summary: In high school you had the biggest crush Sevika and in return she bullied you for years. Now in college you just wanted your distance but Sevika won't let you leave
warnings: nsfw, toxic sevika, slight humiliation, fingering, and some cuddles :)
Your palms kept sweating. For the fifth time this night you wiped them on your tiny jean skirt as you mustered the courage to step into the sorority house that was already in full swing of a party. The music bass was felt all the way to the front lawn where you anxiously stood in place, observing party goers completely at ease - if not a bit drunk - enjoying themselves. Opposed to you who felt totally out of place and uncomfortable. Your shoes scuttle against the sidewalk as you begin to turn away to leave when your name is sung over the chaos of the night.
A warm, friendly hand grabs yours, turning you back to the house. Your first and only college friend's face is beaming at you with hazy eyes and smiling in a carefree way that can only be achieved with cheap liquor. “If you leave I’ll never forgive you.” she joked, dragging you away from your beloved sidewalk and into the house, immersed in the crowd of sticky bodies.
You both maneuver to the kitchen. Your friend hands you an unopened can of beer. “That’s going to taste like warm pee but drink it anyway. I know you get nervous around new people because of your high school days but you’re no longer there. You deserve to have a freaking good time”
You smile and repeat those words, “I deserve to have a good time.” Yet, as the warm liquid hits your lips the words seem to float away, as if they didn’t carry any weight. Even though you were a grown college student, in your heart you were still that lame, timid high schooler under the thumb of your always present bully. The girl’s name sent a shiver through your body.
Sevika.
The fact that you were once infatuated with her was now almost humorous. Once upon a time, you were just a doe-eyed junior high student spying on the infamous 8th grader as she played basketball with the boys. Unlike your demure nature, she was crass, rough, and walked with a heavy gait that didn’t question her right to be wherever she existed. She spotted you, peaking through the bleaches, and snickered. Two fingers flagged you over and you trotted over to her as if pulled by a powerful invisible string. For the next hour she ignored the boys, as her undivided attention was spent teaching you how to dribble. “How long you been spying on me? You like me or somethan.” her mocking voice cut through the boys laughter and made your face flame at the attention even as you mumbled your feeble denial.
“You hear that guys?” she yelled. “Little mouse has a crush on me.” At the time, you remember how warm your heart felt as you gave her an impish smile. Too idiotic to realize she was making fun of you. And that would be the nicest she’d ever be to you.
Once you entered high school, something switched. Any tender affection you had offered to Sevika, she took and crumbled within her fist. The whole neighborhood understood that you were nothing more than sevika’s toy. Every day brought on an onslaught of bullying as she’d call you names, made you carry her books and sports equipment behind her like a lackey, publicly humiliated you, and isolated anyone who dared to befriend you.
Hundred of miles separated you from Sevika, and yet, her shadow followed you. Taking another swing of the warm beer, you decide to not let clouds of her abuse ruin your present life. “Let’s have some fun!” No other encouragement was needed as your friend took your hand and immersed you into the moving bodies swaying to the music. Hands grip your waist from behind, and a quick glance revealed a pretty girl with a nice smile. A buzzing bud of interest lights your lower belly and you commence sensually swaying your hips in her grasp. A small thought in the back of your head teases that her touch is lacking in comparison to Sevika’s.
Your friend turns around and shout, “Lets head downstairs. I hear that’s where all the hot upperclassman hang out.” The new girl behind you chuckles. “I suppose that’s true. My friends are down there.” Her hand drags you away from the dancing bodies. “I’ll introduce you guys.” A delighted squeal leaves your friend as she follows.
Truthfully you had no interest in meeting hot upperclassmen. A pair of mocking dark eyes flash in your mind. You took another swing of your beer. Needing the fuzzy feeling to intensify your mellow feelings of attraction for the sweet girl in front of you.
The basement was dim and thick with the smell of weed. Here you could see the girl more clearly. She was attractive, but all your bleary eyes pointed out was how she lacked the qualities of a certain bully.
“Like something you see?” her words coaxed you closer to her warm body. “Maybe.” you laughed and took a step closer, in hopes to finally reclaim your sanity, you gently planted two hands on her cheeks and pressed a slow kiss to her lips. Yet as you closed your eyes, you couldn’t help imagining you were kissing the girl that drove you crazy from miles away…. In fact, if you listened closely, you could’ve sworn the raspy voice was present in the same room.
“Mouse?”
The world came to a halt. The foreign lips continued to press against yours, not realizing your body was frozen in place. The boisterous laughter that demands attention from everyone in the room confirms your greatest fear. The girl keeps her hands planted on your waist as she turns with the rest of the room to a dark corner of the room where a group of upperclassmen lounged against a torn mattress. And in the middle, taking up much room with her corded arms propped up against the couch and jean-clad legs spread indecently wide, sat Sevika. Eyes trained on you with a salacious smile on her lips as if she just spotted her favorite prey.
And despite yourself, you felt like prey under the fierce stare of Sevika. Her reputation must’ve already made its way on campus because tension held the entire room in nervous anticipation.
“My little mouse is at a party?” Her mocking voice carries across the room. “I wanted to surprise you but had no idea my timid girl would be at a party.” Her words dangle in the air. Her eyes flicker to the girl next to you whose hands now felt like a hot brand against your waist. A familiar hardened look flashes across her hooded eyes. “Looks like my little mouse has grown up.”
“Erin.” The name is like a whip across the room. The girl you were just kissing jumps, startled by the sudden attention. A nervous gulp is audible as she receives the full force of Sevika’s attention. “Seems you’ve welcomed my girl to campus.” Your lips burn at the reminder. “Don’t stop on my account. Shit, keep going. I’ll even allow you to sit on the bench for the rest of the basketball season so you and my girl have plenty of time to get acquainted.”
The mystery girl snatches her hands off your waist and stuffs them in her pocket. “Sorry” is mouthed from her lips as she backpedals and runs up the stairs out of the basement.
Embarrassment engulfs your entire being as you’re left standing alone.
“Was it something I said?” People all around you laugh along to Sevika’s joke. “Luckily, I’m a lot nicer than our benchwarmer. Come here.” Two fingers beacon you over just like how this all started years ago.
All that work you’ve done to repair your confidence and self-respect shrink with every minute you spend in Sevika’s all consuming presence. Because no matter how much you hated her, every molecule in your body craved her affection with a fierceness that was frankly frightening.
She had bullied you, humiliated you, and made your high school years a living hell and yet when she left for college you missed her for every day she was gone.
Your knees trembled as you stepped forward to where she sat. A hand from behind grabs your elbow, halting your steps. Your friend’s worried eyes plead with you. “Don’t go. She’s no longer in control.” It’s your turn to apologize as you give her a weak smile. “She’s always been in control. I’m fine so just go. I’ll see you in class.” You peek at Sevika and see her jaw clenched. If your friend didn’t leave soon she would start her year off on Sevika’s shit list.
The faint sound of your friend’s retreating footsteps multiples the shame weighing against your head. Even worse was the eyes tracking your humiliating defeat as you hang your head down. Finally your shoes touch the toe of her leather boots. Those two damn fingers catch your eye as they tap her thick thigh.
There was zero hesitance as you complied like a dutiful toy and stepped in between her legs and quietly propped yourself slightly on her thigh.
A sharp scoff is your only warning as you’re hoisted easily in her arms and placed snugly in the warmth of her embrace. Your breath hitches at the close contact, taking the chance to finally look up at her face. You don’t expect to see the fierce way she watches you. Her eyes stayed on you as she asked the room, “Looks like little mouse enjoys her new seat, huh?” A choir of jeers rang out in agreement. Her lips caress the shell of your ear and in a quieter voice asks, “Isn’t that right? You’ve been missing your place on my lap, huh?” When you don’t immediately respond a heavy hand lands on your thigh. Heat captures the spot where her heavy hand clamps the flesh of your bare thigh. A tiny whimper escapes your lips and is muffled into her shoulder. An ache that was left empty for years was abruptly filled with that one little touch.
And from the heated look Sevika had, she might’ve felt the same way “Everyone out!” she commanded. There were a few murmurs but everyone obeyed and stumbled out of the room. Ever impatient, Sevika hoisted you up, even as people were still leaving, till you faced forward in her lap, legs parted to rest on either sides of her hips. The new position should’ve given you power yet as she lounged below you, as comfortable as ever, there was no doubt who held the power in this situation. “Let’s have a look at you.” Her blatant scan of your body was disrespectful yet your nibbles pebbled as her gaze lingered. “Did you miss me, doll?” The question was said casually but the earnest yearning was obviously visible in her expression.
“Did I miss you tormenting me for years? The humiliation?” The alcohol must’ve been making you braver tonight because you scoff and crossed your arms underneath your exposed cleavage. “No, Sevika, I hate you for every day we were together. I hate looking at your face, being in your presence, and your touch. I was finally erasing you from my memory with Erin before you interrupted.”
Her metal hand yanks the hair at your nape before you can continue your rant. Any fake pretense of playfulness is erased and the demanding girl that commanded you in high school made her grand appearance. Her back is rod straight as she presses against you.
Trapped, you try to wrestle out of her hold to no avail. “You're a shit liar little mouse.” She growls into your ear. “But don’t worry, I know how to get my girl to tell the truth.” You’re confused for only a moment before clarity arrives with the cold touch of her fingers trailing up and down your exposed tummy. You jump at the foreign contact. There’s no rush in the way she traces designs in your skin. But her touch wasn’t meek, as it returned to your thigh and traveled up. You were keenly aware how close your clothed pussy was to being exposed in the dim light of the basement because your spread position over Sevika’s legs caused the jean skirt to slide up your smooth upper thighs.
A ragged gasp leaves your mouth as said skirt is yanked over your hips with jerky movements to bunch around your waist. “W-what are you doing?” Desperate, you try to turn your still captured head to look back at the basement stairs. Yet, your indecent exposure is not a concern for your brute. Instead she chuckled. “Helping you to be honest little mouse. You said, ‘I hate your touch”?” she questions in a mean mocking tone. “This touch, doll?” A reluctant moan is pulled out of your mouth as Sevika suddenly cups your pussy.
Even through your soaked cotton panties there’s no hiding the pulsing of your clit. It quivered in need to the point of pain. Loud, deep laughter rocks Sevika’s chest. “Lie all you want little mouse but your pussy is sobbing for me.”
It was true. How could you possibly deny it as the heel of her damn hand found your clit and rocked against it with deep presses that left your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “There you go, doll. Take what you need.” she coos as she watches your hips mindlessly ground into her palm. “This the same touch you hate? The same hand your slutty pussy is soaking?”
Your mind was blurry but a kernel of defiance still lingered. “M-mhm I h-hate you. Hate seeing your face. Just leave me alone.” Truthfully if she left you now you’d likely spontaneously combust in frustration.
And because she sucked, your crescendo stuttered to an abrupt halt at the absence of her hand. “No no no no no.”
“Shh doll.” You yelp at the quick snatch of your panties that Sevika tears with only one hand. “Here you go.”
The immediate heavenly relief of a finger against your bud is so intense you fold over into her shoulder. “Shiiiiit.” you goan as she works you so expertly white flashes across your eyes. “Be mad at me all you want but don’t you dare think you could have this with anyone else. It’s me and you. Always has been - always will be.” She gives zero warning before two thick fingers slid into your slick channel. In the empty basement, the lecherous sound of your cum smacking as Sevika relentlessly thrust into your cunt overstimulated your senses. Any lingering rebellion was fucked out of you as you were held in place by her metal hand at your nape. Taking only what she desired to give you. “Sevie, sevie, sevie please I’m sorry.” sobs raked your body as you turned into the girl you thought you left behind. Pleased, her thrust became faster and harder and took a new frantic spread. “There, isn’t that better than being a little bitch.” Her breath was erratic and a frenzy lustful glare glazed over her eyes. “Say it. Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” You didn’t need clarity on her demand. Because it had been burning under your skin since you last saw her two years ago. “I missed you, Sevie.”
Her grunt of approval is a blessing to your ears and you scream her name as the thumb from her metal hand gently circles your clit and she pounds into your quivering hole. You cum so hard and long you slump against Sevika, completely depleted and blissed out. To your utter surprise, Sevika gathers your crumpled body in her arms and gives a tight squeeze as if content. Her head nuzzles your neck, kissing up the column. “I’ve missed you too little mouse.”
dating Sevika and Silco would be the utmost display of submission. they love you of course but you should remember that you are replaceable. when you just start dating them you're only there to relieve stress, no one else's but theirs. your utmost loyalty is to them. one mistake and you're dead, remember replaceable
as time goes on you and you get a little less replaceable you should still remember that when push comes to shove your permanency is up to Jinx. if she says so Silco will get rid of you and Sevika's loyalty lies with him, no crying or begging will save you.
if you get past the point of no return you are theirs, that's it. you are their toy to play with, their pet to pamper. you serve them and they serve you in return. their punishments are harsh remember that. they won't hurt you, they'll hurt the people around you. they'll kill the person who flirted with you, the fool who tried to touch you. you are well taken care of but you are a bird in a cage and you will sing.
your relationship isn't healthy, they dangle the empty threat of being replaceable in front of you. it placates you and keeps you behaving like the god little canary you are. once you fall you can't leave, not that you'll want to. they protect you, love you, make a mess of you in ways you didn't think were possible. you excuse their violence towards the people around you, how much pain they cause in their pursuit of Zaun.
they love you and you love them that's all that matters. the tender touches from Sevika and the loving kisses from Silco make it all worth it.
~~~~
it's messy but eh, also yall are gonna have to name the timebomb story because I am shit at that and its almost 12 am
Synopsys: When Y/N goes missing during a simple supply run, she comes back with world-shattering news for Astarion. News he never thought to hear, and now he has a decision to make, one that will shift his life on its axis once more.
Set after the main events of BG3
Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader
Genre: angst, fluff, a bit of SMUT, but nothing explicit
Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, but nothing explicit, kidnapping
Word count: 8397
A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )
Part 2(ish) - Love Conquers All (one-shot)
A home was not something to ever be taken for granted, that much they had learned during their adventures.
A home was a fire slowly crackling in the hearth, warmth expanding through the living room. A home was Astarion sitting on a loveseat, a book in his hands while he waited for his love to finish puttering around in the kitchen. A home was drying tea leaves and making preserves for the coming winter as she shooed him out, saying that his fussing would only hinder her process.
He’d huffed, puffed and whined, trying to make Y/N pull away from her plans just so they could curl up and read together, but she was adamant.
“I’ve already started.” She dropped an orange peel and pressed some lemon juice into the steaming pot. “It’ll be wasted produce if I just leave it now.”
“But it will take you hours!” Astarion whined like a child and even stomped his foot, making her snort.
“And it will take me twice as long if you don’t stop annoying me.” Y/N threw him a saccharine smile over her shoulder, batting her lashes at the pouting vampire. “Now, be a good boy, and quit pestering me. We’ll have all the time in the world, once I’m done.”
Astarion just groaned, going up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist, the incisors he usually sank into her neck now nipping at her lobe. “I can be a very good boy if you only let me prove it.”
“My love, you will be getting absolutely no sex from me, if you don’t let me at least finish this batch.” A shiver rushed down her spine as he licked at her neck, so close to that sweet spot he always used as a place to bite and drink from. But she had to be strong. The jams wouldn’t make themselves. “Every additional minute you keep me from this will be an additional day of your dry spell.”
The vampire spawn jumped back from her as if he’d been scalded, scarlet eyes narrowing in on her. “You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t last an hour!”
Y/N turned around, crossing her arms as a devious smile bloomed on her lips, a brow raised in challenge. “Would you like to test those waters?”
Astarion stood, staring her down. His crimson gaze was blazing from underneath his lashes, but she didn’t budge. They’d played this game for close to three years as a couple now, and she’d learned very quickly – Astarion was very much so a cat. But especially – he was a cat that liked to knock things over while keeping direct eye contact with you, though the second you placed a palm underneath whatever it was he wanted for to fall, all his need for chaos disappeared. It just wasn’t fun anymore.
For twenty long seconds, Y/N and her pale elven lover didn’t break, hoping the other would crumble and be announced as the loser, but part of what he loved about her, was her stubbornness. It was because of that part of her personality, she’d stuck by him when his doubts had crept in, when his own mind called him worthless and not good enough for her, almost as if to spite those vicious words in his mind. She didn’t give up on the people she loved, and as luck would have it, Astarion owned her heart.
But Y/N also knew how to handle a cat like him, so just after a few more tense moments, his eye twitched, and he huffed in defeat.
“Fine,” he scoffed. “But if you are not done by sundown, I shall have no other option but to drag you away from the stove. Kicking and screaming preferred.”
Y/N simply shook her head, and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling the man into a deep, breathless kiss, but not before nipping at his bottom lip, dragging the piece of flesh between her teeth and making him let out a desperate moan. “I’ll even let you tie me up if you wish to do so.”
Astarion’s pupils almost swallowed the red irises in a matter of seconds, as he threw his head back in a groan. “My love, you’re absolutely killing me here.”
“Then I hope whatever punishment you deem fit for me, will be just oh, so sweet.” Y/N stepped back, untangling herself from him, but the mischievousness in her eyes didn’t lessen.
She could see how the words tortured him, how it took every single last piece of his fraying self-control, to not rip off her apron and the clothes underneath and just lay her down on the kitchen table, legs spread with his mouth licking into her until she orgasmed.
With eyes holding nothing but pure lust and hands clenching and unclenching, Astarion retreated. Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t hot and bothered and absolutely dripping between her thighs, and the thought of finishing those jams was the last thing on her mind, but she did have to do it. If only to keep him waiting longer, knowing whatever his beautiful brain was cooking up would leave her screaming and shaking for hours.
They’d been growing their own vegetables and fruits, Y/N tending to them during the nights to spend more time with Astarion as he fussed over his flower gardens, so it would simply be wasteful to leave their berries to rot. The year had been very generous and offered a variety of things to gather, so a while back, she’d decided to pickle some of the tomatoes and cucumbers, turn another batch of peppers and tomatillos into sauces while the sweeter things would be turned into syrups and jams.
Y/N shook her head, trying to clear it from the haze of lust, as the aroma of lemons and cranberries, raspberries and oranges wafted all around, encasing her in the scent. She was just about to add the sugar when the tin rattled with the sound of the last grains left.
Her brow furrowed as she opened the lid and looked inside. Sure, enough it was empty.
