disaster. A loud argument, heated insults, or sometimes even a thrown drink, if Steve was feeling extra mouthy that night. You were best kept far away from one another.
Youâd grown close with another girl whoâd pledged Delta Gamma, Nancy. Nancy was sweet and smart and although you loved all your sisters, youâd clicked with her immediately. Nancy also happened to know Steve well. Theyâd grown up together, even dated briefly in high school.
âSteve is an asshole,â Nancy had told you, confirming everything you already thought. âSeriously, donât let him try to charm you. Heâs full of it.â
It kind of seemed like you and Nancy were the only ones who saw it, though. Of course there were the girls heâd already scorned, but the vast majority of the Ohio State female student population were head over heels for Steve Harrington. You couldnât help but roll your eyes every time you saw it.
That would never be you.
Your junior year had just begun, and by the end of September, homecoming season was well underway. Sigma Chi had already partnered with Delta Gamma, a surprise to no one.
What was a surprise was that you had a chance at being crowned queen this year. Homecoming court was something youâd never given much thought to. Your attention was already divided in so many directionsâbetween your classes and honor society, track, event planning and sorority obligations with being Social Chair, and being a TA for the first time this year, you were booked and busy. The crown was the least of your concern. Even now, you didnât stress about it. Everyone knew your chapter president, Lindsey, would be taking the crown anyway.
The week of homecoming itself was always busy and filled with excitementâstuffed full of events and activities, a good chunk of which you had a hand in planning. But still, courting had begun, and Tommy Hagan had been going all out to catch your attention.
It started with a bouquet of flowers so huge you had to divide them up into three different vases just to display them in a way that didnât look ridiculous. Then, it was the food. Fruit baskets, a mini cake, so much of your favorite candy and chocolate you had to beg your sisters to eat some of it. The day you walked out of the house to the entire OSU choir serenading you on the front lawn, youâd been utterly speechless.
Tommy was nice enough, you guessed. If you had to partner with someone, he wasnât the worst choice. That would be Steve Harrington, who, by expectations aloneâbecause Steve didnât put much effort into anything that wasnât baseball or getting his dick wetâwas courting Lindsey. He didnât even have to try and he knew it.
There was a new gift or grand gesture from Tommy daily, while Steve had sent a single box of milk chocolates, a half dozen and definitely the cheapest on the shelf even though everyone knew the Harringtons were absolutely loadedâand Lindsey was allergic to dairy. You could tell she was annoyed about it, but she was going to partner with Steve regardless. Every time you brought another elaborate gift into the house, the look she gave you was cold and cutting. It wasâŠawkward.
At least for now, you could push thoughts of homecoming from your brain. It was Saturday night, and you were ready to have some fun. Or at least try to, because you were about to walk right into King Steveâs kingdom.
Youâd think you would have gotten used to his presence by now, but he never got any less annoying. Itâs not like you could just skip every party. Everyone knew Sigma Chi threw the best parties of any frat on campus. Were you just not supposed to go because the president was a total pain in the ass? You could kiss your social status goodbye real fast.
Sometimes youâd get lucky and wouldnât see him at all the whole night. Maybe just a flash of his stupid hair, or the sound of his laugh from another room. A glimpse at his cocky smirk as he led some poor girl up to his room. And other nights, he seemed hell bent on annoying you as much as possible.
You really, really hoped for the former tonight. You walked into the house with Nancy and Margot, the bass already thumping, the place overrun with college students in various states of intoxication. You looked good, you knew you did. Tiny skirt that showed off your legs, a top that displayed just enough chest to have guys staring every time they walked past. Not that that was hard.
âDo you want me to get us drinks?â Nancy asked, leaning over to yell over the music right in your ear. You nodded, and she gave you a soft smile before pushing her way through to the kitchen.
There was no sign of Steve so far, which you hoped was a good omen. Your eyes scanned the room, mostly familiar faces, but a decent amount of freshmen you hadnât gotten to know well yet were there, too.
Nancy was back quickly, walking through the crowd holding the two red cups up high in an attempt to not spill them or get anything on her white blouse. She let out a sigh of relief when she finally reached you, handing you a drink.
âItâs a total madhouse in there,â she said. âLike, more than usual.â
âHow many new pledges are there this year?â you asked, taking a sip of your beer. You linked hands with Nancy and began pushing through to the living room. You eventually found a place to stand against the wall, surveying the rest of the party.
âI have no idea,â she said. Her curls were pulled back on top with a bow, and she held her drink between both delicate hands. âItâs gotta be more than last year, right?â
It certainly seemed like it. The Sigma Chi parties were always intense, but it felt like you could barely move. âWith Harrington in charge this year, who knows.â
Nancy rolled her eyes. âGod, I know. When I heard he was president, I almost thought about dropping out.â
You laughed, shaking your head and taking another sip of your beer. âAt least in two more years, Iâll never have to see him again.â
âLucky you,â Nancy grumbled. âIâm sure Iâll always be seeing him at some point when Iâm back in Hawkins for holidays. Itâs like I canât escape him.â
The sound of your name being called caught your attention. You looked around, looking for the sourceâand saw Tommy Hagan on his way over, hand held up in a wave and a bright smile on his freckled face.
âHere comes your loverboy,â Nancy mumbled into her cup, looking away like she was minding her own business.
âHey,â Tommy said as he reached you. He wasnât as bad as Steve, but they were best friends and looked like they could have shared a wardrobe. He wore a dark red polo and jeans, one hand now in his pocket and the other holding his own drink. âWow, you look beautiful.â
âThanks,â you smiled politely. âUm, thanks for the flowers this morning. Blue this time, huh?â
âYeah,â he said, his smile somewhat sheepish as he ran a hand through his short hair. âI was thinking, like, a different bouquet for every color of the rainbow, or something.â
You nodded, eyebrows raised. âOoh, yeah. I see the vision.â
A soft blush colored the pale skin on his cheeks. âDid you like them?â
He was being so sweet, you couldnât help but soften. You werenât interested in Tommy romantically, but you were happy to partner with him if thatâs what he wanted. âThey were beautiful. Seriously.â His eyes lit up, and at the fear of yet another bouquet to make your bedroom look even more like a greenhouse, you added, âBut I am starting to run out of room to put vases.â
Tommy laughed softly, looking down at the floor. âYeah. Maybe I should try to get creative.â
A shout came from the sliding glass back door, drawing all of your attention behind him. âHagan! Come out here and show the new brothers how a keg stand is done!â
Tommy turned back to you. âSorry. Duty calls, I guess,â he said, although he didnât look all that sorry. Sigma Chi took their keg stands very seriously. âIâll catch you around later though, yeah? Youâre not planning to turn in early or anything?â
âIâll be here,â you confirmed, drinking from your cup again. âGo show âem, Hagan.â
His grin only widened. âSee you later, beautiful.â
You watched him go, laughing softly as he immediately switched gears from gentleman to frat bro the second he reached the back door.
âPlease let him be done with the bouquets,â Nancy said as soon as he was gone, done acting like she hadnât been paying attention the whole time. âIâve already got half of the flowers in my room.â
The party went on, and eventually you lost Nancy to the crowd. Sheâd started seeing this guy a few weeks ago, Vance, a transfer student who had her totally smitten like youâd never seen before. While Nancy had always been your partner at these partiesâmore like your shield from Steve Harringtonâsheâd started wanting to spend more time with Vance, and who were you to stop her?
It wasnât until later in the night, when you were leaning against the wall with yet another drink, that you finally saw him. Or heard him, rather, because his obnoxious loud voice and laugh usually entered a room before he did. At least he had a warning bell, you thought.
When Steve entered the living room with his friends, telling some story that was definitely not funny enough to warrant how hard they were laughing, you thought about making a run for it. But then his eyes locked with yours from across the room, and he shot you that stupid fucking smirk that made you irritated immediately. And he knew it.
He stared at you even while he kept talking to his friends, and you stared back. He liked to do these little power plays. Even the women around him werenât drawing his attention away. And finally, much to your disappointment, he turned away long enough to excuse himself before walking straight for you.
You really regretted not making your escape while you had the chance.
Steve greeted you by your last name, something none of the other guys did, since they cared about actually impressing you. âHow sweet of you to grace my house with your presence. I almost didnât expect you to show.â
You scoffed. âJust because youâre president this year doesnât mean youâre specialââ
âActually, it does,â he smirked. âThis is my kingdom, baby.â He held his arms out, as if the opulent house crammed full of sweaty, drunk college students was supposed to impress you. âAnd youâre talking to the king.â
You couldnât have rolled your eyes harder if you tried. âDo you even hear yourself when you talk? Itâs like everything you say comes from the official douchebag handbook.â
His smirk only widened. âMaybe it does. Maybe I even wrote it.â
âSteve, Iâm not even sure you can read.â You shook your head, looking off to the side, searching for any lifeline out of this conversation with your least favorite person on earth. âWhy are you over here bothering me, anyway? Donât you have some poor girl to flatter long enough to get in her pants?â
âIâd much rather get under that skirt,â he quipped. When your head snapped back in his direction, eyes practically glowing with the fire behind them and the promise of pouring your drink all over his dark blue shirt and stupid khakis, he held his hands up in mock surrender. âOkay, okay,â he laughed. âI came over because you looked fucking miserable. Why do you always look so bored? Youâre at a party.â
âIâm not bored,â you retorted simply.
âCouldâve fooled me,â he said, leaning a hand against the wall next to you. âYou look pissed off to even be here.â
âThatâs because youâre talking to me.â
Steve laughed, which was maybe your least favorite sound in the world. âEvery time I see you here, you look bored. Like you think youâre too good to even be here.â
âWell, unfortunately, Sigma Chi has the most annoying guy possible as their president, soâŠâ you trailed off, a hand on your hip. You took a sip from your beer again, but you would need a lot more alcohol to make Steveâs presence bearable.
He hummed, as if he were considering it. âI donât know. I think you feel like youâre above all this.â He gestured around the room. âWhy would you join a sorority if you hate parties so bad?â
âI donât hate parties,â you argued. And it was trueâyou didnât. You could have plenty of fun at a party. You were Social Chair.
âWell, whatever it is, youâre bringing down the mood,â he said. He downed the rest of his own drink, sitting the empty plastic cup on the mantel, where it would surely sit until some poor pledges were tasked with cleaning the whole place tomorrow.
âI donât think anyone cares what Iâm doing,â you muttered. âOther than you, for some fucking reason.â
Steve grinned again. âI know what you need.â
âYeah?â You raised your eyebrows. âIs it for you to leave me alone and never speak to me again? Because I could agree with that.â
âYou need to get high.â
That made you pause. âWhat?â
His smile grew. âI think you need to loosen up. Like, a lot.â He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the staircase. âI could roll us a joint. I wanted to go smoke anyway.â
You just blinked at him. âYouâreââ You were genuinely stunned. âYouâre inviting me to go up to your room and smoke? This isnât, like, some weird attempt to have sex, right? Because that is never gonna happenââ
âNo, Jesus,â he laughed. âI just think you need to stop being so damn uptight for once. It would help, believe me.â
âIâve smoked before, Iâm not some prude,â you mumbled, because you knew thatâs exactly what Steve saw you as. âIf youâre offering, why canât you just, likeâŠroll me one and bring it back down here?â
âI keep the good shit hidden in my room,â he shrugged. âOtherwise, these assholes would steal it all. They donât need to know about it.â
You hesitated, because no matter how badly you wanted to accept the invitation for some free weed, it came with a worse costâspending time one on one with Steve Harrington. He looked at you expectantly while you looked around the room, biting the inside of your cheek as you fought with yourself over it.
âFine,â you said finally. âBut we smoke, and then Iâm coming right back down here and finding Nancy.â
âDeal,â he smirked. âAt least youâll be more fun. We have a reputation here, you know.â
You rolled your eyes yet again as he turned, leading the way back to the staircase. The crowd always seemed to part for Steve like he was true royalty, a deep seated respect that you personally would never understand. Your eyes darted around to every face you passed, absolutely mortified at the idea of someone seeing you following him upstairs, but no one seemed to notice.
The polished wood of the banister was smooth beneath your palm as you followed. Youâd never even been up these stairs at all, the second floor a total mystery you had never been too eager to uncover. Steveâs shoes thudded against the shining hardwood floors, passing room after room occupied with couples, some of them not even bothering to close the door all the way. You scrunched your face up in disgust at one particularly shameless makeout session with the bedroom door wide open.
Steve reached a room at the end of the hall, turning to look at you over his shoulder before turning the doorknob, as if it were some grand reveal. You had to admitâonly to yourselfâbut you were a little curious about what waited on the other side.
You trailed into the room behind him, closing the door behind you. You looked around as Steve kneeled by his bed, pulling out a shoebox. The bedroom was neat, bed made, clothes put away besides the ones piled in the laundry hamper. There was a desk with a lamp, soft light shining over a mess of papers and textbooks. His dresser was cluttered with hair products and a few bottles of expensive cologne. There were a few posters tacked to the walls, mostly sports related, a few of scantily clad women, and the yearâs OSU baseball schedule. He had a bookshelf against one wall, holding his textbooks and a staggering amount of baseball trophies. A framed team photo sat on one shelf, along with one of all the Sigs taken at the beginning of the semester.
âHaving fun?â Steve asked, making you jump slightly as you turned to look at him. He was sitting on his bed now, the shoebox open next to him. He was smiling at you as his fingers worked dexterously to roll the joint. âDidnât know you could be so nosy.â
You scoffed, but your cheeks felt a little hot. âShouldnât have stuff sitting out if you donât want people to look at it.â
He laughed. âYou can look at whatever you want.â He licked along the seam of the joint, perfectly rolled. âGo ahead and search the whole room, if you want. The porn mags are in that drawer.â He nodded towards his nightstand.
You scrunched your face up. âEw. Youâre so gross.â
Steve laughed again as he put his baggie of weed and papers back in the box, pushing it beneath his bed again. You took a seat on the plush carpet, back leaning against his dresser. He placed a muscular arm on the end of the bed frame and lowered himself to the floor to sit across from you.
âYou can do the honors if you want,â he offered, holding the joint out towards you.
There was a moment of hesitation before you reached forward, taking it from his fingers. âI donât understand why youâre being nice to me,â you said, brows furrowed even as you placed the joint between your lips, flicking the lighter and holding the flame to the end.
âIâm not being nice to you,â he said. He still had that same look he always had when he looked at you, like it was one of his lifeâs greatest joys to piss you off, to get you worked up and upset. âLike I said, youâre ruining my party. Canât have word spreading around campus that people are here looking bored. Sigs are the party kings of campus, and thatâs not changing, especially not with me in charge.â
âOh, right,â you said, exhaling that first cloud of smoke. âThe new ruler canât appear weak, and all that.â
âExactly,â he smirked. He watched you take another hit, then leaned forward, accepting the joint back from you and taking a long pull himself.
âI donât think anyone pays as much attention to me as you do, Steve,â you said. That warm feeling was starting to settle over you, and he was rightâyou were relaxing already. It was the first time youâd been in a room with him and didnât want to scream or punch him.
His gaze was heavy on you as he hit the joint, looking at you with that intensity he always seemed to hold when you were in a room together. But now it was making you fidget, the room suddenly feeling hot.
âWho says I pay attention to you?â he finally asked. His voice was lower now, and when he leaned forward to pass the joint back to you, your fingers brushed together. It sent a jolt through your body, and you jerked your hand back quickly, bringing it to your lips to give yourself time to think before you spoke again.
âItâs kind of obvious.â Smoke billowed from your lips as you responded. The room was growing thick with it, a haze surrounding you both in and outside of your head. âAlways staring at me, coming over just to annoy meâŠâ
âItâs fun,â he admitted, laughing softly. He ran a hand through his hair, starting to lose its shape and flop into his wide hazel eyes. âEvery time you get mad, you get that cute little furrow between your eyebrows, your lips get all pouty, and you roll your eyes about a million times.â
You pausedâand then giggled, leaning forward to pass the joint back. âSeriously? I told you, you pay attention to me.â
Your laughter was starting to get Steve going too. He took another pull. âI mean, I notice things that are nice to look at. Iâm only a man, after all.â
The laughter felt like something you could no longer control, bubbling up in your chest and filling Steveâs bedroom much like the smoke in the air. It was contagious, the two of you laughing together as you finished off the joint.
âYou know you always say the cheesiest stuff possible,â you giggled, your body fully relaxed into the floor at this point. Your limbs felt heavy in the best way, like every bit of tension in your muscles had faded. âItâs kind of amazing how everyone thinks youâre so cool, because youâre kind of a total dork.â
Steve laughed hard, his head tilting back. You couldnât help but notice the strong column of his throat, the way the muscles flexed in his neck and chest. âI have to get creative,â he said, fixing his eyes back on yours once again. âI aim to keep you entertained, after all.â
âI guess you do,â you smiled. âAnnoyed, yes. Bored? Never.â
He watched you for a minute, something thoughtful seeming to cross his face. Your eyes locked in that way they often did, just staring. Seeing each other. Steve always had a way of making you feel like he could see right through you, and it made you wonder if he felt the same about you, too.
The fact that you were enjoying Steveâs company seemed to strike you all at once. It was confusingâmaybe concerningâbut for now, you were too high to care. Heâd been right. This was what you needed.
Steve nudged your foot with his own. âIâve never seen you look so peaceful,â he grinned. âWho knew there was more to you than being stuck up andâŠsnobby.â
You snorted a laugh. âFuck you, Harrington.â
The grin on his face grew. âOh, would that help you relax some more?â he said, looking a little too proud of himself. âBecause Iâd be happy to help you with that, too.â
Your eyes widened, and Steve was pretty sure you were about to tell him off againâbut then you tossed your head back, laughing harder than heâd ever heard from you. âOh my god. In your dreams.â
Steve smirked, that same look youâd grown to know as cocky and insufferable, but right now, you didnât seem to mind it. It was endearing, almost. Handsome, maybe. âBaby, you let me fuck you, and youâll be dreaming about it for months.â
Itâs like everything he said, every stupid, corny line that would usually have you irritated, was suddenly the funniest thing youâd ever heard. âYou really think youâre godâs gift to women, huh?â
âI know I am.â He tilted his head to the side, body relaxed as he leaned back against his bed frame. âNever heard a single complaint.â
âThatâs because girls know how to fake it,â you mumbled. âGuys can never tell.â
âOh, I can tell.â His hands flexed where they rested on his thighs, the veins beneath his skin suddenly extremely distracting. âSome guys canât, sure. But I know the difference between some fake pornstar moans to boost some pathetic dudeâs ego, and how it really feels to make a girl fall apart.â
Your cheeks felt hot now. Your whole body did, even though your outfit didnât cover much skin. âYouâre not that good in bed.â
âHow would you know?â he asked, looking at you with genuine curiosity and something like delight.
âI can just tell,â you answered quickly, looking down at the soft beige carpet beneath your bare thighs. âGuys never care about making girls feel good. Just themselves.â Thatâs how it had been with every guy youâd ever slept with. Not a single one had been different.
âIâm not other guys,â Steve said, voice lower now. It made your breath hitch in your throat, slowly raising your head to look at him. He was still smiling at you, but there was something different behind his eyes now, something heavy and burning.
You returned his smile, laughing softly even as you felt your heart speed up in your chest. âYeah, well. I donât think any guy is different in that department.â
âYou wanna bet?â
That almost earned him another eye roll (playful this time, but still)âuntil he shifted, moving over to sit next to you. You tensed as you felt his shoulder brush against yours, feeling both electricity and heat even through the fabric of your clothes.
âSteveâŠâ
His large hand came up slowly. Now he was looking at you in a way youâd never seen from him before. The familiar cocky smirk was gone, his soft lips parted slightly as his eyes raked over every part of you like he wanted to memorize the way you looked right now. Your chest rose and fell with your heavy breaths, watching his intense gaze travel slowly, taking his time. From your eyes, to your lips, down your throat. Lower, to your chest, but not in the pervy way heâd done in the past. No, it wasnât thatâit wasâŠreverent. Like he was seeing something holy.
His hand finally moved, brushing your hair back softly. It made you draw in a sharp breath, chills spreading across the skin of your neck where heâd made contact.
âI like you like this,â he said, voice low and quiet. His eyes were locked on the side of your neck, where heâd just touched.
It took you a second to find your voice, although it came out more like a whisper. âLikeâŠwhat?â
âHappy,â he said. His gaze finally moved to your eyes. âComfortable. Real.â His eyes dropped to your lips. âYou know, youâre really pretty when you smile like that.â
You were pretty sure you had to be dreaming, because in no world were you sitting in Steveâs bedroom while he looked at you like that. Like he wanted to kiss you. Like he was actually moving in, leaning in slowly to close the distance as if giving you all the chance in the world to run awayâ
You didnât. Your eyes fell closed and then, with the force of a meteor crashing into the earth despite how soft and gentle it was, his lips met yours. His hand rested against the side of your neck while yours moved up to grip onto his bicep. He tilted his head slightly and your lips slotted together perfectly, moving together with a practiced kind of confidence and a sense of rightness you never should have felt with Steve Harrington ever.
There was no time to think with the way he was kissing you, slow and deep but utterly consuming. It was careful at first, exploratory. It felt so good, your lips moving with his like it was second nature. Steve was a good kisser. You knew he had plenty of experience, and itâs not like you didnât, but he was taking the lead and you were happy to let him.
His tongue traced along your bottom lip, and you parted your lips on instinct. His tongue met yours with a soft groan that had you digging your nails into his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, pulling him closer.
Steve laid you back on the soft carpet with way more care than youâd ever seen him show anything. He braced himself on a strong arm planted next to your head, never breaking the kiss for a single second. His body hovered over yours, one knee moving between your thighs where your skirt had fallen up around your waist, pressing against you through your panties. His free hand rested on your hip now, holding onto you. You let out a soft moan against his lips, delirious from every point of contact, rocking your hips down against his leg to feel that friction you craved so desperately.
He groaned, moving from your mouth to kiss across your jaw, down to your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin, giving you chills. Your breaths were coming in hard and heavy now, holding onto his broad shoulders like a lifeline, eyes closed as you felt every sensation he provided.
âSo pretty,â he murmured against your neck, grinding his knee against you to meet every needy movement. He nipped lightly at the sensitive spot below your ear. You could feel his smirk against your skin when you gasped, hips bucking against him in response. It made no sense how he knew exactly what to do, like he somehow knew your body better than you did.
âSteveâŠâ you whimpered, the only word your brain could conjure.
âThatâs it, baby,â he said. His breath was hot against your skin, sucking at your neck, biting then soothing the sting with his tongue. âLet me hear you. Gonna make you feel so good.âÂ
The hand on your hip slowly slid up the smooth skin of your side, rucking your shirt up. You sat up long enough to help him pull it off completely, leaving you in the lacy bra you wore beneath. He wasted no time lowering his head to mouth at the top of your breasts, practically burying his face in them, kissing and sucking and biting at the exposed skin.
âAlways had the best fucking tits,â he moaned, losing himself in a way you could only describe as worshipful. He reached behind you to unhook your bra easily, pulling it away and tossing it to the side. He pulled back to look down at your body, the look in his eyes one of pure hunger. âActually insane fuckinâ pair, Jesus Christ.â
You laughed, because yeah, there was the Steve you knew. That laugh turned into a gasp, then a moan, when he leaned down and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples.
âFuck,â you gasped, hands shooting up to tangle in his hair. âOh my godââ
He swirled his tongue around the stiff peak, groaning as he sucked on it. He grabbed the other, massaging your breast in his large hand, slightly calloused from years of pitching. The friction on your sensitive, hardened nipple was maddening, back arching and pushing your tits further into his face.
He never let up with the movements against your soaked cunt, either, even as he switched back and forth between your tits. Your clit was swollen and throbbing and begging for more, and you were pretty sure your panties were utterly ruined. You could feel the pleasure building in your core with an intensity that felt like it would completely take your breath away.
Youâd never had a guy make you cum in your life, and now Steve Harrington was about to do it in five minutes, fully clothed, with his fucking thigh?
Steve could sense the tension coiling in your bodyâand he pulled away, taking away every delicious ounce of pleasure heâd been building.
Your eyes opened, still heavy lidded and hazy. âWhatâ?â
âMy bed,â he said, and you noticed he was breathing hard, too. âNot gonna fuck you for the first time on the floor.â
You didnât give yourself time to think about his words. He helped you up, then pulled you into another frantic kiss as you both shed clothes as fast as you could with your lips still attached, utterly desperate for each other.
Steveâs mattress creaked softly as you fell back onto it, now in nothing but your panties. You moved back towards his pillows, leaning up on your elbows as you watched him.
God, he looked good with his shirt off, you absolutely hated to admit. He had thick hair covering his chest, which was muscular and strong, but his stomach was still a little soft. His skin was sun-kissed, those moles dotting his body all over. The desire to kiss every single one of them surged suddenly within you, but you pushed the thought away. That wasâŠintimate.
His gaze remained heavy on you as he worked his belt open without drawing away his attention once. The way he looked at you was like a starving man preparing for a feast. Your thighs were slightly parted, and he didnât miss how damp your panties were. For him.
Finally down to his boxer briefs alone, you could see more of him than you ever had before. He was fully hard, the outline of his dick visible as it strained against the thin, snug material.
And the rumors were true.
âJesus,â you breathed. That cocky smirk returned to his face as he watched your wide-eyed stare. Truthfully, he was used to that reaction. âYouâreâŠâ
âI know, baby,â he purred, crawling onto the bed over you. He leaned down, peppering kisses along your legs as he moved higher along your body. âItâll fit. Iâll be careful. âm gonna take care of you like you deserve.â
It felt like you were melting into the soft sheets and comforter surrounding you. Steve was taking his time, placing hot, open mouthed kisses against your calf, his hand roaming up the other leg in time with his mouth. He rose higher, over your knee, up the inside of your thigh.
He laid on his stomach between your legs, kissing and nipping all along the sensitive skin of both inner thighs. Your legs trembled. The sight of him there, with his mouth all over you, was almost too overwhelming to even take in. Your head dropped against his pillows, just giving in to his every desire, your body coming alive with every touch. Trusting him.
âYouâre so wet for me,â he breathed in pure admiration. His nose nuzzled against your core through the thin material, and you drew in a sharp gasp. He looked up at you from between your legs, fingers moving to dip beneath the waistband of your panties. âHas anyone ever tasted you before?â
You froze as you realized what he was asking you, what he was planning to do. By the time you found your words, heâd already slipped the delicate material down and off your body. You shuddered as you felt his breath against your pussy, cool against the wetness there, for him.
âIââ You jolted when you felt him rub his nose against your folds, breathing in the intoxicating scent of you. Your whole body was flushed and hot. ââŠNo.â
Steve groaned. The idea of being the first to pleasure you like this had his cock throbbing between his body and the mattress. âFuckinâ idiots,â he grumbled, drinking in the sight of you for a little longer before he finally moved in, dragging his tongue against your cunt, moaning like heâd never tasted anything better. âYou have the perfect fuckinâ pussy. Tastes so sweet.â
Your hips jerked against his mouth, crying out at that first unfamiliar contact. You heard his low chuckle, but there was no humor behind it, just pure want. He dove in, devouring you properly.
The feeling of his tongue against you was more intense than youâd anticipated. Your fingers tangled in his perfect hair, making a mess of it, pulling just hard enough to earn a groan from his chest that vibrated against your clit. You were nearly seeing stars already, hips rocking up against his mouth as he flicked his tongue against the swollen nub, sucking gently before moving down to your hole. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was pulling you apart piece by piece until you could hardly stand it.
Youâd heard of this before, of course you had. Your sorority sisters had mentioned it a few times, and youâd seen it in that trashy porno you, Nancy, and Carol had spent the night giggling at after sharing a joint and some vodka crans. But you always thought of it as a myth. No man youâd ever been with had even offered, even if youâd gone down on him first. You figured it was something guys just didnât do, or at least something they didnât want to do.
Not Steve, apparently, because he was worshipping you like he could have spent hours with his face buried between your legs. His skilled tongue worked against you in all the right ways, moaning against you and grinding his hips against the bed, even harder if you tugged on his hair, which you were quickly learning he liked.
