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boyfriend!Sukuna figures it out fast because heâs good at spotting patterns, and this one repeats so often that it can't be anything else.
You can go an entire day without eating and not realise it.
It's not that you donât want to eat, try to punish yourself, or forget intentionally. The issue is that when your mind concentrates on a task, a project, a book, or a problem that needs solving, the rest of the world completely fades away, including things like hunger, time, and the passing day.
He notices it first on weekends. You mention one small task, and hours vanish. He comes back from the gym to find you still in the exact same place, surrounded by scattered notes or open tabs, driven by pure momentum. When he asks if youâve eaten, you wave him off, promising to eat once youâre done, like âdoneâ is a fixed point instead of something that keeps moving further away.
While preparing his work lunches, he starts making an extra portion, packs it, and leaves it in the fridge, mentioning it in that blunt tone he uses when he doesnât want credit for anything. You genuinely plan to eat it, so you agree easily. Sometimes you do, but more often than not, he comes home to find the container untouched, just as he left it. He doesnât say a word, even though it irritates him every time.
So, he changes tactics. One day, you get a text from him saying heâs about to eat, asking what youâre up to, and suggesting you could eat together if you want. It seems like nothing more than a spontaneous idea, like sharing the moment just makes sense, when in reality, itâs actually carefully thought out.
And thatâs what makes it work.
Sometimes you text while eating; other times, you have a quick facetime with him sitting at work with his food while you finally step away from your desk. Sometimes, you simply eat quietly at the same time in different locations. To you, itâs a simple, sweet gesture, like heâs missing you and just wants to share his lunch break.
Every time, once youâre finished, you message him that the food was really good and youâre glad you ate together. He downplays it with a casual âyeah, obviously,â telling you not to make a big deal out of it. Yet, the next day, thereâs food in the fridge, and another text from him.
He never presents it as a concern, knowing you don't forget out of carelessness but because your mind fully commits to whatever itâs doing, and this is simply his way of distracting you long enough to make space for something else.
You donât talk about it directly, but you begin to expect his lunch break texts and start planning around them subconsciously, because eating together, even like this, makes it easier to take a break from your work.
And Sukuna never admits that the whole thing was a calculated plan. Not that you ever catch on.
Synopsis- You are Varang's quiet and sweet mate. When Miles Quaritch comes taking her attention, you develop a distaste for the demonâthat is until it becomes glaringly clear they're in competition for you.
Warning-Smut, dirty old perv Quaritch, toxic!Varang, dubious consent, power-imbalance
A/n- MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! I managed to (barely) make it... At least for my time zone hehe! This was my first time writing smut and omg... I have so much respect for Smut authors... It was so hard???? Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy!
Part Two Part Three
Varang knew exactly what kept her breathing.
Spite.
It sat in her lungs like soot and settled behind her ribs like a coal that refused to die. Every memory she carried tasted of burned soilâblood soaking into blackened ground, screams rising like smoke. Hers. Her clanâs.
âPlease, great Mother. Eywa, save us.â
It left her mouth in a whisper. Not a prayer, never a prayer.
She bent over a grove of saplingsâyoung, thin things, barely taller than her waist. Infants compared to the old thunks that once crowned the forest. Their green made her stomach turn.
âPlease, great Mother, balance of all. Eywa,â she crooned.
Her hand closed around a thin trunk, green where wood would grow. She drove it into the earth until it snapped with a soft, wet gasp.
She paused.
Do they pray? Did they beg Eywa when the sky-people burned the forest? Did they learn what refusal felt like, too?
âTsahik.â
The voice came from behind her. Yepa stepped around a bushel of leaves, stripes still damp from the paint he had earned only days ago. A boy-turned-hunter, proud and awkward in the same breath.
Varang turned just enough to meet his eyes. Smiled. âYes?â
He read the violence in her stance, the splintered tree at her feet, and managed a small, careful grin. âItâs Y/n. She asks for your presence.â
Ah.
Y/n.
Varangâs breath softened, just barely. Yesâspite kept her alive. Spite moved her hands, her teeth, her every step through the burned forest.
But there was something else that pulled herfrom the ruins. Something gentler. Warmer. More dangerous than any hatred sheâd survived.
âIf she asks for me,â Varang murmured, straightening. âit is only natural I answer.â
She stepped forward, leaving the crushed sapling behind her.
Y/n.
 Y/n.
  Y/n.
Her name throbbed in Varangâs chest like a second heartbeat.
âY/n.â
You were crouched beneath a leaning pillar of old wood, shoulders tight, attention fixed on something beyond Varangâs first glance. When she stepped forward, she saw it. Him. Sapok.
The elderâs breaths were slowing, the chest rising more from will than its usual habit. A man held together by tendon, and even those were loosening.
You lifted your gaze to her, a soft frown creasing your features.
âItâs time.â
Those two words carried the finality of the situation. The kind that meant a soul would not return through the roots of the Tree, not tonight, not ever. Time meant the moment Eywa reclaimed what was leftâunless, as in Sapokâs case, He refused.Â
Sapok had been split open long before his body began to failâgrief hollowing him when fire took his children, then his grandchildren, then the home his mothers grandmother had woven and built. Some wounds refused to close.
Grief had rotted him from the inside, until madness carved out his eyes with his own hands.
âI curse Eywa,â heâd spat at Varang once, voice shredded. âDo not let me return. Let my energy be mine, and mine alone.â
And she had promised.
Varang lowered herself beside you, knees against the soft earth. With deliberate care she drew her bladesâcurved shypers that caught what little light seeped through the smoke. Sapok could not see her, could not know whose hand would free himâbut she swore his breath steadied, as if some part of him knew she was there.
She angled the blade.
Then she opened his throat.
With a second practiced motion, she severed his queue. The neural tendrils sparked with a frantic, chaotic flutter before collapsing.
Varang laid the queue against her hip, another to the collection.
âTo the fires we will see you,â she murmured, pressing a kiss to the cooling skin of his brow, âand in the ash of your remains, we will carry you.â
You joined her in the ritual. Together you washed his body in ash, coating every wound, every ridge, every piece of him that grief had kept. You bound the flesh with cloth and quiet hands, sealing him for the journey he had chosen.
Tradition demanded quiet before the flames rose, and so you held your breath. Thinking.
Varang leaned in first (she always did) and brushed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. You shifted, shy. âNot now,â you muttered.
But she only hummed and wrapped an arm around your waist anyway.
âWhy not?â she whispered against your skin. âLife should be savored when death sits so close, no?â
You shot her a look. Annoying. So annoying. You gathered your tools, bowlsâyour things, and packed them into a hollowed gourd. âDo not be like this.â
One ear flicked. âLike what?â
âCrude,â you snapped.
Varang smiled. She always smiled. It never meant anything except whatever she wanted it to.
âYouâre angry,â she said. She caught your hand and pressed her mouth to each knuckle, slow, though her eyes never left yours. âTell me. What have I done?â
Your lips thinned. Your tail gave you away.