The woman huffed. She was absolutely positive she’d gotten the right amount during the last trip, but somewhere along the way it seemed a miscalculation had happened, and now she had to get more. Y/N would have asked Astarion, and had the sun dipped below the horizon, he would have jumped at the request, but alas his little vampiric predicament forbade him from walking during the day, the sun still high in the sky from what she could see through a tiny slit in the shutters.
Quickly, Y/N snuffed out the flame below the pot, untied her dirtied apron and grabbed a basket from the pantry, tying a pouch of coins to her side. She only needed sugar, but maybe she would grab some other necessities as well. They were low on Astarion’s favourite wine, one he claimed didn’t taste like vinegar at least.
“I’m off to the market really quick,” Y/N announced as she peeked into the living room, taking in Astarion as he flipped a page in a book. “Do you want anything?”
“No, my love.” He looked at her like a love-sick puppy. “Just your darling self back as quick as you can. I have picked up some… inspiration for your punishment if you will. Just as you suggested, of course.” He closed the book, showing the cover to her.
Heat crawled all over her body as she read the title, one of her smuttier romances she had started to read, and when she could do nothing but gulp and nod, his smile turned from a sweet one into a wicked-fanged thing. It was all she needed to know whatever awaited her once she was done would leave her unable to walk. Gods, she needed to finish this whole thing up as quickly as she could.
Y/N was out the doors like the wind, the usual stroll to the market cut from half an hour into a brisk fifteen-minute jog, the thoughts of the man waiting back home for her at the forefront of her mind.
The needed sugar, some coffee beans, a loaf of fresh bread, Astarion’s wine and some sour cream were all bought in quick succession, Y/N didn’t even try to haggle. Her eyes drifted across various stalls and merchants and she almost deemed it done when her gaze caught onto a rose seedling. It was a beautiful bloom with blood-red petals that whitened at the very tips. She smiled and went to buy it. Astarion would love the symbolism even if a bit too on the nose.
Once satisfied with everything, Y/N marched across the market and was back on the road to home. It was a humble little house they’d purchased with whatever had been left in their pockets after all was said and done with the tadpoles, but Astarion had bigger plans. This was only a temporary situation.
“I want a whole room full of books. Nothing but books from one end to the other and then some,” he’d confided in Y/N one night after both were panting and spent from multiple rounds of bringing the other to ecstasy.
“And a large ballroom,” he continued, and Y/N couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped her.
“A ballroom? And what will we do with that?”
“Why, have grand balls, of course!” He threw his hands up in the air as if her question was preposterous.
“Star…” Y/N tilted her head to look up at him from where she was lying on his naked chest. “You hate people. A ballroom full of them – it would be your literal nightmare.”
“I don’t hate people.”
“I don’t count.”
“Alright,” he conceded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. Y/N placed her palm atop where his heart was and rested her chin on it, looking deep into his eyes. “I hate most people, simply dislike them, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a get-together, from time to time. Maybe… maybe see our friends. Catch up on how they’re doing. I absolutely despise to admit this and will say you are lying if you ever mention it to anyone, but I – I miss them… even Gale…”
A gentle smile lifted her lips as she brushed a wild curl out of his face and tucked it behind his pointy ear. “I think I’d really like that too.”
His eyes were so soft and full of love, that Y/N swore she could feel his heart beating once more in his chest, thudding against her palm in a confession of adoration.
She was almost out of the city by that point, already on the small, secluded road leading to their house which lay on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate right by the edges of the woods, so Astarion had easier access to game in between feeding on her when her attention was drawn back by someone calling out.
“Miss!” the voice, male she made out, yelled after her. “Miss, please wait!”
Instantly, her guard was up, but when a breathless man, looking to be in his late sixties appeared from behind a copse of trees, she somewhat relaxed. Y/N was still cautious, but if anything, she had a dagger holstered against her thigh. She was always prepared.
“Miss,” he gasped out, leaning his hands against his knees to catch his breath. “Miss, you are a quick one. I’ve been calling for you since by the rose stalls."
“Oh, I – I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you!” Y/N said but didn’t move forward. “How can I help?”
He huffed, as if regaining her breath, before fishing out a piece of fabric from his pocket, and extending it towards her. “You dropped this by the flowers.”
When she took a closer look at what he was holding, it seemed to be some sort of a silk scarf. She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t own silk scarves and definitely hadn’t worn one on such a warm day. “You must have mixed me up with someone, as it’s not mine. Sorry, for you to have troubled yourself like this.”
“No.” The man furrowed his brow, taking a step closer. “I am fairly certain I saw you drop it. Such a fine piece… didn’t want you to lose it.”
Y/N took a step back, angling herself in a defensive position with the basket in front of her. She didn’t like the tone he was speaking in, nor the way his eyes seemed to be appraising her. “No,” she asserted. “It’s not mine.”
His back stiffened, eyes growing cold, the grip on the scarf tightening as he hummed. “Well… a pity then.”
She took another step back, but he was already lunging at her.
Dropping the basket to the ground, she reached for the knife strapped at her thigh, but he was quick as a viper as she hadn’t even noticed when a rope appeared in his hands, lashing it at her. Years of having fought had kept her agile and aware, but years of domestic bliss with Astarion had dulled her senses a bit.
The rope caught and wrapped around her ankle, knocking her to the ground. Y/N’s teeth clattered and snapped, her tongue almost in between them, but as he rushed to pin her down, she twisted her leg around the rope and pulled, making the man lose his balance and stumble.
It was enough for her to swipe her leg underneath his, and send him sprawling. It was enough for her to untangle her legs and roll away as he snapped it at her head. Her clothes were dirty as was her face, but it didn’t matter. She’d cover herself in blood if needed.
It was almost animalistic how she pounced – teeth bared, a snarl ripping from her throat and hands forming claws as if she would gouge at his face with just his nails, but as her palm brushed her thigh, unclipping the holster for her dagger, Y/N didn’t see the man had crouched on his knee and swung the cord.
It knocked the air out of her, as it wrapped around her chest, and he pulled her down, hard. Her ribs were screaming as the tether tightened and tightened with every pull, but as she thought this would be it, something strange happened – instead of offering her the killing blow, he opened a palm, now covered in a leather glove, and blew the contents of it onto her face.
Y/N coughed and sputtered, but whatever it was, was fast-acting and her lungs, still incapable of proper breathing due to the rope couldn’t expel it. In just a few seconds, the bright day around her turned into darkness.
She didn’t know how long she was unconscious for, but enough time had passed to dry out her throat. Or was that a side effect of whatever was blown into her face? In any case, as she slowly came to, Y/N noted there was a soft mattress under her body, which was an oddity for someone kidnapped. She could even tell the dagger was still by her thigh, the comforting weight of the blade pressed under her. Even weirder, if you asked her, to not disarm your victims.
Darkness still encompassed her, but the soft cloth against her cheeks told her she hadn’t permanently lost her vision, but with her sight obscured, she had to rely on her ears. That’s when voices invaded her senses.
There were three people somewhere further away, most likely in a different room if taken by how muffled the words were. She focused harder on what they were saying.
Two men and a female, Y/N differentiated, when the woman spoke.
“This is not what we agreed upon!” she hissed, and a grumbly-sounding man scoffed.
“You said to get her to you. I did. You never specified how.” It was the same man who’d knocked her out.
“We want her to help us!” A different male voice, this one softer, even kinder, rebutted. “I highly doubt kidnapping is a good incentive for that!”
“Look,” her assailant said. “I fulfilled my end of the deal. She is unhurt, maybe she'll sport a couple of bruises and a headache, but that is her own fault. She could have come willingly but didn’t. Other than that, though – she is completely fine. Now you do your part!”
As the trio argued between themselves, more angry whispers than shouting, Y/N started to shimmy her hands which had been bound, out of the restraints. She had a good inclination they needed her alive but had no want of staying as a prisoner.
Though her fighting skills seemed to have mellowed, which she was not happy about, even a couple of years without mortally dangerous adventures, hadn’t changed how quickly she could slip her wrists from their bindings. Astarion might need to get more creative during their debauchery.
Y/N froze the second she heard a door open and shut, two pairs of footsteps moving closer and closer to where she was. Her breathing was shallow and almost imperceptible, as she tried to make it look like she was still unconscious.
She could sense two bodies enter the room and one move to stand where she faced, the other going to her back.
Y/N tensed. In just a few moments, whoever was behind her, would notice her undone binds. But she’d be ready.
“Darling, please be careful,” the woman said, a tremble in her voice.
Good. Let them be scared.
“Don’t worry,” the man replied. “I’ll just make sure she’s – what in the -”
But Y/N was already up, the blindfold off and ready to pounce. This time, she’d have the upper hand.
For a second, the light in the room blinded her, but her sight refocused fast enough to take in her captors’ faces.
The woman was beautiful, with high rosy cheekbones, and jade green eyes so vivid they looked like actual gemstones. Her hair was long and dark, down to her waist while grey strands seemed to have invaded the brown tresses in some places, but she was still ethereally gorgeous, her pointy ears covered in piercings.
Y/N snapped out of the shock quicker and using this to her advantage, she was behind her in a matter of a blink, her dagger pressed tight against her throat.
A gasp entered her ears, but she just pressed the blade harder, making her whimper.
“Please!” the man made her look at him, but instead of bracing for an attack, he had his hands up in surrender. “Please don’t hurt her! We just want to talk.”
“Funny way of having a conversation you’ve got there.” Y/N tightened her grip on the knife, surveying the man. Again, those same pointed ears, but his eyes were the most brilliant blue she’d ever seen and his face was marred with more age lines than the woman’s, yet he still was as gorgeous as she. “Typically, only my enemies would knock me out and tie me up before spilling their grand plans. But I will be kind and give you a choice – what would you like to be – friends or foes?”
“Friends! Friends! Please! We – we’re looking for our son!” the elven man pleaded. “And we – we heard a rumour that you might know him. Have even seen him.”
Y/N narrowed her Y/E/C eyes, piercing his with her gaze. “I’ve known and seen a lot of people. Usually, others just ask me about them, they don’t have someone kidnap me.”
“And we’re sorry, we’re so very sorry, but we had to make sure you came. It went too far and we apologise, but please…” He took in a deep breath, worried eyes flipping between his partner and her. “Our son – his name is Astarion. Astarion Ancunin. Have you – do you know of him?”
Hearing his name, knocked the breath out of her as if they’d snapped a rope around her chest again, making her stumble back. Her grip on the woman released, and she used the moment to leap over to her partner, using the bed as a buffer. He instantly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her half behind his back, but not before checking if Y/N’s dagger had pierced the skin.
Tears brimmed in the eleven woman’s green eyes as she looked at her, not even caring that just a moment before she was so close to having her blood dripping on the floor. “Please,” she whispered. “I – I know we didn’t go about it the right way, but please… is it true he’s alive?”
"I,” Y/N stammered, her gaze snapping back and forth between the two.
Astarion.
They were Astarion’s parents.
Even after all this time, they were searching for their missing son.
Y/N should have noticed the details – how the woman had a small mole on her cheek right where Astarion did, how the shape of the man’s eyes was the exact same as his son’s. Astarion even had the same high cheekbones as his mother while his sharp jaw was that of his father.
What had his eyes been like before? Green like his mother’s or the sky blue of his father's? What had he been like as a child? No doubt as mischievous and scheme-prone as he was now, but who had he gotten it from? So many different questions rattled through Y/N’s brain as she kept glancing back and forth, before shaking her head and pulling her out of the shocked stupor.
“You – you’re Ancunins?” She had to ask. Had to make sure she hadn’t overheard them or maybe hallucinating because of the powder she’d inhaled.
“Yes.” The woman nodded, brushing tears from under her eyes. “Our son has been missing for more than two hundred years, and we almost lost hope until… until we heard about you and your company a few years back. How one of the party members resembled our little Star so much.”
They hadn’t been inconspicuous, though they had tried, so it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that tales of their adventures had gone far and wide, especially after saving Baldur’s Gate, killing Cazador and the absolute, and Gods know how many other evils along the way. But she never thought Astarion’s parents would have heard of it.
In fact, Astarion had barely even mentioned them over the years, and, for whatever reason, Y/N had concluded they must have passed, despite knowing elves lived extremely long lives. Had he maybe tried to find them on his own and couldn’t? Or had he forgotten about them?
Until Astarion and Y/N had become an official couple and she’d commissioned a portrait of him as a gift on an anniversary, he hadn’t even seen himself in two centuries. He’d forgotten what he looked like. It didn’t seem too crazy to assume, the memories of his parents’ names or their faces, might’ve slipped away as well, or even the love they had for him. Especially knowing how deeply Cazador had ruined that notion for him.
She needed to get home. She needed to see Astarion, and then she could figure out what to do.
“I need to go.” Y/N nodded to herself, muttering under her breath. “I need to think.”
“No, please!” the woman lunged, trying to grasp at her, but she had a knife pointed at her chest in an instant, making the elf shrivel back, but still, she pleaded. “Please help us. You’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate! If you can’t help, who will?”
“I promise I will do my best,” Y/N said. “But I need time… I – I need to figure all of this out.”
Her mind was swirling like a hurricane, but the man interrupted her breakdown as she realised how pretty much her in-laws, had kidnapped her. “At least tell us this – is – is it true he is alive? Or have we travelled across Faerun under the pretences of false hope?”
In truth, Y/N wanted to take them by the arms and drag them to her house, but whether Astarion wanted to reach out and reconnect, was up to him. That sort of a choice was not hers to make, but she could grant them this one request.
“He is.” Y/N nodded.
And then she left as quickly as she could because if she had to stand there and watch as the elves crumbled into one another, cries of relief and joy escaping into the slowly setting day, she would crumble too. Their faces were already permanently burned into her mind, and she needed a moment to process everything.
By a stroke of luck or fate, Y/N instantly recognised she was in the woods on the other side of Baldur’s Gate, so retracing her steps to the market was fairly easy even though the whole way back home, she was pretty much stumbling around in a daze, knocking into people and tripping over her own two legs.
Her discarded basket was right where she’d left it, gold coins scattered around it. The pouch must’ve broken during the struggle. Y/N made sure to pick every single piece up and was more than relieved to see, that the rose bloom was still intact.
By the time she arrived, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, and as the last rays warmed her back, she extended her palm to open the door, though she didn’t even get to touch the handle as it was ripped open by a visibly distressed Astarion.
His eyes looked like he’d been crying, his hair as if he’d been relentlessly raking his fingers through the locks and his lower lip so bitten, there was a small hole where one of his incisors had gone through.
“Oh, thank the Gods!” Astairon instantly grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her in a bone-crushing hug, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. “Thank the Gods!”
Y/N dropped the basket over the threshold and closed the door with her foot, her own arms weaving around his middle, a palm soothingly brushing along his side, as he soaked her in.
“I’m alright, Star,” she said, kissing his temple and didn’t even make a noise as he gripped her waist tighter, right where bruises were forming. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, but I’m alright.”
“What happened? You said you’d be quick, but you were gone for hours! And you know what the worst part was – I couldn’t even go out looking for you because of the damned fucking sun!” Astarion cupped her face, turning it this way and that way, trying to find any injuries, but the biggest one would be in her head as she tried to figure out how to explain to him what had happened. “Gods, I am never letting you out of my sight again!”
Y/N indulged the vampire in the hug he pulled her in, holding him against her chest, trying to comfort him, but she was way too consumed with her new findings. Too quickly, as evident by the frown on Astarion’s face, she untangled herself from the embrace, anxiety immediately flashing over his handsome features.
She slid her arms from around his waist to take his palms into hers. “I – I don’t even know how to say this… How do you say something like that?”
Worry instantly marred his brow, and Y/N pressed a practised thumb between them, trying to soothe them away.
“Shit…” he muttered. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What? No!” She cupped his cheeks. “Astarion you’ve done nothing!”
“Then – then what?” He was tentative, still, scared Y/N might be angry at him. Or worse – wanted to leave, but her next words erased all that doubt.
“I…” She took in a deep breath. “Astarion, I met your parents today.”
Whatever he had expected, clearly that hadn’t been it. Probably a confession she’d met a past love, that their feelings were reignited and she wanted to go with them. But definitely not that.
He blinked once, twice, trice, completely and utterly stupefied before a small whisper of “What?” passed his lips.
“It’s why I’m so late,” Y/N explained. “They’d heard a rumour, that I knew you and had travelled with you during our tadpole situation, and came to me. Astarion, your parents are looking for you…”
A million thoughts seemed to swirl in his head, but Y/N held onto his hand through all of them.
“What,” he cleared his throat, “what did you tell them?”
“That I’d find them once I figured out what to do?”
“Which means?”
“Which means I would come home, give you this information and let you figure out what you’d like to do…”
So many emotions flashed across his face, but Y/N no longer needed that mind flayer tadpole connection it created – Astarion was an open book for her to read.
Joy. Such indisputable joy shone in his scarlet eyes before being consumed by confusion. Then anger and disgust and love, but by the end of it all his heart settled on one feeling – fear.
It’s what it knew best, though Y/N had tried her hardest to reduce it to ashes, yet still it lingered. She understood it, despite not being happy he ever had to feel it.
He feared what to do, what would be the right choice to make, he feared their reactions and what they would say of his disappearance or of his newest… condition. Would they accept him? Or would they be repulsed by him?
“What – what would I even say to them?” Astarion searched her Y/E/C eyes as if they held an answer, but when one magically didn’t appear, he hung his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I can’t even remember what they looked like. Their names, the house we used to live in… it’s all a fog.”
Y/N tried to give him an encouraging smile. “Well, your mother – she has the most beautiful green eyes. Like that dress you made for me for Summer Solstice, that same shade. And – and she has a little beauty mark on her cheek.” With a gentle thumb, she brushed over the mole. “Right in that same spot.”
His brows furrowed in concentration; his lips pinched tightly. “I – I remember blue eyes. Not green.”
“That might be your father's. His are azure I’d say. Like the summer sky. Gods, Astarion,” Y/N breathed out. “You look so much like them, but… honestly, the only thing you need to know right now is that they looked relieved.” Her voice was soothing as he tried to find lies in her words, but there would be none. “I didn’t tell them anything apart from the fact that you’re alive, and all I saw was complete and utter relief.”
Y/N placed a strand of hair behind his ear as he pondered. His carmine eyes slid to hers. “Do they want to see me?”
“Yes. It was the whole reason they sought me out because I might have a single scrap of information on you.” She’d mention the kidnapping later. Or maybe never, depending on how everything went. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
“Is it,” he hesitated, as if ashamed to be asking such a question. “Is it alright if I think this over for a bit? I’m just – there’s so much going on in my head…”
“Of course, Star!” Y/N cupped his cheeks and placed a reassuring kiss on his forehead. “Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you,” he sighed, his shoulders dropping, but she just shook her head.