âSteveââ you gasped, body writhing and arching beneath him. âOh my god, Iâ-â
âThatâs it,â he praised, pulling away from you just long enough to speak, eyes glazed and lips and chin shining with your wetness, before diving in again. âDoing so good for me, sweetheart. Youâre so fucking hot.â
You whimpered when you felt his thick finger pressing against your entrance, moaning as he pushed inside while his mouth focused on your clit again. With how wet you were, he slid inside easily, fucking you before quickly adding a second finger. He curled them deep inside, pressing against something that nearly had you screaming his name loud enough for the whole party to hear.
âSteve!â you gasped, one hand still tangled in his hair while the other gripped onto the pillow, feeling like you would actually float away if you didnât hold on. The pleasure he was giving you was nearly overwhelming, your body beginning to tremble harder as that coil tightened again, faster and more intense this time. He slipped in a third, fucking you deep, stretching you around his thick fingers.
âGotta get you ready for me,â he panted, dragging his tongue through your folds one more time just to taste you. âFuck. Youâre so good, gonna take me so well, every fuckinâ inch, I know you will. Gonna stretch so perfectly around my cock.â
A whine crawled its way from your throat, hips rocking against his fingers as he fucked you deep with them, pressing against that bundle of nerves that had you losing your mind. âSteveâŠSteveâŠoh fuck, Iâmââ
He didnât let up with his fingers for a single second. But it was when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking, while his fingers thrusted in hard and deep, that made it finally snap.
Your vision went white, your body tensing and mouth dropping open in a scream that was silent at first, before you let out what were probably the most pornstar-worthy sounds youâd ever made in your life. âSteve! Oh, fuck!â
Steve groaned at the sound, lapping up every bit of you, letting you grind your pussy against his tongue and working you through every shuddering aftershock until your body went limp beneath him. When he finally pulled back, you fully expected him to look up at you with that look he almost always wore, the one that made him look so proud of himself, so punchable. But instead he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before sucking his fingers clean greedily, looking down at your body with that same heated, wanting expression.
He sat up on his knees. You didnât think it was possible before but he was even harder now, a wet spot on his boxers at the tip of his cock where heâd been absolutely dripping for you. His thumbs hooked into the waistband, pushing down just enough for you to get a glimpse of the hair that disappeared below.
âYou ready for me?â he asked, voice a low rumble.
You let out a shaky breath, looking up at him with wide eyes. ââŠYeah.â
Steve smirked down at you and pushed the material down in one go. His cock sprung freeâand it was even more impressive than it looked before. He was thick and long, a slight right curve, vein prominent along the underside. His tip was flushed red like he was real desperate, and glistening from the precum heâd been leaking the whole time he was taking care of you. Another drop was beading at his slit. Youâd never had a man look like he wanted you this bad.
You knew you were staring, and Steve certainly saw it, too. âSee something you like, baby?â
You let out a breathless laugh, but truthfully, you were in no position to crack a joke or even deny it. You simply watched as he shed the last bit of clothing completely, leaving you both completely bare in his bed.
He leaned over you and reached to open the bedside drawer. There really were porn mags in there, which might have made you laugh if you couldnât feel that thick length twitching against your thigh. He grabbed a condom and shoved the drawer closed, sitting back up on his knees. He ripped the foil packet open with his teeth and rolled it onto his cock.
When he leaned over your body again, one arm braced near your shoulder and the other stroking his cock slowly, your heart began to pound fast. There was that brief moment of Iâm really doing this, right now, with him, but youâd never wanted anything more in your life.
Steve lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. You were still soaked, so he wasnât worried, but you were. Youâd heard rumors of how some girls couldnât even take him, only getting him halfway in before giving up and jerking him off instead. You hadnât believed them, because starting a rumor about the size of his dick was absolutely something you could see Steve doing. But now you were here in his bed, seeing firsthand that it was very true.
He traced his cock up and down through your folds, coating himself in that slick wetness, showing a surprising amount of care. He placed hot, gentle kisses along your jaw as he did, voice a soft, low rumble in your ear.
âIâll go slow,â he promised, lips brushing against your skin. âYou donât like it, we donât have to. But Iâve got you, baby. Youâre so good, I think you can take it.â
You could hear the need in his voice, how badly he needed you to let him fuck you. But you also knew he was true to his word.
But, god, you wanted to take all of him. To show him you could, to feel him buried deep. To make him fall apart.
Steve kissed his way back to your lips, kissing you slow and deep, tongue massaging against yours. You felt the sting of the thick head of his cock pushing inside you, and you let out a soft whimper into the kiss. He moaned against you and pushed in just a little deeper.
âThatâs it,â he whispered between kisses. He grabbed your thigh with his left hand now, spreading you wide for him. âDoinâ so good, baby, letting me in.â He rolled his hips in shallow thrusts, just that little bit inside of you, sinking in another inch with every slow, deliberate thrust, working you open.
Your nails dug into his shoulders, but he kept your attention on him, entirely on the way he was kissing you. You werenât sure why or how but it was working, his slow, languid kiss distracting you from the sharp sting where he was stretching you around the girth of him, coaxing your body to relax.
The feeling of being filled was like nothing else. Sure, youâd had plenty of sex, but Steve made you feel absolutely stuffed full before he was even completely inside. He held your thigh up, keeping you open for him, your flexibility not lost on him. He rolled his hips in a few more slow thrustsâand then you felt his hips pressed flush against you.
âChrist,â he breathed, pulling back just enough to lean his forehead against yours. âSo perfect, baby, you fuckinââtook it all, Jesusââ
Youâd never heard Steve sound so utterly wrecked. He rolled his hips against you a few times, just enjoying the feeling of being completely sheathed inside your tight heat. And fuck, you were stretched around him perfectly, tight and hot. You felt like absolute heaven around his cock.
His cock throbbed inside you, so hard you could feel it. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, palms rubbing over his hot skin, a thin sheen of sweat coating it from the sheer effort of holding back from pounding into you.
âSteve,â you whimpered. Your cunt fluttered around him, and he dropped his head to your shoulder with a broken moan.
âYeah?â he rasped. His hips rocked lightly against you, betraying his desperation.
âYou canâŠâ You gasped as the coarse hair at his base rubbed against your clit, still so sensitive but aching for him again. ââŠYou can move.â
Steve moaned again, placing a few hot kisses against your neck as if thanking you. Finally he pulled his hips back, slowly withdrawing almost fully. Only his tip remained, and you could have cried at the loss of that perfect full feeling. But then he sank back inâslow at first, filling you to the brim again. Your desperate sounds of pleasure mixed together in the hot, charged air of his bedroom, a symphony intertwined much like your bodies.
âShit,â he cursed. He set a careful rhythm, every thrust measured and slow and deep. âYouâre taking me so fucking good. Fuuuuck. That pussy is fucking unreal.â
You could barely think straight. Your entire world narrowed down to the feeling of Steve inside of you, stretching you open perfectly. The sting was still there, but it was quickly fading into pure ecstasy with every movement of his hips. Your body was adapting to him like it was made for it.
Hands tangled in his hair again, you pulled him down into another messy kiss, all tongue and desperation, sloppy and hungry and hot. He groaned loudly into it, hips rutting into you faster.
Whines and whimpers and keening moans were spilling from your lips with little control. Your hips moved in time with his thrusts, meeting him every time. His cock was deeper than you thought possible, brushing against that spot that quickly had you gasping and babbling complete nonsense.
âFeels so good Steve, oh fuck, oh god, please donât stop, donât fucking stop Iâm gonna cum again, Steve please, oh godâ!â
Every word that tumbled from your lips was like fuel to the fire of his intense need. He couldnât hold back anymore, couldnât worry about if he might hurt you, too lost in the feeling of your body wrapped around him. His hips rocked against yours in a frantic pace now, his breaths coming in ragged pants, eyes locked on the way your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts. You arched your back and he leaned down to wrap his lips around a nipple again, moaning as he laved his tongue over it, eyes closed and completely pussydrunk, all because of you.
He sucked hard on your nipple one more time before letting go with a wet pop and sitting up on his knees. He held onto your waist and used your body, pulling you down onto his cock with every rough snap of his hips. His eyes were locked on the sight, watching himself disappear into your perfect cunt, seeing you stretch around him, take him whole.
âHoly fuck,â he panted. The sight of the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he took what he needed from you, watching you with such heat, made you feel utterly delirious. He looked powerful and strong, like an absolute god. âJesus. Look how you take me, baby, fuck. Knew youâd be good, butââ His hips stuttered, eyes rolling back for a second. ââshit, holy fuckââ
âBaby,â you gasped, grabbing onto the pillow above your head. Your cunt was tightening, throbbing around him, soaking his cock. The sound of him driving into you was loud and obsceneâthe slick, wet sounds, the sound of his skin slapping against yours. You might have felt a little self conscious if you could think about anything other than his cock coaxing that second orgasm from your trembling body. âI canâtâoh god, Steve, pleaseâŠâ
âYou can do it,â he was nearly begging now, his cock beginning to twitch within your tight walls, so close to his own end but determined to get you there first. âCome on, baby, give it to me. Let me feel it. Cum all over my cock, show me how good it feels, how much you like getting fucked by me.â
You turned your head, biting down on a pillow you held to your face in an effort to muffle the scream that ripped from your lungs. Your body arched, cunt clenching around him as wave after wave of overwhelming, perfect pleasure washed over you. Your ears were ringing, moaning and gasping and babbling his name again and again.
âShit!â Steve cursed, hips pounding into you reckless and fast. âThatâs it, god yeah, let me feel itâoh fuckâyouâre so good, so fucking good baby, letting me fuck you like this, squeezing around meâshitâoh baby, gonna make meâgonna make me fuckinâ cumââ
His body pitched forward over yours, bracing himself on an arm and burying his face in your neck. His cock buried deep in you, hips snapping in a few more frantic, shallow thrusts before he tensed, his groan muffled against your skin as he spilled into the condom, repeating your name over and over, body shaking with the intensity.
Your head was spinning. You could hear your heart beating in your ears. Steveâs body was heavy on top of you, your sweat-slicked skin pressed together, as he tried to catch his breath. It was a minute of heavy silence before he finally slid his softening cock out of you, collapsing onto his back.
The loss of that glorious full feeling was disappointing, to say the least. But as Steve removed the condom from his spent cock, tying it off and tossing it into his trash can, the moment finally, properly, broke.
And you realized you were naked in Steve Harringtonâs bed. That you had fucked him.
The effects of the weed seemed to have worn off, leaving you feeling suddenly cold and exposed and panicked. Even as you began to freak out more and more, Steve looked totally fine, laying back against the headboard with an arm behind his head. His chest still rose and fell with heavy breaths, skin still shining with sweat, but he looked satisfied. Proud of himself in that way that always pissed you off, but especially now.
âSo,â he said, and like so many times before, heâd ruined it all the moment he opened his mouth. âYou let me fuck you after all, huh?â
âJesus Christ,â you muttered, sitting up and reaching for your clothes. You felt like you couldnât stand to be exposed like this to him for another second, holding every article of clothing you grabbed to your chest until you found it all.
Steve laughed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He didnât seem to have any qualms about being totally naked in front of you, comfortable in his own skin the way he always was. âThose panties might be ruined. They were pretty soaked. You can leave them here with me, if you want.â He grinned wider. âIâll keep them safe. Wonât even wash âem.â
âYouâre a pig,â you spat back at him. He wasnât exactly wrong, though. You didnât want to put them back on, but you werenât about to walk out of this room wearing that tiny skirt with nothing underneath.
âBut was I right?â
âAbout what?â you asked as you hooked your bra, roughly pulling your shirt back on. The scowl on your face was a permanent fixture at this point, which was amusing to him.
âThat Iâm good?â he raised his eyebrows, and the grin on his face told you he knew the real answer no matter what you said in response.
âYou werenât that good,â you mumbled. You pulled your skirt back onto your hips, grabbing your shoes.
Steve laughed. âOh, come on. Thatâs not what you were saying when you were practically riding my face, or when you were cumming on my dick, begging me not to stop.â His words made your face burn, unable to even say something smart in return. âYou donât have to lie to me, baby. I was there.â
Fully dressed now, you moved to his dresser mirror, trying to fix your appearance. âDonât call me baby.â
He crossed his ankles, just watching you with that infuriating grin. He made no move to cover any part of his body, his cock laying against his thigh. It was huge even when he was soft, which you hated that you even noticed.Â
âAw, whyâre you so mad now?â The condescending tone in his voice made you shiver with the effort of not losing your absolute shit. âPersonally, I had fun. And I just gave you your first orgasm everââ
âNot my first orgasm.â
âSorry, your first orgasm that you didnât give yourself.â He tilted his head, smirking. You could feel his eyes all over your body, shameless. âTwo of them, actually. So really, you should probably be thanking me.â
You barked out a laugh as you wiped a lipstick smudge from the corner of your mouth. You turned around, noticing for the first time that some of it had transferred to his face. âIâm not thanking you for shit. This never shouldâve happened.â
Steve watched you head for the door. He had no intention of stopping you. Heâd never let a girl stay in his bed after sex, and he wasnât about to start now. He moved lazily even as he sat up and began to grab his own clothes.
âYou can pretend you didnât like it all you want, baby,â he said, not even looking at you anymore as he pulled his boxer briefs back onto his legs. âBut you and I both know what happened in here tonight, and I donât think youâll be forgetting it any time soon.â
You held back a frustrated scream as you walked out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Thankfully the music was loud enough that it didnât draw any attention. You stomped down the hallway and down the stairs, back into the chaos that now felt suffocating and overwhelming in a way it never had before.
You found Nancy in the kitchen, laughing with some of the other sisters. When she spotted you her expression turned serious, saying something to the girls before walking straight to you.Â
âWhere did you go?â she asked, reaching for your arm. Her hand was a little cold and every touch to your skin right now felt like a scalding burn, but you didnât pull away. âIâve been looking for you for ages.â
âJust got wrapped up talking to some people,â you mumbled, unable to make eye contact with her. âIâm gonna head home, though.â
Nancyâs brows furrowed. âNow? Already? Itâs still pretty early.â
âI just donât feel good,â you said. All you really wanted was to get back to the safety of your own bedroom and freak out about this in private. âYou donât have to leave.â
âNo, donât be silly. Iâm going with you.â She drained the last of the contents of her cup and tossed it into the nearby trash can, intertwining her fingers with yours. âThis party kinda sucked tonight, anyway.â
You smiled at her, genuinely grateful. Nancy was your best friend for a reason, and you loved her. But you could never tell her what happened tonight.
As you walked hand in hand to the front door, you felt a creeping feeling up your spine. Just as Nancy turned the doorknob, opening the door and letting the cool September air inside, you looked back over your shoulder.
Steve leaned against the railing upstairs, watching you. When you locked eyes, he lifted a hand in a wave, smiling down at you.
You left the house, letting the door close hard behind you.
Steve was haunting you.
Not even in the way he always had, constantly in the same places, an unavoidable physical presence. No, this was worse. He was in your head now. And for the first time ever, you felt you had actually been lucky before.
The night after that first fateful mistake, youâd gotten back to the house, told Nancy you didnât feel good, and went straight to bed. You removed your clothes from the party, shoved that pair of panties straight in the trash. You didnât think you could ever look at them again.
Sleep didnât come easily. You laid in bed, thinking about Steve and what youâd done without a momentâs reprieve. It was miserable, but you figured it was normal. Something terrible had just happened after all; a horrible mistake had been made, so of course you were going to think about it. It would fade. You would feel better tomorrow.
The problem was that it never stopped.
You woke up thinking about Steve. Went to class thinking about him. Every time you saw him on campusâand he always saw you first, smirking at you and giving you that douchebag nod, or a casual wave that he knew was anything butâyou averted your eyes and headed quickly in the other direction.
If the fact that youâd done it at all didnât disgust you enough, it was nothing compared to the horrible truth. That youâd liked it. Loved it. Wanted more. He really was the best youâd ever had, and you didnât think heâd ever done a single thing that had pissed you off more than that.
Of all the guys youâd been with, guys who were plenty hot and popular and well liked, not a single one of them had ever cared about your pleasure in any way. They were only interested in getting themselves off. You were pretty sure they wouldnât have been able to find the clit if theyâd even bothered to try.
But Steve? He had absolutely rocked your world exactly like he promised. The only orgasms youâd ever experienced had been by your own hands, and you figured no one ever would or could know your body better than you did. How did he know the exact right places to touch, the right things to do? Every girl was different, right? Did he have some kind of stupid fucking superpower?
He had you completely spiraling. You felt like you were losing your mind. Even Nancy and Carol and the other girls noticed there was something up with you. Nancy was the only one who asked, but you quickly made up some excuse about being stressed over classes and homecoming. Tommy was still doing everything in his power to win you over, but there was only one Sigma Chi member on your mind at all hours, day and night.
You laid in bed at night with the memory haunting you. His mouth, his tongue, his fingers, his stupidly huge dick that he knew exactly how to use, that heâd taken so much care with so he wouldnât hurt you. How hard youâd cum when he went down on you, the way he made you cum again with nothing but his cock. The memories replayed through your mind nonstop until the ache between your thighs became unbearable and you couldnât help it anymore, your hand slipping beneath your shorts and panties and burying your moans in your fist until you came moaning his name, picturing his face the way he looked staring up at you from between your legs.
That was the worst of it, the guilt and confusion and disappointment you felt when it was over. When you were laying there in the quiet dark of your bedroom, realizing that you were really, truly fucked.
You wanted Steve. You wanted him bad. And you didnât think you could keep lying to yourself.
By the time the next party came around, you were done even trying to pretend.
You spent a little extra time getting ready in your bedroom, picking out a cute little dress after trying on nearly everything in your closet. It was form fitting, short, and a bit revealing. You knew it would catch his attention. You honestly werenât sure why you were even trying, since youâd never had to try to get him to notice you before, even when you desperately didnât want him to.
When you met Nancy and Carol in the front room, their eyes widened at the sight of you. âWoah. Thatâs the slut dress,â Carol remarked right away.
It made you laugh even as your skin flushed with embarrassment. It was true. This dress rarely ever came out, and when it did it was because you were going on a date you really wanted to end happilyâhence the nickname your friends had dubbed it with.
âIs there something you wanna tell us?â Nancy asked, her brows raised. âI mean, you look great, butâŠwhoâs it for?â
The question made you freeze for a moment, even though you shouldâve known theyâd ask. Of course they would. But you recovered quickly, making up a lie on the spot that you prayed sounded believable. âNo one in particular. JustâŠhoping to catch the attention of someone interesting, at least.â
That seemed good enough for Carol, who turned away and started digging through her purse to make sure sheâd packed her lipstick, but Nancy watched you a little longer. She was always so analytical with everything, and as your best friend, she knew you too well for you to get away with lying to her about much. And you hated lying to Nancy, you really did, but how would you explain this?
The three of you left Delta Gamma as a unit, arms linked together. The walk to the Sigma Chi house wasnât far, and it was a chilly evening, but nothing too bad. The bare skin of your thighs felt the sting of the cold the most, but before you knew it you were walking in the front door, the packed frat house instantly hot enough to make you grateful for the amount of skin you had showing.
For the first time, you were grateful to be separated from your girls so quickly. And, equally as unusual in this alternate dimension youâd somehow stepped intoâyou wanted to find Steve. Your eyes scanned each room for him, ears focused on listening for his voice. Something you couldnât explain led you to the backyard, a place you didnât often venture here.
The hot tub was on, and overcrowded. Some of the guys were in with a handful of girls, most sitting in someoneâs lap. A larger crowd just hung out on the back deck, some even into the yard beneath the lights. You heard the sound of his laughter quickly, turning your head to the left at the exact time he looked in your direction.
And god, you hated to admit it, but he looked good. His hair was once again perfectly styled, and he wore a long sleeve dark green shirt with a pair of jeans that he woreâŠreally, really well. They were tight, perfectly fitted, and you didnât know how youâd never known about his size when he wore pants like that. His ass looked great, too.
Fuck.
You locked eyes with him. He held your gaze for a minute, smirk on his face even as he kept talking to his friends. Then, for the first time everâhe turned away. Going right back to his conversation as if youâd never even been there at all.
You were stunned.
Never in the history of your time at OSU had Steve seen you and not immediately approached to piss you off. He had never dismissed you like that. If the rage hadnât already been boiling in your blood, it certainly was now.
You scoffed, turning around and walking back into the house. If he was expecting you to come to him, it wasnât gonna happen. It had never happened that way before and wasnât going to start now. Instead you pushed your way to the kitchen, heading straight to pour yourself a drink.
Just as you were reaching for one of the red plastic cups, another hand came around your shoulder and grabbed it before you could. You turned around, more confused than angry, to see Tommy Hagan standing right behind you, a warm smile on his freckled face.
âSorry,â he said sheepishly, looking like he just realized how awkward of a move it was. âI justâcan I get you a drink?â
You paused for a second. âUmâŠyeah, sure. Thanks.â
âNo problem,â he said, his expression becoming a little more comfortable at your acceptance. He moved around to the counter that held a keg and multiple bottles of liquor. It was surrounded by people, as it always was, but they moved for Tommy out of respect in the same way they did for Steve. âWhatâre you drinking?â
You scanned the selectionâthere was a bit of everything. Sigma Chi took pride in keeping the alcohol flowing at every party. âTequila?â
âYou got it.â Tommy grinned. He filled the red cup from the keg and passed it back to you, then reached for the bottle of tequila, pouring two shots. He handed one to you and held the other out in a toast.
You smiled softly as you gently tapped your cup against his, then brought it to your lips, downing the burning liquid with ease. Tommy laughed when you scrunched your face up in disgust for a second.
âYouâd think Harrington would splurge for the good shit,â Tommy said, leaning back against the counter as he looked at you. âI guess I canât complain about free alcohol, though.â
âTrue,â you smiled, even though you really didnât want to talk or think about Steve anymore, especially right now. âThanks. Again. For the drinks.â You held your beer up towards him before taking a sip.
âNo problem,â he said, a soft blush touching his pale skin. âPretty girls shouldnât have to pour their own drinks.â
Even though you didnât like Tommy as more than a friend, he really was sweet, and his attention made you feel good. Special. âWhat would I ever do without you, Tommy?â
He laughed, looking down at his shoes for a moment. âHey,â he said, meeting your eyes again. âI was just thinkingâŠif youâd maybe want to go out? MaybeâŠMonday?â
Your eyes widened. You hadnât actually expected him to ask you on a date. Your lips parted, closed, then opened again, but you couldnât figure out the right words to say.
âNothing serious,â Tommy said quickly, noticing your hesitation. âIt doesnât have to beâŠyâknow. I just thought we could maybe get some food, talk about homecomingâŠâ His soft smile returned. ââŠand, you know, Iâd really like to take you out.â
It was hard not to soften around him, especially with the way he spoke to you. Every Sig was great at turning on the charm, but there was something about Tommy that felt so genuine. And would it really be so bad to go out with him? âSure. That sounds good. My last class ends at 4?â
âGreat,â he said, the words leaving him in a breath of relief. âYeah, awesome. I can pick you up from DG? LikeâŠ6?â
âThatâs perfect,â you nodded. You drank from your beer again just as another Sig walked up to TommyâBilly Hargrove. You hadnât spoken to him much yourself, but he was nice to look at for sure. You knew a few of your sorority sisters had been out with him, and he had a bit of a reputation for being a ladies man. He had a gorgeous smile, tan skin, blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair that hung to his shoulders in soft, beautiful curls.
âHagan,â Billy said, clapping a hand on the other boyâs shoulder. He looked like he was about to say something else, but then his eyes landed on you. âWell. You didnât tell me you were busy entertaining DGâs most beautiful.â
Even though all these frat guys pulled the same cheesy lines, you still felt the heat rise to your skin. âHi, Billy.â
âHi, gorgeous.â He smiled down at you, showing off the dimple in his cheek. Something about it brought out the âsmiling shyly, twirling your hair around your fingerâ, teenage girl-type feeling buried deep within you. Tommyâs confident smile had dropped, now shifting awkwardly on his feet.
âUh, whatâs up, Hargrove?â Tommy asked, trying his best to look unbothered.
Billy glanced at him for just a second before those clear blue eyes found you again. âNo rush, Hagan. What, donât wanna share her attention?â His smile was bright and friendly, the kind that would have any girlâs heart beating fast.
âItâs notââ Tommy sighed, leaning back against the counter.
âWe were just talking,â you said, glancing between the two boys. There was an unspoken tension there, but you didnât dwell on it. âHowâs basketball?â
Billyâs smile grew. âItâs great. Weâve started conditioning. Right, Tommy?â he asked, turning around to look at his friend for only a moment, a weak attempt at acting like he had any intent to bring him into the conversation. âYou should come to some of our games this season. I think I play better when thereâs a pretty girl cheering for me.â
You laughed, the sound light and airy and genuine. âIs that right?â
Billy shrugged. âCould be just a theory, but why take the risk? Wouldnât be very good for school spirit if we didnât do everything possible to make sure we take home that championship, right?â
You rolled your eyes lightly as you laughed again, but it was more amusement than irritationânot like with certain people. âI guess thatâs true. We should all do our part.â
âExactly.â He smirked. âAnd maybe I can come watch you run some time. See that record-breaking sprinter Iâve heard so much about in action.â
You werenât sure why exactly, but it surprised you that he knew anything about your athletic achievements. It was talked about on campusâthe school loved to celebrate their top athletesâbut itâs not like most of the school cared about track and field the way they did about other sports. You were no Steve Harrington, star pitcher. âYeah, that would be cool. Iâd like that.â
âIâve heard youâre good. Like, insanely fast.â He leaned against the counter next to Tommy with an instinctual swagger, exuding the confidence that came so naturally to him. âAnd, uhâŠlong jump?â
âHigh jump,â you corrected, hiding your shy smile behind your cup as you sipped your beer again. âBut, yeah. Iâd love for you to come watch.â
âMaybe Iâll call you sometime.â Billy winked at you before finally acknowledging Tommy again. âHagan. Weâre waiting for you out back.â He looked back at you. âSorry, came over here to grab him and didnât expect to getâŠdistracted.â
âGo do your thing,â you said, waving your hand in some kind of vague gesture. You were starting to feel a slight buzz, at least. âHave fun. Donât let me hold you up.â
âIâll see you around,â Billy said with one last flash of that charming smile. When he looked back at Tommy, his expression was more serious, nodding his head towards the back in a silent command that didnât seem to have any other option.
Tommy smiled at you, but it was more forced, the comfort from before long gone. âIâll see you Monday,â he said. âIt wasâŠgood to talk to you. I hope you have fun the rest of the night.â
âBye,â you said softly, but he was already gone. You watched him trailing after Billy towards the back door, where Steve and some of the other guys waited, a cheer erupting as soon as they walked out the door. Frat boys.
Left on your own again, you tried to enjoy yourself. Bouncing around the house, talking with people you knew from around campus, from sports, from Greek life. Still, you couldnât shake the thought of Steve from your head. You knew what youâd come here to do, and even though you hated yourself for it, you hadnât changed your mind. You didnât think you could.
You saw him again a few times. Through the back door, in the living room, passing him in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, where he bumped into your shoulder and turned around long enough to smirk at you before walking on like it was nothing. Every time you saw him he saw you too, but he didnât approach you once. It had you fuming.
A few hours into the party, unfortunately, you were getting desperate.
When you walked into the kitchen for another refill, you saw him again. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest with one hand holding his cup, talking to some girl you couldnât name. You werenât jealousâyou were not jealousâbut it just made you even angrier. Especially when he glanced at you for just a moment before turning back to her.
This was humiliating. It was demeaning. You hated it. You hated him. But you swallowed your pride, took a deep breath, and walked over to them anyway.
Steve looked at you again, and grinned wide, his eyes lighting up with an infuriating delight as he realized you were coming over. The girl by his side gave you a dirty look as soon as she noticed, but Steveâs attention was now entirely on you.
He said your name, a simple acknowledgement. âHow are you enjoying the party?â He tilted his head to the side, his expression smug. He knew exactly what game heâd been playing all night, and he also knew heâd just won.
âItâs great,â you said, your deadpan voice doing nothing to hide your irritation.