âThe sky-person,â you grumbled. âThe one with the strange voice and the uglier face.â
Varang paused. And for the first time, her smile shifted into something fond. Now that angered you. You pulled your hand away and turned, jaw tight.
âOh. Him?â she said at last. âMiles Quaritch.â
She reached for you again, palms gliding up your forearms, barely touching. She tried to catch your eye again.
âHim?â you mimicked her airy tone. âYes. Him.â With a sudden twitch to your tail you groaned. âEywa preserve me. I will not have a lovers quarrel beside Sapokâs dead body.â
âHe would laugh,â she offered lightly.
You hissed and shoved her back with a flat hand. She pouted, and somehow that made it worse. âI need to do some things.â
You slipped out of the hut, brushing past the hanging beads. Of course she followed. Her stride matched yours.
âThat is very vague, Y/n,â she said, tone almost sing-song.
You turned your head back, hands failing about. âOh that's very vague?! You-â
You suddenly hit someone's chest. âOh!â
Your eyes looked up. Golden eyes, hair along the brows and a meatier, softer impact. Who else other then:
âMiles Quaritch.â You said his name clumsily. It was the demon language, English. But it earned something of a smile from him. Like Varangs, cocky. Unlike Varangs, surprisingly warm.
âWatch where youâre going, cupcake.â
You barely understood him. Varang seemed to, though. Her demeanor changed, she tilted her head. âDemon.â She briefed a nod, and he tilted his head back, gesturing to a nearby Yurt.
âWe got some things to discuss.â He grumbled.
Varang soothed a hum, before gently taking a strand of your hair and pinching it. âIâll see you in the evening.â
You watched as she led him, and glared at Miles Quaritch, who eyed you before following her.
Great.
.
.
.
You had seen death stare at you.
It wore a womanâs faceâpleasant, almost gentle. Golden-amber eyes that caught the light, hatred folded neatly behind patient lips. Black against black: wax-dark hair braided with bones of past loves.
Death came as kisses pressed to your cheek, as queues offered in submission, heads bowed. Death had a name here.
Varang.
Quaritch was not death, but the feeling curled similar in your chest. It lodged beneath your ribs and dragged its way down your spine, coiling into your legs until instinct screamed. Move, idiot. Move until he catches you.
You stared at him as he stared at you, the bonfire crackling between. Varang had told you his story: human once, died, reborn na'vi. That's why the pair made sense together, you supposedâhe'd crossed the threshold and returned, and if Varang was death itself, then he must be the one who guards her door. Gatekeeper. Guardian. Something worse.
Now the spirit would not stop looking.
You turned away first, fixing your attention anywhere but him. Your mouth pulled into a soft pout as you drank from the skull-cupânectar cut with water. Too sweet, you felt your teeth ache.
âYour pet has a staring problem.â You grumbled.Â
Varang lifted an eye, her smile widened, and she played with your beaded top. âHe is curious.â
âHe should be curious somewhere else.â
âNow, Y/N,â Varang chided softly, âdo not be hostile.â
You almost laughed at that. Do not be hostile. When has Varang ever uttered such words?
You flickered back at him, and he winked. His lips quirked up at your sneer, too-perfect-teeth reflecting the orange of the fire. Like stained blood. Then he drank from his cup, and then lifted up.
You had actually flinched at the movement, cocked your head to Varang in slight panic, but she only laughed. He moved, settling heavy beside her. âEveninâ, girls.â He tipped his head in your direction. You scowled back. âMhm, not so touchy huh?â
âShe does not understand you, Quaritch.â
He paused, cup halfway to his mouth. "Huh." A beat, then that grin widened. "Well. Guess I oughta teach her. She'll be talkin' to human grunts soon enough."
Varang's grin widened. She glanced at you, and you felt the weight of her attention like a hand at your throat. "He says he will teach you the demon language, Y/n." You knew that tone. "Take it."
"But Varangâ"
And there it was.Â
The shift. The moment her eyes turned sharp and her smile crooked just enough to bare a hint of fang.
Your ears flattened. You looked at Quaritchâthat stupid, shit-eating grin still plastered across his faceâand swallowed every word clawing up your throat. Barely managed it.Â
Varang's fingersâmeanwhile, found your hip, she dug in hard enough that tomorrow you'd wear the shape of them in bruises and adorn them like a kiss. Thatâs all you could do, anyway. She wouldnât allow for anything else.
You bowed your head before you could stop it, face twisting despite yourself.
"F-Fine."
You turned the glare on Quaritch instead. Poured every drop of frustration and helpless fury into it, let it burn there where Varang couldn't track it. Never at her. Never where she could see. She wouldn't forgive that.
Her grip released. She roseâgraceful and already dismissing you. She shoved you toward him with one careless hand. The push sent you stumbling forward before you caught yourself with Quaritchâs bicep.
"She'll do it, Quaritch."
"Atta girl," he drawled around a mouthful of meat.
You hissed at him. âTeylupil,â
.
.
.
Quaritch was everything you'd imagined and worseâarrogant, obtuse, swaggering through life with the blissful ignorance of someone whoâd never met a problem his fists couldnât solve. Worst of all, though? The man was charming, and with the several weeks spent between you two⊠fond.
You'd never say it aloud. Eywa could strike you down first. His ego needed no more compliments, it was swollen enough to crowd a room. Yet there it was: he made you laugh.
"Aww, c'mon. Like this." His tongue curled with exaggerated precision. "Patient. Pati-eee-nt. Feel that? The tongue goes up, not back."
You mimicked the shape of his mouth, lips pulling awkwardly. "Pati-eee-nt."
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His palm landed twice against your thighâapproving pats. "That's right. Good job."
Your ears flicked traitorously forward. Heat crept beneath your skin as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Varang had never been this patient, this rewarding. Good things from her meant extra morsels of food. But Quaritch kept a pocket full of those wrapped thingsâcandy, he called them, and handed out those small, colorful spheres when you or another naâvi did something good.Â
"Patiee-nt. Patiee-nt," you murmured again, testing it.
One brow arched. His mouth quirked. "You're picking up my accent. That's a Kansa's special right there."
"Accent?" The word felt strange on your tongue. Your grasp on this language remained amature at best. You frowned. "Accent... what?"
"What's an accent," he corrected, softening his tone. "What is an accent, you mean, doll."
You tipped your head forward, eyes wide, a question within the angle. Something in that expression pleased himâhis thumb caught your chin, tugging playfully. "It's like... hm. Well, not everyone talks the way I do." A laugh escaped him, warm like the sun. "S'funny, actually. You and the other Na'vi pickinâ up my way of speaking. All of you runninâ around sounding like cowboys. The guys'll lose their minds if they hear you."
"Funny." You paused, tail curling uncertainly behind you. "Not... normal?"
He nodded, something careful entering his expression. "You ever listen to Wainfleet talk?"
"Bald one?"