“Nothing to thank me for. Not for this.”
And so, they continued on like that for a few days – Y/N didn’t bring the subject up, but she made sure Astarion knew, she’d be there whenever he needed to talk. Yet her mind couldn’t help but worry about the two elves in that little cottage on the other side of the town. How horrid it must be to wait for an answer that might never come, but her love was her first and only priority. When he decided it would be time, she’d support him no matter what.
It was a week after the revelation (and subsequent freakout on Astarion’s part when Y/N had removed her clothes before him, and he saw the raw skin and bruises on her ribs. She spent the whole night convincing him it was fine and talking him down from hunting the mercenary and bleeding him dry. She didn’t mention it had been his parents who’d hired him but rather said it had been an unfortunate coincidence), when Astarion awoke with a certain determination, shaking her awake.
She swatted at him like an insect buzzing by her ear. “Leave me be, you blood-sucking, elf!” Y/N grumbled, burying herself under the duvet. “It’s too early. And stop hogging the covers!”
She was just about to elbow him in the ribs if he didn’t let her sleep more, but what he said was like cold ice being poured over her, waking her up completely.
“I think I want to see my parents.”
Y/N was sat in a second. The sheet dropped down, exposing her naked chest, but she didn’t even feel the chilly air biting at her skin, even though Astarion’s gaze immediately dropped down to her breasts, eyes blazing with want.
Rolling her own eyes, she pulled the cover so that it obscured her indecency. Though it was his favourite outfit of hers, they needed to focus on the important things. “Are you sure? You can take all the time you need. There is no rush to this, and it’s a huge decision to make.”
“I’m sure,” Astarion sighed, running a hand through his moon-white locks and dropping back onto the pillows. “It’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about.”
Y/N worried her lip before sliding back down next to him, letting him wrap his arms around her body. She knew in moments like these, Astarion needed reassurance, and he craved being close to her. Holding her grounded him, and made his scattered thoughts into something solid.
She kissed right above where his heart lay. “If, you’re sure.”
“I am… I just… Will you be there?” Astarion looked down at her.
The woman gave him a smile. “Nowhere I’d rather be than by your side.”
Gently, he brushed a finger against her cheekbone and leaned to kiss her, thankful he’d found someone to walk the world with, especially during the moments he feared he might break.
The day before they’d decided on meeting, Y/N ventured out to the cabin to inform the elven couple of Astarion’s decision. Once they’d seen her walking up through the window, they were out before she even managed to get to the door, faces full of hope.
“Astarion, he wants to come and see you, but there are some… conditions…”
His mother’s brow furrowed, the grimace so familiar it sent a pang through Y/N’s heart, but she swallowed it. “Whatever he needs. Whatever you both need. Anything for our little Star.”
“So… please just don’t question this, but umm… physical contact – I know I can’t possibly understand how you feel, but let him come to you first. It might not make sense, but it’s important that he is the one to make that step.”
“Of course,” Astarion's father nodded, his mother eagerly agreeing.
“And umm… he’ll be different. He might not look like the elf you remember him being. The world wasn’t kind to him for a long time… Please don’t mention this.”
Pain flashed across their faces at her words. They must have assumed something horrible had happened to him, but to have it confirmed was a different kind of agony. But as Y/N had asked – they didn’t question, simply nodded, holding onto one another a bit tighter.
“Alright.” Her heart was somewhat settled. “Thank you. We – uh- we’ll see you later tonight then.”
And with that, she left only to find Astarion pacing the inside of their hallway upon her return.
“Is it sundown already?” He snapped his neck to her as she removed her cloak, visibly upset when Y/N shook her head.
“A couple more hours, I’m afraid,” she said, taking his hand and kissing his palm, placing it against her cheek. “Please stop worrying. It will all be alright.”
“But what if I’m making a mistake?”
She raised her brow. “Do you think you’re making a mistake?”
“N-no?” Astarion huffed. “I don’t know. I know I want to see them at least once, but what if it’s best to leave the past in the past? Why torture myself and exhume it, so to speak?”
“You can leave it all behind if that’s what you wish. But, Star, you also have the rarest of opportunities people get – a second chance.” She stepped close to him, pulling his head down by the nape of his neck so they could rest their foreheads against one another. “But you can always leave. You can always say “no.” And if someone doesn’t get that, no matter who they might be, I will gut them navel to throat.”
Astarion chuckled, brushing his nose against hers. “My knight in bloody armour, always ready to ride into battle for me.”
Y/N pecked his lips in response. “As long as I get my kisses at the end of it – without a second to spare.”
They spent the couple of hours waiting until the sun went down cleaning up around the house and then it was time to go.
As Astarion took a deep breath before closing the door, Y/N squeezed his hand. “We can turn back whenever you want to.”
But he seemed determined, only giving her a reassuring smile and twining their fingers together, her hand in his solid hold.
They walked slowly, enjoying the warm night gracing Baldur’s Gate, and soon enough they were through the city and past the woods, a small log cabin coming into view.
He stopped them a few feet away, taking in a moment to gather his thoughts and emotions.
Y/N glanced at him encouragingly. “Are you ready, Star?”
Astarion took in a deep breath, held it in for a moment and then exhaled, nodding. With this confirmation, she released his hand and ventured to the door, gently rapping her knuckles against it, immediately returning to stand beside her lover.
Instantly his palm was back into hers, as if he needed her to ground him, reassure him everything would be alright as nervous energy coursed through his veins while they waited for the inhabitants to come and see them. And though it was probably no more than ten seconds since she’d knocked, it felt like time had stood still. Once the doors opened, even nature quieted down.
The breeze shushed the tweeting birds and seemingly even the worms digging underground stopped their burrowing as finally, after two hundred years, the lost Ancunin son returned.
They stood like that for what seemed like ages, just taking one another in, before a small sob of Astarion’s name from his mother’s lips broke the spellbound silence.
It’s when he rushed for her, the elf already on her feet, meeting him halfway. Her arms wrapped tight around his body, hands smoothing down the back of his head as all the while she kept whispering “My Star, my little Star, you’re home.”
Y/N was on standby, ready to rip her away if Astarion became overwhelmed. She’d asked them to allow him to be the one to make the first step, and they had, but with such all-encompassing feelings, she just wanted him to be safe.
Though all that anxiety dissipated like ice under the blazing hear of the sun when Astarion practically melted against his mother, his fingers digging into her shoulders and back as if he never wished to be let go, both of them crumbling to their knees, still in each other’s embrace.
Tears welled along Y/N’s bottom lashes and when his father joined them, wrapping his arms around his family, they fell like rain on an autumn evening. She had to press a hand against her mouth to not sob out loud, but it didn’t seem like anyone would care, as Y/N noted Astarion’s shoulders shaking while his mother and father were freely crying, all the while touching and caressing his face, trying to ingrain the memory of having their son back in their arms.
She couldn’t imagine that feeling, didn’t ever want to, of finally being reunited with a family which you were so brutally ripped away from. Y/N almost wanted to resurrect Cazador, just so she could drive a stake through his heart again, but that might’ve been a bit too morbid of a thought in such a tender moment.
“You’re home.” His mother pulled back, cupping Astarion’s cheeks and smiling from ear to ear. “Our little Star is back home.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he choked out, but his father shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re here. That’s enough for us.”
Y/N watched as he took in the people who’d searched for him relentlessly. He never knew they’d never given up. She wondered if there would be a time, he’d believe he was worth all it. She certainly hoped so.
“Thank you,” the elf with eyes like jade said, snapping her eyes towards Y/N. “You have no idea what kind of a gift you’ve bestowed upon us. We will never be able to repay you.”
She could only wave them off, a knot in her throat. “You owe me nothing. Seeing this – this is enough for me. I’ll – uh – I’ll leave you to it then.”
Just as she was about to turn around, Astarion jumped to his feet, untangling himself from the limbs of his parents, eyes full of concern. “What? Why? What’s wrong?” He was by her side in an instant, pulling her hand to rest against his chest.
“Nothing!” Y/N shook her head. “I just – I just think maybe I should take my leave. I can be back in a few hours if you’d like, but this just all seems like – like a private family reunion.”
Astarion scoffed, his free arm weaving around her waist, completely offended. “And what exactly do you think you are to me if not family, my love? Arguably, you might be the most important part of it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that -,”
“Hush now!” he scolded her. “You promised to be by my side through everything. Are you breaking that promise?”
“No, I just,” she stammered. “Are you sure you don’t want me to leave you to it? This just feels awfully personal.”
“My love, you are the keeper of my heart. You are my true home.” Astarion cupped her cheek, resting his brow against hers, chest against chest, not caring who might see. “Without you, none of this would have happened. I could still be on that beach with a mind flayer tadpole wriggling behind my eye.” He took her hand, and kissed her knuckles, sighing as they brushed against his jaw. “I don’t want to do this without you. I want to relearn who my parents are, and I want them to get to know me, but a non-negotiable part of that is you. That is if it’s alright with you?”
A tear slipped down her cheek, as she looked deep into those ruby eyes that once held nothing but fear and pain, only to now show love and compassion and happiness. When she smiled, her grin could have rivalled the sun itself. “I’d be honoured.”
When they glanced at the two elves by the threshold of the house, they noted the horrified looks on their faces. Astarion’s guard was immediately up, but his mother beat him to it.
“My Star, I am so sorry!” She put a hand over her mouth. “We swear we didn’t know you two were lovers! We just...” She glanced at her husband in desperation, but it seemed the little scene they’d put on had rendered him speechless. “Had we known, we would have never…”
Astarion squinted at her, a dangerous note appearing in his voice. “Never would have what?”
“Oh Gods, we had your partner kidnapped,” his father finally got out, eyes only widening in more shock as it settled that Y/N wasn’t just a travelling companion or a friend, but just what she really meant to Astarion.
“You did what?!” His head snapped to Y/N who now retreated to stand between the two shocked elves, and her quite furious boyfriend.
“Astarion, it’s alright,” she tried to calm him down. “They didn’t know! Besides, I heard them arguing with that mercenary. They didn’t hurt me. In fact, I,” she let out a nervous chuckle, “I held a knife to your mother’s throat. So, call it even and let’s move past it?”
His gaze was hot like the flames, as it burned into her. “We will discuss this later.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her before taking a deep breath and exhaling. “This is absolutely not how I ever imagined a family reunion to go, let alone the introduction of my partner.”
Y/N’s shoulders dropped as he broke the settled tension, but something in his eyes told her she’d pay for her omissions. And oh, how delicious that punishment would be.
His mother still seemed to be all nerves as she invited them inside, spouting apologies in Y/N’s direction, but when she took the elf's hand in hers and gave a comforting embrace, she relaxed a little. “Let’s let the bygones be bygones.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she smiled, and wrinkles of age and time appeared around her eyes.
It was awkward at first, two centuries of hurt laying between them, two centuries of torture on Astarion’s end, of lost love and people, but slowly they opened up. And when his mother mentioned how he always used to bury his nose into strawberry fields, because it reminded him of his mother’s hair care products, it was like a damn had been opened.
The memories were still there, buried under layers of pain and horrors, but there. Maybe a little jumbled up and out of sorts, but with every hour spent together, locks were being broken and a light long lost lit up again.
Astarion had changed, but so had his parents. He let them know of his adventures, how he met Y/N and how she had turned his world upside down but abstained from the more gruesome parts. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever, but if he so wished, she knew his parents would be there to listen and welcome his vulnerably with open arms.
An hour before the sun resumed its place in the sky, Y/N nudged Astarion, telling him it was time to leave. She had little doubt in her mind, his parents had caught onto what he was, even if they hadn’t mentioned Cazador. If not for the shape of his elongated canines, or the colour of his eyes, which Y/N had found out had been a beautiful shade of pale green, then because of the brutal scars on his neck. But they still pulled him into a hug with such vigour, it was like they feared they’d never see him again, which was probably a thought always haunting their minds.
“Would – would you like to come over to ours?” Astarion asked, still holding onto his mother’s hands. “It’s a bit of a mess, our place, but if you come after the sun’s down, I’m sure we can have it proper enough to take on guests.”
It was an odd request, but thankfully, neither his mother nor father said anything about the specific time request, simply hugged him once more and promised to be by their door the second the sun dipped, wine and lemon cakes in hand.
As they waved their goodbyes, Astarion slipped his palm into Y/N’s and made sure they walked all the way back like that. Once behind a closed door, he pulled her into his chest relishing in the way their bodies melded together – two puzzle pieces finally connecting and forming the most magnificent picture to exist.
“What is it like to be finally home?” Y/N asked as he swayed them to a tune only, he heard.
Astarion shook his head, pulling slightly back so he could cup her jaw. “My love, I have been home for a long time now. I’ve been safe and cared for, all thanks to you.” His eyes were so full of love and adoration, she almost choked on a breath. “Now… now it just feels complete. So thank you… thank you for being my home,” he muttered that little confession against her skin, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for keeping me safe.”
“Always, my love.” Y/N didn’t hide the tears rolling down her face and he brushed them away with a soft thumb. “Always.”
When their gazes locked, all she could see was excitement for what the new day had to offer, and she knew whatever was in store, as long as they were by one another’s side, there was nothing they couldn’t overcome.
But for all that, there was an important thing she was unaware of.
As Y/N entered their living room, talking to herself and making a list of what they had to do before his parents arrived, Astarion stood and watched her, leaning against the doorframe, all the while his hands rested in his pocket, where in one of them, a beautiful ring was being twirled between his fingers.
Before they’d left, his mother had slyly pulled it off her own hand, pressing it into his palm, and whispering to him while hugging that she didn’t want to see Y/N without it the next time around.
Astarion had no intention of living his life without Y/N as his fiancé for a second longer.
When she turned around to find him on one knee, he didn’t even get to ask the question before she responded with a shout of “Yes!” and jumped on him, pulling him into a kiss he swore breathed life into his still chest.
He couldn’t wait to reintroduce Y/N to his parents as his intended.
Now all was as it should be. He was finally home. And somewhere in the garden, a rose bloomed in full.
A/N: This idea was inspired by that one post of a painting Astarion's parents probably had of him, but had put away somewhere just so they didn't have to look a the son they lost, so I rectified it (Link to the inspo pic :) :( Now they have a portrait of Astarion and his love right above their fire place :)
P.S. my tags are always open :)
P.S.S. please don't plagiarise or repost on other platforms.
Summary : Sharing a toxic relationship with Snow even thought the possibly of even ending the relationship may be low. Therefore, if you show the slightest affection, let alone see an angry/stress Coriolanus, be prepared for him to exploit you with not only kisses but a night he'll make sure you will have to remember. And remember to who you belong to.
Enjoy!
Your connection with Coriolanus might be labeled as toxic if either of you had the courage to admit it, but the truth is, neither of you can. It required him not only to openly share his feelings with you but also for you to acknowledge that you were now completely under his control. If you dared to consider leaving or reevaluating the relationship, Coriolanus would ensure you understood unequivocally to whom you belonged, with no room for reconsideration.
Amidst the unfolding of the Hunger Games, you were well aware of the connection he maintained with Lucy Gray and ensured it was portrayed as mere entertainment. He would casually mention, "To please the public." Serving as a subtle reminder that your own romantic inclinations towards your candidate had not gone unnoticed. However, it soon became apparent that this was a tactic to divert Coriolanus' own jealousy. Until one time– He had enough. By directing you unhesitatingly to his room, stating. "You. In my room now." Without any protest or objection, a smirk surfaced on your face, signaling that your strategic maneuvers were at least yielding some success in this intricate game.
Once inside his room, brace yourself for Coriolanus to consume you with an intensity that leaves no room for tomorrow. He would channel his stress and anger into you through fervent kisses and lingering whimpers, accompanied by your supplicant pleas. Snow's gaze darkened, and any lingering emotion within him seemed to exit his body, placing you under his complete control. He'd lift you with a possessive grip, his fingers digging into your flesh to keep you still. His lips would navigate to the crook of your neck, refusing to release their hold. "You are mine." He would assert, repeating it more than once as his breath grew heavier with a hunger to savor every inch of your skin. "Mine. Do you understand?"
"Yes..." Was the only response you could muster, and though your sincerity was evident, Coriolanus desired to hear it again—this time with an added layer of pleading. "What did you say?" He feigned with ignorance about your admission, coaxing you to repeat it once more.
I need to give @greatlydelirious credit for the inspo, HI nice to meet you!, your ‘Peaky Blinders dicks description’ was such a blessing ;) and you set me in the mood to write some smut as I originally did so thank u for that.🌷💕
⚠️my very PERSONAL opinion ⚠️
Tommy Shelby
Tommy fucks like he works: well placed thrusts, steady rhythm. He’s the type to go straight to the point, not leaving too much room for foreplay, he does his job and he does it good, but he certainly knows how to use his tongue when he’s in the mood. Not a big fan of dirty talk, well not a fan of talking to begin with, he will let his kisses and caresses speak for him. Missionary and HE HOLDS YOUR HANDS THE WHOLE TIME!
Alfie Solomons
The man is a savage. Sex with him is hot and messy: he likes to switch positions and have you in as much ways as he can, but there’s nothing he loves more than laying down on his back and letting you sit on him and do your thing. Especially after a long, stressful day at work, he loves to hand over the reins and watch you bounce on his cock. He also enjoys making you believe that little you is capable of overpowering him, allowing you to hold his arms or press him down on the mattress. He lets you play a bit, before easily rolling over and pinning you under his gigantic body, a hand cupping the top of your head to keep you still as he proceeds with a hard pounding. He’s loud, not engaged in dirty talk, but grunts a lot and curses even more.
Luca Changretta
BDSM! He’s kinky as hell, has a power exchange fixation and a dominant mindset. He’s a boss after all, he likes to take control. Sex with him is never just a quick fuck. He likes to take his time, set the mood, get you ready. He will take a sit, matchstick in his mouth, and make you undress for him, give him a show, present yourself to him. He craves your submission in all of its forms: kneeling at his feet with his thumb stroking your cheek as you suck him off, spreading your legs and waiting patiently for him to touch you, and beg beg BEG! You’ll be a fucked out mess when he finally gives it to you.
John Shelby
He wants to be tough, but in bed he’s a sweetheart. He really does make love to you, kissing every inch of your skin before he even starts to undress himself. He will never admit it to his mates, but he also loves a bossy partner who puts him back in his place and praises him when he behaves.