âGood. I pride myself on my hospitality.â You didnât think youâd ever seen Steve not looking proud of himself, but he certainly did right now. âDid you need something?â
You glared at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you refused to back down from the eye contact he was holding. The girl next to him looked between you. âI wasâŠwondering if you had any more of thatâŠweed.â
The grin that spread across his face was nothing short of euphoric. His hazel eyes seemed to shine with it. The girl next to him might as well have no longer existed. âActually, you know, I might have a little more. Iâd have to check.â
Your jaw clenched, looking off to the side before meeting his eyes again. Your whole body buzzed like a live wire. When he didnât make a move, just kept looking at you, you raised your eyebrows at him expectantly. âWell?â
Steve laughed. âNow, huh?â He downed the rest of his beer and turned to the side, dropping the cup in the trash. You were momentarily stunned when he grabbed yours from your hand, too, doing the same. âWell, if itâs that urgent. Come on, weâll go look.â
He pushed off the wall, walking in the direction of the staircase. He didnât give the girl heâd been talking to another word or look, but she was certainly glowering at you when you glanced one last time before following after him. You felt ashamed, trailing behind exactly like he wanted you to. But worse than that was the relief.
Still, as you walked up the stairs behind Steve, you looked around to make sure no one was watching. Youâd survived the first hookup without rumors starting, but you knew you had to be careful. If there was one student on this campus everyone paid attention to, it was Steve Harrington.
Even worse than some random students seeing and whispering would be Nancy or Carol. You didnât want to have to even begin to figure out how to explain this to them. It was humiliating enough doing it, confusing even trying to justify it to yourself.
Steve led the way into his bedroom, although youâd dreamed about the same path so many times over the past week, you could have walked yourself there with your eyes closed. His room was still tidy, and the scent of the cologne he was wearing now permeated the air. All his usual hair products sat out on his dresser, and you could practically see the ghost of him there getting ready before leaving for the party downstairs, not putting it away.
He closed the door behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place like a bomb in the silence. You turned around to face him. You hadnât really thought this far ahead.
âSoâŠâ Steve began, walking over to you slowly. You felt like a rabbit that had run right into his trapâwillingly. âDid you really want that weed? Or did you come back for something else?â
You gritted your teeth, fists clenching and unclenching at your side. Drawing in a deep breath, you tried to relax your muscles, your entire body tense. âIâŠâ
Steve was still smiling at you as he approached. He knew you werenât going to say it, but he had already won. Youâd come. His hand came up to rest on your cheek, and you found yourself relishing in the warmth of his palm rather than flinching away.
âYou donât have to say it if you donât want to,â he murmured, his voice low. No bravado, soft, meant only for you. His eyes were locked on yours. âI know what you need, baby.â His thumb stroked your cheek, then moved to rub slowly over your bottom lip. Your breath hitched, but you couldnât break the intense eye contact if you tried. âHave you been dreaming about it?â
You didnât know what to say. Your brain was short circuiting. Your hands hung loosely by your side, eyes wide, as he looked at you with pure heat. Goosebumps covered your skin, breath coming in strained.
âI already know,â he continued when you said nothing. His words were a low purr, a sound that had you hypnotized. You didnât even react when he pulled down slightly on your bottom lip and slipped his thumb inside, pressing down against your tongue. âYouâd never been fucked like that in your life. Youâve been thinking about it. Trying to recreate it with your own hand, getting off to the memory.â
Body on autopilot, you closed your lips around his thumb. Your eyes never left each othersâ as you ran your tongue over the calloused pad of his finger, sucking on it. For all he tried to act unaffected and in control, you saw the shudder that wracked through him. You didnât have to look to know he was hard already.
When he pulled his hand away, the trance was broken. But still, you both stood there, just looking at each other. The whole room felt charged with electricity, the air around you heavy enough to feel like a physical, oppressive weight.
Your lips crashed together in a kiss both hungry and frantic. It wasnât slow and romantic, not this time. Steveâs hands dug into your waist, pulling you close, the kiss all tongue and teeth and messy desperation. He groaned into your mouth, and when he pulled your hips into his, you could feel the hard proof of what youâd already known.
He pulled back to pull his shirt over his head, your eyes drinking in the exposed skin shamelessly. He was breathing hard, eyes glazed over with unfiltered want. Shoes were kicked off, Steveâs jeans hit the floor, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you with ease and laying you on his bed.
âYou wore this little thing for me?â Steve whispered in your ear as he settled over you. His lips attacked your neck, sucking at that spot he remembered was so sensitive. You wouldnât be surprised if he left marks, but you couldnât think straight long enough to care.
âNo.â The denial was weak, even you knew that. You had watched him all night, approached him yourself after sucking up your pride, and now you were beneath him on his bed. But, fuck, hadnât you given him enough satisfaction tonight?
âNo?â He chuckled darkly against the hot skin of your neck. He didnât believe you for a second. He was rolling his hips against you, the straining in his boxer briefs rock hard where it pressed against your dripping core. âThatâs a shame, baby. It looks so good on you.â
The little whimper that escaped when he bit down on the skin beneath your ear would have been embarrassing if you were able to even process it. You arched your back beneath him, pressing your tits against his chest. Your nipples were hard through the thin material of your dressâa bra didnât work with it, so youâd gone withoutâand the feeling of friction against them had a breathy noise falling from your lips.
Steve moved down your body, pushing your dress up roughly until it was up around your waist. He lowered himself between your thighs, pressing his nose against your already soaked panties, letting out a low, primal groan. âGod, youâre so fucking sweet,â he growled. Unable to wait any longer, he hooked his fingers into the waist of your panties and pulled them off.
âSteveââ you said in a voice that sounded more like a squeak than anything, spreading your legs for him, breathing hard. His big hands slid up your smooth thighs, opening them wider for him. His nose brushed lightly against your folds, making you draw in a sharp breath.
âYeah, baby?â he murmured. He was looking at your cunt like he wanted this as badly as you didâmaybe more. âWhat do you want?â
âJust do it,â you whined, your body writhing against his sheets with the overwhelming need. âPlease, justâŠâ
âWhat do you want me to do?â He was looking up at you now, smirking, even as his mouth was hovering an inch from where you needed him more than anything. âYouâve gotta tell me, sweetheart. I canât read your mind.â
You groaned, eyes opening as you looked down at him. âYou are such a fucking asshole.â
His big eyes widened with feigned innocence. âWhat?â You could feel his breath ghosting over your pussy, so wet for him, and it had you trembling. You couldnât take much more of this and he knew it.
âStop trying to make me say it,â you grumbled. You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes.
âNot trying to make you do anything,â he hummed. He moved his head, nose brushing against your clit and making your breath catch. âI just donât know how Iâm supposed to know what you want me to do if you donât tell me, and, yâknow, Iâd never want to do anything you didnât wantââ
âOh my god, Steve,â you huffed, hands running through your hair where you laid against his mattress. âAre you gonna keep running your mouth all night or put it to good use again?â
Steve laughed genuinely, eyes sparkling with amusement. âYouâre so feisty. I always liked that about you.â
Before you could complain anymore, he buried his face against your pussy, diving in like it had been killing him to hold himself back, too. You cried out, loud, a hand moving to slap over your mouth a second too late. You could feel his lips curling in a smile against you.
He was good, so good, you didnât have to have any prior experience to know that. It was no wonder he had girls lining up to get in his bed. You couldnât keep yourself quiet, his tongue fucking inside of you, drinking in all the sweetness you dripped for him, rolling his tongue over your clit. It felt like he was everywhere at once.
âSteve, fuck!â you cried, gasping and clutching onto the pillows behind your head. âOh my god, fuck, how are youâoh fuckââ
He groaned against your cunt, the vibrations going straight through your clit and to every nerve ending in your body. He flicked his tongue over the swollen bud, wrapping his lips around it and sucking as he sunk two fingers into your fluttering hole.
âGod!â you choked. Your thighs were trembling around his head already. Your hand moved down to card through his hair before gripping onto the soft strands for dear life, pulling another moan from him when your fingers tightened in them.
Steveâs fingers fucked into you, nice and slow at first, slipping in a third finger before curling deep to hit that perfect spot. He was getting you ready for his cock again, your heart beating out of your chest at the thought alone. You could see it when you closed your eyes, just as you had for the past week, and it had you growing even wetter for him.
âSteveâŠâ you whined, your hips starting to grind against his face. He let you, moaning and working you even harder, begging for it without any words. âIâm gonnaâŠâ
âGive it to me,â he rasped, pulling away just long enough to say the words before his mouth was right back against you, delving his tongue between your folds and focusing on your clit while his fingers worked you open.
Stars exploded behind your vision. Unable to hold it back, you cried out, mindlessly babbling combinations of his name and curses and desperate pleas of donât stop donât stop oh please fuck god donât stopâ
Steve worked you through every last aftershock, playing your body like an instrument he knew wholly, intimately. Your body was still shaking when he pulled away. The sight of him looking down at you like that, with his lips and chin glistening with your release, made you whimper. God, why did he have to look like that?
âSo fucking good,â he said, eyes dark and awed. His cock strained hard against his boxers. You could see it twitching through the material, throbbing visibly.
His hands slid up your body, looking at you with a deep reverence as he slid the dress up until it was over your head, tossing it to his floor. His eyes raked over your naked body, every inch of it, the smooth skin and the way your chest rose and fell, how wide your eyes were looking up at him, your pretty lips parted.
âI thought about you, too,â he whispered, lips ghosting over your cheek, back to your ear. âThought about how you tasted. How tight you felt around me. The way you said my name. The noises you madeâŠgod, I came so fucking hard playing those noises over and over in my head.â
You gasped, the throbbing between your legs starting up again at his words. Youâd had no idea. Why would he be thinking of you when he could have any girl at this whole school? He wasnât just saying it. The unfiltered heat in his voice made that clear.
Steve lifted off of you slowly, eyes staying on you until he turned away to open his bedside drawer and grab one of those foil packets he seemed to have an endless supply of. He pushed his boxers down, flushed cock springing free, and kicked the last bit of clothing off the bed with the rest.
You watched him rip the foil open and roll it onto his (impressive, huge, perfect, achingly hard) cock, your pussy clenching around nothing, your body itself begging for him. He settled between your legs, wrapping his big hands around your thighs, opening you wide.
âDreamed about this pussy,â he mumbled, wrapping a hand around his shaft and dragging his tip through your soaked folds. He pressed the thick head against your hole, pressing forward just slightly, just feeling you. You whined, rocking your hips down, begging for him inside. He smirked as he noticed, but didnât push in yet. His expression was almost dreamy, pupils blown. âBest pussy I ever had. Fuck. Never came so fucking hard as I did inside you.â
âSteveâŠâ you breathed, the word itself a plea.
âTell me,â he breathed. It wasnât a tease anymore. The need in his voice was staggering. He was begging. âPlease, baby. Need to hear you say it.â
The sight of Steve, utterly wrecked like this, was almost too much to bear. You didnât have it in you to refuse, not anymore. âPlease,â you keened. âGod, Steve, please fuck me.â
His eyes fluttered closed and he let out a ragged groan, even before he finally rolled his hips forward, piercing you with that perfect, thick cock. You nearly sobbed in pleasure as you felt it, that overwhelming fullness as he sank into you inch by inch. It was easier this time but still a stretch, still that distant sting until his hips pressed flush against you.
âChristââ Steve choked, falling forward on his hands, planting them on either side of your shoulders. âOh, fuck.â
You rocked your hips up against him, telling him it was okay to move. Begging him to move. âOh my god,â you moaned. Your walls throbbed around him, which was undoing him way faster than heâd care to admit.
He pulled his hips back before sinking back in. Starting slow, as if he were still trying to be careful with his last shred of restraint. It didnât last long. The perfect clench of your heat around him was driving him mad, his thrusts quickly working up into a punishing rhythm.
Your name left his lips in a shuddering breath, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. The sound of his skin meeting yours filled the room, your cunt so slick and wet around him you could hear it every time he drove in. He fucked you harder than he had last time, something you didnât even know youâd craved until you had it.
âSo fuckingâgodâyou feel so fucking good,â he grunted, his body slick with sweat where it was pressed against yours. You hooked a leg around his waist as he reached down with one hand to grab your thigh and press it up against your chest.
The angle was devastating, his cock hitting deeper inside of you than you thought possible. Your eyes rolled back as he punched soft, mindless little âah ah ahâs from your lungs with every thrust.
âYouâre so fucking tight,â he gritted out through clenched teeth. His eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort of how hard he fucked you. The headboard knocked against the wall, chipping the paint from the force of it, the sound unmistakable for anyone who happened to walk by. âGonna make me cum so fucking hard again. Fuck. Oh, fuck, baby, youâre so perfect, so goddamnâoh shitââ
You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling on it the way you now knew he liked. The desperate groan he let out was muffled as you pulled him down to your lips, his tongue immediately licking into your mouth. The kiss was utterly filthy, saliva dripping down the side of your mouthâyours, his, both.
The whines he was letting out were growing higher, needier. All signs of that cocky, insufferable personality were gone, nothing but pleasure and desire coursing through him. His fingers dug bruises into your thigh as he snapped his hips forward harder, and oh fuck, he was hitting that spot againâ
âSteve!â you gasped, head tossing back against the pillows. Steveâs lips moved down the exposed column of your throat, placing hot, wet kisses everywhere he could reach. âOh, fuck, Steve, Iâm gonna fucking cumââ
âPlease,â he begged, his voice a ragged growl against your throat. âLet me feel you. Squeeze my cock, milk me fuckinâ dry, please.â
That coil snapped again, hard, the moan it forced from you more like a scream. It was loud, you knew it was loud, but you couldnât help it, completely delirious with the intensity of the pleasure. Your back arched beneath him, moaning and crying out and calling his name again and again.
Steve let out a choked noise at the feeling of you tightening around him, clenching and throbbing hard. His hips rutted into you with a desperate, frantic intensity, rhythm completely gone as he chased his own orgasm. He was right behind you, only a couple more shallow thrusts until he was stilling as deep inside you as possible. He groaned roughly, his head dropping to bury his face right between your tits as his body shuddered with release. You could feel him pulsing inside you even through the condom.
The room calmed, your heavy breathing the only sounds remaining. His weight was heavy over you, but you didnât mind. You didnât exactly want him to move, at least not yet. In the quiet aftermath, you relished in the feeling of him, his cock still throbbing inside as he slowly softened.
When he finally mustered up the energy to move he lifted off of you, pulling out and removing the condom, tossing it in the trash. You couldnât bring yourself to look and see if there was proof of him having any other girls in here since youâd been with him. You didnât know why you cared.
Steve sat on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his knees. He was still catching his breath as you sat up, reality beginning to creep back in like unforgiving daylight after the safety of the night.
He turned his head to look at you, lips curling into a smile again. His skin still glistened with sweat. âWas it as good as the first time?â He asked, once again breaking the spell with his big mouth. âWhat you were hoping for when you showed up here tonight, dressed like that?â
You scoffed, sliding off the bed to collect your clothes again. Now that youâd gotten what youâd been craving, the desperation that had been clouding your brain was gone. That familiar shame was crawling over you again.
âWhat?â he laughed. âYou can say it, yâknow. Doesnât mean you have to like me just because you like fucking me.â
You hesitated for a moment, then moved again, pulling your panties back over your legs. âDonât.â
âCome on, baby,â he goaded, leaning back on the bed. He watched you, propped up on one arm, once again unbothered by being completely exposed to you. âWould it really be so bad to admit it?â
You didnât look at him, but you could feel his eyes staring at your ass as you pulled your panties back on. âFine,â you finally huffed, turning around. You clutched your dress in your hands, nearly throwing it at him when he didnât even try to hide the way his gaze dropped down to your tits. âYouâre good. It was amazing. Is that what you want to hear?â
He grinned. âI just wanted to hear the truth.â He shrugged playfully. âI mean, I already knew, just wanted to hear you admit it. Not for me, but for yourself.â
âArenât you altruistic,â you muttered, pulling the dress back over your head. The way his brow furrowed for a moment showed he didnât know what the word meant, but he didnât press.
Finally he sat up, beginning to replace his own clothes. âItâs okay that you canât stay away. I get it. Itâs good sex.â
âI can stay awayââ
âSure,â he interrupted, lifting his hips to get his boxers back on. âBut you donât want to, right?â
You paused. You hadnât let yourself think about that. If it was okay to let yourself want this. Just because you hated Steve so bad, because you didnât want anyone to know this was happening. But did that make it bad? Did it make you wrong? Weak, like youâd felt all week, and especially tonight?
Maybe he was right. It was good sex.
After buttoning his jeans, Steve stood to face you. He ran a hand through his hair, looking in the mirror behind you for just a second before focusing back on you. âLook,â he started, but it was hard to pay attention when he was standing there shirtless like that. âI think we could help each other.â
You forced your eyes back up to his face, the smirk sitting there evidence that heâd seen you staring. âHelp each other?â
He walked over to you, hands resting on your hips again. You didnât push him away, holding his gaze. âYeah. Help each other. I told you I liked it too, didnât I?â
You werenât sure what to say. Youâd heard him say it, when he was buried inside you, moaning your name, but you figured it was justâŠtalk. Heat of the moment. Nothing real. Nothing you said or felt when you were fucking was real.
Your lack of a response didnât deter him. His fingers flexed on your hips, but he didnât pull you closer. âWe could make this a casual thing,â he offered, finally putting the words out there. âYou like it, I like it. Why not keep having fun together?â
You turned his words over and over in your head. It felt like far more than the seconds it actually took as you thought over his proposition. What it meant, what it changed, how it felt.
But the memory of the past week played through your mind on repeat. How miserable youâd been, the way you couldnât get him out of your head. That he was right, the sex had been so good youâd craved it day and night, and the second time had been just as good, if not better.
Steve waited patiently, but he knew your answer before you finally forced it out. ââŠOkay. Yeah. I guess.â
He grinned, squeezing your hips one more time before moving back. âOkay then. Good.â
âBut we keep this between us,â you added quickly. âIâm serious. Just us. You donât tell your friends and I wonât tell mine.â
He looked amused, but he didnât argue. âWhat kind of guy do you think I am?â
You stared at him. âSteve.â
âOkay,â he laughed, pulling his shirt back on. âI wonât tell a soul. You have my word.â
You let out a sigh, both relief and anxiety at once. Turning to his mirror, you fixed your hair, cleaning up your smudged makeup. âIt means nothing, and no one knows.â
The heat of his body suddenly behind you made you jump. But he just stood next to you, fixing his own appearance.
âIt means nothing,â he repeated. âAnd no one knows.â
part two soooooon
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đđ„đ„ đđĄđ đđ„đđđđŹ Clark Kent đđšđŻđđŹ đđš đ đźđđ€ đđšđź
‷đđŠđđ„đ„đŻđąđ„đ„đ đđđąđđąđšđ§ || PT 1 ||
A/n: Cause I actually love him and he's one of my favorite Clark Kent's
The Loft (His Fortress of Solitude)
You always knew the barn loft meant something sacred to him. It wasnât just a hangoutâit was where he thought, brooded, healed.
Youâre both 18 the first time he lays you down on the old couch under the glow of golden afternoon light. His hands tremble at first, reverent and unsure, like heâs scared heâll break you. The hay rustles underneath, sunlight striping your skin. It smells like sawdust and rain. He kisses you with the same careful awe he applies to every part of you, but thereâs something underneathâsomething hungrierâthat starts to show as his confidence grows.
By the time youâre both adults, he uses that same couch like a throne. You ride him in the dim light of a thunderstorm one night, his hands gripping your thighs, guiding you like youâre the only thing tethering him to Earth. âThis is where I fell in love with you,â he whispers into your neck. âStill feels like home.â
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
The Cornfield
It starts as a dare. You tease him about being too much of a Boy Scout to try something reckless.
He makes a show of tossing his flannel over a fence post, eyes glittering with mischief. The corn is tall, the sky endless above. Youâre surrounded by rustling stalks that hide you from the world. Clark presses you against one, the silky leaves brushing your back. He lifts your skirt with those big, calloused hands and makes you gasp as he sinks into youâslow, then deep.
The risk is part of the thrill. Youâre giggling into his mouth when he shushes you with a kiss, muttering, âGuess Iâm not such a Boy Scout after all.â
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
The Water Tower
Years later, you find yourselves perched high above Smallville, legs dangling off the edge of the water tower. The air smells like rust and summer, and the moon turns everything silver.
You tease him with slow kisses until he cavesâuntil heâs kneeling between your thighs in the moonlight, worshipping you like youâre something holy. He fucks you slow, deliberate, grounding his weight so the structure doesnât even creak beneath him. Every movement feels like gravity was made just for this.
He pulls out just to hear you beg, holding your hips steady, and you whisper, âClark, pleaseââ
And he gives in like he always does when it comes to you.
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
The Porch During a Storm
The rain is wild that night, slashing sideways across the fields. Youâre soaked before you even make it to the covered porch, but something about the chaos lights a fire in both of you.
Clark pulls you close, water dripping off his hair, eyes dark with need. He doesnât bother waitingâhe kisses you hard, spinning you against the wooden rail. The air crackles with thunder and the charge between your bodies. He lifts you effortlessly, fucking you deep while the sky splits above you, the scent of ozone thick in the air.
Youâre both breathless when itâs over, your back pressed to the cool porch beam, his chest heaving. âNext time,â you say, voice hoarse, âmaybe we donât wait for lightning.â
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
His Bedroom (When Youâre Just Kids, and Then Again When Youâre Not)
The first time is soft. Nervous. Almost shy. Youâre both eighteen, hands clumsy but hearts full. You explore one another slowly, learning each curve, every sound, every breath. He kisses you with wonder. You touch him with care. You cry afterwardânot out of pain, but because it feels like something sacred just happened.
Years later, when you come back from college, everything is different. His body is stronger, more sure. He kisses you like a man whoâs been waiting. You ride him in his childhood bed, the mattress squeaking under your shared weight, the headboard knocking softly against the wall. Thereâs something poetic about itâmaking love where he used to dream of a future.
âYouâre still my dream,â he murmurs, lips on your collarbone.
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
The Shower in the Farmhouse
You didnât plan on it. You came in from the field sweaty and sun-kissed, and he followed you into the bathroom without thinking.
Youâre under the water when his hands find your waist, then your breasts, then lower. His lips press to the back of your neck as his cock slides between your thighs, slow and deliberate. The steam fogs the mirror, the air smells like soap and sin, and you brace yourself against the tile while he fucks you from behind, one arm wrapped around your stomach, keeping you close.
You moan his name and he kisses your spine. âIâve been thinking about this all day,â he admits. âI couldnât wait.â
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
Out by Crater Lake
Youâre lying on a blanket near the water, stars overhead like confetti. The lake glows under the moonlight, and Clarkâs looking at you like he wants to memorize every inch of you.
You let him.
He kisses down your stomach, worships your thighs, takes his time until youâre gasping his name. When he finally slides inside you, itâs unhurriedâperfect. The night wraps around you like a secret. You arch beneath him, fingers tangled in his hair, and he whispers promises against your skin.
When itâs over, you lie tangled together, watching the sky. You joke, âAliens probably saw that.â
He smirks. âLet âem watch.â
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
The Red Barn (Middle of the Night)
You wake up to find him already gone from bed.
You know where he is.
You pad out barefoot in one of his old flannels, moonlight guiding you through the grass. The barn doors are half open, creaking softly in the wind. And there he isâshirtless, sweat-slick, splitting logs because he âcouldnât sleep.â
He looks up and the moment his eyes land on you, something cracks.
He pulls you to him in a rush. You barely get out a sound before your back hits the hay-strewn wall and his lips are on your throat. His hands push that flannel up over your hips and he fucks you with a silent desperationârough, fast, needy. You donât even make it onto the hay bale. He lifts you effortlessly, holding you against the wall like you weigh nothing.
âMissed you,â he grunts into your ear, even though youâd only been asleep upstairs.
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
The Back of His Truck
Youâre parked just beyond the Kent property line, watching fireflies pulse in the tall grass, country music low on the radio. The summer air clings to your skin and the windows are cracked just enough to let the night in.
Clark kisses you slow and easy, like youâve got all the time in the world.
But when you crawl into his lap and sink onto him, the kiss deepens. Grows hotter. His fingers dig into your hips as you ride him slow, the old truck groaning under you both. It smells like leather and you. One hand grips the seatbelt strap for leverage, the other tangled in his hair.
When you come, he kisses you like youâre the last prayer heâll ever say.
You never hear that radio song the same way again.
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
The Stable
You shouldnât be here. Martha might walk in. But Clark just smirks and pulls you into the empty stall.
He lifts you onto the low wall and drops to his knees like a sinner at an altar. His mouth is hot and reverent between your thighs, tongue curling slow until your legs are shaking around his shoulders. When you beg, when you pull his hair and moan his name like itâs the only one you knowâthen he stands, pushes his jeans just far enough down, and sinks into you with a desperate groan.
The scent of hay. His fingers digging into your hips. Your bodies moving together like instinct.
You cover your mouth to keep from screaming.
He doesnât stop until your thighs tremble and you collapse back into the straw, spent and breathless.
He kisses your neck and whispers, âI like you like this. Wild.â
âłâłâłâłâłâââ»âââłâłâłâłâł
The Orchard
Itâs harvest time, and youâre alone in the orchard, baskets of apples waiting nearby. You make a joke about biting into a juicy oneâand thatâs it. His eyes flash with something heated and mischievous.
He backs you up against a tree. The bark scratches your back, the air thick with sun and sweet fruit. He drops to his knees and eats you out like heâs starving. Then flips you around, one arm wrapped under your waist, and takes you from behind as apples tumble around your feet.
Later, youâll laugh about it. About how you both lost your shirts. About how he accidentally snapped the branch you were holding onto.
But in the moment?
Itâs pure, wild heatâand the taste of him still on your lips when you finally sink your teeth into an apple.
Only Yours || Oberyn Martell ||
A/n: What fine man
Warnings: oral, fingering,First time ( virginity ), p in v
Heâs soft-spoken. Fierce in his devotion.
And deadly serious about making sure you know youâre his.
Youâre shy. Nervous. Pure.
And he? Heâs fire and silk and sinâbut tonight, heâs only yours.
And he makes sure you feel every inch of it.
Youâre lying beneath him, heart pounding, lips parted, your gown tugged down just enough to bare your breasts to the cool desert air.
Oberyn trails warm fingers along your side, his body half-draped over yours, his eyes never leaving your face.
âYouâre trembling,â he murmurs, voice soft and soothing.
You nod. âIâm⊠a little nervous.â A weak smile on your lips as you watch him. Oberyn smilesâslow, devastating.
But thereâs no teasing in it. Only reverence.
âI know. And thatâs why Iâll take my time.â His breath agains't your neck.
His hand brushes between your thighsâlight as silk.
âI want you to remember this night every time you close your eyes.â
You gasp as his fingers stroke you, slow and deliberate, through your smallclothesâyour untouched cunt already softening, swelling for him.
âYouâre already wet, little dove,â he whispers. âThatâs your body answering mine. It wants me.â
Your heart stuttered. âIâve neverââ
He silences you with a kiss. Tender. Deep.
âYouâve never,â he repeats, brushing your lips. âAnd yet you chose me. I will honor that.â
He undresses you carefully. Pulling away each layer like youâre something sacredâbecause to him, you are.
When youâre bare, he steps back to admire youâhis eyes dark and full of something hungry, but also gentle.
âYou areâŠâ he exhales, shaking his head. âToo good for a man like me.â
You start to speak, to tell him that he is wrongâhe hushes you again with his mouth, now sliding down your body, kissing your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs.
And when he finally parts your legs and licks a single, teasing stripe over your cunt?
You arch up with a gasp.
âOhâOberynâ!â
âThatâs it,â he hums against you. âLet me show you how good it can be.â
He eats you slow. Patient.
He worships you.
Tongue circling your clit. Two fingers stroking you open, gentle and slow, learning your body like a map heâs waited his whole life to explore.
You come for him like thatâmoaning his name, thighs trembling, hand tangled in his dark curls.
He smiles, licking your release from his lips, crawling back over you.
âNow,â he murmurs, his cock thick and hard between your thighs, âI will take you. Not just your body. But all of you.â
He enters you slowly. Carefully.