Quaritch barked a laugh. âYeah, the bald one. But don't let him hear you say that or he'll yank your tail."
That drew a smile, even if you struggled processing the words.
"Speakâ" your tongue was slow and clumsy against the language. "âsloowwwlly." You tapped at your flickering ears. "Hear. Is trying to."
He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. "Yeah, that's right. Alright, I think that's done for the day." He lifted himself up and carefully reached for your hand.
The fourth finger still felt strange against your palmâforeign in the way the knuckle was twice your size. But it was nice, too. Bigger than any of the other males in your clan. No wonder Varang liked holding it. She always liked different.
"You're a quick learner, cupcake. Better than I ever was learnin' Na'vi." His voice carried some old frustration. "My boy, Spiderâhe tried getting it through my thick skull. An' I could barely string a sentence together."
"Spider. Son." You gave a distant nod. Varang had mentioned him once. He had a son. Wanted him back. No harm to come to him, you remembered that much.
"Mhm." His gaze drifted somewhere past your shoulder, through the woven walls to a place you couldn't follow. For once the mask of bravado slipped, and beneath it was grief of missing someone.
You didnât really care. That was his business. And yoursâŠ
Your lower lip jutted forward in a small pout. Hand reaching out, expectant.
That snapped him back. The grin returned, easier now, and he dug into his cargo pants before pulling out the small bag. "You really like Skittles, huh?" He poured a few into his palm, fingers sorting through the colors before plucking out the red ones. You seemed to really like those. "There you go, little lady."
The taste was different from anything on Pandora, but you liked it. "Mh, good." You nodded. You immediately plopped them into your mouth and chewed. Yum.
He watched you for a long momentâlonger than necessaryâthen bit his lower lip and reached over to tug gently at your cheek. "You're the cutest of the bunch, y'know that? Not so bad when you're like this." His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, voice dropping quieter. "No wonder Varang keeps you around."
"She is, isn't she."
Varang sauntered through. Her body shifted like the dancing of flame, but you knew her enough. You saw her for the fire, not the warmth. You bowed your head and drew your shoulders in. Small gestures for necessary ones.
Varang's mouth was a thin, bloodless lineâaimed directly at Quaritch.
She stepped to your side and pressed her hip against yours. You felt the decorative bones pricking your side, stabbing your soft skin. The contact pinned you there while her gaze carved into him. "I told you to teach her."
"And what am I doing?" Quaritch's head canted, dismissive. He wasn't the yielding type.
âMaking her weak.â
He scoffedâan amused sound that bubbled into genuine exasperation. His hand found your forearm. âHm? And how am I makinâ her weak, buttercup?â
Varang hissed.
That surprised you both.Â
She hauled you back, fingers tight enough to bruise. "You may see. Not touch." Then she stepped closer to him, and the tension in her shoulders melted into something silk-smooth. Run, Quaritch. You tried telling him with your eyes. You are prey. But Varang had a way about her, captivating.
"Besides," Varang murmured, trailing one finger along the freckles of his throat, "you already have me." her lips ghosted over his pulse, and her fingers trailed down to cup the front of his pants. He hissed, a different oneâa pleased one. "Do well to remember that."
She turned then, and the sultriness drained from her the moment her back faced him. Her hands found your arm again and you winced as she dragged you forward.Â
You cast one glance back at Quaritch. His face had gone stony.
Her grip on your arm tightened and you winced, allowed yourself to be turned.
"Varangâ" you began, stumbling to keep pace.
She didnât slow. She dragged you into her yurt, shoving you down onto the woven mat with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. Firelight dnced along the walls, casting her in molten gold as she paced before you.
You breathed slowly, words aching to come, yet withheld under her stare.
She paced forward, steady. You lowered your head, looking anywhere but herâthe woven floor, the yurtâs wooden beams, the way ash fell between the light. Her fingers found your chin, and forced your face upward. "See me."
You did. You looked up. "I... I do see you."
That made her calm, just a bit. Her heart gentled and her expression softened into something sweet. She tilted her head, studying you with the intensity of someone memorizing a dying lover, before pressing a kiss against your lips. Her eyes never shut. They watched for your reaction, golden and unblinking, and you knew exactly which one to give.
You closed your own eyes, kissing her back, hands gripping her shoulders. Warmth bloomed where skin met skinâhers fever-hot, yours clammy. "You make me weak," she finally whispered against your mouth.
That gave you pause. She either didn't notice or didn't care.
"Varang." You tilted your head up, felt her lips brush underneath your jaw, trailing heat. Your eyes felt particularly hazyâfatigue, pain, something else entirely. She slowly brought her own queue over her shoulder, and your eyes caught the restrictive tie wrapped around the tendrils.
You glanced, freckles flashing in slight embarrassment. "R-Right now...?"
She gave a nod.
You brought your own queue forward with trembling fingers, a headache already forming. She let the tendrils bond together. The both of you shuddered. Her anger crashed over you firstâthe frequent memory of the volcano. The screams of her mother, the passive voice of her father: âIf it is Eywaâs will, Varang⊠be like your sister, Varang.â Then her hate followed, the taste of salt and rock.
But underneath it lay something girlishly needy, embarrassingly seeking. A vulnerability she showed no one else. Only you were allowed such a look into her soul.
"Hm."
She walked backward then, pulling you with her until she hit the hammock. It swayed under the combined weight as she settled, then drew you into her lap, tugging at your hair. âShhh,â She cooed.
Varang pressed a hand underneath the wrapping of your top, lifting it to kiss the skin there. Youâd pierce your nipples months ago, and the bone that settled between the nubs made her mouth water. âSuch fear,â she whispered against your damp skin. âBut you love me. I see it. I know it.â
She licked a broad wet stripe across the sensitive areola, then drew the tight bud between her mouth, swirling her tongue around the piercing and faintly tugged.Â
You whined, frowning, fingers finding the ridges of her collarbone. "You always question it."
"Naturally." She nuzzled your shoulder, breathing in the ash still clinging to your skin. Her lips switched to its twin, finally fluttering her eyes close to gently suck, saliva coating your breasts. You grinded against her thigh, pressing your face against her shoulder. âSuch a needy little thing, comeââ
âTsahik,â
Yepa stood where the privacy cloth was, eyes cast down. He knew better than to interrupt Varang when she kept you to herself. Her eyes sharpened, fingers pausing where they'd been toying with the piercing. Heat crawled up your neck. You looked away, cheeks burning.Â
"Speak." She said.
Her hand drifted lower, tracing the edge of your loincloth, circling just above your mound while her mouth pressed dizzying kisses along the curve of your cheek. "Forgive me, TsahĂŹk," Yepa murmured. "We've spotted a new caravan. The windtraders."
Varang exhaled through her nose. Her touch stilled. For one fleeting moment, she looked at youâsomething almost apologetic flickering behind her eyes.
Then it was gone.
You made a soft, plaintive sound, fingers curling around her wrist. "Stay." The word came out smaller than you meant it to, and you hated yourself for it. Varang despised weakness. You were weakness.