Arthur Shelby
He’s a fucking animal, someone once said. They were fucking right. Hair pulling, love bites, spanking and a hard and fast pace. He fucks like he needs to breed you. He likes to maneuver you body and bounce it like a rag doll, but holds you gently in his arms right after you’re done.
—
A.N. As always, I keep it in my drafts for months trying to make it better until I can’t bare the sight of it anymore. It should have contained Michael too, but my brain just refuses to think of something..so, no Michael😔 Someone said that what we write is never as good as we want it to be, but it’s always better than what we think of it for the readers, so here you go.
Prompt: Can i get some teen mc form obey me who mess like bad and may have broke something very precious to demon brother and the undatebles
A/N: MC. >< Hope you like it.
Teen MC Series: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26]
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What were you doing with his favorite record in the first place? Hasn’t he told you countless times that humans cannot listen to that record?
Luckily for you, Lucifer doesn’t get mad, considering he has a soft spot for you; moreover, he always buys multiple copies of every record. Why, you ask? He lives in a house filled with chaotic animals, also known as his dear brothers.
How the hell did you manage to accidentally break a widow of his Demonio 666 Lexura? Car windows are not that easily to accidentally break. Fixing the window is going to cost him a fortune.
Mammon asks you to leave him alone while he leans against the rail and tries to think of a way to repair it.
Even though he cares deeply for his car, he can’t get mad at you, but Mammon will be more careful inviting you to his room.
creds to @ mineco000 on twitter for the nanamiiiin art
-
we all know these are a bunch of sadistic mfs
anyway idk the w.c for this one— it’s too long 🥴
practically wrote a whole drabble for each- enjoy <3
Eren Jaeger
so i imagine you’d be doing missionary, he had been so cocky the whole day, teasing you and haunting you with his boasting
“i have so much control over you, look at you, my little slut. would do anything for my cock”
you obviously get off on the shit he says however-👀—this time you get an idea, mentally slap yourself first for it.
then you kinda go ‘fuck it lets see what happens’ i mean he would probably rail the shit out of you later on but isn’t that what you want hm?
eren’s pounding into you at a hard pace, grunting every once in a while as you groan and whimper beneath him, a slight smirk makes its way on your lips as you watch his face closely, he’s so focused on where he’s fucking you.
he’s watching himself and how he disappears and reappears in you with hard thrusts. his eyes fixed on your pussy, he doesn’t quite register what happens at first when he feels a slight sting on his cheek.
he looks up at you, thrusts slowing. you’re biting your lower lip in anticipation, a delicious fear creeping its way into your chest.
his teal eyes seem to focus and refocus on your face, with a raise of his brows, he hardly thrusts in you as he brings his palm to your cheek and lands a hard slap. making you clench around his cock.
he sets a bruising pace as he talks in a menacing voice, making you shiver, “what the fuck was that?” you moan as you’re looking up at him, your tits jiggling slightly with his thrusts. he slaps you again, but then grabs your jaw in his hand to face towards him again, “huh?” another slap, making you whimper. “what. the. fuck. was that?” he says each word with a thrust into you, his hand rubbing your red cheek, thumb swiping away the little dot of blood forming on your lips. he brings his thumb to his lips, licking your blood off of it, the action making you cringe if it wasn’t for his cock twitching in you and his teal eyes boring into yours.
“don’t ever try that shit on me again, know your place yeah?”
Jean Kirchstein
y’all better know this mf’s a switch.
he fucking loves when you top him
he has a hidden mommy kink. maybe that’s why he kinda is a bitch to his own mom in that one ova— maybe he doesn’t like calling her mom💀
so i imagine you’re on top, he’s laying with his head against the headboard, your ass jiggling as he holds you, helping you bounce on him, your arms around his neck.
his eyes are closed as soft pants and moans leave his mouth, you can’t help but admire him, how his mullet drapes around his neck and slightly sticks to the sweaty skin.
he gives you a soft, lust-dazed smile as he chuckles, “what?” he asks you, still smiling
“jean,” you say between moans, “yes baby?”
you hide your head in his collarbone, lightly nibbling on it as he huffs, “hm? what is it?”
you bring your head back up to look at him, your eyes darting between his hazel eyes and his blushed cheeks, “c-can i try something?”
he raises a brow, nodding hesitantly, nibbling on his lower lip in anticipation.
you slap him accross his cheek, not that harsh, not wanting to startle him more as it is.
a whimper leaves his mouth.
you smirk at him, grinding your hips as you feel his thighs twitching.
he opens his eyes, a pleading look in them along with his brows
you slap him again, a bit harder this time
he groans,
“you like that jean?”
he cums.
Levi Ackerman
i cannot find it in my heart to want to slap this man.
he has been thru so much shit i would not like to inflict any pain on him even a little sting 🥺
i mean- it would prolly be nothing for him since he’s the strongest soldier of humanity.
but tbh i’m always always torn between dom levi and sub levi. so for me, he’s a switch. both.
sometimes he like you to take care of him. he needs it, even tho he will barely admit it.
he never admits. he is so so so stubborn and reserved.
other times he would like to dom and rail tf out of you cuz i cant imagine him not being a dom sometimes
anyway i’m getting distracted wait-
dont slap him.
nevertheless,
at first he looks at you, confused- thinking he’s done something wrong?
when he sees you trying to hide your smile by biting your lips, he gets it.
he’ll pin your hands above your head, a “tch” leaving his lips as he kisses you
“why’d you do that?”
“i’m sorry, did you not like it?”
he rolls his eyes and grips your wrists tighter with one hand, “i never said that.”
бгггггг oop
•••••••••••••
toji fushiguro
buckle up ladies, we goin for a ride.
are you dumb? would you like to be murdered? fed to crows? fed to his worm?
doesn’t matter cuz i fuckin am.
he has you pressed against a wall, one arm next to your head, the other flexing and unflexing infront of you as the large veins lead to his hand that he has burried in your underwear, two thick fingers of his playing with your clit
you’re a whining mess as he looks down at you with dangerous eyes blown with lust so much so they look the same as his hair color.
he’s been edging you forever, licking and sucking all over your neck and chest before he finally gave you his fingers. or so you thought.
he had been rubbing you for you dont know how long now
before your mind could keep up, your body reacted, with a frustrated groan, you slap him.
his face tilts to the side with your smack, cheek a light shade of pink from your small fingers. his movements on your clit come to a halt, your heart threatening to jump out of its cage.
he turns his head, looking at you with a shit-eating grin. the scar on his lips looking delicious as ever.
before you can register his movements, he uses his legs to part yours. he plunges his two fingers into you without warning, curling them into the spot he knows will make you scream.
your thighs start shaking, hands grabbing at his broad shoulders and squeezing.
he chuckles darkly, “do it again.”
you look up at him through moans as his fingers fastly move in you with a ‘come hither’ motion, you think you’re fucking imagining things, so filled with lust as you finally have his fingers where you want them.
is this a test? does he want you to slap him again so he could put you in your place?
he shakes his head, amused, “am i fucking you dumb with my fingers? if they’re too big for you, my cock is gonna rip you in two.” your mouth is open but no sound leaves it at this point, he scissors his fingers in you, making you choke on your breaths. “didn’t you hear me? do it again.” you try to keep your eyes open, through heavy lids you look at his expressions, trying to read him. you fail.
“go on then, slap me again like the impatient fucking brat you are.” he says with an evil grin.
you slap him again, earning a groan from deep within his chest, the sound makes you clench around him. “yeah? satisfied?” he moves his fingers at an unrelenting pace, looking down at you with the smirk still evident on his face, ”you get off on that shit? my little whore.” he coos
before you know it, you’re cumming all around his thick fingers, coating them in your slick. he swiftly grabs your hips and turns you around, you’re practically like a small ragdoll compared to him.
you’re still trying to calm down from your previous high. you hear it before you feel it, the tearing sound of your ruined panties, the shredded cloth sliding to the floor.
you feel his thick tip press against your folds, you’re whimpering and trying to get away from him, failing as he has you trapped between his chest and the wall, he grabs both your wrists as you try to turn around and push him away, holding both of them in one hand behind you as he slides his length between your folds, groaning as your thighs shook for him.
he doesn’t put it in yet, observing your small figure writhing infront of him, he lands a harsh slap on your ass, making you moan out loud. he nibbles on the shell of your ear, hot breath against it as he speaks in a devilish, deep voice, “you did that cuz you wanted me yeah? well now you have it. you have me, and you’ll take it.” he puts the tip of his large cock in you, making you moan in pleasure, thats far from what he wanted.
he wanted you to feel pain. to feel all of him and what he is. he would thrive on it.
he wrapped his free arm around your form, holding you close to his chest as he gave a hard thrust, even with all the strength of his wide hips, all of him couldn’t fit in you.
your throat hurt as you screamed. “there we go, got what you wanted? hm? happy? argh—clamping around so tightly around my cock? barely fits in you, doll. gonna have to make the rest of it fit. and you’re gonna take it so well.”
good luck to your neighbors ma’am you’re literally getting convicted.
if i write more for this man i won’t be able to stop 🥴
megumi fushiguro
hmm okay he’s legit the only boi i had no idea in my head for
maybe it’s cuz his reactions are really hard for me to understand
he’s still a mystery to me 😩
i think he would genuinely be confused—
he’d look at you with such a confused expression on his face, his eyebrows all scrunched up together, his thrusts coming to a halt
you’d chuckle and wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him sweetly.
he would just brush it off and continue with your fucking
later on he would rethink it, surprising himself when he would blush at the thought
he would be hesitant to talk about it
but you’d notice immediately and motion for him to come into your arms
he would put his on your chest as you massage his scalp and play with his hair
“y/n?” he would say in a shy voice
“hm?”, he looks up at you, raven hair falling on to his forehead as you mess it up, “i didn’t know you were into that stuff.” he says as he’s trying to hide his blush in your boobs, you chuckle, raising a brow.
you just unlocked gumi’s kinky side.
prepare to have your guts rearranged next time you fug 😁
Satoru gojo
YOU THINK YOU COULD LAND A SLAP ON HIM? BAHAHAHAAH
this cheeky, cocky, woo woo ass motherfucker-
he would not take you seriously for the love of god
i’d probably enjoy slapping him the most ngl.
you’d be riding him, and him being the cocky-self he is, would have his arms crossed under his head as he watches you bounce yourself on his cock
your thighs would be stinging with pain by now, it was overwhelming and annoying, your features would change to one of discomfort, “‘t-toru,” he watched you with a smug smirk on his face that you quite literally wanted to slap off his face, his icy blue orbs looking you up and down as he made no move, no effort, “hmmmmm?” he said mockingly, you’d whine, “it hurts.. please help me, i’m tired.”
he’d give a sweet chuckle, nothing but annoying to your ears. he would move closer to you, leaning on his elbows, and teasingly rubbing your ass with his palm.
you snap, literally growling with frustration as your palm comes to slap his cheek, it stops millimeters before it. his chuckle filling the room, he takes your hands in his, pressing a kiss to the palm of it.
in a swift movement, he turns you both around, now hovering above you. his cock still remains inside you as you whine, “satoru!! please...nnnaaghh! move!”, he chuckles again, the sound making you want to try slapping him again, and kiss his velvet soft lips at the same time. he grabs your face with one large hand, slender fingers planted on your cheeks as he squishes your lips together to form a pout.
he grins, still not moving inside you as you have a vice grip around his dick. his heaven-sent eyes looking down at you, his snowy white hair messy on his forhead, “say ‘AAA”, if it weren’t for you being extremely frustrated right now, you’d laugh at his goofiness. you open your mouth, his thumb on your chin as his hand is wrapped around you throat.
he slowly brings his own spit between his lips, watching it as it falls to your mouth. he hums in satisfaction as you swallow it. he tuts as you try to move your hips against his, craving more. his hand grips your hip enough to leave bruises, “now, apologize for trying to slap me, and i might make you cum, buttercup.”
he ends up fucking you so hard, this time with his infinity off, letting you leave scratches along his back as blood forms his muscular back.
he knew he deserved it.
he’d also treat you like a princess afterwards.
he’d bring up you trying to slap him during sex SO much.
not for others tho- as much as he’s shameless, he also doesn’t like to share any info about you.
he’d tease you for it, making you do things for him so he “might consider letting you slap me next time, ngl it turned me on, you trying to be stronger than me. ” he would say while munching on gummy bears.
kento nanami
oh boy-
we all know he’s a man of culture and manners okay.
so i feel like he’d highkey hate it and think it disrespectful
even though he does go all daddy dom when he’s stressed, he would never slap you (on the face anyway)
he would like to have a mutual respect between you both
tbh i wouldn’t even try slapping this man- it’s just— embarrassing.
sorry if you expected sum else😩
yuuji itadori
oh my god this baby boy
you have it in your heart to slap him?
he would stop mid-thrust, his eyebrows furrowing, lips pouting
he would literally look like this 🥺
LIKE HE WOULD THINK YOU HATE HIM
you’d have to apologize and kiss him where you slapped him.
he would make the yuji face he always does- it goes smth like this 😗
and he’d lowkey be confused
he’d be like, “wait..that’s something you do during sex??”
this baby would go and research all over pornhub, watching slapping vids to get himself to like it and warm up to it😭
he’d still be too sweet tho
Sukuna
*nervous laugh* h-ha-haa-hhhhhhh
uhm ma’am do you have a deathwish
as soon as you slap him, he’s turning you over, all fours. face down, ass up.
he would literally spank you so much— might even use his fuckin nails to draw blood o-o
he would fuck your ass. raw. he would absolutely inflict so so much pain on you.
he’d use his iconic quote “ichi-do wa yurusu, ni-do wa nai. bun wa wakimaerou, shiremonoga” 🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴 stop that’s my favorite line of his
the translation if yall SOMEHOW dont know that line; “i’ll allow it a first time, there won’t be a second time. know your place, fool.”
Part One
Pairing: Karl Heisenberg X Gn!Reader
Word count: 527
Genre: Drabble, light angst, kinda hurt/comfort, reluctant fluff
Warnings/tags: past fighting, Stockholm sydrome, yandere but hes a loser, I can't let my babygirl be sad so here's a small sequel
The couch is lumpy and hard as you try to rest your heavy eyes. You shift, the leather sticking to your bare legs as you toss and turn. You groan, mad at yourself for storming out on Karl before you could grab your pillow and blanket. You sigh, trying to rest your tired eyes regardless. After a few moments you can't take it anymore, groaning before getting up. You walk over to Karl’s bedroom, opening the door and peeking in. You see him in bed naked, snoring softly. A bit of his gray hair is over his face, and his face is a blotchy red from crying. You tiptoe in, careful not to make the floor creak under your weight. You gingerly step past the bed, and open the closet door. You wince as it creaks. Your head snaps over to Karl, waiting for a reaction. He shifts a little in his sleep, before continuing to snore. You let out a quiet sigh in relief, leaning down and taking your pillow and blanket from the pile they’re in the closet, before turning around. As you turn around, beginning to leave, you hear a soft mumble. You look over at the bed, and see Karl staring at you with bloodshot eyes.
“What're you doing up-?” He slurs, rubbing his eyes.
“Nothing, Karl. Go back to sleep.” You say softly, your eyelids growing heavier. You yawn.
“You can’t sleep on the couch every night. It’s not good for your back. And it’s probably why you’re so damn irritable all the time.” He grumbles, shifting in bed, being woken up in the middle of the night getting to him.
“Well, I- I…“ you try to respond, but it dies in your throat. He looks up at you, and you can tell he’s exhausted, even in the dim light.
“Why don’t you lay with m-“ you shake your head immediately, cutting him off.
“Just for tonight? Your back will probably feel better.” He tries to reason. It catches your attention, and you sigh in defeat. You wait a moment before responding, gathering your thoughts.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Scooch over. And just for tonight, okay?” You mumble softly in defeat, sliding into bed beside him. His warmth is shocking after sleeping alone so long, and you shiver slightly. He quickly turns to face you, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. He squeezes you happily, burying his face in your neck.
“Mm, I knew you’d warm up to me” he mumbles, his voice barely audible as you feel his lips curl into a smirk against your neck
His half hard, cum-covered cock brushes against your leg and you shiver in disgust. His eyes widen, and he looks away in embarrassment.
“S-sorry” he mumbles, clinging to you a little tighter.
“It’s okay.” You murmur groggily, struggling to keep your eyes open. You yawn and close your eyes, your hands slowly coming to wrap around his soft waist. He freezes for a moment, before leaning into your touch.
“Goodnight, sweetie.” He mumbles softly. You pause for a moment.
“…goodnight, Karl.” You say softly, before closing your tired eyes, finally able to rest.
The only reason you ever attended Blackwell Academy was to gain an edge on the art world, to improve your Photography, and make something of yourself. When you shared your umbrella with Nathan Prescott that fateful night, you didn't expect to start seeing him everywhere, captivating you with his mere presence. He's nothing like the man you were warned of. Perhaps that's what draws you in, keeps you there until you're hopelessly falling in love with him. You wouldn't have it any other way.
"What the fuck are you giving me that doe-eyed look for, huh? Get the fuck away from me." Ah. You recognize who that is now.
Nathan Prescott.
Word Count: 23,000 :')
Cross Posted Here on AO3
Warnings: Swearing, slight (implied) NSFW, brief gun usage. Mainly a lot of pointless fluff~
Tiny note here; in no way am I excusing Nathan's behavior in the original game, this is just my take on how I wanted his story to turn out :)
Primarily gender-neutral! reader, but the reader does reside in the girl's dorm. Just pretend that the dormitory was over capacity and you got shoved in there.
Sneaking out has never really been your thing. You had no urge to do it while living with your parents, and when you arrived at Blackwell, you were confident that you were not going to be one of those students who snuck out of the dorms every night.
Yet here you are, crouched behind a shrub, heart hammering in your chest as you wait for the Blackwell security officer to continue on his merry way. You hadn't planned this out. Despite it being the first week of class, you were loaded with homework. Initially, you had planned to spread it out over the weekend, a little science here, a little photography there.
What you hadn't been expecting was just how quiet the dorms would become after the Vortex Club Party began, and naturally, you had taken advantage of it and crammed all of your homework into one night. But, unfortunately, that also meant that you wouldn't finish until two in the morning, and you were desperate to stretch your legs.
For what feels like years, the security officer stands there. Shines his flashlight back and forth. Pauses. Shines again. Your heart stops every time he does it. Finally, his radio beeps, and then he's on his way out. As soon as he's out of sight, you feel a frigid drop of water hit your cheek.