One inch at a time, whispering soft, wicked praises as he stretches your virgin cunt around him. You cry out, overwhelmedâbut heâs there, kissing your tears, stilling every time you need him to.
âYouâre mine,â he says, voice a promise and a prayer. âAnd I am yours. Iâve had manyâbut none like you.â
When heâs fully inside, he stays stillâbreathing with you. Holding you.
Then he begins to move.
The rhythm is slow, deepânot just to fuck, but to claim.
He fucks you with heat and purpose, hips grinding into yours, his thumb circling your clit to make you shake with every thrust.
âYou feel me?â he groans. âFeel how deep I am? How Iâm the only one whoâll ever touch you like this?â
You nod, tears on your cheeks, voice cracking. âYesâyes, Oberynâpleaseââ
âYou are my choice,â he whispers. âAnd I will make you feel that. Again. And again.â
You come around him a second timeâlouder, wetter, undoneâand he follows, fucking deep, groaning into your neck as he spills inside you, flooding your virgin cunt with hot, endless pulses of his release.
He stays buried in you.
Refuses to pull out.
One hand stroking your cheek.
âYouâre mine now. Youâve always been mine.â
And when your breathing steadies, he kisses your temple and says:
âNext time, Iâll make you ride me. I want to watch the innocence leave your eyes.â
A small squeak left your lips as you hid your face into his neck, his playful laugh ringing in your ears.
The Fae Wife
Warnings: Angst, Illness/Cancer, Sexual Themes, References to Birth (not OC), Language
Rowan Hayes from another time is pulled into 18th-century Scotland, where she forms a deep bond with a man she cannot forget. Forced to return to her own time due to illness, she survives and spends years fighting to find her way back.
When she finally returns, she sets out across oceans and time-touched memories to reunite with the man she left behind. At its core, it is a story of enduring love, loss, and the pull of fate across centuries.
Masterlist
Rowan hadnât planned on coming to Scotland anytime soon, but after her motherâs death, she had decided to be more adventurousâactually to check things off her bucket list.
Traveling alone wasnât always ideal, but she buried herself in the history around her, finding it fascinating. She was enjoying the nice weather; the past couple of days had been rainy. The sun was out, and she was exploring the stones at Craigh na Dun.
The closer she got, the louder some sort of buzzing became. She stared at one particularly tall stone and suddenly felt a wave of vertigo. Instinctively, she placed a hand on the stone to steady herself.
Instead, she felt herself tumble, landing hard on the ground behind her. Her head spun, and she felt like she was about to be sick. But the buzzing had abruptly stopped.
She tried to rise but swayed, letting out a groan as she clutched her head.
Unbeknownst to her, a young man was coming up the hill, grumbling to himself about how unfair it was that his cousin had won the woman he lovedâand how he was now doomed to an eternity of misery. Dramatically, of course, thanks to the whiskey in his stomach.
She heard a voice and scrambled to her feet, brushing dirt from her leggings and checking her phone. No service. And, of course, the screen was crackedâjust her luck.
She saw the man approaching and called out, âHey! Do you have any service?â
He looked at her in confusion. She was dressed oddlyâstrange clothing for the hills, a cloak that seemed out of place, and trousers. Even her speech sounded off.
When he continued to stare, she huffed and planted her hands on her hips.
âI know you fucking heard me!â she snapped, irritated as the world still spun around her.
He blinked, glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. But when she swayed once more and tumbled, he rushed forward to catch her. She was deadweight in his arms as he struggled to keep them both from tumbling down the hill. Not knowing what else to do, he held her against himself, taking in her features.
There was some kind of gem on the side of her noseâand when he brushed at it, he realized it went through her nose. Her ears bore more earrings than he had ever seen, and he frowned slightly, certain for a moment her hair held a trace of faded blueâbut when he looked again, it was gone, as if it had never been there at all.
He wondered briefly if he had stumbled upon a fae. It was the only way to explain how unnatural she seemedâand yet, now that he looked closer, how utterly captivating she was.
She began to stir with a mumble. When her eyes finally opened, he noticed they were as green as emeralds.
She blinked before meeting his dark eyes, studying him with quiet curiosity. He was left speechless.
âAre ye alright?â he asked, still uncertain as she blinked at him.
âHonestly⊠I feel like the world is spinning far too fast right now,â Rowan muttered, her voice laced with dizziness.
He studied her closely. âWhere did ye come from?â he asked as she groaned, trying to sit up.
âJust now? Or⊠in general?â she asked, wincing. âBecause I was up here before you came. I was exploring the stones, heard this buzzing noise, and next thing I know, I wake up with no service and a cracked phone screen.â
âPhone⊠screen?â
He had no idea what she meant, and when he asked, she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and exasperation.
Then her eyes roamed his clothing. His outfitâit wasnât at all like the modern garb people wore back home. It reminded her of the traditional clothing in the paintings and statues sheâd seen at the museum the other day.
âAre you a⊠reenactor?â she asked, furrowing her brows. He tilted his head, clearly puzzled.
âNo? I do no' know what that is. What is your name, lass?â
âRowan Hayes. And you?â she asked, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips.
âMurtagh FitzGibbons Fraser,â he said, and her smile widened into a grin.
âWell⊠isnât that a Scottish-as-hell name,â she chuckled.
âYe are in Scotland, lass,â he replied, confused.
âThat we are,â she said with a sigh, finally sitting up fully. âItâs still quite different from the States.â
Over the next couple of days, she traveled with Murtagh. For some reason, he kept calling her a fae, and she had come to realizeâit was 1715. The shock of somehow traveling through time was still settling in.
Adapting to the era's lifestyle was⊠frustrating. Rowan was expected to wear a dress and far too many layers, which she found confining and uncomfortable. She couldnât help but feel envious of what Murtagh was allowed to wear. When she mentioned it, he asked curiously, âDo all the fae lasses wear trousers?â
She laughed. âOnly the clever ones,â she teased.
Rowan quickly decided that letting him think she was one of the fae folk was far easier than telling him the truth: that she was from 2020âhundreds of years in the future.
The most difficult part of being in the 18th century was the role women were expected to play. Rowan found it endlessly frustrating when most menâanyone beyond Murtaghâtold her to mind her place.
She nearly punched one particular man before Murtagh and his cousinâwhom sheâd learned was Brianâpulled her back, urging her under their breath to watch who she was speaking to.
It turned out it was Dougal MacKenzie, the War Chieftain of Clan MacKenzieâand very much not a man to provoke.
But Rowan had never been particularly good at backing down.
What truly shocked him, however, was when she snapped at him in flawless Irish Gaelic, telling himâin no uncertain termsâto kiss her ass. Of course, that was pretty much the extent of her Gaelic knowledge.
It was close enough to Scottish that Dougal spun around, eyes wide in surprise. For a moment, it looked like things might turn dangerousâuntil his sister called out, pulling his attention away.
Only then did the tension ease.
Brian stared at Rowan in open shock, while Murtagh muttered under his breath that she might truly be one of the fae.
Over the next few years, she and Murtagh grew closer, finding a quiet sense of comfort in one another. What had begun as cautious companionship slowly became something steadierâsomething neither of them questioned too closely.
Rowan went years without telling him the truth about where she came from. It was easier that way. Safer.
Until one day, by accident, he walked in on her as she was changing.
He froze.
Down the length of her spine was a series of markingsâperfectly shaped, impossibly precise. The phases of the moon, etched into her skin in a way no hand of his time could have managed.
He stared, unable to look away.
ââŠwhat is that?â
Either it was a mark of a witch⊠or he had proof she was fae after all.
Rowan went still beneath his gaze, eyes wide.
She wasnât sure how to explain it. Every time she tried to speak, the words seemed to catch in her throat, refusing to come.
âAre ye truly one of the fae folk?â he asked softly.
Her brows furrowedâand then she let out a short, disbelieving snort.
He still thought she was fae.
Honestly, that might have been easier than the truth. Rowan couldâve leaned into it, let Murtagh keep believing. But she was tiredâtired of half-truths, of letting him fill in the gaps himself.
âNo,â she said finally. âAnd before you askâno, Iâm not a witch either.â
With a small sigh, she pulled her chemise fully over her head, covering the tattoo heâd seen.
If he only knew⊠she had more.
With a sigh, she motioned to a stool. She began pacing, trying to figure out how to explain it without him thinking her insane.
âThe stones⊠You know, that story about the woman? The one who traveled?â
Murtagh leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying not to notice how her chemise was practically sheer in the firelight.
âWhat of it?â he asked, his gaze darting anywhere but her, silently praying she didnât notice the effect she had on himâand hoping she would either cover herself more or step out of the teasing glow of the firelight.
âWell⊠turns out thereâs some truth to it,â she said, watching his face shift into one of disbelief. âOkay, shit⊠let me think of how to prove it.â
She racked her brain for any event she could mentionâbut the only thing that came to mind was the Jacobite Rebellion, which wouldnât happen for another few decades. Everything else she thought of was far in the future. Explaining her pastâher actual timeâwas proving trickier than she expected.
Then she remembered the tattoo on her side: the B-17. Perhaps a plane tattoo would be sufficient evidence.
She lifted her chemise slightly. Murtaghâs eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard by the small pair of pants she wore beneathâbut when he realized what she was showing, he let out a low whistle and stared at the tattoo instead.
âItâs called a plane,â she explained. âLike a carriage, but in the sky. This one is like the one my Pop flew during the war⊠in the 1940s. But see, Iâm from 2020âthe future.â
He reached a finger out as if to trace the ink, then hesitated, his last shred of modesty forcing him to pull back and look up at her.
âPlane?â he asked, incredulous.
She nodded. âThe earliest event I can point to is 1745âthere will be a rebellion, called the Jacobite Rebellion. And it will go horribly wrong for the Scots.â
His brows furrowed as he took in her words.
She let out a breath, frustration slipping through. âAnd now you think Iâm insane,â she muttered.
There was a pause.
âIf I say I believe yeâŠâ he began slowly, studying her in that careful, searching way of his, âwould ye tell me more of this⊠plane?â
There was something in his voiceânot quite certainty, not quite doubt. Awe, perhaps. Curiosity.
She blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. And then she noticed itâthat slightly uneasy, almost entertained look on his face, like he didnât know whether to laugh or lean closer.
She laughed, but the sound faded when he suddenly went still.
âWhy did ye no' say anything before?â
Rowan let out a breath, rubbing a hand over her face. âOh, I donât knowââHello, my name is Rowan, and Iâm from centuries into the future. Nice to meet you,â she said dryly.
He considered that for a moment⊠then gave a small, understanding nod.
âFair enough.â
He sat up straighter then, studying her more intently nowânot with suspicion, but something closer to curiosity.
Rowan blinkedâand then her eyes lit up.
âWait! I know how I can prove it.â
Before he could respond, she turned and rushed to the chest at the foot of her bed, dropping to her knees and digging through it. After a moment, she pulled out her phoneâthe one she hadnât touched in over a year.
She hesitated, almost expecting it not to work.
But when she pressed the button, the screen flickered to life.
ââŠhuh.â
Without wasting time, she opened the camera and turned back toward him.
âMurtaghâdonât move.â
âWhatââ
The flash went off.
He jerked back, eyes wide, nearly knocking the stool over in the process.
âWhat in Godâs nameââ
Rowan turned the screen toward him.
He stared.
Then stared harder.
And very nearly fell off the stool.
âThatâs⊠thatâs you,â she said, unable to keep the small grin from her face. âItâs called a cell phone. It has a cameraâlike an instant portrait.â
She tapped the screen again, then opened her music, letting the first song from a random playlist play.
The sound filled the roomâclear, layered, unlike anything heâd ever heard.
Murtagh froze. His eyes widened even further, gaze snapping between the device and her face.
âWhat magic isââ
âNot magic,â she cut in gently. âTechnology.â
He looked at her with such open fascination that she couldnât help but smile.
She spent the next few hours telling him about the futureâsmall things at first, then more as she grew comfortable. Though in the back of her mind, she couldnât help but wonder what kind of butterfly effect she might be causing.
Still⊠having someone she could finally speak to about it allâtruly speak toâwas a relief she hadnât realized sheâd needed.
After a while, Murtagh went quiet.
âDo ye have someone back in your time⊠missing ye?â he asked.
The question caught her off guard. There was something in his voiceâsomething careful, almost vulnerableâthat made her pause.
She shook her head. âNo.â
A small shrug followed, though her tone softened. âI was never really anyoneâs first choice.â
She let out a quiet breath, glancing away for a moment. âAnd honestly⊠after two failed relationships, I just said screw it. I wasnât going to force myself to settle for anyone.â
âAny man that let ye slip away is a fool,â he muttered, his gaze lingering on her.
She smiledâand before she could think better of it, she leaned forward and kissed him.
His eyes widened in surprise, but only for a moment before his hand came up, pulling her closer. There was something almost reverent in the way he held herâlike he couldnât quite believe she had chosen him.
She shifted, settling in his lap, her fingers curling into his dark hair as she smiled against his lips.
This time, when he kissed her back, there was no hesitation. Only quiet certainty.
When she pulled away, they were both left gasping for airâbut neither could stop smiling at the other.
âFor what itâs worth,â she said breathlessly, âI wouldâve chosen you over your cousin. Heâs charming, sureâbut I think I enjoy your cynicism and sass more.â
She laughed, and he rolled his eyesâonly to pull her back in for another kiss.
âMy sass?â he scoffed against her lips. âYe cannae be serious. Ye have far more.â
She gasped in mock horror, pulling back just enough to look at him.
âI do notââ
After that moment, they became even more inseparable.
He had publicly announced he was courting herâwhich had her snickering at firstâbut there was something about the way he said it, steady and certain, that made her chest tighten.
And behind closed doorsâŠ
There was no mistaking how he felt.
He would draw her close, pressing her back against whatever surface was nearest, his restraint slipping just enough to leave her breathless and wanting more. And he never left her waiting long.
It was only a matter of time before he asked for her hand.
Neither of them had much patience for formalities. Instead, they returned to the stones where they had first met and quietly handfasted there, binding themselves to one another in their own way.
Their vows were simple.
To love one anotherâno matter the century.
Rowanâs fingers tightened around his as she spoke, her voice softer than usual, but steady. âI traveled centuries into the past⊠and somehow found you,â she said, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at her lips. âAnd Iâve never been happier.â
Something in Murtaghâs expression shifted, the weight of her words settling deep.
âIâm glad ye did,â he answered quietly. âAnd that ye chose me.â
His thumb brushed over her hand, grounding, certain.
âBecause I feel like the luckiest man alive for it.â
For a moment, the world seemed to be still around them.
Then, as their hands remained bound, he leaned in and kissed herâgentle, unhurried, full of quiet certainty.
When he pulled back, a small smile touched his lips.
âMy beautiful fae wife,â he murmured.
She snickered softly, warmth bright in her eyes.
âAnd you,â she said, leaning in just enough to brush her nose against his, âare my stubborn Scotsman.â
He did not yet have a home to offer herânot one that was truly theirsâbut that night, beneath the open sky, it did not seem to matter.
He held her close under the stars, the world around them falling away until there was only the two of them.
He did not mind that she had not come to him untouched. When she explained that, in her time, things were different, he accepted it without hesitation. And when she told him she was choosing himâtruly choosing himâhe answered with nothing more than a quiet grin and a kiss.
Nor did it trouble him when she told him she could never give him children.
What fascinated him more was her explanationâthat it had been her choice. That in her time, a healer could ensure such a thing. It was a concept entirely foreign to him.
But in the end, it did not change anything.
âI never thought much of being a father,â he admitted simply. âAnd Iâve no need for it now.â
His hand found hers, steady and sure.
âAs long as I have ye⊠Itâs enough.â
When word of their handfasting reached Glenna FitzGibbons, the two of them found themselves standing in a church by the end of the week.
Rowan was⊠uneasy.
She had never been a practicing Catholicâbeyond being baptized, she had rarely set foot inside a church. Yet here she was, standing under the scrutiny of a priest who was none too pleased with her.
Especially when she very deliberately avoided the line about obeying her husband.
Murtagh, however, only grinned, leaning in just enough to murmur, âIâd expect nothing less.â
Once the ceremony was complete, the tension gave way to celebration. A grand feast followed, full of music and laughter, and before long, the newly married couple found themselves swept onto the dance floor.
They spun and laughed together, the world narrowing to nothing but the rhythm and each other.
For once, Rowan didnât have a care in the world.
And in that moment, neither did Murtagh.
At one point, she spun a bit too fast and stumbled into Brian, who only laughed before catching her hands and sending her back into the dance with a grin.
Murtagh watched, his expression tightening for just a momentâsomething unreadable flickering there.
Rowan caught it immediately.
And, of course, she made a face at him.
Brian spun her again, and she stuck her tongue out at her husband like a child daring him to scold her.
Murtagh huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as a group of older women nearby muttered that she was far too wild for her age.
But she was his wife now.
And he wouldnât have her any other way.
Ellen stepped up beside him then, little William perched on her hip, not yet two years old.
Murtagh glanced at themâat the life he had once thought he wanted.
He had made his peace with his cousin marrying the woman he believed he loved.
But standing there now, watching Rowan laugh as she spun across the floorâuntamed, bright, entirely herselfâ
He realized something quietly, without bitterness.
He had never truly loved Ellen.
Only the idea of someone like her.
With a dramatic spin out of Brianâs grasp, she shot her husband a wink before reaching for Ellenâs hand and pulling her onto the dance floor.
Little William giggled as Rowan scooped him up, spinning quickly. His laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained, as the two women laughed and turned together, the boy squealing with delight between them.
Brian watched with a grin, shaking his head.
âOnly a matter of time before ye two have one of yer own, I assume?â he said lightly.
Murtaghâs expression stilled for a fraction of a second.
He knewâof course he knewâthat no one else did. They didnât know she couldnât have children⊠and they certainly didnât know it had been her choice.
âAbout that,â he said after a moment, his tone even, âshe cannae have any.â
Brianâs grin faded, sympathy creeping into his expressionâbut Murtagh lifted a hand slightly, stopping it before it could take hold.
âWeâre both content with it,â he added simply. âMeans weâll spoil any cousins ye and Ellen give us all the more.â
Brian studied him for a moment, uncertain.
Murtaghâs gaze drifted back to Rowanâwatching her laugh as she spun with Ellen and the child in her arms, entirely at ease.
âSheâs happy,â he said, quieter now, but no less certain. âNever wanted any of her own.â
A small breath left him, something softer settling in his expression.
âAnd truth be told⊠neither did I.â
Finally, after a couple more dances, Rowan came stumbling off the floor, a dizzy smile spread across her face.
âI see why you liked herâEllen is amazing,â she admitted, a little breathless. âBut Iâm glad it didnât work out⊠because that means youâre all mine, grumpy.â
She laughed, tugging him down into a quick kiss.
Murtagh huffed a quiet laugh against her lipsâbut it caught, turning into a sharp inhale when she leaned closer, her voice dropping just enough for only him to hear.
âWhen can we leave?â she murmured, a teasing lilt to her tone. âIâve got plans for my husband.â
His grip on her tightened slightly, eyes darkening as he looked down at her.
âDo ye now?â he muttered.
âI do,â she grinned, clearly pleased with herself. âAnd it involves far less clothingâŠâ
She watched the shift in himâthe way his jaw tightened, the way he had to steady himselfâclearly biting back his reaction.
Rowan only smiled wider.
That was all it took. Murtaghâs hand found hers, gripping firmly, and before she could protest, he was pulling her away from the party.
Her laughter rang out, head thrown back, as some guests shot disapproving looks while others hooted and cheered at their boldness.
By the time they found a secluded corner, hidden from prying eyes, the air between them was electric. His hands went immediately for the laces of her bodice, tugging at them with a sense of urgency that made her pulse race.
Rowan grinned, her breath catching as he lifted her effortlessly in his arms.
This manâher husband, her choice, the one who made her heart hammerâwas entirely, unapologetically hers now.
She let herself revel in the sensationâthe heat of him pressed against her, the thrill of stolen moments that belonged only to them.
When his eyes fell on her bare chest, a low growl escaped him. He lowered his face, worshiping her with reverent, hungry attention.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the twine that held it in place, and he didnât miss a beat, smirking up at her as he pressed kisses along her pulse point.
Rowan gasped, biting her lip at the sudden, sharp pleasure, and he met her eyes, dark with desire.
âYe best let me hear ye,â he murmured, voice rough, leaving no room for denial.
He undressed her slowly, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he took her in.
His gaze lingeredânot hurried, not carelessâas though he meant to remember every detail.
When he reached her side, his fingers brushed over the familiar shape of the plane, tracing the ink with quiet reverence. Even now, it still struck himâthat the woman before him was from another time entirely⊠and yet, she was his wife.
His hand drifted further, pausing when he noticed something new.
Delicate script curved along her ribs.
He traced the words gently, sounding them out in his mind as best he could.
âDonât compromise yourself. You are all youâve got.â
âA reminder,â she murmured softly.
He glanced up at her, something thoughtful settling in his expression before his fingers continued their slow path. It suited her. More than suited herâit was her.
And the more he looked, the more he realizedâŠthere were more.
A small star at her foot.
Strange markingsârunes, perhapsâat her wrist.
More at the back of her neck.
And, of course, the phases of the moon along her spine.
Six marks in all.
Six things she had deemed worthy of carrying with her always.
He exhaled quietly, something like awe in it.
Rowan smiled faintly at his expression. âSome people, where Iâm from⊠they cover themselves in it. Head to toe.â
That drew a low, almost disbelieving sound from him, his thumb brushing once more over the script at her ribs.
âAye?â he murmured. âAnd here I thought ye already carried enough stories on your skin.â
She reached for his shirt, slowly pulling it over his head, her nails dragging lightly along his skin. The reaction was immediateâhe drew in a sharp breath, a shiver running through him at her touch.
There was something different about this moment.
Not their first timeâbut the first time as husband and wife.
Something settled between them. Deeper. Certain.
After removing his tartan, he set it carefully on the groundâjust as he had the first time theyâd come together.
A quiet, familiar ritual.
Then he turned back to her, his expression softening as he lowered her down, cradling her as though she were something preciousâsomething irreplaceable.
His hand came up to her face, thumb brushing along her cheek, grounding them both in the moment.
âMine,â he murmuredânot possessive, but certain.
Rowan smiled faintly, her hand finding his, guiding it back to her.
âYours,â she echoed softly.
Her lips met his as he gripped her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist. She ground against him, making him let out a mix of a moan and whimper, which only encouraged her to do it again.
Murtaghâs thumb found the small bundle between her thighs and gently began rubbing it just enough to have her whimpering against his neck.
Watching such a fierce woman falling apart in his arms was intoxicating.
âMy beautiful fae wife.â He muttered against her lips just as he slid a finger into her. The moan she let out brought a smirk to his lips. He was the one causing those beautiful noises.
It didnât take long for her to come crashing down with a scream of his name and a strain of begging for more.
When he slid into her, his eyes rolled back. Surely this woman was made for him; he fit perfectly. With a shift of his hips, Murtagh pulled her on top and gripped her hips.
She pulled back the strands of hair falling across her face in waves, combing them into her fingers as she moved. He watched as she rode him with such precision that he stuttered in his thrusts for a moment, nearly coming undone right then.
âMurrrrtagh,â her name coming out of her lips as a moan, was all he needed to flip them so she was under him. Swinging one of her legs over his shoulder, he watched as her mouth fell open and her eyes rolled back before she frantically gripped his forearms, desperately trying to anchor herself.
He gripped her hands and held them above her head, which made her whimper loudly, and her eyes flew open to meet his.
Her legs moved to wrap around his hips, and with a few more thrusts, she came with a scream, and he followed shortly after.
Letting go of her hands, he cradled her face, and his thumbs brushed along her jaw with a soft, loving smile.
âI love you, Rowan.â He whispered before gently kissing her lips. She gave him a smile before pulling him close and curling into his chest with a breathless sigh.
Time went by, and the two were still as in love as they had been during their handfasting.
They now had a small stone cottage of their own, just outside where Brian and Ellen had built a home. Speaking of them, the couple already had two children, with another on the way.
Ellen was ready to burst, and Rowan joked, âYouâre probably giving birth to a six-foot-tall baby this time!â
Young William was five now and positively buzzing with excitement about the new baby. In absolute confidence, he told Rowan that he secretly hoped for a brother, not another sister like Jenny, who was three.
Rowan crouched to meet his wide-eyed gaze. âEven if itâs another sister,â she said with a smile, âyouâll still have tons of fun with a new sibling. You can teach them all sorts of things.â
Williamâs face brightened at that, clearly pleased with the idea.
Ellen laughed, shaking her head. âFeels like it already. And this one⊠couldnât stay in one place if it tried.â
The two children were darting around the yard, playing tag with Rowan, who laughed as she snatched Jenny up. Just then, Ellen gripped her stomach with a hiss.
âOhâŠItâs time,â she panted.
Rowanâs eyes went wide. Brian and Murtagh werenât thereâtheyâd left early that morning for a hunt.
âNow? Shit. Okay⊠um, William, take your sister and go play inside,â she said, glancing at the kids.
Turning back to Ellen, who was flushed and trying to steady her breathing, Rowan muttered half to herself, âI donât do so well with blood. Thereâs going to be blood. And⊠ugh, I still havenât recovered from seeing a birth in ninth-grade health classâŠâ
Thankfully, the family cook, Moria, was well-versed in childbirth, having children and grandchildren of her own. Rowan, on the other hand, felt ready to faint just from knowing Ellen was in labor.
But when Ellen, in a wave of pain, grabbed her hand and begged her to stay, Rowan bit her lip. She wanted to be supportiveâreallyâbut also wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Still, she stayed, determined to be there for her friend.
Hours passed, and Ellen was still deep in labor. Rowanâs hand had gone numb from being gripped so tightly with each contraction.
âEllen⊠I know youâre definitely doing worse than me, but I think Iâm going to be sick,â Rowan whimpered.
Ellen managed a laugh between contractions, shaking her head. âRowan, yeâll survive. Just keep squeezinâ my handâand maybe breathe, lass.â
âYou have a fucking cannonball comingânope. There is nothing beautiful about this, and you willinglyâI think youâre insane. I love you and Brian, I truly do, but this is repulsive.â
âTha repulsiveâohhâthing is yer godchild,â Ellen gasped, laughing before crying out in pain from another contraction.
âWay to make me feel guilty. I take it backâI hate you,â Rowan snorted, just as Ellen let out one more scream followed by a loud, piercing cry.
Moria cleaned off the newborn before handing him to Rowan.
âHold him, dearie. Ellen, ye need to push again for the afterbirth,â Moria instructed, and Rowan cradled the tiny boy in her arms, gagging slightly as Ellen dealt with the next stage.
âYouâre lucky youâre already cute, buddy. Otherwise, weâd be in trouble,â she muttered to the baby.
Once Ellen was finally cleaned up a bit, she held her son close.
âJames Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser,â Ellen announced with a grin.
âYeah⊠Iâm just calling my little godson Jamie,â Rowan said, snorting as Ellen laughed in response.
That night, as Brian and Murtagh sat by the fire, toasting the birth of little Jamie, Rowan slid in next to her husband and fixed Brian with a pointed glare.
âIf your wife has any more children, youâre going to be the one whose hand goes numb from Ellen squeezing it,â she warned.
âFair enough,â Brian said with a laugh, raising his glass in mock surrender.
âI can confirm,â Rowan added, smirking, âthat I have no regrets about not being able to have children⊠after what I just saw.â
Murtagh nearly choked on his drink, then burst into laughter.
âThat bad?â he asked between chuckles.
With a sharp look from Rowan, he quickly held up his hands. âSay no more,â he muttered, still laughing.
Little Jamie grew to be quite fond of Rowan over the next few months, and she of her godson. There were times when only she could get the infant to stop crying.
She would help give his mother a break by singing songs from her time to the boy. His favorite was Soldier, Poet, King. She would often rock him to sleep, humming the verses softly.