She pushed your hand away with her usual ease. "Others hunt the meat you eat, Y/n." She didn't look at you again, said it in a cooing tone that made it all the worse.
You rewrapped your chest with fumbling hands, tail lashing hard enough snap at the air. You shoved past Yepa without meeting his eyes, head bowed low.
Not fair. The thought curled bitter in your head. She could refuse you. You could never refuse her.
Around you, the clan stirred with new activity. Warriors readied their ikran, voices risingto prepare. Blades were sharpened, the new demon-weapons brandished with eager hands.Â
You weren't allowed on raids. Varang forbade it.
So instead you sat on the edge of camp and kicked rocks, watching them disappear into the embers of the sun.
"You're not going?"
You froze mid-motion, glancing back.
Quaritch.
Your frown deepened.
"Varang angry," you said quietly. Sheâs angry, and doesnât want you near me. Is what you meant to say. But how could you? He was an idiot. Or maybe it was you, for not knowing how to say it.
You moved to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulderâfirm, four fingers pressing and encompassing most of it.
"So?" He snorted. "She throws a hissy fit and what? Law doesn't apply to me."
They do. Your eyes narrowed. You are one of us now. They apply.
But you didn't say it. Instead, you sighed and looked away, fingers tapping absently against the skin where your heart was underneath. "IâŠ" You hesitated. "Weak. Not strong. Varang worry."
A pause.
"Don't tell," you grumbled.
Quaritch gave a slow nod, tail tracing a lazy arc. He leaned forward, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. "You ever use a gun?"
You blinked. "Gun�"
He lifted one of those compact metal bows from his holster, blocky and compactânothing like the carved wood your people used. "Yeah. A gun. You've seen Varang use it." He jerked his chin toward the distant yurts. "Come on. I'll show you. Just don't blow my tail off."
Your gaze drifted to Varang's yurt, then skyward where the war party had departed hours ago, her Ska'avum among them. She'd be gone until dusk at least. You pressed your lips together.
"Yes. Okay."
.
.
.
The first shot made you jump, ears pressing flat against your head.
"Yeah! Booyah!" Quaritch's hands landed on your shoulders, shaking hard into your frame. "Clear damn shot. You're a natural at this, kid."
He thrust his palm upward, some human gesture you'd never seen before.Â
You stared at it, confused.
Then lifted yours suspiciously, mirroring the angle.
His hand met yours with a sharp smack.
"High-five. Wellâhigh-four," he amended, grinning wide enough to show molars. His palm found your spine, a push that was encouraging and commanding. "Come on. Again. Let's see if it was a fluke."
He was close now. Close enough that if Varang were here, if she sawâ
You swallowed the thought. No. This isn't about Varang.
You adjusted your stance the way he'd shown you: shoulders angled, weight forward, breath held. The target swam into focus. You squeezed.
Bullseye.
Your tail betrayed you, wagging before you could stop itâthen his hand cracked against your ass and you squealed. "Ngh!" The hiss tore from your throat, glaring at him. You almost forgot he was an asshole first, friend second.
He was already moving past you, plucking the gun from your slack grip. "And she calls you weak." A scoff. He studied the target, grinning like some prideful mentor. "Feel pretty powerful, huh?"
You nodded slowly, studying the cluster of holes punched through the painted target. When you glanced back, he was counting the rounds with his usual efficiency.
"Think we'll add firearms to your training rotation." He didn't look up. "No point wasting time on that bow sissy-shit when you've got real stopping power available."
You stepped closer, watching his hands work. "What doing?"
"What are you doing," he corrected. "Grammar, kid. Makes me sound like some kind of assh-shat teacher." He whistled. "Anyway, Iâm cleaninâ and reassembling. Maintenance. All this volcanic shit clogs the mechanisms. Messes with the equipment."
This was news to you. You paused. "VarangâŠknows?"
The question landed betwene you two.
His lips peeled backâtoo much teeth. "Nah." He didn't look up. "Keep it that way."
A secret. You had a secret now. The thought bloomed warm, and Quaritch must have seen it written plain across your face because he chuckled, low and knowing. "You're a little minx, aren't'cha?"
You didn't know what that was, but nodded anyway.
He dug into his pockets again, fingers closing around the crinkled bag. Your hand shot out before you could think to stop it, palm up, giddy.Â
He caught your wrist to steady itâthe tips of his fingers padded in callouses. âYouâre spoiled, you know that?â He shook the bag near your ear, grinning. "Never had much of a sweet tooth myself. Spider did, though." A pause. His jaw worked. "I traded my good socks for this."
The silence came. Then he pressed the entire bag into your palm, closing your fingers around it like it was something precious.
"Just keep it." It came out rough, almost embarrassed. "And donât let the others see." He looked away.
You stared at the bag. Bright red plastic stamped with the strange alien letters from his world. Red. Yellow. Orange. Green. Purple. You traced each color with your eyes before lifting your gaze back at him.
You didn't know what you were thinking.
You kissed his cheek.
Quaritch actually stumbled back half a step. His ears snapped forward, eyes gone wide and startled as a spooked hexapede's. Before he could recover, you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. You felt reckless, daring. The power that Varang held, you wield it now.
You skittered backward, clutching the candy to your chest, a shy smile blooming despite yourself.
"Thank you, Quaritch," you whispered.
His lips quirked, just a bit. He tilted his head back, pushed air between his teeth in a low whistle that might've been a laugh. "Yeah," he muttered, but you think it was more to himself than you. "Yeah, alright."
You left then, the bag pressed tight against your chest, tail swaying in wide arcs all the way back to the yurt.
Another secret.
.
.
.
Things were different now. You felt different, you supposed.
This shared secret between you and Quaritch had festered into something physical. It lived in the space between breaths, in the pause before he spoke your name.
And Quaritch? Quaritch was all physical.
You couldn't walk past him without a slap to the rear or a pinch to your side, something too boyish for a man his size (and his age, as you liked to remind him). But there it was anyway, that grin splitting his face, the wink that followed. "That's it, baby girl." The words dripped easy, thick as the molasses you once tasted.
The lessons were no different. Or ratherâno different in how he touched you now. Instead of sweet candy he'd nudge your lips apart and kiss.
"Say it. Patient."
"Patient."
Quaritch just grinned against your mouth. "Still got that accent. It's cute." Your eyes fluttered shut. You licked away the chapness of his lips, tasted salt and something faintly bitter.
Evening meals were distant, of course. Formal. When Varang sat beside you, eating whatever meal she'd presentedâsheâd present a kuru, sometimes several, gifts of power and affectionâyou'd accept with the usual grace. The usual smiles.
And later, after you'd ignored him through dinner and feigned disinterest, Quaritch would return. That all-too-easy smile waiting for you in the dark.
Varang wouldn't know. You were happy with that.
"Stop moving," you grumbled.
You painted the whites and reds against his face in careful strokes, slapping his hands when they wandered.