Well, shit.
You're not ready to go back inside, not after what you went through to get out in the first place. There's an umbrella in the back of your car. You didn't plan to go that far, but you're already beginning the trek to the parking lot.
You get to your car just as the rain becomes coming down in sheets, and it's barely been a few minutes, but it feels as if the temperature has dropped a couple of degrees already. Resting the open umbrella against your shoulder, you take your time walking around, feet slow, eyes glazed, as you find yourself lost in whimsical thoughts about romantic sneak-outs with an imaginary man.
Under the old Oak tree, you make eye contact with someone. You jump, barely stifling a yelp of fear from escaping your mouth.
"What the fuck are you giving me that doe-eyed look for, huh? Get the fuck away from me." Ah. You recognize who that is now.
Nathan Prescott.
Drawing closer, you can see him haphazardly leaning against the tree, his shoulders and hair wet with rainwater, unruly strands already beginning to stick out every which way. He reminds you of a wet cat, sulking in a corner and hissing threats at anyone who dared look in his direction.
"Are you just gonna keep staring at me, nerd?" He stands up straight, takes a few steps towards you, forcing you to tilt your head to meet his eye. If you didn't know any better, you would think that he's doing this to look bigger, more intimidating.
It's not working.
"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you through the rain," the words tumble off your lips too casually, too friendly to be your first words to the infamous Prescott. "Are you waiting for the rain to slow down? I can share my umbrella if you'd like."
You've been warned by your new friends to stay away from him. They told you that he's dangerous, unhinged, but you would like to make that judgment for yourself.
To no surprise, he scoffs, striding out from under the tree and into the pouring rain, "I don't need your charity, whore."
The timing is almost comedic. Nathan doesn't make it more than a few steps ahead of you before chunks of hail begin pelting down from the sky, one nailing him right on the top of the head. You can't help but laugh as a string of curses leave his mouth, arms bracing themselves above his head to protect himself from another hit.
You take the opportunity to sidle up next to him, extending the umbrella out to protect him from the unruly balls of ice. Nathan glares at you, but he doesn't make a move to step out from under it.
"Holy shit, what the fuck do you want from me?" He snips, and while he sounds livid, he follows along as you begin walking. Odd.
"Nothing," you say, honestly.
Nathan is quiet for a few strides, shaking the water out of his wet hair and grumbling something incoherent. "That's what they all say when they first show up," the remark falls off of his lips so casually that it stings a little bit.
The storm around you picks up, the wind blowing hard against your umbrella, quite nearly ripping it from your grip. You struggle to hold onto it. It's your only umbrella, and you're fucked if you lose it this fast. "Prescott or not, I'm just trying to be nice." You're not sure why you're telling him this, but you are, "Nobody likes to walk alone in the freezing rain."
Nathan doesn't say anything else, and you're okay with that. However, you're quick to notice that he's making an effort to match your stride, a little bit ahead of you but not far enough to get out from under the umbrella. You're near the entrance to the dorms when a strong gust of wind picks up, and with a loud pop, the upper portion of your umbrella breaks off.
What the fuck.
"What the fuck." You're so stunned that you've quit walking, the umbrella handle still clenched tightly in your hands.
Beside you, Nathan has stopped, watching as your umbrella flies up and becomes lodged in a tree. "That's what you get for getting an umbrella at Walmart," he chides, and with that said, he jogs up the stairs and disappears into the dorms.
So much for that.
Defeated, you shuffle back inside, ready for a warm shower and some new, much dryer clothes. Small pieces of hail pelt you as you walk up the front steps, and you vaguely hope that your poor car won't receive any dents from it. One would think that an Academy as prestigious as Blackwell would have a parking garage for its small student body. But, alas, you share a lot with the Blackwell staff.
It rains doesn't cease, encasing Blackwell in a non-stop drizzle of freezing rain. Unless you're paying a visit to the showers or the vending machines, you don't leave your dorm. You check your social media a couple of times, half expecting to find some petty remark regarding what happened, but you find nothing.
Through your window, you can see your umbrella still lodged in the tree, taunting you. If objects could speak, there is no doubt in your mind that it would be making crude remarks and giving you hell. You find yourself watching it, glaring at it, wishing for it to disappear so that you can finally forget your encounter with the Prescott. But it stays.
Out of spite, you draw an umbrella on your whiteboard.
By Monday, the rain still has not let up, and you're creeping out of the dorm, wishing you owned a backup umbrella and cursing the one that is still sitting in the tree. Your jacket hood is pulled up, headphones nestled on your ears, playing a soft tune that still allows you to hear the rain around you.
You don't realize Nathan is around until he brushes past you, umbrella casually tossed over his shoulder as he heads towards the main building. Then, briefly, he meets eyes with you, and he pauses for just a second. There's a look in his eye that you can't quite place, his face carries no expression, but his eyes are a little too wide, a little frightened.
"Nathan!" You could have sworn that you saw Victoria leave already, but she comes jogging past you, joining him under his umbrella. "You and your umbrella couldn't have waited one minute?"
Whatever that look was, it's gone in an instant, replaced with the neutral expression that you usually see on him. You're not looking to get any better by eavesdropping, so you continue on your path to class, pushing the pretty-faced man out of your thoughts the best you can.
Nathan comes creeping back into your thoughts later that night. That expression. Why did he look at you like that?
In the safety of your dorm, you indulge in your nosiness. From your laptop, you look Nathan up in utter awe of how much power his family has over Arcadia Bay. As a non-native to the area, you didn't know who held power in this town. You'd genuinely believed your friends were exaggerating when they told you about Nathan and his family.
It takes you a while to find Nathan's social media. It wasn't easy to find the guy despite being tied to such a prominent family and running the Vortex Club. His Instagram is small, comprised of black and white photography that you don't doubt he took himself. Strangely, he has no tagged photos either.
Thunk_
Something has just fallen against your door, hard.
Startled, you jump to your feet and open your door, seeking the source of the noise. The doors to the stairwell are just beginning to fall shut. It's already too late to catch a glimpse of who it could have been.
By your feet is a long, thin cardboard box. As you pick it up, you find that it has a decent weight.
"What in the world?" You look towards the doors once more as if they can give you an answer.
Carefully, you open the box, and it all comes falling together.
It's an umbrella, the nicest one you've ever seen—the handle made from polished wood, fitting into your hand comfortably. You can already tell that it's an expensive one, you don't need the "Made In England" written on the box to know that one.
Using the brand name printed on the box, you run a short Google search to determine the mystery umbrella's actual price.
"Two hundred and ninety-five dollars?" You exclaim a little too loudly. "Who spends that much on an umbrella?"
The door diagonal from yours creeps open, Taylor's head poking out. "Y/N? Was that you who was yelling?"
"Sorry about that," your cheeks feel warm, "just a little confused, is all."
She slips out of her dorm, crouching down to look at what you're holding. "Over an...umbrella?"
You flip your phone around, letting her see its listing, "a three hundred dollar umbrella just randomly showed up outside of my room."
"Wow, okay, weird," she plucks the umbrella out of your lap, pushes it open. The umbrella is enormous. "It looks like you have yourself a pretty wealthy secret admirer, Y/N," she teases, twirling the umbrella in her hand, "do you know who could have left it?"
You have a good idea of who could have left it.
"Not a clue," you lie, "who the hell spends this much on an umbrella?"
"You would be surprised," she stands back up, her hand falling onto her door handle, "I have to go back to my homework. But, I'll keep an eye out and let you know if I spot anyone leaving anything else."
"Thank you, Taylor," she offers you a small wave and then disappears back into her dorm.
The umbrella is beautiful, but you cant keep it. It's so expensive.
As you slide the umbrella back into its box, your mind starts to wonder. Is that why Nathan gave you that look this morning? Did he assume you were expecting for him to replace your poor little Dollar General umbrella?
Again, who spends that much on a fucking umbrella?
You retreat inside of your dorm to retrieve a sticky note and a pen, writing a little message to go along with your return.
I genuinely appreciate the gesture, but I can't accept this. You don't have to get me a fancy umbrella just because my five-dollar umbrella decided to break. Thank you, though. :)
For extra measure, you reach for the bag of stickers you were gifted during your orientation to Blackwell, fishing out a little polaroid camera sticker to place at the bottom of the note.
With your note written, you head out of your dorm, umbrella in hand, and head downstairs to the boy's dorms. You expect Nathans dorm to be challenging to find, but the whiteboard stating "Prescotts own you" give it away. Easy enough.
Sticking the note to the box, you drop it from a decent height, letting it thud and smack against Nathan's door, much as he had done to you. From inside, you hear him swear, and you high tail it out of there before he can catch you.
On Tuesday, you return to that goddamn umbrella by your door again. There's a note on it.
Tke the godamn umbrella whore.
You return it with another note.
No <3
The rain has finally let up, and you decide to take a long, winding drive around Arcadia, making sure to not so accidentally pass by the Prescott Household. The house is every bit as regal as it had looked on your laptop. You cant imagine what it must be like living in that place.
For dinner, you stop by The Two Whales. You've heard a lot about it; it's about time you've given it a shot. A sweet woman named Joyce feeds you bacon and eggs with a large mug of coffee. It's like a homey version of Waffle House. You're so engrossed in your food that you don't realize who is in the booth behind you.
"The boy behind you paid for your meal," Joyce says, taking the empty plates from your table. She replaces it with a receipt and a to-go cup of more coffee, "but here's your receipt. Have a good evening, love."
Wide-eyed, you peer over your shoulder, immediately recognizing the mess of brown hair. Seriously? The bill was only ten dollars.
Digging into your wallet, you find two Hamiltons. You leave one for Joyce, and the other you toss onto Nathan's table as you walk past.
You really shouldn't have let Joyce give you an extra cup of coffee at 5 pm because it keeps you up late into the night. You find yourself checking your door aimlessly, hoping to find that damn umbrella outside of your room again, just so that you have something to do.
At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.
By midnight, no such thing has occurred. No umbrella. Not even a peep in the dorm. Faintly, you recall Dana saying that the door to the roof is unlocked. You put on your headphones and head up to the roof, considering you have nothing better to do.
The view is impressive; you can see everything from up there. In the corner, you sit next to the ledge, leaning against the barrier and simply resting your head. You're not daring enough to sit on top and dangle your legs off. You cant imagine that you'll survive if you accidentally fall off.
The summer air is still warm, the gentle breeze starkly different from the one that broke your umbrella. You peek your eye open. Yep, the umbrella is still lodged in the tree. At some point, you manage to nod off, lost in the music playing from your headphones.
Bam_
The door behind you slams shut with such force that it jars you awake. Your heart almost stops as your headphones fall off your head, tumbling onto the ledge. You grab them, slipping them around your neck as you turn to see who has so pleasantly joined you on the roof.
You can't quite make out who it is right away. They're moving too fast, pacing back and forth, muttering something you cant understand.
Oh.
Nathan looks about as awake as you do, his face pale and sweaty as he begins to wear a hole into the rooftop. He's panting, heavy breaths escaping between words. The only thing you can make out is something about a storm.
He manages a good dozen paces before he notices you, stopping dead in his tracks. "What the fuck are you doing up here?"
"Mourning my umbrella," your voice is deeper than it was before you fell asleep. How long had you been out?
He scoffs at that. He looks annoyed, but you don't miss how his shoulders drop.
"Nightmare?" You ask, moving to lean against the ledge, facing him fully. You're tempted to offer to leave, but you were here first. "Have a dream where you couldn't get rid of that umbrella?"
He smiles a bit at that. Then, ever so slowly, he comes to sit across from you, feet brushing against yours. "How do you know I didn't break into your room and hide it in there?"
"I've been waiting to find it sticking out of my car's windshield," you check your phone. 5 am.
He reaches into his jacket pocket, digs around a bit, and tosses something green at you. Your ten-dollar bill, albeit a bit more crumpled than it was when you'd given it to him.
"Nice try, " you toss it back, it lands on his lap, "I'm not taking it."
"I have more money in my wallet than your parents make in a month, keep it," he's trying to hide it, but there's an amused tone in his voice as he wads the bill into a ball and throws it at you. It hits you square in the nose, and the bastard laughs.
"And I don't need your charity," you throw it back. It hits him in the chest. "You seriously spent three hundred bucks on a fucking umbrella for some bitch you don't know?"
He shrugs. "So? Your five-dollar one couldn't take the heat."
You groan, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, "you're not letting up on this, are you?"
A period of silence washes over you. Nathan leans against the ledge, staring up into the night sky with such a thoughtful yet troubled expression. You wonder what's going on behind those eyes that seem to cut right through you.
"It's different," he says, finally. His eyes flick from the stars to look you over. "People don't usually reject things that come from the rich kid."
You want to say something witty, joke that the reason your new friends warned you about him was because he would force you to accept a gift. He seems too sincere to make that joke right now.
"I was serious in that note," you sit up, stretching your tired arms above your head. "I do appreciate it, but I don't need an expensive umbrella just because mine broke."
Nathan's eyes meet yours, searching, expecting. You do your best to maintain your firm gaze, afraid that even the slightest deviation may lead him to believe you're lying. Of course, you don't know who he's met in the past if this is a normal thing for new Blackwell residents, but you'll be damned if you let yourself come off as desperate for his money.
You're tempted to let the silence settle, but you have something else to say. "Although..." Nathan's eye twitches, "it has been fun playing tag with the umbrella."
That's the first time you see him smile. A big, lopsided grin sprawls across his face, and he laughs. Head tipped back, unbothered as he bumps his head against the rough concrete, chest heaving with laughter. "This is so fucking ridiculous," he snickers. "I can't believe I've been playing tag with some bitch I don't know the name of."
"What is umbrella tag not a thing you make a habit of?" You twist to the side, folding your arms over the ledge, resting your chin on them. The roof wasn't exactly the best place to sleep; you were still tired.
Nathan stares at you, long and hard. You don't need to look over at him to feel his eyes drilling into your frame. He shuffles, scoots away. "Don't move."
You can't quite tell what he's doing. He's fumbling in his pockets, pulling out a square object and—oh.
He's got his camera.
"Look down," he says dryly, "like you were before."
You're not in the mood to question it, eyes falling back to where they previously had. You can see Nathan taking pictures in your peripheral, shuffling around to change angles, going up, down, left, right, and sideways. Sometimes he uses flash, and you struggle to keep your eyes open.
Vaguely, you wonder if this will appear on his Instagram page. Would he post pictures of students from Blackwell? Will you get to see the outcome of these pictures? Is he just taking photos for fun, or is this for an assignment?
He quits moving, and you flick your eyes back to him, assuming he's done, but he's still taking photos.
"You're giving me that doe-eyed look again, loser," he sets his camera in his lap, finger tapping on the screen. He sounds irritated, but he doesn't look it.
"What doe-eyed look?" To that, he flips his camera around.
Okay, so maybe you were looking at him a little funny. You hadn't realized you'd been doing that.
"I think that's just my half-assed way of being confused," you admit, Nathan glances up at you. You don't need him to speak to know what he's asking. "Ever since I've gotten here, I've been warned that you'll bite my head off. But here I am, still with my head."
"You haven't pissed me off yet," he mirrors your position, resting on his knees and leaning against the roof ledge. His eyes don't leave his camera. Maybe that means your photos aren't half bad.
Somehow, you manage to nod off again. The wind whirling around you and the soft, rhythmic clicking of Nathan's camera is strangely soothing. You hear the click of his camera again, feel him moving around you. A part of you is annoyed that he didn't ask, but then again, you didn't object to his earlier photos. You let it go.
You're woken by a shoe kicking yours, jarring but not hard enough to hurt. You catch a glimpse of Nathan disappearing into the stairwell; the sun is already over the horizon. There's an ache in your neck and your knees that makes you regret falling asleep again.
"Strange," you mutter. Class starts soon, but you manage to get to class on time, a heavy sensation pooling in your stomach. You can't quite place it. It's not dread, but it's not precisely excitement either.
You choose to keep the encounter to yourself. When Dana asks why you look so tired, you lie and tell her you couldn't sleep. There seems to be a big gossip circle around the Prescott—you're not eager to add to it.
You knock out the moment your head hits your pillow. The dorm bed is so much more comfortable than the roof.
To your dismay, you're awoken by a series of frantic, heavy knocks on your door. Although, you don't know what time it is; you don't make an effort to lift your head to check the clock.
"It's open!" You assume it's Dana or Taylor; hell maybe it's Alyssa. Whoever it is, your uninvited visitor is in your room in an instant. Then, in the hallway, you hear a man's voice. Security?
Your eyes are open now. The room is impossibly dark, and you have to turn on the lamp to see who's in your room.
"Nathan?" You blink harder, looking up at him. He's panting; cheeks flushed red. There's a camera around his neck.
"Fucking power-hungry pigs caught me out after curfew and chased me into the dorms," his teeth are gritted as he speaks, making it harder to understand what he's saying.
There's a heavy pounding on the door across from yours. Hell, they're checking the rooms.
In unison, you and Nathan look at the window, then back to each other. There's no way you can get him out the window. You sit up, scanning your room for a place to hide the guy. Nothing. The only site you can think of is your bed, but there are drawers under it. He can't fit under.
"Help me pull the bed out," you leap to your feet, grabbing ahold of the headboard and pulling it from the wall.
Nathan grabs the foot of it and tugs. He's stronger than he looks, at least, stronger than you because he manages to pull it out more than you did. Your soul just about leaves you and ascends into the high heavens when a heavy fist strikes your door.
"Security check! Open up!" God, fuck David Madsen.
Nathan seems to have gotten the gist of what you're trying to do. He's already crawling across your bed, slipping into the gap between mattress and wall. For extra measure, you toss your blankets over him, throwing a stuffed animal on top, just to be sure.
There's banging on your door again. Holy shit. This is happening.
With shaking hands, you grab the door and open it. David practically barges in, shoving you to the side as he enters. "Do you have any stowaways in here?" He barks, flashlight shining in your eyes. "Answer me!"
You flinch away, jarred by his presence. "I just woke up."
"Answer the damn question." He taps the foot of your bed, pushes on it until it slides a little. You assume he only stops going because it hit the "wall."
He looks around again, nods his head, and walks out of your dorm. "Sorry for the interruption. Carry on."
The moment he's gone, you're jumping for the handle, locking the door behind him.
Faintly, you hear Nathan groan. He says something, but you can't understand what he's speaking from under the blankets. Quickly, you grab the foot of the bed and pull it away from him—another groan.