But lately, she had been feeling more exhausted than usual. Even after a full nightâs rest, her limbs felt heavy, and carrying Jamie left her unusually winded. Her clothes seemed tighter around her waist, and she sometimes felt a dull, persistent ache low in her belly that wouldnât go away. At times, she noticed her stomach bloating for no reason, and she found herself needing to eat lessâthough her appetite hadnât changed. Rowan brushed it off at first as overexertionâafter all, chasing after William and Jenny, managing the household, and helping Ellen was a full-time jobâbut the nagging thought persisted: she knew she couldnât be pregnant. The possibility that it could be something far more serious began to creep into her mind, and she wasnât sure what she would do if it was.
As each week went by, Rowan noticed more and more that something was seriously wrong. Her waist felt tighter, and the dull ache in her lower belly was becoming more persistent. Even after a full nightâs sleep, her limbs felt heavy, and carrying little Jamie left her unusually winded. She felt fuller more quickly during meals, though she hadnât eaten any less, and there were moments of pressure in her bladder that had her rushing to the chamber more often than usual. Sometimes her back ached, and a subtle swelling in her ankles made her uneasy.
She knew that medicine here was nearly pointless. As much as she didnât want to consider it, the thought began to crystallize: she would have to return to her own time for any real chance at treatment. But the idea of leaving Murtaghâor her new friends and familyâmade her chest ache in a way that no ailment ever had.
Eventually, Ellen noticed when she was playing with William and Jenny, and she suddenly fell to her knees, breathless.
Rowan forced a laugh, brushing dirt from her knees and trying to push herself upright. âI⊠Iâm fine, really. Just a bit winded from all the chaos.â
Ellenâs sharp eyes didnât waver. âRowan, Iâve known ye long enough to know when somethingâs off. How long have ye been like this? Months?â
Rowan hesitated, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. âItâs nothing, Ellen. Truly. Just⊠fatigue, I suppose.â
Ellen stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Rowan could hear. âWe both know yeâre no fool. This isnât just tiredness. Ye need to stop pretending and tell me whatâs wrong.â
Her chest tightened, and the words Rowan had been holding back clawed at her throat. She wanted to protect Murtagh, her new family, even Ellen, from the fear that had begun to settle in her. But Ellenâs gaze was unwavering, steady, and insistent, and Rowan realized she could no longer dodge the truthâat least not completely.
âI⊠Iâve been feeling worse over the past few months,â Rowan admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. âSometimes I get⊠short of breath, my stomach aches, and I just feel⊠heavy. I thought maybe I was overdoing it, butâŠâ She trailed off, swallowing hard, unwilling yet to name the real fear.
Ellenâs hand found hers, squeezing gently but firmly. âThen weâll face it together. No lies, Rowan. I wonât let ye do this alone.â
Rowanâs heart ached at the offer, knowing the truth of her situation was far more complicated than anyone there could truly comprehend. But for the first time in months, she felt a sliver of reliefânot from the illness itself, but from not having to hide from someone who cared.
But that night, she woke in a sweat, sharp pain tearing through her abdomen. She barely had time to sit up before she was violently sick, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Murtagh bolted upright in bed, heart pounding, panic flooding his chest. âRowan?â he whispered, voice tight with fear. He reached for her, only to see her doubled over, sobbing, tears mixing with sweat, trembling from the intensity of her illness.
âMurrrrtaghâŠâ she gasped, barely able to speak, clutching at the sheets for support. Every breath was a struggle, every movement sending another wave of pain through her.
He gripped her shoulders gently but firmly, trying to steady her shaking frame. âShh⊠Iâve got ye,â he murmured, his voice raw with worry. âYouâre no' alone, Rowan. Iâm here. Iâm right here.â
Her vision blurred, and she buried her face against his chest, trembling, feeling utterly helpless in a way she never had before. Murtaghâs hands tightened protectively around her, his mind racing with fear, knowing something was very, very wrong.
She spent the rest of the night sobbing into his arms. For the first time since meeting her, Murtagh felt truly helpless.
Morning came far too quickly.
Rowan sat at the table with Murtagh, Ellen, and Brian, her hands wrapped tightly around a cup she hadnât touched. Her eyes were red, her face pale.
Murtagh stood just behind her, a steady presenceâbut even he could see it now. There was no healer who could fix this. Not here. Not in this time.
Brian shifted uneasily. âWe could send for the Beaton,â he offered.
Murtagh shook his head before Rowan could even respond.
âRowan⊠maybe ye should go back home,â he said quietly.
Her breath hitched, and tears immediately filled her eyes. She knew exactly what he meant.
Brian frowned, looking between them. âTo the cottage? Or the colonies? What good would that do?â
Murtagh only shook his head again, his jaw tightening.
He wishedâGod, how he wishedâhe could tell them the truth. That Rowan wasnât meant for this time. That the only place she had a chance of surviving⊠was centuries away from all of them.
Rowanâs grip on the cup tightened slightly as she stared down at it, her mind racing.
She couldnât keep this from them much longer.
âNo⊠ye mean something else,â Ellen whispered, her voice unsteady. âWhy do I feel ye mean somewhere I cannae follow?â
Rowanâs breath caught, her gaze dropping to her hands. âThis is not how I wanted to tell you,â she said softly. âButâŠitâs not somewhere.â She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look up. âItâs somewhen.â
Brian stared at her, confusion written plainly across his face. âI dinnae understandâŠâ
âItâs true.â
Murtaghâs voice was steady as he stepped closer, placing a gentle, grounding hand on Rowanâs shoulder.
âShe traveled through the stones.â
Brian let out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. âThrough the stones?â he repeated. âThatâsâŠthatâs tales for children and old women.â
âAye,â Murtagh said quietly. âThatâs what I thought as well.â
Brian looked between them, searching for reason, for something that made sense. âAnd ye expect me to believe sheâs come fromâŠwhat? Another time?â
Rowan didnât speak. She simply held his gaze, her eyes tired, rimmed red from the night beforeâbut steady.
âI have no reason to lie about this,â she said softly. âNot about something like this.â
Brian frowned, still uncertain. âBut how could anyoneââ
âSheâs no' anyone.â
Murtaghâs voice was firm now.
Brian fell silent.
Ellen, who had been watching Rowan closely, finally stepped forward. Slowly, gently, she reached for Rowanâs hand and took it in her own.
Her grip was warm. Steady.
âI dinnae understand it,â Ellen admitted, her voice quiet but sure. âNot truly.â
Rowanâs breath hitched slightly.
âBut I ken ye,â Ellen continued, squeezing her hand. âAnd I ken ye wouldnae speak such things lightly. Not like this.â
Tears welled in Rowanâs eyes again, but she blinked them back.
âSo if ye say this is the truthâŠâ Ellen went on, her voice softening, âthen I believe ye.â
Brian looked at his wife, then back at Rowan, still strugglingâbut the certainty in Ellenâs face gave him pause.
ââŠand this is why ye must leave?â Ellen asked gently.
Rowan nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. âItâs the only place I might survive.â
The words settled heavily between them.
Ellenâs grip tightened. âThen weâll no' waste time questioning it,â she said, her tone shifting with quiet resolve. âWeâll see ye safely there.â
Rowan let out a broken breath, overwhelmedânot by fear this time, but by the unwavering support in front of her.
Murtaghâs hand remained on her shoulder, solid and unyielding.
He said nothing.
But he didnât have to.
He wasnât letting her face this alone.
Over the next few days, Ellen helped Rowan prepare, quietly gathering what little she could take. Brian, in turn, stayed close to Murtagh, offering what comfort he could, knowing how heavy this was for his cousin. If Rowan had even the smallest chance of surviving, then he would hold onto that hopeâfor both of them.
Each night, Murtagh held her close, as if letting go even for a moment would make it real. He whispered how much he loved her, over and over, like a promise he was trying to carve into time itself.
He did not hide his tears.
They fell freely as he told her how beautiful she wasâhis fae wifeâand how she had changed his life in ways he never thought possible.
âI only want whatâs best for ye,â he murmured against her hair one night, his voice breaking.
But his heart was being torn apart all the same.
Because no matter how much he wanted to be strong for herâŠ
He knew she would have to face whatever came next alone.
Finally, the day came for her to return to the stonesâto her time.
She hugged William and Jenny close, pressing kisses to their heads before pulling them tight against her. Then she took little Jamie into her arms, holding him as if she could memorize the weight of him.
âIâll miss you, my little king,â she whispered. âYouâll do so many great things⊠and have far more adventures without me.â
The boy cooed, his tiny hand tangling in her hair, and she let out a small, broken laugh before carefully handing him back to Ellen.
Ellen pulled her into a tight embrace. âI will miss ye,â she said tearfully.
Brian followed, wrapping Rowan in a firm hug. âWeâll take care of him. I promise.â He glanced toward Murtagh, who stood just behind her, his expression carefully held together.
Murtagh stepped forward then, taking her hand gently and helping her into the wagon.
The ride to the stones felt both endless⊠and far too short.
When they finally arrived, Rowan stepped down, her breath catching as the familiar buzzing filled the air. The sound alone brought tears to her eyes.
âMurtagh⊠Iâm scared,â she whispered.
He reached up, tilting her chin gently so she would look at him. His own eyes were glassy, filled with unshed tears.
âYe are one of the strongest lasses I know,â he said softly. âBut I am too. Iâm scared⊠imagining life without my fae wife.â
His voice faltered, but he pressed on, his hand tightening around hers.
âBut if saying goodbye means ye might live another dayâŠâ
He swallowed hard, his forehead resting briefly against hers.
âI love ye. For eternity⊠and a day.â
She cradled his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing along his cheeks as if she could memorize every detailâevery line, every shadowâso she could hold onto him when she needed him most but could not have him by her side.
âI promise,â she whispered, her voice trembling, âonce I can⊠Iâll find you again. Whether itâs in this time, or another⊠or even another life.â
Her breath hitched, tears slipping free as she held his gaze.
âAnd I will never love another the way Iâve loved you.â
Murtaghâs hand came up to cover hers, holding it against his face as if he could keep her there just a moment longer.
He let out a slow, unsteady breath before running his fingers gently through her hair, a faint, broken smile touching his lips.
âNor will I,â he murmured. âI will never love again.â
His voice grew firmer despite the tears in his eyes.
âI swear to ye⊠I will no' take another wife.â
He reached down and tore a small strip from his tartan, tying it carefully around her wrist. His fingers lingered there for a moment before he lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her pulse.
âSo yeâll always have a piece of me.â
Rowanâs breath hitched, but she nodded, her fingers trembling as she slipped one of her silver rings free and placed it gently into his palm.
âSo you can have something of me. Itâs not much⊠but also this.â
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small silver locket and pressing it into his hand. Inside was a miniatureâher likeness, delicately painted by Ellen.
His throat tightened as he looked at it.
âAyeâŠâ he murmured, closing his fingers around it. âI have ye.â
He glanced at her once more, committing her to memoryâjust as she had done to him.
Then, with a quiet, steady breath, he took her hand and guided it toward the stone.
Their fingers lingered together for one final moment.
A sad, fleeting smile passed between them.
And thenâ
She was gone.
Vanished as though she had never been there at all.
Murtagh stood frozen, his hand still pressed to the cold stone where hers had been only a heartbeat before.
The silence was deafening.
Slowly, his fingers curled inward.
The ring.
The locket.
Still there.
Still real.
A broken breath escaped him as tears fell freely, his grip tightening around the small pieces she had left behind.
She was gone from his worldâ
âŠbut not from him.
Tears fell freely as the truth settled inâshe was truly gone. It felt as though a piece of him had been torn away, leaving something hollow in its place.
But if she could find help in her own time⊠if she could surviveâŠ
Then he would bear it.
He would endure the heartbreak, the lonelinessâevery aching moment without herâif it meant she lived.
Meanwhile, Rowan found herself on the hills alone. She wanted to reach back for the stones and return, but the sharp pain in her abdomen made her realize she had to get better first.
A few weeks had passed since she returned and saw a doctor. They had confirmed what she already fearedâsomething had been wrong.
Cancer.
The word still didnât feel real.
There was a bitter irony in it, too. She had made the choice years ago to remove her tubes, to take control of her own future⊠and yet it was her ovaries that had betrayed her in the end.
Now, her best option was chemotherapy.
And that was how she found herself hereâalone, afraid, sitting in a sterile room that felt nothing like the life she had left behind.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she held her phone, staring at the photo on the screen.
Murtagh stood behind her in it, his arms wrapped around her, his gaze fixed on her with nothing but love and quiet devotion.
Her thumb brushed over his image.
âI made it back,â she whispered, her voice catching. âJust like I promised.â
But the victory felt hollow without him there to see it.
Time passed, and Murtagh felt lonelier than ever.
He watched as Brian and Ellenâs children grewâwatched as little Jamie took his first unsteady steps, laughing as he toddled across the room.
Murtagh couldnât help but think about how Rowan would have been, had she been there.
She would have spoiled the boy rotten.
The thought brought a faint, bittersweet smile to his lips⊠before it faded just as quickly.
More often than not, his mind drifted elsewhereâto her.
Was she safe?
Was she better?
Was she even alive?
The not knowing gnawed at him, settling deep in his chest and refusing to ease.
Brian did his best to console him, offering quiet reassurances and steady company.
But it was Ellen who understood in a way no one else could.
She had lost Rowan, too.
The two of them would sit for hours, speaking softly by the fire, sharing storiesâlittle moments, laughter, the things Rowan had said or done that lingered long after she was gone.
Keeping her alive in the only way they could.
After what felt like years of chemotherapyâand finally a full hysterectomy to remove the cancer that had spreadâRowan was told she was now cancer-free. Relief washed over her, though she wished Murtagh could be by her side to hear those words.
She held the strip of tartan in her fingers, smiling softly, when an idea struck her. She found a resin jeweler who agreed to create a custom piece, embedding a small fragment of the tartan in a ring.
Once the ring was complete, she clutched it tightly, a piece of him always with her. And with that, her focus turned to her next mission: finding possible points in time where Murtagh might be, so that if she ever returned to the past, she could track him down and find him again.
Over the years, Murtagh had kept his promiseâbut he had also carried far too much grief. He thought he had suffered enough losing Rowan, yet life had continued to take from him: young William, Ellen, and her unborn child, and even Brian in the passing decades. And through it all, he still did not know how Rowan had fared over the years.
Now, he sat across from Claire and Jamie, listening as Claire tried to explain that she was from the future. His thoughts immediately went to Rowanâthe woman he never stopped thinking about, never stopped loving.
âIt must sound crazy,â Claire began, hesitantly.
Murtagh held up a hand, silencing her. âWhat year?â he asked, his voice steady but intense, surprising her.
â1945,â she said softly.
âThat was when they had B-17s, no?â The look of shock on Claireâs face confirmed he was not joking.
âShe said her Popâhe flew them.â
âWho?â Jamie asked, confusion wrinkling his brow.
âRowan,â Murtagh said quietly, almost to himself. âYe probably cannae remember her. She was yer godmother⊠the one who sang to ye as a bairn.â
âShe was my wife, my beautiful fae wife. Who came through the stonesâfrom 2020.â
âWhat happened to her?â Claire asked softly, her eyes wide with concern.
Murtagh gave her a sad, distant smile.
âShe was sick. And no Beaton could help her. She had to return to her time. Only I have no idea if she even survived. She had bouts of sickness, couldnât eat without getting ill, was exhausted even after a full nightâs rest, and suffered stomach pains that left her crying.â
As he went into more detail, describing the fatigue, the pains, and the way she had clung to hope, Claireâs eyes widened.
âThat sounds like cancer,â she said, her voice tight as she glanced between Jamie and Murtagh. âWhich can be fatal. I donât know what treatment is available in her time, but often in mine it is deadly. I am sorry, Murtagh.â
He shook his head slowly, holding onto the memory of her determination.
âShe seemed hopeful that her odds in the future were good⊠so I have hope,â he said, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips.
Finally, Rowan was ready to return. She would find Murtagh, no matter what it took.
She packed carefully, tucking worn notebooks between her clothing. Years of research filled their pagesâJacobite prisoner records, shipping manifests, old maps, timelines painstakingly pieced together from scraps of history. She had tracked every mention of Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser she could find, from France to Culloden, from Ardsmuir Prison to vague records of transports bound for the colonies.
The trail always ended the same way.
Murtagh vanished.
Still, she had built herself a plan. If she could determine the year she arrived in, she would know where to search next.
The stones called to her.
Her pulse thundered as she approached them, emotion swelling painfully in her chest. Six years had passed since she had last touched the ancient rockâsix years since she had left Murtagh behind.
Six years since she had survived cancer.
The familiar pull seized her the moment her hand met stone, tearing the breath from her lungsâand then the world vanished.
The familiar sight of Lallybroch brought a sharp, breathless feeling to Rowanâs chest.
Her small stone cottage stood exactly where she remembered it, tucked against the rise of the hill as though time itself had simply forgotten to touch it. The sight nearly stopped her in her tracks.
For one impossible moment, hope surged through her.
But when she stepped inside, she found it silent and untouched â cold hearth, dust settled across the table, the blankets folded exactly as she had once left them. Frozen in time. Empty.
The ache that settled in her chest was sharp enough to steal her breath.
So she turned back toward the main house.
Toward Lallybroch.
Now, standing at the front door, she hesitated for only a moment before knocking onceâthen twice.
The door opened to a dark-haired woman.
Rowan froze.
The resemblance was immediate. Something in the set of her face, the strength in her gaze, the familiar shape of her featuresâ
Brian.
Her breath caught.
âOh my GodâŠâ she whispered before she could stop herself. âJenny?â
The womanâs eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, studying her with open suspicion.
âCan ah help ye?â she asked carefully.
Rowanâs voice trembled as realization struck fully through her. âItâs me⊠Rowan.â
A pause.
Then, more urgently, âDo you remember me?â
The womanâs expression shifted instantlyâconfusion giving way to shock as she searched Rowanâs face like she was trying to pull a memory forward through decades of time.
Because Rowan looked wrong for someone who should have been a memory.
And yetâŠ
Familiar.
âSurely no'âye look so young!â Jenny said, gripping her chest in shock. âHow?â
Rowan let out a faint, breathless laugh that didnât quite land. âGood family bloodline and pure luck, I assume.â Her expression softened as urgency pushed through again. âYour parents? Your brothersâMurtagh?â
She had no real sense of how long she had been gone in this time, but Jenny had clearly grown, and time had done its work.
Jenny hesitated only a moment before stepping aside. âMaybe ye best come in.â
Rowan followed her into the familiar sitting room. It hit her like a ghostâeverything was almost the same, yet not. The weight of years lived in the worn edges of furniture, in the absence of voices that should have been there.
Jenny sat across from her, hands clasped tightly together.
âMy parents⊠they are gone,â she said quietly. âSame for Willie. And wee little Robert.â
Rowan went still.
âRobert?â she repeated softly. âOh⊠your parents had another?â Her voice faltered. âWhat happened to him?â
Jennyâs gaze dropped.
Rowan slowly sank into her seat, as though her legs had given out beneath her. âItâs been so long,â she said quietly. âI got caught up for years in the colonies. I tried to come back, but⊠circumstances prevented it.â
Her fingers tightened in her lap.
âI didnât knowâŠâ Rowan whispered. âI missed so much over the years, and I am sorry.â
Jenny studied her for a long moment, the initial shock settling into something more thoughtful.
âIf anyone knows Murtaghâs whereabouts,â she said slowly, âit would be Jamie.â
Rowanâs head lifted immediately. âLittle Jamie?â
Jenny nodded. âAye. Though yeâd best stop callinâ him that to his faceâheâs noâ been little in a long while.â
A faint, almost disbelieving breath of laughter escaped Rowan before nerves took it over again.
âWhere is he?â she asked quickly. âIs he still here? At Lallybroch?â
Jenny shook her head. âNo. Heâs in Edinburgh most of the time now. Has a printshop there.â
Rowanâs mind snapped into motion at once, urgency rising again like a tide.
âA printshopâŠâ she repeated. âOf course.â
Jenny frowned slightly. âYeâre determined to find Murtagh then?â
âYes,â Rowan said without hesitation. âIâve spent years trying to trace him forward from Ardsmuir. Every fragment I could find ends the same wayâhe was transported, and then nothing. I need to know if he survived it.â
Jennyâs expression softened, though confusion still lingered in her eyes.
âThen yeâll be wantinâ Jamie,â she said again, more firmly this time. âIf anyone has heard anything from the colonies⊠itâll be him.â
Rowan nodded, already reaching for her resolve again, even as exhaustion tugged at the edges of it.
âThen Iâll go to him,â she said quietly. âStraight away.â
âBe advised, Jamie is in hiding; he goes by Alex MacKenzie. But tell him aye sent ye if ye must.â
Rowan nodded slowly, committing the name to memory. âAlex MacKenzieâŠâ
She rose from her seat, hesitation flickering across her face for the first time since sheâd arrived. âThank you, Jenny. I wish I could stay to catch up, butââ
Jenny cut her off gently, though her eyes were still searching Rowanâs face like she was trying to understand something she couldnât quite grasp.
âGo,â she said. âAye ken how important it is to find Murtagh to ye.â
Rowanâs expression softened with gratitude. âIt always was,â she admitted quietly. âAnd it still is.â
For a brief moment, neither of them moved.
Something unspoken lingered between themâyears lost, lives changed, grief that couldnât be neatly explained.
Then Jenny stepped forward and, without ceremony, pulled Rowan into a firm embrace.
Rowan froze for half a heartbeat⊠then slowly returned it.
âFind what yeâre lookinâ for,â Jenny murmured.
Rowan swallowed hard. âIâll try.â
When they parted, Rowan hesitated only once more at the door.
Then she was goneâalready moving again, already chasing the only name that mattered.
Alex MacKenzie.
She finally made it to Edinburgh and stepped into the printshop, the bell above the door chiming softly behind her.
Ink, paper, and warm dust filled the air.
Near the printing press stood a tall redheaded man speaking with a brunette woman. Their conversation paused as Rowan stepped forward.
âExcuse me,â she said, steadying her breath, âbut I am looking for Mister MacKenzie?â
The man turned at once.
A friendly, open expression crossed his face as he nodded. âAye, that is me,â he said easily. âWhat can I do fer ye?â
Rowan hesitated.
For a moment, all the carefully built certainty she had carried from the stones, through Scotland, through Jennyâs house, through every step of this journey, threatened to fracture.
Because this was not the boy she remembered.
This was a man shaped by years she had not lived through.
Still, she lifted her chin.
And then, almost unconsciously, something slipped from her lips.
Soft. Half-memory. Half-prayer.
âThere will come a soldierâŠâ she murmured.
The words werenât spoken loudly.
But they stopped him cold.
JamieâAlex MacKenzieâwent utterly still.
The woman beside him glanced between them, confused, but Jamie didnât seem to notice her anymore.
Rowanâs gaze stayed fixed on him now, her voice barely above a breath as the memory pulled her under.
ââŠwho carries a mighty swordâŠâ
His expression changed.
Not recognition of a stranger.
Recognition of a memory.
A child in Lallybroch.
A small boy curled up half-asleep while she rocked him near the hearth, singing nonsense about soldiers and poets and kings he couldnât possibly understand.
Jamieâs breath hitched.
Rowan faltered slightly, realizing too late what she had done.
But she didnât stop.
Not now that it had started coming back.
ââŠhe will tear your city downâŠâ
Her voice broke slightly on the last word.
Jamie took a step forward.
Slow.
Uncertain.
Like he was afraid that if he moved too quickly, the memory would vanish.
Rowan finally looked up fully at him, eyes shining.
âI used to sing it to you,â she whispered.
The room seemed to tighten around them.
Because Jamie was no longer looking at a stranger in his printshop.
He was looking at someone he had somehow lost but couldnât quite place.
âMy godfather sang it to meâŠâ he muttered, almost to himself, as if testing the words for weight.
Rowan let out a small, teary laugh before she could stop it.
âHe did?â she whispered, something soft and aching breaking through her voice. âI sang it to you when you were littleâlate at night when you couldnât sleep. And when your poor mother was beyond exhausted.â
Her gaze didnât leave his face.
âBut after I was goneâŠâ Her voice wavered slightly. âHe kept singing it to you?â
Jamieâs expression shifted again.
Something unsettled flickered behind his eyes.
âYouâre much taller than when I left,â Rowan murmured suddenly, almost disbelieving. Her voice cracked slightly with emotion. âYou were still a little baby⊠I missed so muchâŠâ
She blinked quickly, trying to steady herself.
It was then that the brunette woman finally spoke.
âRowan?â she asked gently. âThat is your name, is it not?â
Rowan turned slightly, as if remembering for the first time that she wasnât alone in the room.
She gave a small, teary nod. âYes.â
The woman studied her carefully, something thoughtful in her expression now, rather than confusion.
Jamie didnât take his eyes off Rowan.
She turned back to him, and this time there was no hesitation left in her voice.
âI am your godmother,â she said softly.
Silence fell so completely it felt like the entire printshop had stopped breathing.
Jamie went still.
Completely still.
Not disbelief nowâbut recognition finally snapping into place, sharp and overwhelming.
His mouth parted slightly, but no words came at first.
Because suddenly everything made sense in fragments: the song Murtagh sang but always sounded like it belonged to someone else, the strange ache in stories his godfather told him, and the feeling that someone important had been missing from every version of his life.
And now she was standing right in front of him.
Alive.
Unchanged in the way that made no sense at all.
ââŠRowan?â he said at last, voice barely steady.
And this time it wasnât a question of identity.
It was the sound of someone realizing a ghost had just walked back into the world.
He stepped forward hesitantly, as if afraid she might vanish the moment he touched her.
Then he reached her.
And wrapped his arms around her.
Rowan stiffened for only a heartbeatâjust long enough for shock to catch up with instinctâbefore she broke completely.
The breath she had been holding since the stones, since Jenny, since every step that had led her here, came out of her in a shuddering exhale as she clutched onto him.
Jamie held her firmly, steadying her as her shoulders trembled.
It wasnât just her godson.
It wasnât just a reunion.
For him, it was the closest thing he had to Murtagh standing in front of him againâan echo of the man who had raised him, protected him, and filled in the gaps where family should have been.
And for Rowan, it was everything she had lost colliding all at once.
Years. Time. Distance. Silence.
She buried her face against his shoulder, and for a moment, she wasnât standing in a printshop in Edinburgh at allâshe was back in Lallybroch, back in a life that still had pieces of itself intact.
âIâm sorry,â she choked out, though she wasnât even sure what she was apologizing for anymore. âIâm so sorry, JamieâŠâ
Jamie tightened his grip slightly, his voice rough when he finally spoke.
âDinnae,â he said quietly. âDinnae apologize.â
Because he could feel it nowâthe way she was shaking, the way she was holding on like letting go might undo her completely.
And all he could think was that Murtagh had been right about her.
She had come back.
Just not when any of them could have ever expected.
âDo you know where he is?â she asked, pulling back just enough to look at him, hope breaking through the exhaustion in her eyes.
Jamie hesitated, his hands still resting lightly on her shoulders.
âHe is in the coloniesâŠâ he said carefully. âAt least that was where they said they were sending him.â
Rowan exhaled slowly, the words settling into her like both relief and fear at once.
So he had lived that far.
That was enoughâfor now.
She gave a small, shaky nod. âRight,â she whispered. âThatâs⊠more than I had before.â
Jamie studied her for a moment, his expression tightening with something like guilt.
âThere were rumors over the years,â he added quietly. âNothing certain. Men scattered after Ardsmuir. Some said Carolina, others further inland. But nothing I could ever swear to.â
Rowan swallowed, forcing herself to stay steady.
âIâll find him,â she said, more to herself than anyone else. âIâve come too far not to.â
Jamieâs grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, grounding her.
âAye,â he said softly. âAnd now ye dinnae have to do it alone. Iâll help yeâand my wife.â
Rowan blinked slightly, still trying to steady her breathing. âYour wife?â
Jamie nodded once, a faint softness entering his expression at the mention of her.
âClaire,â he said.
Rowan let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh. âYouâre married,â she murmured, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. âOf course you are. I really did miss far too much.â
She spent months saving and planning for the journey to the colonies. Jamie had agreed to go with her, insisting she would not make the voyage alone.
But their departure was delayed when word came of Young Ian.
What began as a search for passage became something else entirelyâfirst Jamaica, then danger, then survival, as they moved through one crisis after another to bring the boy home.