"It's damn cold," he hissed. But he remained still, huffing through his nose. The pigment was thick, it had to be. Smelling just a bit of crushed minerals, rendered fat, and berries. You had to change the recipe for him, he sweat too much and smeared it everywhereâtoo impatient to let it dry.
You rolled your eyes. The two of you were tucked beneath the newly constructed yurt. Varang had moved everyone to the RDA base, and Quaritch had been more than eager to accommodate the clan into the facility's sprawling guts. If he wasn't with her, or the strange pink-skins, then he was with you.
"It's cold because you take too long." You swept your thumbs in parallel lines along his cheeks, forming a sharp V that cascaded down the bridge of his nose. The pattern was traditional, though your hand trembled slightly as you worked.Â
You watched him through your lashes, heat creeping up your neck when you realized he'd been staring back. "What?"
Quaritch clicked his tongue, angling his head low. He pressed his cheek against your palm, the paint smudged just a bit, but you didnât correct him. "Nothin'... justâsweet is all. You're sweet."
Your fingers drifted to your songcord almost unconsciously, tracing the amber bead you'd added most recently. Inside, suspended in golden resin, a single red skittle.
"I didn't think you'd be so sappy," you murmured, a smile tugging at your mouth.
"Sappy? Now where'd you learn that word?"
"Lyle." You said innocently. âThe bald one."
Quaritch grinned, and his hand found your backâthumb pressing the base of your tail. "Course it was. The bastardâ"
"Do you think I am a fool?"
Your tail went rigid mid-sway, ears swiveling before the rest of you caught up. You turned, careful, already knowing what you'd find.
Varang stood at the threshold, stripped of her usual paint and accessories. She looked exactly as she had when you were both girls and the forest still held its greenâVulnerable.
"Varang," you started, placating. "We were almostâ"
A hiss tore from her throat. Her nose wrinkled, lips peeling back from her teeth. "Do not." She lifted one hand, fingers curling through the air in a white-knuckled clench.
You'd never seen her this furious. Not even sinceâ
Your ears flattened against your skull.
"You do not ask permission, sky-man." She began to circle Quaritch now, and her hands drifted to the twin buugeng blades strapped at her hips.Â
Quaritch's expression didn't shift. If anything, it settled into something lazier. Bored, almost. He tracked her with his eyes, then let out a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "And when have you?"
He rose slowly, joints popping, and your handprint still blazed red across his cheek.
Varang faltered as she eyed the paint. For just a heartbeatâher brows pinched into something woundedâbut then she shook her head, and the mask slammed back into place.
"Seems to me, cupcake," Quaritch drawled, stepping into her space, "that you and I are too similar."
His gaze slid to you.
Then his hands found Varang's shoulders, turning her to face you instead. "She don't seem too concerned." His voice dropped rough, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "And I bet she'd take both of us sweetly. Hm?"
Varang stared. Her expression smoothed into something unreadable, eerily calm, yellow eyes locked on yours.
"Have you two bonded?"
Your stomach dropped. "No. Varang, weâ"
"Nah." Quaritch's answer came quicker than yours, easier. "We haven't. You can keep that if you want." His lips grazed the curve of Varang's neck, breath hot against the delicate skin there. His hands slid lower, palms molding to her waist, then dipping to the swell of her hips. "If it makes you feel special."
He grinned.
Varang twisted free in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you in two strides. Her hand fisted in your hair, dragging you close enough that you could see every fleck of amber in her yellow eyes. "You smell like him."
Then she kissed you.
Hard.Â
Her canines caught your lower lip, tugging until you tasted copper. A sound escaped you, swallowed just before it turned pitiful..
Behind you, Quaritch shifted closer. You couldn't see him, but you felt the heat of him, the broad wall of his chest almost brushing your shoulder blades. His hand came down heavy on the curve of your ass, grabbing an absolute fistful.
And you, you felt multiple hands now. Varang's fingers worked the braided top, peeling it free until your breasts were bare beneath her palms. They bounced just a bit, purple nipples perking. Behind you, Quaritch's thumbs traced the curve of your ass before lifting the weight of each cheek. He let them plop down, and groaned.
"Fuck," he muttered, voice dropping to gravel. "Won't you look at that." His knuckles grazed the stripes that contoured around the flesh, mesmerized.
MilesâŠ" You turned your head, the syllable half-formed. Instinct seeked his face, but Varang's fist caught your braids and wrenched you back.Â
Her teeth found your lower lip.
"Not at him." The growl rumbled against your mouth. "Me."
Quaritch's laugh was low, almost lazy. "Think she likes me better. I ain't so punishing." His palm cracked against your rearâonly once, but something purple was already forming. "Say my name again, doll."
"Milesâ" But Varang swallowed it, mouth sealing over yours, and she shot him a look that could've drawn blood.
"You ain't playing fair," He had that smile, you knew he did even if you couldnât see it.
Both hands rose to cradle your jaw, now. Thumbs stroking the jaw where tension pooled. She pressed kisses all overâthe corner of your lips, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder where your scent glands were located. Marking you with her own scent.
"If you can only win by fairness," she whispered, lips brushing your shoulders "you are no true warrior."
Then she kissed you again
Quaritch's mouth twitched. Without warning, he hauled you back against him, fingers sinking into your hips, grinding you into the hard line of his pelvis. "So you wanna play like that?"
Varang pulled back with a hiss, chest rising. She looked at youâjust onceâthen stepped forward. She wore seduction in her hips now, curling her lips, tasting her skin. "Only if you think yourself capable."
"Hm. Challenge accepted." His attention dropped to your chest, dismissive for just a moment before he took another look. He pinched a nub. "Fuck, baby girl. You had these the whole time?"
He flicked the other with his thumb, feeling the bone piercing. Your body jerked, a gasp wriggling out. âO-OhâŠâ His mouth went lower, descending a hot trail while his hands lazily hooked your loincloth to the side. His calloused fingers found your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling.
"Miles, pleaseâŠ" Your head fell forward, brows pinching together, and the sound that left you was barely coherent.
Before you, Varang sank to her knees.
You'd never seen her like thisâall that fierce pride folded into something softer, reflective of her soul. Her palms smoothed up your thighs, reverent. When she looked up at you through dark lashes, blinking slow, you blushed.
âYou beg for him,â She undid your loincloth properly now, throwing it over her shoulder to the fire nearby. âNow you will beg for meâ She simply lowered her mouth and lickedâa long, flat, possessive stripe from your entrance to your clit, pushing Quaritchâs thumb aside with the force of it.Â
He only grunted. His fingers traced your ribs, mapping each curve, each rise of skin. Up, then down. Feeling. Always feeling. He nudged your legs apart. Varang needed room, afterall.
She took it.
Varang nudged her face, nuzzling the purple flesh and mouthing your pussy. Suckling the flesh. When she looked up, her eyes were hazy with peaceâand if you dared to call itâlove. You watched her tail sway behind her. A soft huff escaped you.