"God, what the actual fuck," his head pops up from under the blankets, red as a beet. He can't see it, but the stuffed animal is right on top of his head.
"You're welcome," you bend down to plug in your string lights, bathing the room in a gentle, golden glow."I'm surprised you're hiding out in my room and not Victoria's."
"Victoria could sleep through a tornado," grumbling, he crawls out of the corner, settling on the edge of your bed. He tilts his head, scanning and taking in your room decor. The globe string lights and some fake ivy are the only things you've set up so far. A lonely plant sits in the left corner, next to your desk. You're not sure what it is, other than it's green, and it's tall.
"I can see what you were going for," he says, staring hard at the lights above him.
You sit back on your bed, not sure what to do now. "Really? Because I still don't."
He hums, "A couple of pictures on the wall, a few more plants, you're set."
Huh.
"Noted," you catch him looking at you through your peripheral, meet his eye. He looks away. "How long am I harboring a fugitive for?"
"Until Deputy Donut quits looking for me," he shrugs, "he's new. He hasn't figured out who owns this shithole yet."
You fall back against the bed, tension already beginning to leave your tired shoulders. "Do you pay them off or something?" You freeze the moment the words leave your mouth. Nathan looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. "I hope that isn't a touchy topic."
"You can stop walking on eggshells around me," he forces a meager smile, kicks back onto his elbows, "but that's...sort of, how it works. My dad shows up every once in a while to make a 'donation' to the school. So long as the administration agrees to a few terms regarding yours truly."
"Sounds like the dream," you sigh. "The question is, can Madsen be tamed?"
"People are afraid of me for a reason, doe-eyes."
"I'm sure they are," you daringly nudge his knee with yours, "but I have no reason to fear you, rich boy."
To your surprise, he nudges your knee in return, knocking your knee into the other. "Really? You have no fear whatsoever?"
"Nope," you desperately need to change clothes, so you get up, walking over to your wardrobe to fish out some pj's. "However, I do fear Madsen is lurking outside, so I'm going out to change as an excuse to check."
"And leave me in your dorm like some sort of house cat?"
You settle on a baggy red t-shirt and some black shorts, on the border of casual and sleepwear. "Would you like me to change in here and never find out of Madsen is in the hallway or not?"
Nathan flushes at that, cheeks and ears pink as he looks down at his lap. "Uh...right. Yeah, you go out and check for Asshat."
God, you just want to squish his cheeks. He looks so soft. Not to mention the fact that he's just laying there on your bed?
Ugh. You can't keep thinking about this. Your mind is already wandering too far.
"You know..." you start to say, grabbing your toothbrush as you head for the door. "Dana told me you were a prick, but you're pretty cute."
You don't wait to hear his response, slipping out the door and leaving him to his own devices. Probably not the best idea to say such a thing when you're leaving the guy alone in your bedroom, but hindsight is 20/20.
Sure enough, Madsen is posted at the end of the hallway. He eyes you questioningly but doesn't push you to explain why you're up. In the shower, you crumple to the floor and quietly screech.
Holy shit. Did you just say that to Nathan Prescott? Why did you say that?
Oh, fuck what if he's dating Victoria, and you didn't catch on.
Your shower is plagued with panicked thoughts that don't get better by the time you get out. Your toothbrushing session is a little extra violent compared to normal. By the time you're heading back to your dorm, your heartbeat is so loud you can hear it in your ears.
"So your name is y/n, huh?"
You freeze in your tracks; the door barely shut behind you. "Huh?"
Nathan's sitting on your desk chair backward, resting his chin on the back of it. Your laptop is on, the welcome screen proudly displaying 'Hello Y/N!'
"Got bored, figured your name had to be on something in here," he spins the chair back and forth, eyeing you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "So, is Porky out there or not?"
You toss your clothes into the hamper. "Posted at the end of the hallway like a soldier."
"Blargh," he yawns, shakes his head. "If only you had a couch."
"Haven't been able to settle on what I want," you fall onto your bed for the umpteenth time since he'd so unceremoniously joined you, "I've just got a bed and a chair for now."
"And a Prescott," said man quips. Then, he points at your laptop, "do you have any movies on this thing?"
You have to think long and hard about that one. Warren Graham's face appears at the forefront of your thoughts. Ah, right.
"I think Warren gave me a red flash drive full of movies last week. Should be over there."
Nathan is quick to find it under a homework sheet, carrying it and your laptop over to the bed. You type the password in and let him do his thing.
He settles on a movie called Christine. You think you've seen it before; the bone-chilling Plymouth Fury certainly feels familiar, at the very least. Spooky, but not enough to keep you up at night. An excellent middle ground.
The movie ends almost too fast. You've almost forgotten that Nathan is sitting there. The time reads 1:54 AM. Classes don't start until 10, but you can barely keep your eyes open. Nathan looks about the same.
A quick trip to the bathroom reveals that Madsen is still posted outside. Nathan is stuck with you for the night. The two of you bicker about sleeping arrangements. He insists he take the floor, but you persist, explaining that you're okay sharing your bed and that it's not that big of a deal. You're surprised Madsen doesn't overhear the not-so-quiet argument. Nathan relents, and you soon find yourself back to back, with Nathan on the side closest to the door.
You sleep just as you would any other night. But, hell, you couldn't even tell he was there, aside from his occasional shuffle.
The sound of Dana and Juliet arguing is what wakes you up, much to your sleepy dismay. You're tempted to get up to ask them to pipe down, but your blankets are so warm and heavy around you that you can't bring yourself to move. You don't recall your bed ever being this warm before.
Wait a second.
Your eyes flash open, wide as saucers. There's an arm wrapped around you, hot puffs of air gently hitting the back of your neck.
Nathan Prescott is in your bed.
Slowly, you roll over, trying not to jostle him awake. You have to see his face, just to be sure it's...God, he's cute while he's asleep. He's so close that you're sure his nose would bump against yours if he moved even an inch. He looks so peaceful like this, not a problem in a world to plague that pretty head of his.
You could stay like this forever if not for your lovely neighbor slamming her door so hard that it sounded like the damn frame broke.
Nathan stirs at that, stretching and tightening his hold on you. You have to put a hand on his chest to stop him from dragging you any closer. His eyes open.
"What the hell," he mutters, letting you go. He doesn't seem to grasp what just happened fully.
But then he does.
His eyes go wide, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he jumps away from you as if burned. Then, before you can get a word out, he's gone, out the door and slamming it behind him.
You don't see him for the rest of the day. Not even in class. Maybe sleeping with you was so traumatizing that he dropped out. You catch a glimpse of him after class, slinking into the dorms like a feral cat in a crowded room.
For one reason or another, you spend your afternoon in the parking lot. Sitting in front of your car and pondering about where you should drive. Like clockwork, Nathan eventually shows up.
"You know, I'm starting to think that you're intentionally showing up wherever I am," you laugh, watching as he makes his way over to you.
"Got a problem with that?" He remarks, pulling his keys out of his pocket. You shake your head. "Good, follow me."
'Follow me' apparently meant, 'Get in my truck, we're going for a drive,' but it's not like you have anything better to do. Before you know it, you're bouncing around in his truck as he drives through town, taking turns a little faster than he needs to. It's mortifying every time you expect the car to tip on its side, but it never does.
He takes you to a lighthouse, which sits on top of a steep, winding hill that never seems to end. He doesn't speak through the entire walk. You don't push for conversation.
"You have a key to the lighthouse?" You squawk when he produces a singular key from his pocket.
He rolls his eyes at your exclamation, "My dad owns it. Duh." You've never heard him use such a light tone before; it suits him.
The lighthouse door opens with a heavy creak, dust sprinkling down from the old door. Nathan holds it open, lets you inside first. The inside of the lighthouse is just as dusty as you expected, the air stale, stairs looking as if they haven't been used in months. They groan under the weight of your foot, but they seem sturdy enough.
"I come here when I'm bored," Nathan elaborates, hand running along a remarkably clean handrail. "It gets better once you get to the top."
He isn't lying. The view is breathtaking. The open waters below you sparkle in the sunlight, brilliant blue gradually fading to gold with the slowly setting sun. A bird is chirping incessantly above your head, you can't see it, but you can only assume there's a nest on top of the lighthouse.
"When you said 'it gets better,' I didn't think you meant this," you can't tear your eyes away from it. And here you thought that the view from the dorm rooftop was beautiful.
"I've spent way too much time up here," Nathan leans against the railing, peering straight down at the cliff below. "Jefferson has pretty much banned me from taking any more photos of the view here."
"He must know you pretty well, then," curious, you peer over the edge as well. Your stomach churns at how high up you are.
A choked noise escapes the man next to you. "Yeah. Something like that."
He reaches into a box on the ground, plucks out a sleek camera that probably costs more than your car did.
"Pictures?" You cock your head to the side, looking at the camera intently.
"I had an idea earlier," he mutters, kicking his foot at the ground. "Do you..."
He doesn't manage to finish his sentence, but you're already nodding in agreement. He demonstrates a pose for you, has you staring out at the open sea with the most forlorn look you can muster. He puts you on the floor against the railing, asks you to cross your arms over your knees and hide your face in them.
You lose track of the pictures, falling into whatever pose he asks of you. You learn that he mutters when he takes pictures, that his hands tremble when he focuses, his touch is feather-light, and he likes to guide your gaze with his middle finger.
He makes you feel like a runway model, snapping your picture so fast that you cannot compute how many he's taken. It isn't hard to understand the emotion he's trying to translate into his photo, every pose, and expression reflecting the dark atmosphere his images always seem to contain. You suppose it will look much better once the pictures get translated to black and white.
The last photo you take is on the stairs. Its outcome isn't what he was going for, but Nathan tells you it's his favorite. As he's taking the photo, you hear a rat squeaking from below, and according to Nathan, the expression you made was so perfect that you couldn't replicate it if you tried.
He excuses himself to return the camera to its box, muttering something about "if I take it home, I'll forget to bring it back and miss out on some good shots," and you take the time to explore the base of the lighthouse.
There's graffiti everywhere the eye can see, reaching far into places that make you wonder just how it managed to get up there. There's an old corkboard near the door, covered in old flyers and posters. One of them, the Rachel Amber poster, is quite familiar.
You haven't quite been able to escape her flyer; it was the first thing you saw when you arrived, having fallen from where it's posted and landing in front of you. Carefully, you reach out so smooth out its crumpled corner, staring at her photo as you do so. Poor girl, you hope she's alright.
"Did you know Rachel?" You ask, hearing Nathan coming down the stairs.
He stiffens at your words, "Huh?"
You tilt your head to the poster. You're not sure why you even asked; it didn't matter either way.
"We were friends," Nathan's right up behind you now; you can feel his breath hitting the back of your head. "She partied with the Vortex club a lot, was fun to hang around. Everywhere I went, there she was." His voice is strained, quieter than it usually is.
"I suppose it's fitting, considering her posters are everywhere," you reach up, grabbing a spare thumbtack from the corkboard. You use it to pin the crumpled corner back into place, properly putting her poster on display.
Nathan's hand falls upon the base of your spine, gently pushes you to the door. It's a touch that sends heat rippling up your spine, blossoming into butterflies in your belly. You get the sense that he doesn't want to look at her poster anymore.
"This place reminds me of one of those fancy wedding venues," you mumble, primarily to yourself. It could use a lot of fixing, maybe some new paint, but you can picture it almost perfectly. A small, homey wedding on the cliff, a faceless couple sharing their kiss amidst the golden hour.
The keychain in Nathan's hand jingles as he locks the lighthouse door. "You know, my sister said the same thing when our dad bought this shithole."
"She must have good taste," the wind blows against your skin, gentle and warm, as you meet eyes with him. There's a light in his eye that you've never noticed before, a fond twinkle that makes you internally hope that he genuinely does like you, isn't putting up with you out of a sick sense of pity. The moment lasts for just a few fleeting seconds, feels like a scene plucked right out of a movie.
"You remind me of Rachel." Nathan's words startle you out of your dreamy trance.
"Huh?" You're not sure what to say to that.
He starts walking, and you have no choice but to follow him. He was your ride, after all. "Ever since you showed up, I've been running into you," he says, halfway down the trail. You get the feeling that he had been thinking about that one for a while. "I noticed it before the umbrella incident even happened."
"Maybe it's fate," you say, whimsically.
"Fate is for pussies," he says it so bluntly that you can't help but snicker a little, "so is that zodiac shit, Aristotle and virgins or whatever."
"Aries and Virgo?" You roll your eyes at his glare. "So where are we off to now? Blackwell?"
His truck beeps as you approach, which is odd, considering Nathan never reached into his pocket to unlock it. It must be one of those rich guy gadgets.
Or maybe it's alive, like the car in the movie was. They do share the same color...
"Something like that."
Something like that apparently was code for I'm going to give you a heart attack. Because the first thing Nathan did, was floor it out of the parking lot. You yelp as the truck fishtails, grabbing onto the door handle and clutching it in an iron fist. Nathan cackles, floors it at the next stop sign he stops at.
"Are you trying to kill us?" You squeak, your heart sitting high in your throat.
"You haven't seen anything yet!" He has to yell over the music as he turns it up higher, some shitty pop song playing on the radio.
It's when he hits an open, straight road that your fear leaves you, replaced with a strange sense of excitement as Nathan's truck flies down the road. The windows are down, wind violently whipping past you. Nathan has the biggest grin you've ever seen on him, one hand on the steering wheel, the other lying across the top of the seats.
"Hold on!" He tells you, and you listen, grabbing onto whatever feels sturdy. And then he's slamming on the brakes, jolting you nearly out of your seat as the truck roars to a hard stop. The seat belt is probably the only thing keeping you from flying out the window.
"What the fuck was that?" You cry, weakly clutching at your pounding chest. Nathan just laughs, lets the truck start going at an average, much more legal speed.
He takes you around town and shows you the landmarks you haven't gotten to see yet. He tells you what he knows about Arcadia Bay, its history, how his family came into power, gives you an official introduction to the town. He asks about where you came from in the drive between spots, and you tell him everything, the town, your parents, your favorite place to get food.
His arm rests against the door, hand in his hair as he listens to you ramble. At times you wonder if he's getting tired of hearing you talk, yet every time you go silent, he comes up with another question to ask you. When he eventually returns to Blackwell, he puts his number in your phone, playfully threatens to tamper with the seat belts if you share his number with anyone.
Drives like these become a habit. Nearly every afternoon, you find each other in the parking lot. Sometimes you drive, on others, he drives; he even lets you drive his truck on occasion, gripes when you tell him he's not allowed to drive yours. The drives last for hours; sometimes you're going to an actual destination, others you're driving aimlessly through Arcadia backroads.
Nathan takes a little bit to open up about his personal life, but he tells you everything when he does. He tells you about his therapist, how poorly his father treats him. You learn that he loves to travel and that he's been lying about planning to go to Stanford. Instead, he wants to make a living out of art, to travel until he finds a place that feels like home, far, far away from his father's reign.
"I want to be my own man, pave my way," he grumbles from the comfort of your passenger seat. He's laying in the seat sideways, facing you. "Change my last name to Fuckwad and become mayor, or...something like that."
If you're not going on a drive, you're curled up in each other's rooms, watching movies and poking fun at its plotlines. You mostly spend time in Nathan's room; his fancy projector is much easier to look at than your tiny laptop.
The umbrella continues to appear in your life, in unique places. Once you found it in your trunk, another it was under your bed, witty note always attached. Out of Nathan's request, you keep your friendship a secret, choosing to hide in the shadows, away from prying eyes. You ask him about it once, and he begrudgingly admits that he's afraid that others may begin to treat you negatively.
He shows up at your door drunk later that night, tearfully mumbles a story about a girl he liked named Samantha. In his own words, his father didn't approve of him having feelings for a person of lower status and paid her family an unknown sum of money to move out of Arcadia and stay away from his son.
"I don't want him running you off," he slurs into your pillow, eyes wet with tears that he refuses to shed. You learn that he's a sad drunk, a kicked puppy wanting someone to pat its head and tell it that everything is okay. He falls asleep in your dorm, is gone by the time you wake up.
August fades into September, you learn that he lied about his birthday, that it was August 29th, not April 29th, and make it a point to find him a fitting birthday present.
"I can buy anything I want; you don't need to get me anything," he tells you, taps on his brakes a little too hard, just to get a reaction out of you.
He has therapy sessions on Saturdays, and that's the only time you can escape Blackwell without him realizing you're up to something without him. Unfortunately, it's raining, and you're really not sure what you'll get him, but you stumble across a little retro shop in a neighboring town anyway. You find a vintage Polaroid camera. It exclusively takes photos in black and white, and it feels so perfect that you buy it on the spot.
Nathan acts like it's no big deal, but the slight upturn in the corner of his lips doesn't escape you. The first picture he takes with it is a picture of the both of you, slips into your room while you're in class, and clips it to your hanging lights with a tiny clothespin. You suppose that's his way of saying thank you.
In October, Nathan starts acting a little strange.
He wakes you up late Saturday night, forgoing the knocking and entering with the key he has to your room. You don't realize until he's sitting on the foot of your bed, fingers drumming on your leg as he mumbles incoherently to himself.
"Nathan?" You yawn, lifting your heavy head to look at the figure on your bed.
"Y/N?" His voice cracks, doesn't manage to finish saying your name.
You sit up, sleepy eyes squinting to make out the expression on his face. His eyes are wide, watery, jaw tense. He inhales at the hand you place on his shoulder.
"What happened?" You ask, fingers gently rubbing at the tense muscle they've settled upon.
Nathan won't meet your eye for a long time, stares at the floor like it's the most interesting thing he's seen in a while. You're worried, but sleep refuses to let you out of its sticky grasp, and you find yourself resting your cheek on his shoulder, sleepily waiting on him to speak. He will, eventually.
That's something you've figured out about him. Sometimes he's afraid to hear his voice out loud.
"I keep having the same fucking nightmare," he blurts; for the first time, you see tears spill over his cheeks.
You hum but otherwise remain quiet.
"I keep seeing a freak tornado tear apart Arcadia," he hiccups, squirms when you wrap your arm around his shoulders, "it always happens on October seventh."
Dimly, you recall that it's the first of the month. "The seventh should be this coming Friday," you say quietly.
"I'm aware of that, dipshit," even with tears in his eyes, he's still Nathan Prescott. You offer him a small smile, glad he hasn't lost his usual sharp tongue. "The nightmares started on the same night you found me in the rain, and it hasn't stopped since. I'm even having them when I'm awake now. One minute I'm awake, the next I'm in that fucked up nightmare."