Only after Ian was found and the storm of those events had settled did the plan return to what it had always been.
The colonies.
And Murtagh.
They had arrived in North Carolina after months at sea, and something in Rowan told herâquietly, insistentlyâthat she was closer than she had ever been.
It was confirmed only days later when Young Ian returned in a temper, complaining that a blacksmith had tried to charge him twenty-one shillings for a broken bit.
Rowan wasnât entirely sure who was more furious.
Jamie Fraser, or herself.
Which was how she ended up marching alongside them toward the blacksmith, jaw tight, hands already curled into determined fists, very much ready to give the man a piece of her mind.
After everything she had endured to get hereâafter stones, time, illness, and lossâshe had no patience left for greed.
Jamie had been the one to shout at the blacksmith before she had the chance, his voice sharp and already brimming with indignation as he demanded an explanation for the extortion.
Rowan barely registered the exchange.
Not until the man turned.
And then she froze.
The breath caught in her throat so suddenly it hurt.
Because it wasnât just a blacksmith standing there.
It was the familiar set of his shoulders. The weathered face. The stubborn tilt of his jaw that had once softened only when he thought no one was watching.
âMurtaghâŠâ
The name slipped out of her before she could stop itâbarely more than a broken sound.
The manâs head snapped up at once.
Their eyes met.
And for a heartbeat, the world stopped moving.
Tears welled in her eyes as she recognized himâaged beyond what she remembered, hardened by years she hadnât lived beside him, but still unmistakably him. Still the same familiar brown eyes she had looked into each night for years, the ones etched so deeply into her memory they had never faded.
âRowan?â he whispered.
His voice broke slightly on her name.
âMy sweet fae wife?â
That did it.
Rowan made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and crossed the space between them in an instant, barely aware of Jamie or Ian or anything else around her.
She collided into him, arms wrapping around his waist as if letting go had never been an option.
Murtagh staggered slightly at the force of it, then caught her just as quickly, one hand splaying across her back like he was afraid she might disappear again if he didnât hold her tightly enough.
âYe have nae aged a dayâŠâ he murmured into her hair, voice thick with disbelief and something like reverence.
Rowan shook her head against his chest, unable to speak for a moment, just holding onâbreathing him in, grounding herself in the reality of him.
âDonât,â she finally managed, pulling back just enough to look at him, tears spilling freely now. âDonât you dare start saying things like that when youâve clearly been fighting the entire world without me.â
A broken laugh escaped him at that.
And for the first time in yearsâdecades, in his eyes, it reached his face fully.
Behind them, the world slowly returned to motion.
But neither of them noticed yet.
Murtagh, still staring at her in utter disbelief, finally seemed to register the man beside them.
Jamie.
Another ghost of his past.
âYe both here?â he muttered, almost dazed. âSurely I am dreaminââŠâ
Rowan didnât give him time to think it through any further.
Rising onto her toes, she cupped his face and kissed himâhard, desperate, as if six years and an entire lifetime could be undone in a single moment.
When she finally pulled back just enough to breathe, her forehead rested briefly against his.
âThen I donât wish for youâor meâto ever wake,â she whispered.
Murtaghâs hands came up at once, cradling her face just as he had done years ago, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like she had never left.
Like he had never stopped waiting.
Behind them, Jamie stood frozenâwatching the two of them as time folded in on itself all over again.
Epilogue
Rowan was curled against Murtaghâs side by the fire as he brushed his fingers through her hair with a quiet, absent tenderness, like it was something he had been doing his entire life.
For her, it had been six years apart. For him, it had been decades of grief, distance, and unanswered questions. And yet, in the warmth of the firelight and the steady rhythm of his hand in her hair, it feltâimpossiblyâlike no time had passed at all.
Rowan finally told him everything.
About the illness she had faced in her own time. The months of fear and treatment. The strange, relentless battle she had called cancer. How she had thought she might not survive long enough to find her way back to him at all.
And, quieter still, how she had kept him with her through all of it.
âThe portrait,â she said softly, fingertips brushing the edge of his sleeve, âon my phone⊠I used to look at it when I was afraid. It made me feel like I could keep going.â
Murtagh went still at that, his arm tightening around her slightly.
Then he reached into his coat and drew out the small locket she had once given himâworn now with age and timeâbut still carefully preserved. He opened it with reverent hands.
âI kept yours too,â he said simply. âEvery day I wore it, I remembered I had somethinâ worth waitinâ for.â
Rowanâs throat tightened as she looked at it.
Inside, her face stared back at herâfaded slightly with time, but unmistakably her. A version of her that had crossed centuries and loss and still remained.
They sat in silence for a long moment after that, the fire crackling softly between them, as though it too understood there was nothing left that needed to be rushed.
Eventually, Murtagh let out a low, quiet laugh.
âI suppose Iâm an old man now,â he murmured.
Rowan tilted her head up to look at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. âAnd I suppose I should be looking at you differently because of that, hmm, oh ancient one?â
âAye,â he said, amused. âShow some respect.â
She laughed softly, shaking her head. âYouâre as handsome as the day I met you.â
His expression softened at thatâsomething warm and deeply familiar settling in his eyes.
âAnd you,â he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair back from her face, âhave not aged a day, my beautiful fae wife.â
Rowanâs smile faded only into something gentler, more fragile.
âMaybe the stones have a sense of humor, or maybe I really am one of the fae,â she whispered.
Murtagh didnât answer immediately.
He just pulled her closer, tilting her chin up to kiss her gently.
And this time, neither of them let go.
Between the Noise Ch22
Warnings: Language, Angst, Munson-Harringtons (they come with their own warning), References to Death and Canon Death
Izzy balances a growing list of responsibilitiesâmechanic work, EMT calls, and radio chaosâwhile trying to stay grounded in her life with Steve. Even as moments of normalcy break through, Hawkins continues to feel like itâs waiting on the edge of something dangerous.
Masterlist/Previous Chapter/Next Chapter
It had been months since the soldiers showed up in Hawkins, long enough for them to blur into the background of everyday lifeâhovering somewhere between irritating and ignorable. Most days, Izzy could pass them on the street, exchange a casual wave, and keep moving. Other days, a glance in the wrong direction earned her a shouted warning and a rifle raised just a little too fast.
Sergeant Wade was different. He was the kind of man who actually cared about the people of Hawkins, who spoke gently and remembered names. He was also the medic whoâd encouraged Izzy to look into EMT courses in the first place. And today, she was planning to thank himâbecause as of this morning, she was officially a certified volunteer EMT.
Izzy was working a shift at the shop, her designated music day, which meant one of Eddieâs old tapes was playingâMetallica rattling the walls. It felt good to be back in a routine. Not perfect, not easy, but familiar. She still had her moments, still struggled some days, but her sponsor had reminded her that healing wasnât linear. Hearing that from someone outside her own head had helped more than she expected.
She was finishing up on the car in front of her when Reid approached, smiling warmly.
âHow was last night's meeting? Did you finally share with the group?â he asked, and Izzy sighed.
âSort of. Itâs frustrating to be the center of attention, but hey, Iâm still standing,â Izzy said with a laugh. Reid nodded, pride clear on his face.
âWell, Mrs. Harrington, your husband just pulled up to steal you for lunch. Donât worryâIâve got the jeep you were about to work on.â He smirked.
From his office, Frank leaned out, grinning. âHey, Izzy, go to lunch, kid. And congrats on getting hitched.â
She flushed instantly. âYou told him?â she whispered.
âHoney, I told everyone,â Reid snorted. âPlus, they noticed the ring.â
She flipped him off, wiped her hands on the rag in her back pocket, tossed it onto the workbench, and headed to wash up.
Steve was waiting out front, leaning against the BMW with an easy grin. She couldnât help returning it.
âHey, baby. Whatâre you in the mood forâburgers or pizza?â
She shrugged as he looked at her, brows raised and a smile on his face.
âPizza it is,â he laughed.
Inside the pizza parlor, Izzy twirled her straw, glancing up at Steve.
âSo after work, the hospital said I can stop by and pick up my official pager. I canât believe Iâm officially certified,â she said. Steve beamed.
âMy wife the EMT,â he said proudly. âYou still working at the shop?â
âYeah. EMT shifts are mostly weekends, with some on-call nights.â She shrugged. âNothing too wild.â
He nodded. âI took that radio gigâjust the soundboard stuff. Robinâs doing the heavy lifting. She also told me to remind you youâre welcome to cohost anytime.â
The days continued to pass, routines settling into place, though the soldiers never truly faded from view. They loomed over everything. Still, life found ways to feel absurdly normal. Izzy had somehow been convinced to guest-host on the Morning Squawk. She was still a bit tired from her shift the night before; life as an EMT was never dull. Even amidst the lingering shadows outside, some moments were⊠absurdly normal. Like now, sitting in a radio booth, trying to survive Robin Buckleyâs over-the-top energy.
Izzy plopped down in the extra radio booth chair, the vinyl squeaking beneath her, and pressed her hands to her mouth to hide a yawn.
âReady for your premier?â Robin smirked.
âAs long as you donât use the stupid name, Dizzy Izzy. I will murder you on the air for that.â Izzy snorted.
Robin laughed as she spun in her chair, flipping the switch to go on air.
âGood morning, Hawkins! This is WSQK The Squawk! And today we are joined by the ever-busy Izzy, as my guest host today.â Robin announced.
Izzy couldnât help but snortâever-busy was absolutely true. Between the garage, her EMT shifts, and now squeezing in a bit of radio cohosting, it was a wonder her brain was still functioning. Thank God Steve was as supportive as he was, gently reminding her to breathe and relax here and there.
Steve, sitting at the corner soundboard, squeezed a rubber chicken and then hit a buzzer that made a loud boing!âprompting Izzy to bite back a laugh. She leaned over slightly to give him a playful glare.
Izzy shifted slightly in her chair, drumming her fingers on the desk as Robin launched into her chaotic spiel.
âItâs looking like a regular day in Hawkinsâfifty-five degrees, low chance of rain, medium chance of arrest, high chance of helicopters. But general banality aside, itâs an exciting day for meâyour friend, entertainer, and DJ, Robin Buckley⊠Nice to meet you! âŠAKA Rockinâ Robin. And I already semi-introduced the ever-busy Izzy Munâno wait, Izzy Harrington. Sheâs a married lady now, folks.â
Izzy rolled her eyes so hard she worried Steve might see, though she couldnât help a slight grin. Steve pressed a button that made a loud whoop-whoop, perfectly timed to her eye roll. She shot him a side-eye and shook her head, suppressing a laugh as he mouthed, "Love you too, sweetheart."
âAnd why is it a big day for me, you ask? Well, itâs my 500th broadcast. Yeah, you heard that right, folks. Five-double-O!â
Izzy let out a soft laugh, glancing at Steve, who was trying not to snort. She stuck her tongue out at him, trying not to giggle too loud.
âWhich means itâs been even longer since youâve heard the sultry voice of Jimmy âFast Handsâ Lee. But while Jimmy was fleeing Hawkins even faster than he moves those hands, yours truly was watching slack-jawed as the Earth split open beneath her feet and coughed up that tsunami of mysterious dandruff.â
By this point, Izzy had a hand over her mouth to hide her laugh, shaking her head in disbelief, then leaned back, crossing her arms.
âAnd now, Iâm stuck here with you, my fellow quarantine compatriots. And if I can be brutally honest, I couldnât be happier. Because when you really think about it, why would you want to live anywhere else? I mean, what town on Earth can match our very impressive military-to-civilian ratio?â
Izzy noticed Steve smiling at her and playfully blew him a kiss, shaking her head at Robinâs continued monologue. She tilted her head, smirking.
âAnd those free, mandatory medical checkups? I mean, very cool. âCause after we inhaled those springtime snowflakes, who knows whatâs wrong with us? Maybe weâre fine, maybe not.â
âWell, I havenât encountered any mutated people yet during my EMT rounds, so thatâs a plus.â Izzy threw in with a chuckle, winking at Steve as she did.
Steve immediately hit a sound clip button, and a faint, comical voice said: âIâm not dead yet!â from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Izzy burst into laughter, covering her mouth, while Steve grinned at how perfectly timed it was.
They both dissolved into quiet giggles, careful not to interrupt Robinâs triumphant delivery, though Steve continued sliding buttons under his fingers for more chaotic, playful sound effects.
âNo one knows for sure. After all, this was a ânatural phenomenon never before seen by man.â A phenomenon now covered up by a giant metal Band-Aid. Quite the eyesore, but hey, great for sledding. Though seriously, kids, stop sledding on the giant steel Band-Aid. You are going to kill yourselves. Also, the men with guns.â
Izzy shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh. âYeah, I agree with Robin, please stopâhalf the calls I get these days are sledding-related breaks.â
Steve, grinning mischievously, hit a soundboard button, and the deadpan voice of Airplane! boomed through the speakers: âI am serious⊠and donât call me Shirley!â
Izzy burst into laughter, covering her mouth, while Steve gave her a playful wink. She shook her head, still chuckling.
Robin continued, unfazed. âThey donât like it, not one bit. While weâre on the subject of things not to do, please steer clear of the Military Access Control Zone, aka the MACZ, or as I like to call it, the Big Mac. I have no idea whatâs going on in there, but I have a gut feeling thereâs a pretty good reason theyâd like you to stay away. But hey, the rest of Hawkins is still there for you to enjoy. Someday soon, theyâre gonna let us out of here. In the meantime, be thankful this is your home, study for that test, enjoy that TV dinner, and go on that date. Which, by the way, is exactly what yours truly is doing tonight. Thatâs right. Rockinâ Robin has a date, ladies and gentlemen.â
Steve squeezed the rubber chicken again, eliciting a soft squeeeeeeak! that somehow sounded like a cheer. Izzy bounced lightly in her chair, eyes sparkling, and pressed a hand to the mic to stifle her grin.
âAnd girl, I couldnât be more excited for you! Itâs about time!â she whispered, leaning toward Steve, who returned the grin with a playful nod. He jabbed another button, and a booming voice shouted: âGreat Scott!ââperfectly punctuating her enthusiasm with dramatic flair.
âAnd now, who is this lucky someone? Well, donât be so nosy, kids. They know who they are. That is, if youâre listening, which I hope you are. Because this next oneâitâs for you, babe.â Robin said with a smile. Izzy turned toward her, making a heart with her hands and grinning.
Suddenly, static garbled the broadcast. Robin ripped her headphones off and jumped up as she and Steve ran to check the machines.
Steve called Dustin over on the walkie as Izzy stepped out of the booth and headed toward the filing cabinet with the manual. She noticed Dustinâs sharp tone and sighed. He was still distancing himself a little from Steve, and she knew how much it actually affected him, even if he said it didnât.
She quietly flipped through the manual, not bothering to comment; she knew it was pointless at that moment. Her fingers traced the edges of the pages as she flipped through the manual with a sigh.
Nancy and Jonathan arrived at the station as soon as they heard the garbling and found a frantic Steve and Robin running around. Izzy looked up at Nancy with a sigh and a mock two-finger salute.
âI have the manual they are looking for. And have for the past five minutes, but if you by chance can understand this shit, by all means.â She said as Jonathan came up beside her and looked over her shoulder.
âGuys! Izzy found it.â Nancy said, which finally got Robin and Steve to slow down and turn to look at her.
âWait, wait, wait. There it is, yeah. Remote radio head, yeah,â Steve said, looking down at the manual Izzy had been flipping through.
âI know, as I told Nancy, I already found the manual a while ago. You two were too busy being headless chickens to notice,â she said, as Steve winced, shoulders hunching a little, and shot her a sheepish look.
Robin gave her a sheepish look of his own. âAnd, uh, where exactly are we gonna find this remote thingamajig?â
Izzy rubbed the bridge of her nose. âThe part I already pointed to. Does anyone pay attention?â
Steve shuffled his feet and muttered softly, âSorry, baby⊠my bad,â his tone sheepish and barely audible over the hum of the equipment.
Steve and Robin both avoided her gaze, letting out awkward, guilty laughs, while Izzy couldnât help but give a tiny, amused shake of her head.
The five of them went outside, shading their eyes as they looked up at the radio tower.
âI donât see it,â Robin muttered, craning her neck and squinting at the dizzying height.
âItâs up there somewhere,â Nancy said, her eyes following the thin silhouette against the sky.
Izzy pursed her lips at the sheer height of the tower and shook her head, a mix of awe and mild exasperation crossing her face.
Robin nodded firmly. âItâs gotta be. So, I guess somebodyâs gotta climb to the tippy top of this bad boy andâŠâ She motioned with her hands as if tinkering with the tower, adding a high-pitched squeak for effect.
Nancy nodded, âWithout a harness or anything, it seems kind of dangerous.â
Izzy shivered, âI do not do fucking heights, so best of luck to the insane person that is willing to go up there.â
âAKA job for good old Steve Harrington.â
Izzy immediately whipped her head toward him, eyes wide. âExcuse me? What?â
Steve looked at Izzy, who now had her hands on her hips. âWellâŠIâm not afraid of heightsâŠand so it seems Iâm a logical choice.â
Robin sighed, âNo third person, please.â
Steve sheepishly grinned, âAll right.â
Izzy muttered under her breath, shaking her head. âNot even married a fucking year yet, and I might become a damn widowâŠâ
Steveâs grin faltered just slightly, and he gave her a quick, reassuring wink, trying to lighten the moment despite the looming tower.
Jonathan cleared his throat. âI, uhâŠactually think this might be a better job for Jonathan Byers. Iâm like one quarter monkey, dude.â
Nancy and Robin rolled their eyes, and Izzy pursed her lips.
âOh, look, another volunteer. One who isnât fucking married. Works forââ Before Izzy could finish, Steve interrupted.
âI got this, Byers. Donât sweat it.â He said, stepping forward as Jonathan shrugged and took off his jacket.
Steve turned off the voltage just as Jonathan started climbing. Not wanting to be outdone, Steve immediately took off, darting around to the other side of the tower toward the second ladder.
âSTEVE! He said he fucking has it!â Izzy screamed.
Steve faltered mid-step, guilt flashing across his face. He backtracked just long enough to grab Izzy by the shoulders and kiss her hard and quick.
âLove you, baby, be right back,â he said, already pulling away.
Before Izzy could respond, he was sprinting again, grabbing the ladder and starting his climb.
âSTEVEN DANIEL HARRINGTON! I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD WHEN YOU GET BACK DOWN HERE I AM KICKING YOUR ASS!â Izzy screamed, her voice carrying as Steve kept climbing without so much as slowing down.
He didnât even look back, just shouted down that he loved herâand that she didnât mean itâbefore climbing higher, as if this were all perfectly reasonable behavior.
Izzy dragged a hand down her face, pacing beneath the tower, equal parts furious and terrified, while the others watched the scene unfold with growing concern.
âIâm married to a fucking idiot,â she muttered as Nancy gave her a sympathetic look.
âSteve should be fine,â Robin saidâand immediately regretted it.
âShould? Should be fine⊠Robin, what the actual fuck. That isnât comforting.â
Nancy shot Robin a glare before turning back to Izzy. âHe will be fine. He will be careful.â
Izzy let out a shaky breath, eyes never leaving Steveâs boots on the rungs. âThis is such a fall risk scenario. My paramedic-in-training brain is running through every worst-case scenario like itâs on double shift. is running every worst-case scenario,â she nearly whimpered, hands curling into fists at her sides.
The three of them turned as a car pulled up, tires crunching over the gravel. Izzy squinted, recognition dawning a split second before confusion set in.
âThatâs⊠weird,â Robin said slowly. âI thought grocery delivery wasnât until tomorrow.â
Nancy frowned, watching Murray climb out of the truck. âWhich means something has changed.â
Izzy found herself torn between figuring out why Murray was a day early and keeping her eyes locked on the radio tower, making sure Steve and Jonathan werenât about to plummet to their gruesome deaths.
In the end, she compromisedâshifting a little closer to the truck while never fully looking away from the tower. Her gaze tracked every movement, every pause, her chest tight until she finally spotted both Steve and Jonathan starting their descent. Slower this time. Careful.
A weak sigh of relief slipped from her as her shoulders finally dropped.
When Steve reached the ground at last, he didnât celebrate or joke. He walked straight toward her, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips, like he already knew what was coming.
âYou scare me to death when you do reckless shit like that, Steve,â she nearly whispered.
He lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear before tilting her chin up. The kiss was gentle, groundingâfar too soft for her to stay angry through.
âIâm sorry for scaring you, baby. But itâs fixed.â
The three made their way toward Murray and the girls, eager to find out why heâd arrived a day early. When he held up a bottle of Gatorade and announced that heâd brought it for Elâs battery, Steve immediately perked up.
âDid someone say Gatorade? Let me get one,â Steve said, taking it as Murray handed it over. âThanks.â
âSure thing. But I donât think itâs gonna go too well with⊠peanut butter!â Murray added, triumphantly pulling out another box.
âBoppers! God, I missed these things. Thanks!â Steve said, grinning as Izzy snickered beside him.
When Murray lifted a box of Chips Ahoy next, Izzyâs face lit up.
âPerfect timing as ever, Murray,â she said, already reaching for them. âI just killed the last of my stash last night.â
But then Murray finally told them why heâd arrived a day early.
A burn was scheduled for tonight.
Izzyâs brows furrowed immediately. It was too soon for the soldiers to be returning to the Upside Down. That wasnât the timeline theyâd been givenâwasnât the plan.
Murray produced the list, and the knot in her stomach tightened as she scanned it. A large amount of cargo was slated for delivery into the Upside Down.
She only partially heard what the others were sayingâher mind was running a mental inventory of the supplies sheâd need if they were to do a crawl. She was the one on standby for any medical emergencies. She hadnât packed Hopperâs first aid kit yet because she thought she had a little more time.
âDid you get the pack I asked for?â she suddenly asked, cutting through the chatter. Murray looked at her and nodded.
âYes, here you go, kid. Bandages, iodine, gauze, alcohol, painkillers, tweezers, flashlight batteries, and water purification tablets.â He handed her the worn pack with a nod. âBasically everything short of a field hospital.â
Izzy looked through the bag, mentally cataloging the amount of each item he listed.
âGood, good. Thanks, Murray. This is perfect.â Her mind ran through every possible scenario.
Steve noticed and watched her with quiet pride, still a little in awe that he was the lucky bastard who got to marry her.
âCanât wait to kill the bastard,â she muttered under her breath while the others discussed logistics. She wanted to burn every piece of the Upside Down to the ground for what it had done to her friendsâfor what it had taken from her. She was ready to end it once and for all.
Steve rested a hand on her shoulder and nodded toward the radio station.
âItâs go time, baby.â He held out his hand, helping her to her feet from where she sat on the ground.
Izzy plopped into her seat with a heavy sigh, grabbed her headphones, and gave Robin a nod.
âShow time.â She huffed as Robin flipped the switch, going live.
âHey there, friends, this is Rockinâ Robin and once again the ever-busy Izzy. Sorry about the abrupt departure. I hope you survived without Izzy and me. We had some annoying technical difficulties.â
Izzy looked up at Steve as he pressed a series of soundboard bites before she turned her attention back to Robin.
âBut to make it up to you, we have a very special treat thatâs sure to turn your day upside downâŠâ
Izzy took a breath as Robin started the coded message.
âNow, before you start bumping, here are a few fun facts about the Boss. She was born Diane in the North End of Detroit. Berry Gordyâthatâs Gordy with a Gâsigned her to Motown in 1961.â
âAnd one is the key number, because between 1964 and â67, the Supremes had ten songs hit the top of the charts. Thatâs right, ten,â Izzy cut in.
Robin grinned at her before continuing. âThen in â78, she tried to make it big in the movies with The Wiz, which was a colossal floparoonie. But, in my personal opinion, I still dig it. Michael Jackson as a scarecrow? Give it a chance.â
Izzy smirked. âStill wouldâve picked the original Broadway Dorothy, but either way, make sure you bring your supersized popcorn, because this movie has a runtime of over two hours. All right, class dismissed. I hope you were taking notes. There will be a test later.â
Robin snickered before saying one last thing and signing off. âTake it away, Diane.â
The group quickly moved into the hidden basement to continue discussing logistics. Izzy settled into the chair next to Steve, propping her feet on his lap, with Robin taking the seat on his other side.
As Nancy turned on the overhead projector, the map lit up across the wall.
âAll right. So, assuming Murrayâs intel is correct, the supply convoy is set to reach Hawkins at 10:00 sharp. Meaning I want Hopper in the tunnels and en route to MACZ no later than 9:00,â Nancy said.
Steve barely noticed himself, his hand drifting to Izzyâs leg and ankle as he listened.
âBarring unusual traffic, I expect the convoy to reach MACZ at 10:15,â she continued.
Izzy worried her bottom lip between her fingers as she listened.
âAnd now the crawl begins. Hop is now in the Upside Down, traveling at what I hope to be a gentle 30 miles an hour, which will allowââ
âDustin and Steve to follow along the Rightside Up,â Izzy added.
Nancy nodded and continued. âI expect the convoy to take the same route as last month. Main to Cornwallis, one turn. But if you guys hit any red lightsâŠâ
âIâll blow through,â Steve said immediately.
âOnly if thereâs no MPs around,â Nancy shot back. âRemember, if you guys get pulled over, we lose Hop, weâre toast.â
âI got it,â Steve said.
âI can probably create a cover story,â Izzy said, shrugging slightly. âIâve got a pass to get to workâI could spin it from there.â
âWhen Hop reaches the Shell station here, we radio him to disembark, where heâll have two whole hours to search for Vecnaâample time. Heâs cleared zones much faster. So, all in all, signs point to another successful crawl.â
Jonathan cleared his throat, and Izzy looked over. He, Steve, and Robin had already agreed the odds of Vecna being in G1 were slimâjust houses, a Circuit City, and a Big Buy out there.
Izzy swung her legs off Steve, stood, and started pacing. Maybe they were right.
Steve spoke up, and she turned fully toward him.
âUnless⊠heâs already dead. Again, your plan is great. Itâs just⊠This is crawl what? Are we in the 30s now? And not a single baddie in sight? El canât find him in her bath, and Will hasnât had his goosies since the shake ânâ quake.â Steve said, crossing his arms.
Izzy slowed, then stopped pacing altogether. Steve wasnât wrongâand that was the problem.
âI want to believe that,â she admitted quietly. âI really do. But absence doesnât mean heâs gone. It just means weâre not seeing him.â
Steve blew out a breath through his nose, looking at her.
âBaby, the last time we saw Vecna, he was roasted like a turkey and pumped full of lead. That was before he fell three stories. So⊠you ever think weâre scouring a battlefield we already, like, won?â
âHave you forgotten what he showed Nancy? Hawkins on fire. Karen, Holly, everyone dead.â Jonathan cut in.
âYeah, man. He also showed Max her brother walking around with a hole in his chest. Thatâs what he does. He gets in your head and tries to scare you,â Steve tried to argue.
âYeah, but he did a good job, because I am scared. And you should be scared, too. Because if heâs still out there, heâs planning to end our world,â Nancy replied.
Izzy cut in before she could finish.
âLookâunless we see his burnt carcass, heâs going to keep scaring the shit out of me.â
Her voice hardened.
âBut if I can stop even one personâjust oneâfucking person in this hellhole of a town from losing someone the way I lost Eddie⊠Iâll do whatever it takes. I never would wish that on anyone.â
She swallowed, steadying herself.
âAnd as much as this town mightâve hated Eddie, he would be doing the same thing right now if he were alive.â
The room went still.
Nancyâs expression softenedânot quite comfort, but recognition. She glanced back at the map on the wall in silence, unsure what else to say.
Robin blinked, struggling for words. She shifted in her seat, refusing to meet anyoneâs eyes.
Jonathan didnât move much at all. He nodded once, like he understood exactly what Izzy meant, and that nothing more needed to be said.
Steveâs jaw tightened as he looked at her, like he wanted to argueâbut couldnât find the angle anymore. His hand flexed at his side before he reached out, pulling her to stand between his legs.
He cupped her face in his hands with a heavy sigh.
âBabyâI justâŠâ
The words failed him. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes.
Izzy didnât pull away immediately.