She spread your pretty pussy lips with her thumbs, then spat. You watched the silver strand descend, sliding down your slit in complete arousal.
âSo pretty,â she cooed. âYou like this, yes?â
Her finger brisked along the opening, pinching your folds together. They were undeniably swollen, plump. She always liked how engorged they became when you were aroused. Like a dumpling. She thought.
She pressed one fingertip to the left lip, and watched it bounce back. âVarang.â You pushed your hips forward, pouting.
Both chuckled. âWhat did I say?â Quaritch mused. âSpoiled. Absolutely spoiled.â
He lifted youâjust slightlyâand chucked his loincloth aside. You glanced down.
Your mind emptied of everything but his cock.
Your hands flew to his forearms, fingers digging into the muscle there just as your legs kicked in a brief instinctive pedal. âWaitâwait!â
He went still, swallowing. âSomethinâ the matter?â He glanced over your shoulder to look at Varang, who now leaned back on her hands, head cocked into something teasing.
He settled you on his thick thigh instead, tracing numbers over your stomach.Â
You dragged your gaze back down, helpless. It was⊠big. Long, thick, veined with ridges that made your mouth water and your lips tremble all the same. The head was a broad, blunt crown, flushed a deep, violent purple, and below, his balls were heavy and full.Â
A low, involuntary sound escaped you as you gave a tiny, shameful shuffle, the slick heat of you grinding against the muscle of his thigh. You bit your lower lip until you tasted the copper hint of blood.
âWell⊠itâsâŠâ
âSheâs never taken a man.â Varangâs murmur was matter-of-fact. Her eyes shifted to you, her smile softening.
For once, he seemed surprised. âWhat? But you and her haveââ
âI have never allowed a man to touch her.â Varangâs scoffed, as if the idea was ridiculous. âAny whoâve tried Iâve killed myself.â She leaned forward now, before going on a crawl. Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, inspected his cock.Â
She bit her own plump lip, then leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the tip. Her eyes fluttered shut as she did it, and above you, Quaritch hissedâno doubt pleased.
âIt doesnât bite, Y/n.â Varang stroked your trembling thigh, her touch gentling, before she turned back. She opened her mouth, suckling the broad head, wetting it thoroughly, then licked a long, torturous stripe from root to tip. The sound was obscenely wet.
âNgh, fuckâŠâ The groan was torn from Quaritchâs chest, you never thought youâd hear such a sound from him.
It felt right, strangely.
He buried his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder, his arms locking around you, binding you to the solid wall of his heat. His breaths came in uneven puffs. His large, warm hands splayed across your stomach, fingers pressing in rhythmic, almost absent-minded taps. âNot so much nowâŠâ he managed, voice strangled.
Varang only scoffed around him, the vibration earning another jerk of his hips. She bobbed her head, taking him deeper, her cheeks hollowing. âThis is not for you,â she shot back, pulling off with a wet sound. âSo weak. Cannot even last.â
That earned a guttural grunt. He fluttered his eyes open, the yellow within them hollowed by the black of his pupil.
He turned his head and bit the shell of your ear. âYou listeninâ to her?â he hummed. You felt his pout. âSo mean to me. But you ainât, darlinâ. Youâre good. All good and sweet stuff.â He nuzzled, then placed a softer, startling kiss on your cheek.
You both watched, mesmerized, as Varang returned to her work. Your own hands reached and took what she couldnât. He groaned then, thighs bouncing, dragging against your clit.Â
âNgh,â You whined.
Finally, she withdrew with a slick, echoing pop. She slowly unraveled her tongue, giving one last lon lick from across his shaft.
âThere.â Her cooed. âNice and wet for you to sit on, my beloved. A proper throne.â
âT_Thank you, Varang.â
You thought it was so strange, how someone like Quaritch could be so⊠gentle at times. His hands found the back of your knees, planting a squeeze against the delicate hinge. Then, he pressed your cheek against his.
âYou ready, buttercup?â
You felt the vibration of his voice against your back, rumbling from his chest to your bones. He was like that, of courseâall consuming.
Your eyes found themselves downward before you managed the smallest nod. âY-Yes.â
It was all he needed. âGood girl.â The praise sent warmth all around your body. âKnew you could.â He pat your thighs.
Then he lifted. It was an easy strength he had, lifting as if it were nothing. He shuffled, bringing your knees to your breasts, cocking his head to the side to see. Instinctively, your hands flew behind you, fingers searching for the anchor of his shoulders.
You felt it first, the wet head jutting against your cunt. The broad slick head grazing your slit, parting it just enough to make it audible. Your pussy clenched, and you drew in your breath.Â
âShh⊠relax.â He cooed. âI wonât move until you want to.âÂ
He began the slow work of getting you used to it. His hips rolled in a shallow, circular tease, moving his hips so his dick coated itself with your slick.Â
Then, with a controlled shift, he gathered both your knees in the vice of one formidable arm, the other hand wrapping around the base of his shaft.Â
A groan, raw and deep, tore from his chest as he notched himself at your entrance.
Varang watched, transfixed at the sight.
He pushed.
The burn was instant.
Your eyes flew wide, seeing nothing and everything. âBigâitâs big, Milesââ You babbled, already trying to claw away.
He grunted, and his teeth found the end of your flickering ear. âThe more you squirm, the more itâll hurt. Shh⊠shh, itâll be okay, sugar.â
You tried to obeyâreally you did, but you couldnât help the tears that flowed down in wet fat blobs. âThats it.â He settled you down slow, inch by inch. âSee? Its not soâFuck!â
Varang pushed your hips down, and naturally you screamed, suddenly impaled. Miles, caught off guard, bucked upward with a startled hiss, his ears pinning flat against his skull. Varangâs giggle was a light, airy thing that quickly boiled over into a full-throated laugh.
âSo weak,â she snarled, the sweetness evaporating. She patted your trembling thighs before pushing them wider, folding you open and giving herself a perfect, obscene view of either sex.
âYouâre fuckinâ crazy,â Miles breathed.
Your belly was full of him. A distinct, visible bulge swelled at your lower tummy. Your cunt was stretched to a painful pink halo around the thick blue of his cock. You just breathed, glancing downâat her, at him.
âNgh⊠j-just goâŠ. Please, Miles.â
The words left you in spent sigh, so fragile.
He shuddered where he held youâand nodded. âAlright, buttercup.â He pressed a single fat kiss to the crown of your head, then moved.
Miles Quaritch did nothing by half-measures. His hands locked around the curve of your hips, fingers biting into flesh as he pulled you down and drove himself up. You swore you could feel the tip bristle against your cervix.Â
âOh⊠fuck.â The curse was low, a rumble you absorbed through your spine. âSo fuckinâ tight.â
The force of him made your world condense to sensation. To the deep, stretching fullness, the slap of skin, the dizzying bounce of your breasts. One of his palms slid up to capture a peakâholding it to a squeeze.