"Have you talked to your therapist about it?" Your fingers find his ribs, lightly drumming against them.
He stares down at your wandering hand, does nothing to stop it. "They stuck me on anti-psychotics, told me I might be schizophrenic, but it's not fucking working."
"Do the dreams feel real?"
"It feels just like this. I can't tell the fucking difference."
You aren't sure what to do with him. Taking him for a drive might settle him down, but you aren't sure you're capable of driving without falling asleep right now. Against better judgment, you wrap your free arm around him, snuggling into his shoulder fully now.
"You'll be alright," you tell him, bumping his foot with yours, "if it comes to it, I'll buy a service dog vest and follow you around campus."
You're sure that you hear him call you a moron.
It feels like there's more he wants to tell you because he's quiet for another period. You wonder what it could be, what dark secret he's hiding behind those pale blue eyes that never fail to give you butterflies.
Gradually, his arm moves out from under you, slips around your waist, and pulls you into his chest. His heartbeat is loud in your ear, but it fails to hide the shaky breath that falls from his lips.
"Everything will be alright," you repeat, voice a ghost of a whisper, "I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
You stay that way until your neck starts to hurt, which probably isn't very long, but it feels like you've been cuddled there for hours. Nathan looks much more composed when you pull away, but you can see in his eyes that his dreams still haunt him. Wordlessly, you pat the side of your bed, scooting into the corner to make room for him.
He hesitates, eyes flickering between the door and the bed. You're about to offer some more words of comfort, your chosen phrase heavy on the tip of your tongue when he crawls over and slips under the covers. He lays with his back to you; more than likely, there's still a hot "do I leave or stay" debate going on in his head.
Your hand wanders out on its own accord, snaking its way up to his waist. His body stiffens, halting your movements. You startle when a cold hand finds yours, guides it down until your arm is locked around him, fingers tucked between him and the mattress. You scoot a little closer, nose resting against a sharp shoulder blade.
He smells like a cozy campfire that's been set up in the middle of a bakery. There's a faint, woodsy musk laced with the ethereal white ambers of his cologne, sweet, but not overpoweringly so. It's not what you expected, yet it feels so uniquely him.
You fall asleep long before he does, not intentionally, but you're sure that he'll wake you up if he needs you again. He doesn't, though. Soon, you're waking up in a cozy bundle of blankets and a heavy arm wrapped around you. Your nose is crushed into a white t-shirt, all too familiar to you.
How Nathan scooted so high up and how you ended up on the edge of your pillow is beyond you, but it's so comfortable that you can't bring yourself to scoot back up.
"Are you some sort of dream catcher?" Nathan's voice is so deep and gravelly that you barely recognize it. His hand runs over the back of your neck, toying with the shorter hairs there.
You tilt your head up, taking in his sleepy face. "No nightmares?"
"None."
Huh.
He takes you out to a late breakfast at Two Whales, bickers with you about who's paying the whole way there. Eventually, he wins, he always does, but you like to argue with him over it.
"Isn't that your third can of soda?" You say around a mouthful of toast, widening your eyes to put on that doe-eyed look he always bitched about you having. Of course, at this point, you do it just to bug him.
"Too early for booze," he supplies, setting the mug down a little too hard. "God, these pills make me feel loopy."
"Is that why you didn't shoot out of my room like I'd burned you this time?" You can't help yourself from bringing it up. You would have done it earlier, but he has a habit of choking on his drink that you don't want to contribute to any more than you already have.
Nathan rests his chin in his palms, furrows his eyebrows at your statement. "What? You think I'm appalled by you?"
"Are you?"
"No. Now quit thinking shit like that," he steals a piece of your bacon. "If I had a problem with you, I'd tell you."
That's the end of the conversation.
Joyce brings back the bill, and you, as per usual, sneak her a tip on your way to the restroom. After breakfast, Nathan drops you off at the dorms. He mentions that he has some "Vortex club bullshit" to attend to with Victoria, which usually implies that you won't see him for the rest of the day. For a split second, you consider kissing him on the cheek. Then think against it.
To hell with it.
In one swift move, you lean over the console and plant the softest kiss you can muster on his cheek. His eyes flicker towards you. For a second, you're concerned he may be pissed.
Then a big, goofy smile breaks out onto his face. "Get the hell out of here, nerd. I'll catch you to beat you up in the locker room later."
That giddy tone on him is new—you kind of like it.
"See you around, school bully," you chirp, hopping out of the truck. He's gone the moment you're on the sidewalk, off to terrorize Frank for school supplies, more than likely.
"Y/N? Did I just see you get out of Nathan Prescott's car?" God, how long had Dana been standing there?
"Nope," you lie, striding past her. You have to bite your cheek to hide your smile.
"No, that was his license plate!" But, of course, Juliet is there too.
God, you're not getting out of this one easy. "He'll kill me if I tell anyone about it," you explain to the two girls who have now joined you on your not-so-graceful return to the dorms. "Just talked me into letting him copy my chemistry homework, is all."
"Really?" Juliet pipes, "I always thought those rumors were false."
"Where there's smoke, there's fire," there's a sign in the English room that says that exact quote. So you suppose that's where you learned it from.
The girls press you for details and give up quickly when you don't provide many. In your dorm, you send a warning text to Nathan that they'd caught on to you. He doesn't respond. It strikes you as a little odd when you overhear Victoria bitching in the hallway. Isn't she supposed to be the one helping Nathan plan?
Strange.
You wake up to Nathan sitting on your bed again. He must have entered your room a little quieter this time. He tells you he had the nightmare again, and, just like last night, you let him crawl under the covers and cuddle up to him. You pet his hair as he tells you every detail, the newspaper with the date, the inability to escape as he's forced to watch the town be destroyed.
This time, he includes what he's told his father. To no ones surprise, Sean Prescott isn't taking him seriously, made Nathan take double the amount of prescribed medicine, and told him to keep quiet while he attended to his business ventures. You suppose that's why Nathan is extra twitchy, a little more distant. You fall asleep with his head on your chest, tucked under your chin.
Monday is as typical as it can get. Nathan takes off an hour before class starts, and lectures consume the day. You're overcome with an overwhelming sense of dread in your final class. There's something nasty looming in the distance, wrapping around your lungs and squeezing until it's hard to breathe. You cant put your finger on it.
It only worsens when the fire alarm goes off, and you catch Nathan flying out of the women's bathroom like a bat out of hell. You're tempted to go after him, but God, can Nathan be a prick when he's in a mood.
You settle down in the courtyard, trying and failing to stop your pounding heart from breaking out of your chest. Drinking water doesn't help.
There's yelling from the parking lot. God, that sounds like Nathan.
A cold hand reaches up from your churning stomach, grabs onto your heart, and squeezes so hard your heart feels as if it may burst.
You're on your feet in an instant, halfway across the courtyard, before you can even realize it. Worried eyes watch as Nathan headbutts Warren hard enough to knock the poor science kid onto his ass. It's almost impressive, but then he's grabbing Max Caulfield by the neck, and oh God Nathan, please stop.
"Nathan!" Your voice is high, strained as you sprint across the parking lot.
It's a little too late to be stepping in, Max is already scratching his cheek, and he's gasping, shoving her away to cradle the scratches on his cheek. A rust bucket of a truck comes flying around the corner, almost hits the poor brunette girl who's fallen on the ground.
You're not sure what you're doing here. You can't fight, not yet, at least, but you're throwing yourself in front of Nathan the moment you catch sight of Warren lunging for him. Warren slams into you like a freight train knocks the breath right out of your lungs with the force of his tackle.
"Seriously?" Nathan's above you in an instant, kicking Warren off of you with his foot. "What the actual fuck, nerd?"
He's seething; jaw gritted so tightly that you briefly worry his teeth may shatter under the force of it. Yet he's holding a hand out, pulling you up to your feet like he's been your partner in crime for years. The rust bucket roars to life. Tires squeal as it takes off.
Everything in your right eye goes black, something solid, striking your face so hard that it sends you reeling. Nathan's grabbing you, sputtering words you can't comprehend.
Then you feel it. Searing, white-hot pain blossoming in your right eye, a warm liquid trickling down your sensitive skin. You struggle to open it, don't even recall shutting it. You groan, clasping a hand over your newfound injury.
"What's going on over here?" A heavy voice barks. You recognize it, you can't put a name on the owner.
You regain control over your eye, blinking rapidly as your retinas struggle to readjust. By your feet, you notice a rock about the size of your fist.
"That truck must have kicked it up," you register Warren's voice first.
A heavy hand snakes under your jaw, roughly lifting your head to meet familiar blue eyes. They flicker across your face; a finger taps your sensitive cheek.
"Ow," you recoil, fighting the grip Nathan has on your jaw. He holds you steady, grabs your waist to prevent you from stumbling too far away.
"Which of these fools hit you?" David's there, pushing you away from Nathan a little too harshly. You cower under the security guard's glare, taking one step back for every step he takes forward. "Answer me!"
"Nobody!" You yelp, your back is bumping against Nathan's chest.
Nathan pushes in front of you, creating distance between you and David. "That decrepit shitbox kicked up a rock, and it hit them in the face," his voice has a shake to it; so far, you've only heard it when his father has pissed him off beyond belief. "Don't you have better things to do, Madsen?"
Against your will, Ms. Grant appears and separates you from Nathan, hushing your complaints before you can even get them out of your mouth. "We need to get you looked at," she tells you as she guides you into the school.
The nurse has been out on maternity leave all month, but Ms. Grant is a good substitute nurse. You find yourself stumbling over your words, telling her about the strange feeling that had overcome you and brought you to the parking lot in the first place. Your hands are trembling, have been for quite some time now.
"It sounds like you just have a good intuition, Y/N," she concludes, wiping blood from your cheek with an alcohol wipe. "I take it you've befriended Nathan Prescott, then."
You wince at the sting the alcohol wipe leaves you with. "I'm just as surprised about it as you are," you joke.
"I've been wondering why Nathan is so subdued this year," she chuckles, producing a bag of ice. "Just...try not to let him get you into trouble, okay?"
You welcome the ice with open arms, pressing it to your bruised eye the moment she gives it to you. "I'll try not to," you promise.
"I hope you're not talking about me," Nathan's appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. Sounds annoyed, doesn't look it.
"I'm just glad that you've found a new friend," Ms. Grant chuckles, "try to stay out of trouble, you two."
You take that as your queue to leave, jogging to catch up with the Prescott, who has already started walking. Nathan remains quiet as you walk out to the courtyard, and it hits you that you left your backpack under the tree. You mindlessly head towards it, but you're stopped by a hand on your wrist.
"Huh?" You flick your gaze back to your friend.
He says nothing, at a loss for words as he tugs you closer to him. That twinkle in his eye is back, brighter than before. Two fingers hook under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. The corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile as he takes in a shaky breath.
"Stupid."
And before you can process what he just said, he's leaning in and pressing his lips onto yours. His lips are so soft against yours, so absurdly gentle that you can't help but melt into it, arms snaking around his neck to pull him impossibly closer.
Just as quickly as he leaned in, he's pulling away, pushing your noses together, cheeks pink.
"So fucking stupid," the hand holding your chin wanders to your cheek. "Out here saving Nathan Prescott from a rock."
"I think I got a pretty nice bruise out of the encounter," you brush your fingers against the scratches on his cheek, fighting a frown. "At least we match."
Nathan's eyes flicker down to your lips. You don't need any more encouragement, placing a hand on the back of his head and pulling him down to kiss you again. He sighs into it, lips gently caressing your own in such a tender fashion that makes you question if this is even real.
"I thought we were supposed to be hiding, whatever this is," you giggle, breaking the kiss. It earns you a dramatic eye roll.
"Yeah, well," his thumb smooths over your injured cheek, "maybe I've changed my mind."
"Damn Nathan, get it!"
Nathan grumbles, pulls away from you, "Can you not, Hayden?" You're genuinely surprised at his half-assed reaction. Maybe he's used up all of his anger for the day.
Hayden cackles claps his hand in mock applause. Nathan flips the bird. That's the end of their interaction.
"Will you wait for me in my dorm?" Nathan produces a key from his pocket, holds it out for you to take. "I...there's something I need to show you."
The key trembles in his hand, and you get the feeling that the shakiness has nothing to do with what just happened. Regardless, you hold out an open palm, letting it drop into your hand. "Eye eye cap'n."
"Go walk the plank, nerd," he quips, reaching out to lightly shove your shoulder.
You part ways, Nathan heading back to the parking lot while you gather your things and head back to the dormitory. You wonder what it is he wants to show you. His list of crimes committed at Blackwell? Another horror movie that has a tragic ending? A photo of his bank account?
The rapidly forming bruise on your cheek earns you a lot of stares, but nobody says anything. You're somewhat thankful for that, not ready to start feeding into rumors on a Monday afternoon. Maybe you'll entertain the idea on Thursday.
After dropping off your stuff, you fish the umbrella out from under your bed and head off to Nathan's dorm. Of course, when you open the door, you don't expect to walk in on Mr. Jefferson, standing and staring at the projector.
"Y/N!" He startles, setting a camera down on Nathan's bed. "You're not supposed to be in here."
"I uh..." you're too stunned to speak. Mr. Jefferson? In Nathan's room? Huh?
"I was...just dropping off this umbrella!" You squeak, setting the box next to the door. "I'm running errands for Victoria."
"Interesting. I didn't know you and Victoria were that close," Mr. Jefferson says slowly. There's something different here. He seems off. Predatory. He is the eagle, and you are the tiny, helpless mouse. Instinctively, you back out of the room, lingering in the safety of the hallway.
"What are you doing?" Nathan's fast approaching. "Who are you? Get out of my dorm!" Nathan's hands are on your shoulders, shoving you back.
"W-huh?" You're even more confused, stumbling away.
"Get out!" Nathan bellows.
Something's wrong here. If you didn't know any better, you would think he's terrified. But what does Mr. Jefferson have to do with it? He steps toward you, towering above you like he did when you first met. Then, his eyes change, softening for a split second.
You turn on your heels and run.
Nathan chases you around the corner, half-assedly, granting the illusion of rage. You know damn well that he could have caught you if he wanted to. But, why?
Shaken, you leave the dorms entirely, making a b-line for the parking lot. You don't know where you're going; you'd rather be anywhere but here. You drive around Arcadia, taking old back roads that do nothing but remind you of the times you and Nathan went over them. You grab a coffee from Two Whales, sipping on it as you drive.
The strangest fucking thing happens just then.
Is it snowing?
You pull over in the lighthouse parking lot, and of-fucking-course that rust bucket truck has to be parked there too. Stepping out of your car, you reach up to catch the snowflakes in your hand. The tiny flakes melt the moment they hit your skin. It's too warm for snow. Your phone tells you that it's sixty degrees out. This cant be real.
The cold flakes hitting your skin tell you otherwise.
Your parking lot mate leaves not soon after the snow begins. Max chases after a blue-haired punk, who she affectionately calls Chloe. They seem to be good friends. You want to be angry at them for causing your injury, but you can't bring yourself to ruin their playful banter. You put your headphones on when they leave and head up to the lighthouse.
From your pocket, your phone rings, blasting a familiar tune that startles the wildlife around you. You don't answer.
The bench is another familiar place to you. It's still warm from its previous occupants. You've spent countless hours on this bench with Nathan, bitching about life together while he smokes a joint. Those are the days that you find yourself behind the wheel of Nathan's truck the most. Nathan is a lot of things, but if there's one thing he won't do, it's driving under the influence.
Golden hues of sunlight fade into shades of purple and blue. The music playing from your headphones transports you into a world of wonder as the stars come out, one by one. One time, Nathan had told you that his father paid to have a star named after him when he was small. He still has the certificate in his room. You wonder which star could be his.
In your lap, your phone lights up with a message.
'Trn ar0und nrd'
Nathan stands behind you, kicking at the dirt below his foot.
"How did you know I was here?" You slip your headphones off your head, letting them hang on the back of the bench. Music still plays softly from them.
"Checked in the usual places," he rounds the bench, hesitates before sitting down. A red backpack drops at his feet. "I..."
You so desperately want to be mad at him, to raise hell and demand an answer out of him. The shaky kiss he places on your sore cheek dissipates all of that. Nathan produces a tattered yellow binder from the backpack, opens it to a picture. You have to scoot closer to get a better look.
The picture is of Nathan and a blond-haired girl sprawled out on the ground. Nathan's eyes are open, with that uncanny lifeless look that taxidermied animals have. Surely he couldn't have taken this himself? That girl, though, she looks like...
"Is that Rachel Amber?" You finish your thought aloud.
Slowly, Nathan nods his head. "There's something that I need to tell you, Y/N," he says after a moment. "Just, promise me you won't freak out."
It takes you a minute to find your words. You don't know what you agree to here; you don't know how you manage to stutter out a small yes.
"When Mr. Jefferson first came to Blackwell, he was more or less my favorite person in the world," his voice wavers as he speaks, but he pushes through it. "He treated me like I was his son. My dad...he never did that. And like a complete and utter moron, I started spending all my free time in Mr. Jefferson's classroom and doing extra work to get his approval."
His hand wanders down, grabs ahold of yours. "Whatever he wanted, I got for him. And then one day, he asked for access to the bunker my dad built for me."
Nathan keeps talking, for once, he talks, and he talks, and he talks. He tells you about how Mr. Jefferson started acting strange, showing him photos of female classmates who didn't look all that sober. Then, one day in early April, Nathan walked into the private bunker and caught Mr. Jefferson photographing an unconscious girl.
Nathan tells you that he wanted to go to the police, but Jefferson shot a gun at him and threatened to use Nathan's handing over of the bunker access code to convince the police that he was in on the whole thing. When he learned that Rachel was next, he tried to warn her. Unfortunately, she didn't believe him, and foolishly he took her to the darkroom to prove it.
Jefferson was already there, though, and dosed Nathan with a syringe to the neck. According to Nathan, the next thing he recalled was waking up in Jefferson's back seat, being presented with a photo of himself and Rachel posed together. If Nathan ever snitched to the police, Mr. Jefferson would use the image as hard evidence that Nathan was the one at fault. He hasn't seen Rachel since.
That photo was what Mr. Jefferson used to coerce Nathan into doing his dirty work.
"I didn't want to hurt them," Nathan whimpers, hot tears streaming down his face like a waterfall, "Rachel, Kate, I didn't want to hurt anybody."
You don't even know what to say. All of this is too much. You want to get up and run and never look back, but Nathan has an iron grip on your hand.