For a second, she just remained where she was between his legs, letting herself breathe in the momentarily safe space he created for them. The tension in her shoulders didnât disappear, but it shifted, as it had somewhere else to go now. She leaned into his touch and sighed. She was exhaustedâjust wanted it all to end for good so they could live without fear of the Upside Down.
Nancy cleared her throat softly, breaking the silence. âOkay,â she said, quieter than before, still looking at the map. âWeâre still on schedule. That doesnât change.â
Robin nodded a little too quickly, as if trying to catch up to normal. âRight. Cool. Love that. Still very on track. Extremely on track, actually.â
Jonathan exhaled through his nose, a half-laugh that didnât quite make it. âYeah. Sounds like it.â
Steve didnât move away from Izzy right away. His hands stayed on her face a moment longer than necessary, as if anchoring both of them back into the room.
Then, reluctantly, he let out a breath and shifted just enough to glance at the map again.
âOkay,â he said, his voice steadier nowâbut softer. âSo we keep going.â
Izzy was getting worried that Dustin still hadnât shown up. She could see it in Steve, too, the tightness in his jaw, the way his attention kept flicking toward the door between updates.
Over the years, Dustin had become like a little brother to Steve. And somewhere along the way, heâd become that to her, too.
But since Eddieâs death, Izzy had watched him spiral in a way that didnât sit right with her. As grief had turned into momentum, he didnât know how to stop.
She wished she had the right words for himâsomething steady, something that would pull him backâbut she didnât. Not like Eddie would have. She might have been his twin, but she didnât carry that same way of making lost people feel found.
Izzy had completely zoned out in the front seat of the van while Steve wrestled with the antenna wheel beside her.
Robinâs voice crackled through the radio. âTagâs active.â
Steve frowned, struggling to turn the wheel.
âHey, anybody know how Hendersonâs wheelie thing works?â he asked.
Robinâs voice came through again. âThereâs a safety lock on the back.â
Izzy immediately crawled into the rear of the van, spotting it near the base of the rig.
âSafety lock,â Steve muttered. âReal necessaryâŠâ
He adjusted the wheel again.
âOkay. Okay, getting a signal. Itâs pretty quiet, though.â He cranked the wheel farther. âOkay, signalâs holding steady at ninety dB. But how am I supposed to monitor this and drive without Henderson?â
Izzy gave him a look that clearly said Iâm literally right here.
âNo, youâre the navigator,â Steve said quickly. âWhat if it gets a technical thingy wrong?â
Before she could even argue, Jonathan slipped outside and climbed into the back seat of the van.
âYou good back there, Byers, or should I get you a pillow?â Steve asked. âJust focus on driving,â Jonathan said, already pulling the headphones on.
Izzy leaned back in her seat. âI married an idiot,â she muttered.
Jonathan found the signal, which meant it was go time. Izzy took a deep breath, bracing herself for every possible scenario.
âShould I move?â Steve asked through a mouthful of Boppers.
After being told to hold a few times, Jonathan finally gave him the signal. Steve hit the gas while Izzy marked their route on the map from the passenger seat.
âWeâre losing him!â Jonathan suddenly shouted.
âWait, what?â Steve asked, glancing back at him.
âWait! Stop! Stop!â Jonathan yelled.
Steve slammed on the brakes, tires screeching against the pavement. Jonathan adjusted the dial again before finally saying, âWe got him.â
The lights flickered. Electricity stuttered through the van, and Izzy looked around in confusion.
âWhat the hellâs happening, man?â Steve asked, looking between Izzy and Jonathan.
âI donât know,â Jonathan said.
Izzy raised her hands slightly. âHell if I know.â
But deep down, dread curled in her stomach. Something bigger was happening; she could feel it. And all she could think about was Hopper.
What if she couldnât help him?
What if this ended the way it had with Eddie?
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Like a Bird in Flight Ch4
Warnings: Language, Protective Family Members, Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, Fluff, Bets, Deployment
MINORS DO NOT READ, LIKE, REBLOG OR FOLLOW
Maia and Mickey finally take their first official steps into dating after years of friendship, navigating the awkward excitement of something that already feels familiar. Between a playful first date, interference from friends, and the ease of falling back into each otherâs orbit, they quickly realize that nothing about being together feels newâjust finally right.
Masterlist / Prologue / Next Chapter
Maia was suddenly nervous. She was about to go on her first official date with Mickey since theyâd officially decided to try dating each other.
 She didnât know whether to wear shorts or dress up in a nice sundress. And she couldnât exactly text Mickey to ask like she normally would without feeling ridiculous about it now.
Her phone chimed with a text notification, and she glanced down at the screen.
I know youâre panicking.
Go with shorts so you can be comfy :)
Maia laughed softly at the messages. Mickey really did know her too well.
It wasnât much longer before she heard him come through the front door.
âHey, for what itâs worth, Iâm freaking out too,â he admitted with a nervous laugh. âWhich is weird, right? I meanâŠItâs us.â
âRight? Weâve technically done this a million times already.â Maia crossed her arms, a teasing smile on her face. âSo are you finally going to tell me where youâre taking me for our first official date?â
He grinned. âFine, Iâll tell you. The zoo. Because I feel like it has the best koala-fications⊠like you.â
Maia snorted, already shaking her head. âThat was terrible.â
âYeah, but you smiled.â
âI hate that you know me so well.â
âYou love it, actually.â
And annoyingly enough, he was right.
Smiling, Maia rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him. Mickeyâs eyes widened, his cheeks immediately flushing before he relaxed into it, one hand settling on her waist as he deepened the kiss.
Unfortunately for them, that was the exact moment Bradley walked through the front door.
He gasped dramatically, his carryout lunch hitting the floor with a loud clatter.
âWhat the hell? Mickey? Since when is this happening?â Bradley demanded, eyes darting between them. Then his expression shifted into suspicion. âWaitâdoes Davina know? Because I cannot let her find out she won the bet.â
The two of them jumped apart with matching squeaks of horror.
âYou two made a bet?â Maia asked, sounding genuinely betrayed.
âYeah,â Bradley admitted easily. âI said you two would finally get together after his first deployment. Davina said before that.â He pointed accusingly between them. âBut more importantly, whatâs the first official date? Please tell me itâs something like the zoo. I bet on that. Davina said the movies.â
Maia groaned loudly, dropping her face into her hands. Beside her, Mickey just stood there with his mouth slightly open, still processing the horrifying realization that their siblings had apparently been running a betting pool on when theyâd finally start datingâand where their first date would be.
âUgh, I canât believe you!â Maia groaned. âAnd just for that, weâre not telling you. Câmon, Mickey, letâs go.â
She grabbed Mickeyâs hand and started pulling him toward the front door.
âFor the record,â Bradley called after them, a genuine smile tugging at his lips, âIâm glad itâs you and not Bagman.â
That earned a sheepish grin from Mickey as Maia snorted beside him.
The zoo was surprisingly uncrowded, which made it easy to wander from exhibit to exhibit without bumping into too many people.
At first, though, the two of them were painfully awkward.
Conversation came in short bursts, both suddenly overthinking things they normally never had to think about before.
Finally, Mickey let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
âSeriously, why are we this awkward? Weâve known each other for years.â
âRight?â Maia laughed in relief. âWe literally spend hours talking on the phone all the time.â
âYeah, but now Iâm trying very hard not to think about kissing you again every five seconds.â
Her cheeks immediately flushed pink.
âMickey!â
âWhat? Iâm being honest.â He grinned.
Still smiling, he reached up and brushed a stray piece of hair away from her face. His hand lingered against her jaw, thumb gently sweeping across her skin.
âOnly difference now,â he said softly, âis I donât have to pretend I donât have feelings for you anymore.â
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before he leaned down, letting his mouth brush lightly against hers.
When he pulled back, her cheeks were somehow even redder.
âSee?â he teased softly. âStill cute.â
Maia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too hard for it to be convincing.
This time, Mickey didnât hesitate to take her hand as they walked toward the otter enclosure.
His grin widened as he watched her face light up while two otters swam playfully beside each other in the water.
âTheyâre otterly adorable,â he said solemnly. Then, after a beat: âKinda like you.â
Maia stared at him for half a second before bursting into laughter.
âThat was so cheesy!â
âYeah,â he admitted easily, âbut you loved it.â
She bit her lip, trying and failing to suppress her smile. Instead of answering, she rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him.
Mickey melted into it instantly, still smiling against her lips as somewhere nearby, a child loudly yelled about feeding a giraffe.
The two had enjoyed lunch, and Mickey pretendedâbadlyâthat he didnât notice Maia stealing his fries. By the end of it, he was just sliding the basket closer to her anyway.
At the gift shop, he did what he always did with her: stood back and let her wander through the mountain of plushies like she was choosing something far more important than a souvenir.
This time, she came back holding an otter.
âItâs otterly adorable,â she said, as if that explained everything.
Mickey groaned. âYouâre proud of that, arenât you?â
âImmensely.â
When he took her home instead of heading back to his own place, he followed her inside like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They fell into their usual routineâshoes kicked off, comfort settling inâand soon enough they were deep into a few rounds of Mario Kart.
Mickey was winning. Easily.
He leaned back a little, smug in a way Maia had learned to recognize, already talking like the victory was guaranteed.
âTry to keep up,â he teased.
That was when Maia leaned over and kissed him.
It was quickâsoft, distracting.
And it worked immediately.
Mickeyâs grip faltered.
His character swerved off course, spiraling from first place down the rankings while Maia shot past him and crossed the finish line laughing.
There was a beat of silence.
Thenâ
âYou cheated!â he laughed, tossing his controller onto the couch as he lunged for her.
Maia barely had time to squeal before he tackled her down, laughing as he kissed her neck and tickled her sides until she was breathless with laughter.
âThatâs not cheating!â she gasped. âItâs called strategy!â
Turns out dating your best friend was dangerously easy.
They still did everything they always didâgames, fries stolen off each otherâs plates, movie nights that turned into sleepovers on the couch.
The only difference was that now, occasionally, theyâd forget what they were doing and end up making out instead.
 When Mickey was deployed, Maia wrote.
Every letter arrived in an envelope marked with a tiny doodle of a snail on the backâher quiet way of turning âsnail mailâ into something unmistakably hers.
And whenever he could, he called. Short phone calls when he could steal them. Video chats when the connection held. No matter how brief, it always ended the same way: both of them smiling a little too much at a screen that never quite felt like enough.
But it was the letters he kept.
Because every so often, tucked between pages of handwriting and little updates about nothing important and everything important, there would be a Polaroid.
Some were simpleâher with friends, her laughing at something off-camera, the kind of moments that made distance feel less absolute. Some of them were together, taken before he left, already becoming something he didnât realize heâd start relying on.
And occasionally⊠she made it impossible for him to think straight.
The first time it happened, he found it in his duffel bag without warning. A Polaroid of her in one of his hoodies, the fabric swallowing her in a way that made it unmistakably his, paired with nothing but a barely-there pair of lace navy blue panties.
He stared at it for a long time before he even remembered how to breathe.
When he finally got her on a call after that, she was laughing before he could even speak.
âDid you find it?â she asked, far too innocent to be believed.
Mickey just exhaled sharply. âMaia.â
âWhat?â she said, all sweetness.
A pause.
Then, softer, almost teasingââMaybe Iâll show you in person next time.â
And for a moment, deployment didnât feel quite so far away.
In their correspondence, Mickey told her about his new wingman and friend, Rueben âPaybackâ Fitchâhalf admiration, half frustration, and a growing respect he didnât bother hiding anymore.
Maia, in return, wrote about her piano students.
The quiet ones who surprised her. The ones who refused to practice but could play beautifully when they finally stopped fighting it. The small victories that didnât look like much on paper but meant everything in a room full of keys and patience.
It wasnât dramatic. It wasnât urgent.
But it was theirs.
The steady exchange of everyday life stitched across distanceâjets and training flights on one side, piano scales and stubborn students on the other.
And somehow, it was enough to keep them feeling close even when everything else wasnât.
Finally, his first deployment away from her as her boyfriend was ending, and Mickey was already restless long before the ship reached port.
When they pulled into harbor, he was on deck before anyone else, duffle bag already slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the shore like he could will her into view.
Beside him, Rueben âPaybackâ Fitch grinned. âIf you jump overboard, youâre on your own.â
âNoted,â Mickey muttered, not looking away.
The second the ship docked, he was on the move.
He hit the gangplank at a sprint, weaving past people like they werenât even there, his duffel nearly taking out at least two unsuspecting sailors in the process.
Then his boots hit dry land.
And he stopped short.
There she was.
Maia stood on a bench near the edge of the crowd, scanning for him, wearing the same hoodie from the Polaroidâhis hoodieâand a pair of shorts that made his brain short-circuit the moment he registered them.
His face broke into a grin so fast it was almost painful.
Before he could call her name, she spotted him.
Everything else disappeared.
She jumped down and ran straight into him with an excited squeal, and he caught her without thinking, arms locking around her as she wrapped herself around himâarms, legs, everythingâlike she had no intention of letting go again.
âI missed you,â she breathed against him, laughing and shaking slightly all at once. âI feel like I missed you more this time.â
Mickey didnât answer.
He kissed her instead.
Hard, immediate, like heâd been holding his breath for months.
Somewhere in the distance, there were hoots and whistles from the crowd, but neither of them cared.
Not here. Not now.
When he finally pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands were still holding her like she might vanish.
âYouâre wearing my hoodie,â he said, like he was still trying to process it.
Maia smiled, entirely too pleased with herself.
âAnd?â she said.
His eyes dropped to her shorts.
ââŠPlease tell me that lace is under there,â he said, voice dropping into something far less composed than he intended.
Maia tilted her head, innocent in a way that absolutely wasnât.
âOh,â she said softly. âThatâs all Iâm wearing.â
Silence.
Then Mickey exhaled like heâd just lost a fight with his own self-control.
âYeah,â he said, already adjusting his grip on her as he turned them toward shore. âWeâre not doing lunch. Iâm taking you home.â
Maia laughed as he started walking. âMickeyââ
âNope,â he said immediately, kissing her again mid-step. âDonât care.â
And she was still laughing when he didnât stop walking.
 Thankfully, when they got to her place, it was empty. Bradley was away on his own deployment, and the quiet felt like it belonged only to them.
Maia glanced at Mickey with a small, knowing grin as she kicked her shoes off by the door.
Then, without any hesitation at all, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her shorts and slid them down.
Mickey went very still.
His eyes tracked the movement before he could stop himselfâand then caught on what was underneath.
Navy blue lace.
His jaw tightened, his throat working as he swallowed once.
âMaia,â he said, but it came out more like a whimper than a name.
She just smiled at him like she already knew sheâd won.
He watched as her fingers caught the hem of his hoodie and slowly tugged it upward.
The air between them changed immediately.
Mickeyâs focus locked in, his breath catching as more of her was revealed, step by deliberate step, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening, like he was tryingâand failingâto stay composed.
âMaia,â he murmured again, quieter this time, like it was the only thing tethering him in place.
She glanced up at him, and the look on her face told him she knew exactly what she was doing.
That was his undoing.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, hands finding her waist as he helped guide the hoodie the rest of the way off and dropped it somewhere behind her.
And then there was no more space between them at all.
His mouth found hersâfast, urgent, like heâd been holding that moment back since the moment he saw her on the dock.
Everything else fell away.
âJump,â he muttered against her lips.
Maia didnât hesitate.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he lifted her easily, hands firm on her hips while she laughed softly against his mouth. Mickey carried her upstairs like heâd done it a hundred times in his head during deploymentâlike he still couldnât quite believe she was really here again.
By the time they reached her room, he was kissing her breathless.
But the second he laid her gently onto the bed, something in him softened.
His hand brushed her hair back from her face, fingertips tracing along her cheek like he needed to memorize her all over again. The cocky grin heâd worn since the harbor faded into something quieter. Warmer.
He looked at her for a long moment before shaking his head faintly.
âI swear,â he murmured against her lips, thumb brushing her cheekbone, âIâm the luckiest bastard alive.â
Maia laughed softly, her hands sliding onto his shoulders as she pulled him back down toward her.
And then she said his name.
Not teasing. Not laughing.
Breathy and quiet enough to send a sharp shiver straight down his spine.
Mickeyâs composure snapped instantly.
âJesus, baby,â he breathed, forehead falling against hers for a second before he laughed softly under his breath. âDios mĂo, you have no idea what you do to me.â
Her eyes met his the second the Spanish slipped out.
Maia smiled instantly because she knew.
Mickey only fell back into Spanish when he was overwhelmedâwhen he was too emotional or too distracted to filter himself properly anymore.
And judging by the way he was looking at her now, sheâd completely ruined whatever composure heâd had left.
Smiling up at him, she stuck her tongue out teasingly.
âI love you,â she whispered before pulling his lips back to hers.
Mickey made a quiet sound against her mouth, somewhere between a laugh and a surrender.
âMi amorâŠâ he murmured softly against her lips, like the words belonged there naturally.
His hand slid into her hair, holding her close as he kissed her againâslower this time, no less intense, but filled with something warmer now. Something that felt almost disbelieving.
Like, even after all this time apart, he still couldnât quite believe she was real.
His knuckle brushes along the lace that she wore, and he realizes how wet she was. And it brought a smile to his face, knowing it was because of him.
âQuĂ© hermosa,â he whispered, the words warm against her skin.
He felt the shiver that ran through her instantly and couldnât stop the grin that pulled at his mouth.
There it is.
Maiaâs fingers tightened against his shoulders as she let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering for half a second before meeting his again.
âMickey⊠please,â she gasped softly.
The sound nearly wrecked him.
His forehead dropped briefly against her hip as he laughed under his breath, completely gone for her now.
âYou keep saying my name like that, and Iâm done for, cariño,â he murmured.
His finger looped around her waistband, and he slowly dragged the lace down her legs, leaving a trail of kisses along her thighs.
When his lips found their destination, she gasped, arching off the mattress.
He looked up at her with a smug look.
She tasted far sweeter than anything he had ever tasted, and hearing the noises she was making only encouraged him.
âM-MickeyâŠIâm close shiââ Maia came with a scream, and he realized how hard she had cum when he pulled back with a satisfied hum.
âShit, baby, did youââ the sheets beneath her were soaked, and she was breathing hard now, cheeks flushed pink and eyes glassy as she looked down at him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.
The sight of her like that nearly stole the rest of Mickeyâs sanity.
âOh, mi amorâŠâ he whispered, voice rough with affection as his thumb brushed along her cheek. âMi dulce niña.â
She could barely get his name out through the haze of kisses and breathless laughter.
âM-MickeyâŠâ
Immediately, his attention softened.
He cradled her face carefully in both hands, thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks as he looked down at her like she was something impossibly precious.
âCan you handle more, mi amor?â he asked quietly, the teasing edge in his voice tempered by genuine concern beneath it.
Maia let out a shaky laugh, eyes half-lidded as she leaned into his touch.
âYou ask that like you donât already know the answer,â she whispered.
Mickey grinned at thatâcocky for exactly half a second before she pulled him back down into another kiss and ruined his composure all over again.
He pulled away long enough to undress before quickly returning to her embrace. He gently kissed her lips before slowly sliding into her. The breathy moan that slipped from her lips had him gripping her hips.
âFuck, you feel amazing, mi amor,â he breathed, the words slipping out strained and uneven.
Maia buried her face against his neck immediately, overwhelmed by both the praise and the way he was looking at her.
Mickey laughed softly under his breath, one hand sliding up her back until his fingers disappeared into her hair.
âMĂrame,â he murmured gently.
Her eyes lifted to his again, shy for the first time all night as she bit down lightly on her lip.
The sight nearly undid him.
âThere she is,â he whispered with a crooked grin before leaning down to kiss her againâslow and deep, like he wanted to savor every second of finally having her in his arms instead of halfway across the world.
His first few thrusts were unsteady before he found a rhythm that had them both desperate for more.
His hands slid down to her thighs, gripping firmly as he pulled her closer and wrapped her legs around his waist without breaking the kiss.
Maia let out a soft gasp against his mouth, fingers tightening around his arms as he held her effortlessly against him.
The movement sent his dog tags swinging between them, the metal brushing lightly against her skin with every breath and kiss.
Something about itâthe familiar weight of them, the quiet clink against her chest, the reminder that heâd only just come homeâmade the moment feel even more overwhelming.
Mickey felt her shiver again and smiled against her lips.
âStill with me, cariño?â he murmured softly, forehead resting briefly against hers before kissing her once more, slower this time, like he finally had the chance to savor her instead of counting the days until he could come back.
She was begging now, and the sound brought him closer to the edge. He brought his thumb down between them and rubbed torturous circles exactly where she needed him before she arched her back and came with a scream. His lips muffled her cries as he came right with her.
She was a shaking mess when he slowed his thrusts, but she was a beautiful mess, and she was his.
 âI love you, Maia,â he whispered against her lips, the words softer than anything else heâd said all night.
Then he carefully gathered her against him, holding her close while they both tried to catch their breath.
The room was quiet except for uneven breathing and the occasional faint clink of his dog tags as his chest rose and fell beneath her cheek.
At some point, Mickey glanced toward the thoroughly ruined bedding and let out a tired laugh through his nose.
âYeah,â he murmured. âWeâre definitely gonna have to deal with that later.â
Maia gave a sleepy groan of agreement before nuzzling closer into him, too content to care right now.
After a long moment, she spoke quietly.
âW-we couldâve been doing this years ago if we werenât so stupid.â
Mickeyâs laugh came out breathy and warm this time.
He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, fingers lazily tracing along her back.
âWhat matters,â he murmured, âis we finally did, baby.â
The words settled between them easily.
No fear. No uncertainty. No wondering anymore.
Just the two of them tangled together in the aftermath of finally getting it right.
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Afire Love Ch5
Warnings: Tense confrontation between authority figures and captives, emotional conflict between parent and child, brief scenes of punitive/strict discipline
In the aftermath of AnĂrielâs impulsive journey into the dungeons, Thranduil is forced to confront both his daughterâs compassion and the tensions within his own realm. As orders are quietly carried out and unexpected gestures linger among captives, old grudges and uneasy restraint surface beneath the surface of courtly control. Meanwhile, unseen movements in the shadows hint that the forest is not finished revealing its secrets.
Masterlist / Next Chapter
Once they reached the top of the staircase, they were met by him.
Thranduil stood waiting.
Still. Silent. Watching.
Aelinor saw the look immediately and knewâhe was not pleased.
Not at all.
âAda!â
AnĂriel lit up the moment she saw him, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around his legs without hesitation.
For a brief second, his expression faltered.
Softened.
Then steadied again. Thranduil glanced at Aelinor first.
A look. Not sharp. But pointed.
Then he lowered himself to one knee before his daughter.
âAnĂriel,â he said, voice firm but controlled, âyou did not listen when I told you never to go to the dungeons.â
Her bright expression dimmed slightly. Wide blue eyes lifting to meet her fatherâs.
It was rareâvery rareâthat he used that tone with her.
âBut⊠Ada,â she said softly at first, âI wanted to see them.â
She shifted, her small hands clutching at his sleeve.
âAnd I wanted to give them a blanket. Itâs cold down thereâand scary. So I gave one Elk to keep them safe.â
The words came out earnestly.
Certain.
As if this were the most reasonable thing in the world.
Thranduilâs jaw tightened slightly.
âI told you not to go,â he repeated.
Not louder, but it was firmer.
That did it.
Her face scrunched. Frustration bubbling up in a way only a child could express.
âThey are cold!â she burst out, stomping her foot. âAda, they need blankets!â
Her little fists lifted in emphasis.
The force of itâunexpected.
For a moment, Thranduil simply stared at her, not angrily. But caught off guard.
Aelinor stepped forward then, her voice gentle but steady.
âAnĂriel,â she said softly, âdo not raise your voice.â
The girl stilled immediately, though her expression remained stubborn.
Aelinorâs gaze flicked briefly to Thranduilâa quiet plea for patience.
Then, more lightly:
âIt is rather cold down there for those not accustomed to it, my love.â
Thranduil looked as though he might argue.
The words nearly said.
But instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose.
Measured and controlled.
His gaze shifted between them.
His daughterâfierce in her small way.
His wifeâcalm, unwavering.
And for a moment, the King said nothing at all.
With a single wave of his hand, a guard stepped forward.
âEscort my wife and daughter to the gardens,â Thranduil said, voice measured. Then, after the briefest pauseââAnd see that blankets are brought to the dungeons.â
It sounded like an order.
Nothing more and nothing softer.
But it was enough.
AnĂrielâs face lit up instantly.
âThank you, Ada!â she beamed, throwing her arms around his neck.
He stilled at the contactâthen allowed it, one hand briefly coming to rest against her back before she pulled away.
His gaze lifted to Aelinor.
She said nothing aloud.
Only a quiet, thank you, mouthed just for him.
He inclined his head slightly.
Then watched as she took AnĂrielâs hand, leading her down the corridor toward the gardensâlistening as the child chattered endlessly about a dwarfâs hat.
Only when they were gone did Thranduil rise fully.
More guards approached, arms filled with blankets.
He turned without another word.
âFollow.â
The dungeons felt colder now. An odd sensation for an elf to feel.
Or perhapsâhe simply noticed it more.
The dwarves looked up as he entered, their expressions shifting from idle to alert.
Curious.
Wary.
Waiting.
Thranduil paid them little mind at first.
Untilâhe saw it.
The blanket.
Small.
Soft.
Wrapped carefully around one of themâthe golden-haired one.
His daughterâs blanket.
And beside himâthe dark-haired dwarf.
Holding it.
The elk.
Not discarded.
Not mocked.
Held.
Carefully.
As though it mattered.
Thranduilâs gaze hardened.
Then sharpened.
A glare passed between themâfirst to the one wrapped in the blanketâthen to the one holding the toy.
His jaw set.
âBlankets,â he said coldly, turning his attention to Thorin as the guards stepped forward,
distributing them through the cells.
Roughly.
Without ceremony.
The dwarves took them anyway.
Silence followed.
Thenâ
âPlease,â the white-haired dwarf spoke, voice quieter than before, âdo thank Princess AnĂrielâŠ
and your wife, the Queen.â
The use of her nameâ
from his mouthâ
Drew a sharp flicker from Thranduil.
A scoff left him, soft but unmistakable.
His daughter.
Speaking to them.
Giving to them.
Being spoken of⊠kindly.
It unsettled something he did not care to examine.
âShe is⊠persistent,â he said instead, almost dismissively.
But his gaze drifted once moreâto the elk.
Still held.
Still respected.
Not treated as trivial.
His expression did not soften.
Not outwardly.
But something in it shifted.
Just slightly.
Thranduil turned sharply, his cloak sweeping behind him as he made for the exit. His thoughts followed him.
Unwelcome.
Unsettled.
His daughter was too much like her mother.
And with his own stubbornness woven into herâIt sometimes tested his patience too much.
AnĂriel paused mid-step.
Her small brow furrowed slightly as she tilted her head, listening.
There it was again.
Footsteps.
Soft. Careful. Not her motherâs.
Curious rather than alarmed, she hummed to herself and spun lightly on her heel as if the sound were part of a game.
Then, just as quickly, she skipped forward againâmoving ahead of Aelinor with the effortless confidence only a child could possess.
Aelinor followed at a measured pace, her attention briefly shifting to her daughterâs wandering path.
Neither of them saw what moved in the shadows behind them.
A small figure.
Bare feet against stone.
A cloak pulled tight.
A hobbitâcareful, breath held, slipping quietly down toward the dungeons with intent far heavier than his size suggested.
He kept to the edges of the corridor, staying just out of sight, timing his steps between guards and torchlight.
His goal was simple.
Free his companions.
Unnoticed.
Unseen.
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Afire Love Ch4
Warnings: Political tension, references to past conflict and war, emotionally tense atmosphere, protective parenting themes, court politics, unresolved conflict, mild angst
A quiet moment in the palace gardens is interrupted when news arrives of intruders within the forest, drawing Thranduil back into the weight of old tensions. As captured strangers are brought before the throne, an unexpected encounter shifts the tone of the court in ways few anticipated. Meanwhile, curiosity leads Princess AnĂriel into places she was never meant to go, where her innocence begins to blur the lines between enemy and stranger.
Masterlist / Next Chapter
That afternoon, the gardens were quiet.
Peaceful.