And then, because he relished in it, he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath coming in delicious puffs. You could feel every stifled groan turn into a grunt, only to dissolve into a moan.
He likes this. He likes me. You blushed.
Varang shifted closer. Her cool fingers traced the sweat-slicked tension of his balls, cupping the heavy weight before her tongue swept over your clit.
You squealed. âOh!â You pressed both hands over her head, eyes wide.Â
âYou look so pretty, Y/N,â she murmured, her voice a honeyed smoke against your fevered skin. âSo perfect, split open like this.â You heard the rustle of her loincloth, the wet sound of her own fingers working between her legs, the slick rhythm of her thumb on her clit.Â
Her moan was low, and the vibration of it against your most sensitive nerve sent pure pleasure tearing through your core.
âI love youââ The confession was a needy thing, meant for both, owned by neither. But they knew, you were sure they did. âIâmâŠahâŠ!â
Miles stole most of your speech, dragging your hips to meet his punishing pace, folding your body to fit him deeper. The angle was brutal, perfect. âFuck. Gonna cum inside this pussy,â he growled. âGonna flood you.â
Varangâs mouth left you with a soft pop. âNo,â she hissed. âYou will not.â
He laughed, somehow teasing and joyfulâŠmaybe a bit disbelieving. âFuck yeah, I will. Gonna pump this tight cunt full. Gonna fuck a baby right into her.â He was sneering at her, a direct challenge even as his hips began to lose their rhythm, succumbing to a ragged, urgent pounding.
âThrones do not talk, Quaritch.â
âT-This one does.â A stutter from him, a victory for her.
You could feel it. The ache of release. His balls drew up tight against you. Varang felt it too. Her hand tightened around a ball sack, vise-like warning.
He hissed. âAghâShit! Woman, donât youâ!â
And then you clenched. Not a voluntary act, your inner muscles clenching around him in a series of frantic, milking pulses.Â
A broken yelp escaped you as you came, turning liquid and mindless around his huge dick. Now he was trapped: between Varangâs iron hand and your sweet, convulsing vice.
âNghâChrist!â His whole body locked, eyes rolling back in a spasm.
Varang moved, she wouldnât allow him. She hauled you off him, a gasp torn from your lips at the sudden emptiness, and her fist was around him, stroking, pumping, directing. His release shot in thick, pearlescent ropes across her cheek, her chin, the proud arch of her neck.
She blinked slowly, unimpressed. A single, sticky strand dripped onto her collarbone. She caught it on a finger, flicked it away with utter disdain. âYou will not get her pregnant,â she stated, and it was final.
Miles was a spent force, chest heaving. He let out a winded puff, then a low, sated laugh. One eye slid open, crinkled with admiration. âYouâre evil,â he rasped, pulling your boneless form against his solid thigh. He nuzzled into your hair, both hands coming up to weigh your breasts, holding you to him as if claiming spoils.Â
You on the other hand were dazed, trying to remember how to breathe.
Varang scoffed. âWell.â In one smooth motion, she took your wrists, pulling you from Mileâs slackened grip toward her. He yielded with a grunt, shifting heavily on the mat, already feeling exhaustion in his bones.
âOur turn,â Varang said. And she smiled, a true sweet thing.
You blinked. â...Uh⊠What?â
She laid you back on the woven mat, the fibers imprinting on your sweat-slick skin. Her loincloth fell away. âYou havenât made me come yet,â she pouted. âItâs no fair.â
You offered a weak, sheepish smile. âLet meâOofmp!â
She pushed you flat, and climbed over you. âShhhâŠâ Her thigh brushed your cheek, then she settled her weight, the hot, musky scent of her arousal enveloping you. She sank down onto your waiting mouth with a soft, shuddering moan.
Then she glanced over at Miles, already snoring softly. She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and her hips began a slow, commanding grind against your lips.
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Steve Harrington x fem!reader who has suffered a head injury [1.9k words]
summary: Of course Steve leaves you under Robinâs supervision for maybe twenty-seven-and-a-half minutes only for you to wake up after suffering a head injury unable to recall that youâre dating the biggest dingus from high school in your severely concussed state.
CW: hospital fic, brief mention of a fall and injury, Robin's POV so it's a little spirally, mostly fluff
Robin honest to God feels really, really bad and wishes she could take back her internal moaning and groaning about how she wished you would just wake up already and save her from this boredom because this is much, much worse.
Really, she should have just relaxed and been grateful that youâre still kicking it at all; head injuries are no joke. Still, unconscious people make terrible company.
But now she wishes she was merely bored again.Â
You see, a good friend â an average friend, even â mightâve responded to you waking up for the first time in over fifteen hours after suffering a head injury by saying things like oh, thank god youâre awake! Or, are you okay? How are you feeling? Do you want some water? Let me go get a nurse.Â
But maybe Robin isnât a good friend because her immediate response to the sound of you shifting in your bed before blinking blearily up at her is âoh my god, thank god youâre awake. Iâm so bored. Also, Max said something really funny to Mike earlier and Iâve been dying to tell you.âÂ
You blink at her â not unlike a frog, if sheâs being completely honest, one eye closing before the other â with furrowed brows before your eyes flit towards the stark whiteness of your surroundings.
âHospital.â She explains at your confused expression. âYou fell. Big time. We thought you were dead at first. Steve was hysterical and wouldnât let anyone touch you until Nancy called an ambulance. Heâs going to be so pissed that you woke up while he was gone.â Robin recounts with a nervous chuckle. You really did scare the shit out of her; out of all of them.
âSteve?âÂ
Robin misinterprets the confusion in your tone as she shifts her chair closer to you. âYeah, heâs been here the whole time; the nurses were not impressed, but he wouldnât leave. Dustin finally managed to convince him to leave long enough to shower and change at least. We had to tell him he was starting to smell bad. He didnât, mind you, but donât tell him that.â
You blink at her again, this one less amphibian in nature. âSteve?â
âYesâŠSteve,â she parrots, wondering how long the two of you might sit here volleying the man's name back and forth.Â
âAs in Harrington?âÂ
âNo, as in Steve Guttenburg from Police Academy,â she deadpans. âYes, Steve Harrington.â
âWhy on Earth would Steve Harrington care if I was in the hospital?â And Robin canât even take the time to be proud of you for getting all of those words out together in a row when reality crashes down on her.Â
Now, Robin will admit that itâs a little shameful how long it takes her to realize something isnât quite right. She probably could have â should have â assumed, seeing as you are currently laying in a hospital bed; nothing is quite right about a person hooked up to a heart monitor.
Of course, of course Steve leaves you under Robinâs supervision for maybe twenty-seven-and-a-half minutes only for you to wake up in your severely concussed state unable to recall that youâre dating the biggest dingus from high school, and have been for a while.
Why did Robin insist Steve leave? Why would she tell him she could handle this? Why does anyone ever trust her with anything ever?