Aelinor sat among the soft grass, AnĂriel before her, attemptingâunsuccessfullyâto weave flowers into something resembling a crown.
âIt is slipping,â Aelinor said gently.
âWhy?â AnĂriel asked immediately.
âBecause you are not holding it tightly enough.â
âWhy?â
Aelinor smiled.
âBecause you are more interested in asking questions than listening to answers.â
AnĂriel considered this before once more asking, âWhy?â
Aelinor laughed softly.
Nearby, Thranduil watched them.
Silent and content.
His posture relaxed in a way rarely seen beyond these walls.
For a moment, there was no court.
No tension and no shadow lingering at the edges of his realm.
Only this.
âMy king.â
The voice cut cleanly through the peace. Thranduilâs gaze shifted at once.
A guard approached, posture rigid, expression careful.
âA company of dwarves has been sighted within the forest.â
The change was immediate.
Subtle to most. But not to Aelinor.
The warmth in his expression cooled.
Not vanishedâbut buried.
Replaced. Measured. Controlled. Cold.
She rose slowly, watching him.
âThranduil?â she asked, her voice softer now. âWhat is it?â
He did not answer her immediately. Instead, his gaze moved to AnĂriel.
Still unaware in the grass and trying to fix her slipping crown.
ââŠTake the princess to the study,â he said to the guard. âOr our chambers. She is not to wander.â The guard bowed.
âYes, my king.â AnĂriel looked up immediately.
âBut I am not doneââ Aelinor gently brushed a curl from her face.
âYou will finish later, little star,â she said softly.
AnĂriel frowned. âBut why?â
Aelinor smiled faintly.
âBecause Ada has something important to attend to.â
AnĂriel looked between them.
Then, reluctantly, allowed herself to be lifted.
Though not without one final:
âWhy?â
This time, Thranduil almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she was gone. The garden felt quieter for it. He turned back to Aelinor. Only then did he answer her.
ââŠThere are intruders within our borders,â he said evenly.
âDwarves.â
The word carried weight. History.
Aelinor held his gaze. She saw the shift. The past was pressing too close to the present.
ââŠThen we will handle it,â she said calmly.
Not dismissing. Not escalating. Just grounding.
He studied her for a moment. Then gave a slight nod.
âYes,â he said.
But his voice remained distant but measured.
The King had returned.
And the peace of the garden had already begun to fade.
Aelinor sat beside her husband upon the smaller throne set at his side, her posture composed, her gaze steady as the company of dwarves was brought before them.
Legolas led them in. Chains clinked softly. Boots heavy against stone.
They looked as though they had been running for daysâdust-worn, weary, hunger etched into the lines of their faces.
All but one. One stood at the center. The dwarf had dark hair, and his shoulders were squared.
His gaze fixedânot wandering, not uncertainâbut locked directly onto Thranduil with open defiance.
Cold and unyielding.
Aelinor did not need to be told. There was history there. And not a gentle one. She felt it in the way the air shifted between them. In the way her husband stilled.
Not outwardly. But still enough. Knowing Thranduilâs feelings toward dwarves, she did not wait for him to speak.
Instead, she rose. Her movement was subtleâbut enough to draw attention. She stepped forward, her presence calming the room as it began to tighten.
âWelcome,â she said, her voice clear but gentle. âWhat brings you to our realm?â The dark-haired dwarf did not hesitate.
âThat is of no concern of yours,â he spat.
A ripple moved through the guards and through the room. Aelinor did not flinch. Instead, she took another step closer.
âAnd yet,â she replied evenly, âyou stand within my home.â
She paused a moment before she spoke again. But not in the common tongue. Instead, fluently and clearly in their language, Khuzdul.
âIt becomes my concern.â
The effect was immediate. The entire company stilled. Surprise flickered across more than one face.
Even the defiant oneâjust for a moment. Legolasâs brow lifted slightly.
And behind herâshe could feel it.
Thranduilâs gaze. It was sharp, focused, and she knew that to him, that was unanticipated.
He had not known. She knew that without looking.
But she did not turn. Not yet. Because the shift had worked, the tension had⊠changed and not gone, but altered.
A younger dwarfâdark-haired, less guardedâstepped forward slightly.
âWe seek to reclaim our home,â he said.
There was pride in it and something else.
Hope.
Aelinorâs expression softened just slightly.
âThen I hope you succeed,â she replied, still in their tongue.
That drew more attention than anything else had.
Not suspicion. Nor in offense.
But something quieter. Recognition.
Behind her, the silence from the throne had grown heavier.
Not angerâ
not yet.
But something is building.
Watching.
Waiting.
Aelinor finally turned her headâjust enough to meet Thranduilâs gaze.
Only for a moment. But it said enough.
Trust me.
His expression did not soften.
But neither did he interrupt.
And for now, that was enough.
If there was one thing Princess AnĂriel excelled at, it was escaping her guards. It should have been alarming. Truly.
But to her, it was an adventure.
And todayâs adventure had a very clear goal.
Dwarves.
She had heard her father say the word. He hadnât sounded happy. Which only made her more curious.
So when she slipped past yet another distracted guard, she stifled a giggle and darted down the corridorâonly to freeze when she heard a familiar voice.
âThey took the dwarves down to the dungeons.â
Legolas.
AnĂrielâs eyes widened.
The dungeons.
She knew the dungeons. They were cold, dark, and to her a little scary.
Which meantâthey would need help.
She turned on her heel immediately, rushing back to her room. Within moments, she had gathered her favorite blanketâsoft and warmâand her beloved elk plush, clutching both tightly to her chest.
Then, quieter this timeâmore carefulâshe made her way toward the stairwell.
Down.
Step by step.
The air grew colderâthe light dimmer. Voices echoed faintly below. AnĂriel followed them until she reached the cells.
AnĂriel slowed, peeking carefully around the stone wall.
There were so many of themâmore than she expected.
One dark-haired dwarf sat apart, rigid, unmovingâbut it was another, in the neighboring cell, who noticed her first.
âWell now,â a white-haired dwarf said, his tone light despite everything. âWhat have we here? Whatâs your name, little one?â
AnĂriel brightened instantly.
âMy Ada calls me that!â she said proudly. âBut my name is AnĂriel.â
A few of them exchanged glances. But the girl continued before they could speak.
âWhat brings you down here, AnĂriel?â asked a golden-haired dwarf, gentler in tone.
She stepped closer, holding out her blanket.
âI know itâs cold and scary down here,â she said earnestly. âSo I brought my favorite blanket. And my elk.â
She hesitated, looking around at all of them.
ââŠI didnât know there were so many of you,â she added thoughtfully. âBut I can bring more blankets.â
There was a pause. Then something softened across several faces.
âThatâs very kind of you,â the white-haired dwarf said. âDo your parents know youâre down here?â
AnĂriel shook her head.
âNo⊠Ada wouldnât like it. He says it isnât safe.â She shuffled slightly. âAnd he says, dwarves are bad.â
A few brows lifted at that. But before anything sharp could follow, AnĂriel lit up again.
âOh!â she pointed excitedly. âI like your hat!â
The dwarf she pointed at blinked in surpriseâthen broke into a grin.
âWhy, thank you, lass!â he said warmly. âNameâs Bofur. Nice to meet you, Miss AnĂriel.â
He extended a hand through the bars. AnĂriel started to reach for itâBut footsteps echoed sharply down the corridor.
âAnĂriel!â
She froze.
ââŠWhat are you doing down here?â Legolas appeared, his tone caught somewhere between stern and exasperated. âYou know you are not to be here.â
âBut Legolas,â she protested, gesturing toward the cells, âitâs cold and scary, and they donât have blankets!â
He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly.
âIf Ada knewââ he muttered. âCome, we are leaving.â
She hesitated.
ââŠAnĂriel?â
A softer voice now.
Familiar.
She turned instantly.
âMama!â
Aelinor approached, her expression calm but firm as she descended the final steps. AnĂriel ran to her, pointing back toward the cells.
âLook! That one has a funny hatâcan I have a hat too?â
Aelinor knelt before her, smoothing a curl from her face.
âAnĂriel, little star,â she said gently, âyou know it is not safe for you here.â
âBut I wanted to meet them,â she insisted. âAnd see if they were bad like Ada said.â
Aelinor sighed softlyâbut smiled.
âWhat did I tell you about dwarves?â
AnĂriel brightened.
âThat they can be very nice,â she said proudly, âlike Lady DĂs!â
That changed everything.
âIâm sorry,â the golden-haired dwarf leaned forward sharply, eyes narrowing. âDid you say DĂs?â
Aelinor rose slowly, turning toward them.
âYes,â she said calmly. âShe once gave me and my companions shelter during a storm.â
A beat.
Then, gently:
âDo you know her?â
The younger dark-haired dwarf stepped forward. Emotion flickered across his faceâsurprise, recognition.
âShe is our mother.â
Aelinorâs expression softened immediately.
âOh,â she said warmly. âThen you must be FĂli and KĂli.â
Their names were spoken with certainty.
With familiarity and with kindness.
âShe spoke very highly of you both.â
Silence followed.
Not tense.
Not hostile.
Justâunexpected.
And for the first time since their captureâsomething in the room shifted.
Not because of a king.
Not because of power.
But because of a childâŠand the woman who stood beside her.
âNow it seems you do not have blankets. I will try to get you at least those for the time being and see what I can do to get you released.â She said softly before taking her daughterâs hand and taking her back upstairs.
The dwarves sat in silence for a moment before realization settled inâquiet, dawning, and absolute. The little elf they had met was the Elven Kingâs daughter⊠the princess of Mirkwood.
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Chapter 5 of Wild as Her
Two more chapters of Like a Bird in Flight
1-2 more chapters of Afire Love
1-2 more chapters of They Donât Know About Us
Another chapter of Between the Noise
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Afire Love Ch3
Warnings: Pregnancy/childbirth, slight power imbalance (king/queen dynamic, family dynamics (step-parent & heir relationship), brief conflict/ideological disagreement (history/war trauma mention), grief/memory of deceased spouse, references to sexual intimacy (implied past intimacy only)
Aelinor and Thranduil settle into a growing rhythm of shared life marked by quiet conversations, careful compromises, and an ever-deepening bond that reshapes both court and home. As their relationship evolves, so too does the balance of power and trust between them, blending duty with affection in ways neither fully expected. Amid shifting responsibilities, lingering tensions, and moments of surprising vulnerability, they begin to build something steadier than either imaginedâone rooted not just in rule or tradition, but in choice, understanding, and the life they are creating together.
Masterlist / Next Chapter
That night, as was becoming their habit, Aelinor and Thranduil sat together in the libraryâhalf conversation, half debate, the quiet rhythm of their shared thoughts filling the space between the shelves. Eventually, Aelinor brought up what Legolas had said. Thranduil leaned back in his chair, silent for a long moment, his expression thoughtful.
âI suppose it has been some time since these halls were filled with such possibilities,â he said at last.
Then, with an easy pull, he guided her down into his lap as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Aelinor settled against him without protest.
âYou and Legolas,â he murmured, a faint hint of amusement in his voice, âseem to be conspiring to remind me that this realm is still capable of joy.â
Aelinor let out a soft breath of laughter.
âOnly reminding you,â she said gently, âof what you already built.â
His thumb brushed lightly along her jaw, guiding her to look at him.
âPerhaps I could be persuaded,â he said quietly. Then, softer, âBut tell me, my little dove⊠is that what you wish?â
Aelinor smiled, tilting her chin up slightly so she could meet him properly.
Then she kissed himâbrief, warm, certain.
When she pulled back, her answer was simple.
âI do not wish to complicate Legolasâ inheritance as your heir.â
Thranduil hummed softly in understanding, his gaze steady on hers.
âThen let us ensure that is not a concern,â he said.
She blinked slightly. âWhat do you mean?â
Without releasing her, he reached for parchment and a quill from the nearby table.
âI, Thranduil, son of Oropher,â he began as he wrote, âdeclare that should my queen and I be blessed with children, it shall not interfere with the succession or inheritance of my firstborn, my son, Legolas. He shall remain Prince of Mirkwood and heir to the Woodland Realm, with all rights and responsibilities therein.â
He paused only briefly before continuing the formal wording, his voice steady as ink scratched across parchment.
âThere will be no dispute. No division of claim. No uncertainty.â
Then he set the quill down and looked at her.
âNow,â he said quietly, sliding the document forward, âI sign here.â
His gaze held hers a moment longer.
âAnd you, my Queen, will sign here.â
Aelinor stared at the page for a momentâthen at him.
ââŠYou are turning this into law,â she said softly.
His expression barely shifted.
âI am removing doubt,â he corrected gently.
A pause.
Then, with the faintest curve of his mouthâ
âAmong our people, doubt becomes conflict.â
Aelinorâs gaze softened, understanding settling in.
And for all its formality, the gesture was not about law at all.
It was about peace.
Aelinor stood before him, a grin tugging at her lips as she held the sword in both hands.
It had taken far more convincing than she cared to admitâbut she had won.
She always did, eventually.
Thranduil, however, had not agreed lightly. There had been hesitation and doubt. Not doubt in herâNever that.
But something older. Quieter. Lingering. A memory tied too closely to steel and loss. Still⊠Thranduil had learned by now that when Aelinor set her mind to something, resistance was merely a delay.
âNow adjust your grip here,â he said, stepping behind her.
His voice was calm, measuredâbut his movements were careful. Intentional.
His hands closed gently over hers, shifting her hold on the hilt.
âNot too tight,â he murmured near her ear. âYou will lose control that way.â
He guided her arms, slow and deliberate, drawing the blade through the air in a clean slicing motion.
âThere,â he said softly. âFeel the movement, not just the weight.â
Aelinor nodded, focusing.
He stepped back.
âAgain,â he instructed. âWithout me guiding you.â
She exhaled, resetting her stance.
Her first attempt was stiffâtoo rigid, too forced.
The blade wavered slightly.
She frowned, then tried again.
Better.
Still not right.
âI know it takes time,â she muttered under her breath, âbut stillâŠâ
Thranduilâs lips curved faintly.
He stepped forward, taking the sword from her hands with effortless grace.
Then, he moved.
Not like a warrior.
Like something far older.
Fluid.
Controlled.
Each motion flowing seamlessly into the next, the blade an extension of his will rather than a tool in his grasp.
It was less combat, more dance.
âDo you see?â he asked, not breaking rhythm.
âIt is not strength that guides the blade.â
A turn.
A precise arc of silver through the air.
âIt is an intention.â
He slowed, bringing the sword to stillness before handing it back to her.
âThink of it as fluid motion,â he said.
Aelinor watched him a moment longer than necessary.
Then smiled.
âWell,â she said lightly, âif I am to think of it as dancing, I expect you to be a better teacher than my last partner.â
One brow arched.
ââŠYou had another partner?â
She grinned.
âYou were unavailable.â
A pause.
Then, dry:
ââŠClearly, I should correct that.â
He stepped closer again, this time not taking the swordâbut adjusting her shoulders, her stance, more subtly now.
Less instruction.
More refinement.
âAgain,â he said.
She moved.
This timeâsmoother.
Not perfect.
But closer.
Thranduil watched carefully.
And though his expression remained composed, there was something else there now.
Not fear.
Not quite.
But the quiet acceptance of it.
And the choiceâto trust her anyway.
They had been practicing for some time.
Long enough for the light to shift through the trees.
Long enough for Aelinorâs movements to begin losing their sharpness.
But she did not stop.
Not yet.
âAgain,â Thranduil instructed, watching closely.
She adjusted her stance, lifting the bladeâ
And thenâthe world tilted.
It was subtle at first. A strange lightness. A disconnect Aelinor could not quite name. Her grip faltered.
ââŠThranduilââ
The sword slipped from her hand.
Clattered against stone.
And then she swayed. That was all the warning Thranduil needed.
He turned instantlyâJust in time to see her falling.
âAelinor!â
He moved faster than thought, crossing the space between them in a breath, catching her before she struck the ground.
Her weight collapsed into him, unresponsive.
For a split secondâeverything in him went cold.
âGuards!â he barked, voice sharp with something dangerously close to fear. âAlert the healersâyour queen has fainted!â
He did not wait.
Scooping her into his arms, he movedâswift, purposeful, his long strides eating the distance through the halls.
His mind was already racing.
Too long.
He had pushed her too long.
A bladeâOf all thingsâA bladeâ
The healers were already waiting when he arrived.
They moved quickly, practiced, guiding him toward a bed.
âPlace her here, my king,â one said gently.
He did not like relinquishing her.
But he did.
Carefully.
Reluctantly.
âShe was fine moments ago,â he said, voice tight, controlled only by effort. âThere was no indicationââ
âWe will see to her,â the healer assured.
Thranduil stepped backâbut not far.
Never far.
The healerâs hands moved with quiet precisionâchecking her pulse, her breathingâThen pausing.
Just briefly.
Her hand rested lightly against Aelinorâs abdomen.
A shift.
Subtle.
But enough.
Thranduil saw it.
âWhat is it?â he asked immediately.
Before the healer could answer, Aelinor stirred.
A soft breath.
A slight movement.
Her lashes fluttered.
âMy love,â Thranduil said at once, stepping forward again, his voice lowering instantly.
âAelinor, can you hear me?â
Her eyes opened slowly.
Disoriented at first.
Then focusing.
âI⊠yes,â she murmured faintly.
âYou fainted,â he said, quieter nowâbut no less intense. âYou must not push yourself so recklessly.â
The healer glanced between them, then spoke gently.
âMy Queen⊠may I askâdo you recall when last you had your monthly cycle?â
Aelinor blinked.
The question caught her off guard.
âIâŠâ she hesitated. âNo. It has been⊠some time, I think.â
The healer nodded slowly.
Then smiled. Warm. Certain.
âWell,â she said softly, âthat would explain it.â
A pause.
Then:
âYou are with child.â
Silence.
It settled over the room like something sacred.
Aelinor stilled.
Completely.
As though the words had not yet reached her.
Had not yet taken shape. Thranduil, howeverâHis breath caught. Not sharply. But deeply.
ââŠAre you certain?â he asked.
The healer inclined her head.
âYes, my King. It appears to be early, which can cause dizziness. Uncommon among our kindâbut not unheard of.â
She stepped back slightly, giving them space.
âBoth mother and child are well. She will need restâbut not complete stillness. Balance will be important.â
But Thranduil was no longer listening fully.
Not to the details. Not to the instructions. His gaze had shifted back to Aelinor.
Something unreadable in his expressionâshock, yesâbut something deeper beneath it.
Something quieter.
More vulnerable.
ââŠAelinor,â he said softly.
Not questioning. Not commanding. Just⊠grounding. She looked at him then. Really looked. And whatever uncertainty had lingered in her expression began to soften.
Shift.
Into something warmer.
Almost disbelieving.
ââŠWe are?â she whispered.
He stepped closer.
Slowly.
As though afraid the moment might break if he moved too quickly. Then, carefully, his hand found hers.
âYou heard her,â he said.
But his voice had changed. Lower. Softer. Filled with something he had not allowed himself to feel in a very long time. Hope. His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles.
ââŠIt would seem we are.â
Aelinor let out a small breathâsomething between a laugh and something far more emotional.
Her free hand drifted instinctively to her stomach.
Still flat. Still unchanged.
And yetâeverything had shifted.
Thranduil followed the movement. His gaze lingered there for just a moment before returning to her.
ââŠYou will rest,â he said quietly.
Not as a command.
But a promise.
âI will ensure it.â
Aelinor smiled faintly.
âYou sound as though I have a choice.â
A flicker of something familiar returned to his expression.
ââŠYou do not.â
She huffed a soft laugh.
And just like thatâthe tension eased.
But his hand never left hers.
And his gaze never strayed far.
In the months that followed, Aelinor began to show more each day. With it came a new rhythm to the palace. And a new problem.
Thranduil.
His protectiveness had sharpened into something almost relentlessâquiet, but constant. Ever- present.
If she stood, he was near.
If she walked, he followed at a careful distance.
If she so much as sighed too deeply, a healer was already being summoned.
At times, it drove Aelinor nearly mad.
At othersâŠ
It made her laugh.
Because somehow, in all of it, he was worse than she was.
The great King of the Woodland Realm had begun to nest.
Not that he would ever admit it.
The library study she had been gifted at their wedding had become her refuge more often than notâits key now more familiar in her hands than any crown.
And when Thranduil became too insistent, too hoveringâshe simply retreated there. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with Legolas. Legolas, at least, had learned balance.
He watched over her without smothering herâpresent, but not overwhelming. Aelinor appreciated that more than she said. That afternoon, sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of the study, casting soft gold across the carved wood and shelves.
Aelinor sat comfortably near the desk, one hand resting lightly over her rounded stomach. Her other hand turned the key absentmindedly between her fingers.
Legolas stood nearby, leaning against a shelf, observing the quiet ease of the room. After a moment, she glanced up at him.
A soft smile tugged at her lips.
âWould you rather have a sister or a brother?â she asked lightly.
Legolas considered the question seriously. As he always did.
âI am fine with either,â he said at last. âAs long as the child is healthy.â
A pause.
Then, a slight shift in toneâmore thoughtful.
âBut I suppose⊠a sister would be favorable.â
Aelinor raised a brow.
âOh?â
He nodded faintly.
âI imagine she would take after you.â
That made her smile deepen.
âAnd you approve of that?â
âI think it would bring more life into these halls,â he said simply.
His gaze softened as it drifted toward her stomach. Aelinor followed it instinctively, her hand resting there more fully now, protective without thought. A quiet hum left her lips.
âI think,â she said softly, âit already is.â
Legolas didnât respond immediately. He just watched her. The warmth of the room. The quiet steadiness she carried even now. And after a moment, he smiled.
Small.
But real.
ââŠYes,â he agreed quietly. âIt is.â
One of the things Aelinor grew to love most was the quiet of the nights.
Not the silence itselfâbut what filled it.
Each evening, once the world of the palace had settled and the lanternlight softened into gold, Thranduil would sit beside her with a gentleness that rarely existed anywhere else.
And without fail, his hand would find her. Resting carefully against the curve of her stomach.
A constant, grounding presence.
âHello, little one,â he murmured one night, voice low and warm as his thumb traced slowly,
absent-minded circles against her.
âAre you planning to allow your Naneth any rest tonight?â
Aelinor exhaled softly, smiling into the pillows.
âIf their Ada keeps speaking like that,â she said lightly, eyes closed, âI think I might fall asleep.â
He paused. Then glanced up at Aelinor with a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her stomach. Then another to her lips. When Thranduil pulled back, there was that familiar, quiet amusement in his eyes.
âBefore our little one,â he said softly, âthat tone had a very different effect on you.â
Aelinorâs eyes opened slightly.
Then she flushed immediately.
âOh, hush,â she laughed, swatting at him weakly.
His smile deepened.
Unbothered.
Entirely pleased with himself.
âAnd yet,â he added, settling beside her again, hand returning to its place, âyou do not deny it.â
Aelinor muttered something under her breathâfar too soft to be dignified. Thranduil simply leaned back, content.
His thumb never stops its slow, steady movement.
And beneath his handâthe future shifted quietly. Alive. Waiting.
The day it began had felt⊠ordinary.
Until it wasnât.
By the time the healers confirmed what was happening, the palace had shifted into quiet urgency. Doors closed. Voices hushed. Footsteps quickened.
And Thranduil paced.
Back and forth outside the chamber, his steps measured but relentless, wearing an invisible path into the floor.
He had faced war without flinching.
Loss without breaking.
But thisâThis left him with nothing to do.
And that, perhaps, was worse.
Another cry echoed from within the chamber.
Sharp. Pained. Aelinor.
Thranduil stilled.
For a single heartbeat.
Then the next cry cameâlouder.
And he was done waiting.
The door did not so much open as it was forced aside as he entered without permission, without ceremony.
The midwife looked up in startled protestâBut it died before it reached her lips.
Because the King did not look like a king.
He crossed the room in two strides, already at Aelinorâs side, his hand finding hers without hesitation.
âMy love,â he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips before pressing a kiss to her temple.
Her fingers clutched at his immediately, grounding, desperate.
âI am here.â
Her breath hitched, tears streaking her face.
âDo not leave,â she whispered.
âI will not,â he said, steadyâunyielding. âNot for anything.â
The midwife exchanged a glance with the other attendants.
Then, quietly, he allowed him to remain. Because whatever this was, it was not a disruption.
It was needed.
Time blurred after that.
Moments stretched, then collapsed into one another.
Thranduil did not move from her side. Not once.
He murmured to her between breaths, steadying her, guiding her, his voice the only constant she seemed to anchor to.
âYou are stronger than this pain,â he told her softly.
âI am right here.â
âBreathe, my little dove⊠with me.â
And thenâit happened.
A cry.
Not Aelinorâs this time.
Sharper.
Higher.
New.
The room stilled.
The sound cut through everything.
Life.
The midwifeâs voice followed, warm with quiet triumph:
âA daughter, my king.â
A princess.
For a moment, Thranduil did not move. As if the world had shifted too suddenly for him to follow. Then slowlyâhe exhaled.
And looked.
Aelinor lay back against the pillows, utterly spentâbut smiling, tears still clinging to her lashes.
In her armsâsomething impossibly small.
Wrapped carefully.
Alive.
He moved closer without thinking.
Drawn.
ââŠMay I?â he asked, his voice quieter than it had been all day.
Aelinor nodded, shifting slightly so he could see. He didnât take the child immediately.
He simply looked. Her tiny features.
Soft.
Delicate.
Familiarâand entirely new all at once.
âShe has your features,â Aelinor murmured faintly.
He shook his head slightly.
ââŠShe has yours.â
But there was something of him there, too.
In the shape of her brow.
The faintest echo.
Enough. More than enough.
Carefully, he settled beside Aelinor, one arm around her as she held their daughter between them.
His thumb brushed lightly along the childâs cheek.
So small. So impossibly fragile.
And yetâ
ââŠPerfect,â he said quietly.
Not to Aelinor.
Not to the room.
To himself.
To her.
Aelinor smiled softly, watching him more than the child.
Because thisâthis was the moment.
The shift.
He had faced her pain with fear.
But nowâThere was something else.
Wonder.
ââŠShe is ours,â Aelinor whispered.
He looked at her then. Really looked.
Then back to their daughter.
And something settled in him.
Deep.
Unshakable.
âIn a world that grows darker,â he said softly, âshe is light.â
Aelinorâs fingers traced gently along their daughterâs small nose, a soft laugh escaping her.
âShe already has you,â she teased faintly.
He huffed the quietest breath of amusement.
ââŠAnd she will have you,â he returned.
A pause. Then, softer:
ââŠWhich means I am already outmatched.â
Aelinor laughed weakly, leaning into him. Thranduil did not look away from the child. Not for long. Because something else had occurred to him.
A distant memory. Faded with time. Legolasâso small. So long ago. Thranduil could barely recall it clearly. But thisâThis he would remember. Every detail. Every breath. Every sound. His gaze softened further.
ââŠShe will have us all,â he said quietly.
And somehowâhe already knew it was true.
The Princess grew far faster than Thranduil would have ever wished.
Not that he would admit it aloud. But time, as it always did, moved forward regardless of kings or their desires.
And AnĂrielâshe thrived in it. She had her father wrapped firmly around one small finger. Her brother was not far behind.
And, if one were honest, most of the realm as well. She took after Aelinor in many waysâher warmth, her curiosity, her open heart.
But her stubbornness? That, Aelinor insisted, came entirely from Thranduil. He had never argued the point. Not successfully.
And that stubbornness, paired with her motherâs sense of adventure, made her a challenge. For everyone. Especially the guards. Because no oneâno oneâcould truly tell Princess AnĂriel no. Not when she tilted her head just so, blue eyes wide and earnest, as if the very concept of refusal was something she simply did not understand.
It was⊠highly effective.
By elven standards, she was still quite young. A toddler. And deeply, relentlessly curious. The girlâs favorite word seemed to be:
âWhy?â
If anyone had told Thranduil she spoke it more often than there were stars in the sky, he would not have disputed it.
Not even slightly. And yetâhe adored it.
Every question. Every insistence. Every moment she climbed into his lap, demandingânever askingâthat he read to her. Those were the moments he held onto. The ones untouched by duty.
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