Fortunately, sheâs saved from needing to find answers to those burning questions at Dustin and Steveâs return. Unfortunately, she has no time to answer your burning question (or warn a certain Steve of the current predicament) either.Â
âThe coconut ruins it,â Robin hears Steve argue with his mouth full as the two boys materialize in the doorway, both too wrapped up in whatever argument theyâre having to see the two occupants staring at them in bemusement and horror.Â
âThe coconut rui- the coconut ruins it!? Steve, the bar is coconut. Coconut is the fundamental component of it,â Dustin sputters.Â
âI just think itâd be better if it was, like, peanut butter or something.âÂ
Dustin scoffs incredulously. âThen you buy Reeseâs or a Bopper! Why would you buy an Almond Joy if you donât like coconut?â
âI didnât say I donât like coconut,â Steve argues, looking at the teen as though he was an idiot. âI just meant it would be better if it wasnât coconut.â
âYouâre insane.âÂ
Robinâs inclined to agree.
She clears her throat. âHey, so-â
âWhoa! Look whoâs up!â Dustin interrupts with a smile, Steveâs head whipping to the side to see you staring at them with wide eyes.
âWhoa, hey! Hey, hey hey hey, wow. Holy shit, hi baby. How long have you been up?â
âUh, not long,â Robin interjects, voice steadily rising in both volume and pitch. âListen, we-â
âHow are you feeling?â Steve continues as he abandons his coconut monstrosity on a rolling table and makes for your bedside, ignoring Robin and the pointed looks sheâs shooting at him. âAre you hurting? Are you thirsty?â
You go to respond but Robin beats you to it. âSteve, I-â
âHave you had any water yet? Robin, whereâs her water?â Steve continues, fussing with the blankets that have been untucked from your legs as his eyes flit around the room for the bottle of water heâd set aside for when you needed it. âWhy havenât you given her water yet?â
âWe havenât exactly had time, Steve. Listen-âÂ
âHave you called the nurse?â Steve asks, shaking his head before even waiting for a response. âDustin, go get a nurse.â
Dustin doesnât hesitate before heâs jogging out of the room in search of a nurse.Â
âWhatâs Robin doinâ to ya, huh?â Steve coos at you as he perches on the edge of your bed and presses a careful kiss to your temple, flagrantly ignoring the way Robin is frantically waving at him and mentally screaming Earth to dingus!! âSheâs got terrible bedside manners, canât even take care of my girl properly.âÂ
You turn your horrified gaze to Robin as though you dating Steve the Hair Harrington is somehow her fault (it is a little bit; sheâs the one who re-introduced you two, insisting he was a changed man since high school).Â
âSteve!â Robin finally shrieks, missing the way you wince at the volume as Steve turns to look at her like sheâs grown three heads.Â
âWell, itâs true! You didnât even get her water, never flagged a nurse-â
âWe didnât exactly have a lot of time before you two showed up,â Robin counters as Dustin returns.Â
âThe nurses are just doing a shift change, said someone will be with her shortly.â Dustin reports as he hands Steve a new, cold bottle of water for you.Â
âOkay, alright. Thatâs alright, yeah?â Steve confirms with you as he cracks it open. âAre you in pain? If youâre in pain, I can go tell them you need help now.â
Robin watches as you take stock of yourself before side-eyeing her. âIâŠdonât think so.â
âYou donât think youâre in any pain?â Steve asks gently, bending over slightly in an attempt to regain your attention. Robin finds her heart squeezing at how soft heâs being with you.
Your heart seems to do the same, eyes flooding with tears as all three occupants in the room tense at the sight.
âHey, hey hey hey, whatâs the matter, huh? Whatâs with the tears?âÂ
Robin stands. âSteve, I really-â
âAre you in pain? What hurts?â
âSteve-â
âWhat, Robin?â Steve finally snaps, turning towards her like sheâs a fly that finally landed on a lampshade after spending the entire afternoon bothering the shit out of him.Â
âShe woke up a littleâŠâ Robin pauses, looking towards your teary form as she considers how to explain this gently, âconfused.â
âConfused?â Steve parrots before turning back to you. âConfused how?â
âConfused as in she didnât understand why Steve Harrington has been haunting her hospital room.â
Steveâs brows furrow as he considers you before realization dawns on his face.Â
The sound that escapes you in response borders a sob. Robin feels a little bit like doing the same.Â
âDonât cry, honey,â Steve all but begs as he scooches closer towards you on the bed, one hand grasping yours and leaning his weight on the other as he rests it against the bed by your opposite hip. âHey, did Robin tell you about the wicked burn Max delivered to Mike earlier?â
Dustin perks up. âOh man, he got so red; worse when El started repeating it afterwards.â
âMike accused Max of purposefully turning El against him.â Steve agrees.Â
âAgain. Hey, when they get here, make sure to call Mike a-â
âI donât want anyone else in here,â you interrupt Dustin quickly, wiping roughly at your face with the hand not currently occupied by Steveâs. âI donât- itâsâŠtheyâre too loud.â
Robin laughs. âYeah, they are too loud. You cominâ around?â
You suck in a deep, shuddering breath and let out a noncommittal hum in response.Â
âOkay, no one else will come in here,â Steve agrees, gaze locked onto your face as he rubs his thumb along the back of your knuckles, cautious of the IV taped to the back of your hand. âDo you want any of us to leave?â
The question is innocent enough, though Robin knows heâs mostly asking you if youâd like him to leave.
You shake your head no, though, and give his hand a gentle squeeze.Â
âOkay,â he whispers, leaning forward to press another kiss to your head and humming at you in question when you lift your chin, obviously asking for a real one.
Steve hesitates, clearly concerned heâs not reading your queues right and wondering if youâre feeling at all more cognizant. Apparently, though, rushing your unconscious girlfriend to the hospital and being without kisses for nearly sixteen hours makes a man a little desperate, finding him ultimately pressing a cautious kiss to your lips anyways.
âYouâre okay, hm?â Steve murmurs into the corner of your mouth, dotting a few more kisses to your face before sitting up. âScared the shit out of me.âÂ
âMâsorry,â your whisper back.Â
âYeah, you should be. Heâs been insufferable,â Dustin comments, earning him a glare from Steve and a half-smile from you.Â
âYeah, yeah. Okay, thatâs enough out of you, wise guy. What the hell are you two still doing here, anyway? Shouldnât you guys go alert the others that sheâs awake?âÂ
âAlright, dingus. Say less,â Robin sighs as she stands, Dustin playfully muttering about how he knows when heâs not wanted.Â
You pay them no mind, looking up at Steve shyly; it reminds Robin of when the two of you first started hanging out. Awkward, tentative, careful. Steve looks like heâs shielding you from the entire world with the way heâs leaning over your form, youâre looking at him like he might disappear if you blink for too long.
The two of you are disgusting; she loves you both so much.Â
Robin pauses at the door to take one last look at two of her favourite people, you bite your lip as you ask Steve a question that Robin canât hear, he chuckles before replying, a little louder, ââcourse, sweetheart. You can have as many kisses as you want.â