"Nathan," your voice is hoarse, "why are you telling me all of this?"
He only cries harder, holds your hand with both of his now. "You're next on his list."
The pieces are all falling into place now.
You find yourself putting your free hand on top of his, clenching it as tightly as you comfortably can manage. "Is this why you chased me out of your dorm?"
"He can't know about you," Nathan sobs, "I can't let him hurt you." His voice breaks as he speaks. He won't look at you.
You bring your hand up to his jaw, tilting his head towards you. He trembles under your hand, hiccuping. Your thumb fruitlessly attempts to wipe his tears away. "Nathan..."
He makes this noise; you can't quite describe it. It's this heartbreaking whine that escapes the back of his throat as he tries to bite back his tears. Your body moves on its own accord, reaching for his shoulders. He crumbles, hot tears falling on your neck. Your eyes sting with tears of your own.
You sit there, on the old bench, crying until you physically can't shed another tear. Somehow, you end up sitting in his lap, hugging each other while music still plays from your abandoned headphones. When he's calm, Nathan pushes your noses together, rubs them together just to make you smile.
"If you don't want to see my ugly mug ever again, I completely understand," he whispers, squeezing your hips.
You kiss him. That's when you hear it, a small, hitching gasp that leaves Nathan's throat that makes you feel so warm inside, despite everything that has just been told to you. It hits you then that you've completely and utterly fallen in love with this hot-headed man, and you wholeheartedly believe everything he's told you.
"Thank you for telling me," you mumble against his lips. "What do we do now?"
The first order of business is dropping Nathan's truck off at David Madsen's house. Somehow, his dad has finally gotten David on your side. You park in front of the house, right behind Nathan's truck. To your dismay, your eyes settle upon that fucking truck again. Your cheek stings just at the sight of it.
There's a knock on your window, startles you right to your core.
"The fuck do you want?" You chirp, rolling down the window.
"Black or green?" Nathan inquires. You hear his fingers drumming on the roof of your car.
You're not sure why he's asking you this. Green sounds nice, though. "Green."
"Green it is."
David comes out just then; you watch intently as Nathan walks across the yard to meet him. There's an exchange of words and keys; a few Benjamin's are in there too.
"What just happened?" You ask when Nathan hops into your passenger seat. He seems to have forgotten that he left it all the way reclined because he clumsily falls backward with a grunt.
"Paintin' the truck green," he says, "the hope is that Mr. Jefferson won't recognize my truck once it has a new paint job."
"Is that why you just asked me to pick between two colors?"
"Congrats! Do you want a gold star?"
Blargh.
Nathan sleeps in your room that night. He strides into your room with a bubblegum flavored lollipop in his mouth, an umbrella box in one hand, a small cactus in the other. You find yourself staring at the prickly plant a little too hard.
"What, you afraid of cacti?" He says around the lollipop.
"Why do you have a cactus?" It's a cute cactus. It would be prettier if it weren't so phallic. That's how you know he picked it all by himself.
"Because you're a prick."
God, you hate him.
Against your will, the offending cactus finds a home on your desk, next to a lucky bamboo plant that mysteriously appeared there last week. You're starting to think that he has a stash of plants, which are slowly being transported to your room.
"Where are you hiding the umbrella this time?" You don't bother to raise your head to see where he's rummaging around. You'll find the umbrella eventually.
"Somewhere, you'll never find it," he takes his usual place on your bed, snaking an arm around your hips to pull you into him.
You don't remember falling asleep, but you wake up facing the wall. A warm arm is looped around your tummy, a firm chest pressing against your shoulders as soft lips place feather-light kisses along the back of your neck. Nathan's gone so incredibly soft for you. The thought makes your heart flutter.
In the early hours of Tuesday morning, you come up with a plan to keep each other in check. You send texts in a pattern. Every few hours, you send each other an emoji of a green caterpillar to signify that you're alright. If something is wrong, you send an emoji of a red ladybug.
Your evening class is interrupted by a guy running in and saying something is going down at the dorms. Naturally, you don't intend to follow your classmates as they rush out of Ms. Grant's classroom, but at the mere sight of Mr. Jefferson entering the room, you're gone.
You don't know Kate Marsh very well; she's the last person you expect to see standing on the roof. Thank God for Max appearing on the roof when she did, although you could have sworn that she was behind you just a few seconds prior.
Nathan goes MIA in Principal Wells' office, but he sends you a caterpillar, so you suppose everything is okay. He appears shortly before the second strange weather event occurs—an eclipse.
"Maybe your vision of a tornado wasn't that far off," you're unable to tear your eyes from it. That's just not possible. You don't just suddenly have a surprise eclipse one day.
"I'm starting to genuinely consider getting a hotel for Friday," Nathan's hand laces with yours, squeezing in intervals.
That night, you curl together in bed, bickering over hotels and what you'll do if a tornado doesn't happen at all. You settle on a moderately priced one, thirty minutes away from Arcadia. Just talking about the storm makes Nathan's nerves spike. In the darkness of your room, you kiss him until your lips are bruised, and you can't catch your breath, and then some.
Class is canceled for the rest of the week.
You spend all of Wednesday texting back and forth about what you should take, who should drive. Nathan's truck comes back late that day, dawning a sparkling shade of emerald green. You're genuinely surprised at how well David painted it in such a short amount of time. In his excitement, Nathan takes you on a joy ride.
The feeling dies when you drive past the beached whales.
"Those poor whales," you gasp, moving in your seat to get a better look at them. Nathan pulls over in the beach parking lot to better look at the dead animals.
You can't even begin to fathom how the massive creatures got so far up on the beach. It's a morbid sight, and you can't even begin to think of how Nathan must feel. But, if there's one thing you know about him, it's that his favorite animals are whales.
"I'm going to pay Frank a visit," Nathan says abruptly, hopping out of the truck. You hadn't noticed the old RV parked down on the beach until now.
"I'll stay here and guard the truck," you tell him. The moment the door is shut, your hand is reaching down to the radio dial, turning it until you can find a station you're sure he'll loathe. It's sort of the new running gag that if Nathan leaves you alone in his truck, you mess with the radio.
This is the first time he's ever brought you along to get something from Frank. There have been numerous occasions when he's kicked you out at the Two Whales so that he can go by himself.
"I get the feeling I'm going to be driving," you say to yourself.
Nathan takes a little bit to come back, which is good because it takes a while to find a station that isn't playing advertisements. By the time he makes his appearance, you've situated yourself in his seat, leaned out the open window as you wait.
"I didn't tell you that you could drive," he bites, but there's no venom in his words.
A joint settles between his plush lips as he clambers into his passenger seat. There's usually a lighter in his glove box, except it isn't in there today. You have a funny feeling that it's in Nathan's laundry, tucked into a pocket. He's constantly losing it, and it's always turning up in the laundry.
"Whatevathefuck happened to my lighter?" He gripes, slamming the glove box shut.
Putting the truck into gear, you back Nathan's truck out from the parking lot. You don't need to be told where to drive. The lighter Nathan owns is the only one he'll use. It's not hard to guess that he will want to visit his dorm and retrieve it.
As you drive, Nathan reaches into the backseat, produces a small bottle from the mini cooler that sits back there. He tilts it back, drinks the entire thing in one go. You recognize that drink from anywhere, the golden tint to the liquid, the red cap, the face Nathan makes once it's down. "I thought you hated Fireball?"
Nathan drops the empty bottle into his lap. "I do."
In the blink of an eye, you're at Blackwell and find yourself pulling into Nathan's usual parking space. The alcohol must already be working its way into Nathan's system because he takes a little longer getting out than usual. He takes his time, for once. Usually, he's out before the truck is even parked.
"Did you eat anything before you drank that?" You question him once you're out of the vehicle.
"Nope." He drags out the n for longer than he has to, gives you a nudge with his shoulder.
You drop his car keys into his waiting palm. Your following words are on your tongue, ready to tell him that you plan to wait for him in the parking lot because you don't want to walk to the dorms and back. A calloused hand seizes yours, laces your fingers together, and Nathan's cat-like grin is so cute that you can't get the words out of your mouth.
Your hands swing back and forth as the two of you make your way across the courtyard. It's a slight swing, not overly dramatic, but you can feel Nathan is putting a little effort into moving your hands.
"This is new," the words that fall of your tongue aren't the ones you planned on using, but they still ring true.
"Isn't all of this new?" A smile laces his words. He has a point.
"No shit, Sherlock," eyeroll. "Is this your secret sensitive side talking, or is it the alcohol?"
It dawns on you that neither of you have spoken about what in the world you are now. Are you an item? Or are you just fucking around?
"I think it's both."
Right on queue, there go the butterflies fluttering away in your stomach with purpose.
You expect your hands to fall apart once you begin to encounter your peers; you even start to let go of Nathan's hand. Whether it's the alcohol or if it's just him, you're not sure, but he maintains a firm grip on your hand, squeezes when he notices your slack.
He only let's go when you hit the entrance to the dorms. Technically, you're not allowed in his dorm corridor. Usually, neither if you give a fuck, but Principal Wells is lingering just inside, and neither of you are in the mood to deal with him. Conveniently, he leaves once Nathan has ventured inside. You're no bloodhound, but you know you can smell booze as he walks by.
Another day drinker, it seems.
For a few minutes, you rest on the stairs in peace while worry overcrowds your grey cells. Thoughts of Kate Marsh, Mark Jefferson, and those poor beached whales float around your head, clashing together to make a horrifying jumble of noise in your head. You worry about Nathan, the strange weather events, and the storm plaguing him. It's hard not to wonder if there's some truth to his visions.
"So you're the bloodsucker that's gone after the Prescott kid." Hwa.
You don't recognize the man standing in front of you. You don't share any classes with this guy as far as you are aware. "Pardon?" You chirp. It's the only word you can spit out in your stupor.
"The punk you were just holding hands with," the guy repeats. "Don't play coy with me."
The jacket he's wearing is a letterman, proudly displaying Blackwell's name. He must be a football player. The guy puts his foot on the stairs; it lands right between yours. Uncomfortable, you scoot back a stair. Where is Nathan when you need him?
"How much does he pay you to open your legs for him, hm?" You don't like where this is going. Your voice has become lost in your throat. It barely makes a sound when you try to tell him to fuck off. God, not now. Anytime but now.
"Leave me the fuck alone," the words tumble out of your mouth, louder than intended, but God does it feel good to get them out there.
"You're getting defensive," the offending foot goes up another stair, and fuck is it infuriating. "He must be paying you then. Tell me how much, and I'll get off your case."
There's something about the way he leans down to look you in the eye that sets you off. You have 99 problems that you can't fix right now, but God fuck can you fix this one. In one swift motion, you're surging onto your feet, hands find the unnamed man's shoulders, and you shove him away with everything you've got.
The force of it is enough to knock you off your feet; you slip and hit the bottom stair hard. But the guy in front of you falls harder, and the pain of your landing isn't enough to qualm the satisfaction you feel when the guy smacks his head against the concrete.
"Are you fucking serious?" He howls, in no time at all; he's sitting up, glaring daggers that pierce straight into your soul.
Around you, your classmates do nothing but stare. You're rather annoyed that even Taylor is just standing there. And here you thought you had allied with her.
You watch helplessly as the man stands back up, towers above you with his hulking frame. You may be stronger than you look, but you're smart and know that you stand no chance against this guy.
"No way," when had Nathan come back out? "You, again?"
He's in between you two in a second, slams the much larger guy back with a considerable amount of force. "Don't you know how to mind your own goddamn business?" Nathan's hand wanders down to the edge of his open jacket, flicks it open for a brief second.
That singular motion changes the atmosphere completely. All you can see is the whites of the guy's eyes grow larger. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, bobs his head. "Alright."
The glares continue, but he backs down.
What just happened?
Blue eyes peer at you over a familiar shoulder. Nathan's mouth doesn't move, but his eyes ask you a million and one questions. It takes you a moment to collect yourself, all too confused about what just happened. The walk back to the truck is dead silent. If you squint, you think you can see steam coming out of Nathan's ears.
He tosses you the keys, getting into his truck without a word.
You only speak because you don't know where he wants to go now. One can only push off the question for so long; you break five minutes into the drive. "Where to Cap'n?"
Nathan takes a long drag of his joint, blows the smoke out the window. At least he's kind enough not to hotbox while you're driving. "Do you remember how to get to my place?"
"I can try to find my way there?" You offer.
"Amuse me." Another drag.
You've only ever driven past Nathan's home a handful of times; the search for it isn't the easiest. The signs make for a dead giveaway, though. You'll be damned if his house isn't on Prescott Drive.
The driveway is long and winding, on a gentle incline that gradually flattens the longer you go. You stop the truck just before the road opens up. Where do you park?
As if he's read your mind, Nathan reaches above your head to press a button clipped onto the sun visor. The light flashes green, and a door opens on the far end of the garage.
"Welcome to The Prescott Estate," he lazily announces, tosses his joint out onto the grass.
You're thankful that you manage to park the truck without fucking anything up. You get the feeling that the drywall in the garage costs more than your tuition. On the bright side, Nathan's truck is the only one in the garage. Nobody is home, as far as you can tell.
"My old bastard is out on some business venture," he explains to you as you follow him into his home like a lost puppy.
You find yourself in utter awe at how beautiful the house is once you're inside. It's not massive like you'd imagined it might be, but it's elegantly decorated. A charming mix of gold and white make up the house's color palette, hand-painted patterns adorning the walls. Nathan's family doesn't eat in the kitchen; they eat in a grand dining room, complete with a sparkling chandelier that you don't want to know the price of.
"I'm too poor to be standing in this house," your comment earn a snicker from your richer companion.
Nathan turns to face you all of a sudden. "Kiss me."
"Huh?" You feel your eyes go wide.
"Kiss me," he repeats.
He makes no effort to meet you halfway, forcing you to take matters into your own hands. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips. He hums into it, warm hands coming down to hold your wist. You intend it to be a little peck. Nathan intends to make it more, though, chases your lips when you pull away, never once lets you get away.
Nathan's lips mold into yours so perfectly; it's like you were made to do nothing but kiss each other. There's a comfortable warmth blossoming in your belly, roaring to life when those big hands push you back against the table, hoists you up until you're sitting on the edge.
Your legs fall open, and he's in between them in an instant, firm hand coming down to grip your thigh as he does. Teasing, you nip at his bottom lip. You barely catch it, a little 'hmph' of amusement, and then his tongue is caressing your lips so gently that it makes your head spin. His tongue is hot, tangling with yours the moment you part your lips. He tastes like cinnamon.
The need for air overcomes your desire to keep kissing him; the feeling must be mutual because you pull away at the same time, pink-cheeked and panting. A thin trail of saliva connects your lips until Nathan's tongue swipes out and breaks it away.
"Not that I'm complaining because I'm certainly not," you murmur, fingertips winding into his hair, "but what triggered this now?"
"You have no idea how long I've dreamed about defacing my father's precious dining room like that," his wet lips press a small peck against yours.
You can't help the giggle that leaves you. "You're high."
You get the feeling that he wants more, to go further, but his flickering gaze tells you that he isn't ready for that yet. You're not sure if you're prepared for that either, never mind for it to be in the damn dining room.
If whatever this is continues, you get the feeling that day will come eventually.
Gently, he lets go of your thigh and guides you off of the table. Faintly, you hear the garage door opening. Someones home. Nathan grabs your hand, and like a couple of idiots, you run up the stairs. His room is on the farthest end of the house; a golden plaque proudly displays his name on the door. You two disappear behind it, falling in a clumsy heap on his massive bed.
"Who could be home?" You laugh, pushing him off of you.
"Probably my father, world's biggest killjoy," Nathan gets up to lock the bedroom door, giving you the chance to look around.
It doesn't match the rest of the house. The walls are a pale gray, blackout curtains hang in front of two massive windows, pulled apart to let a little sunshine in. Framed photos elegantly decorate the walls, a mix of Nathan's photography and abstract paintings that highly resemble the emotion you find in his pictures.
"Did you paint these?"
"All of 'em," he climbs back onto the bed, hovering over you with a smirk that sends a shiver down your back.
Nathan settles onto his forearms, lips brushing against yours but not entirely closing the gap. You don't recall shutting your eyes, but you find yourself peeling them open, blurrily catching a playful gaze.
"Quit teasing," you grumble. Then, when Nathan doesn't comply right away, your hand finds its way back into his hair, guiding him down to meet your lips.
He gasps against your mouth, smiles into your kiss. Teeth clack together with a soft noise; your free hand is gliding over his shoulder blades, fingertips pressing into his back. Nathan groans cups your face with one hand as his lips gently caress your own, properly now.
It's so much softer than the one you shared in the dining room, but your breath is already running ragged, the heat in your belly surging into a wildfire. It's you who decides to raise a knee, you who knocks it against his hip until he's comfortably settling between your legs. The kiss grows dark, leaves you no room to catch up as a hot tongue delves into your mouth, explores you until he knows every crevice of you.
Your back arches as you lean up, chasing his tongue into his mouth as you decide you're tired of being explored. It's your turn to gasp as teeth nip at your sensitive tongue, reminding you of who it is you're with. You lean into it greedily, head spinning as your tongues tangle together in the messiest of ways.
Nathan pulls away first, panting heavily as he gazes down at you with sparkling blue eyes. "Fuck." His voice has got that deep, gravelly tone to it again, making you shiver.
With his guard down, you're able to push him over and flip your positions, straddling his hips. There's a delicious ache blooming in your thighs, just from the way his hips force them apart. Nathan grunts in surprise but otherwise does not attempt to protest.
You meet his quivering lips briefly, but kissing them isn't your main priority right now. Warm hands grip your hips as you kiss down his jaw, pausing to suck at the sensitive skin just behind his ear. The noise that leaves him is beautiful, low in his throat as he throws his head back against the pillow. His most sensitive area, you find, is where his collarbone meets his throat.
"Fuck, Y/N," he whines, gripping the back of your head tightly. For a man so uptight, he sure is expressive like this. There's an overwhelming sense of pride, knowing you're the one who made him like this.
Knock_
Knock_
The two of you freeze.
"Nathan!" You don't recognize the voice, but it's a man's voice. So it must be his father.
"The closet," he whispers to you, sitting up, "hide in the closet."
Shaky feet carry you to his closet; Nathan follows close behind you, shuts the door once you're inside. You find yourself in a pile of stuffed whales tucked into the corner closest to the bedroom door.
Nathan's opening his door on the third knock. Through the wooden shades of the closet door, you can see almost everything. Hopefully, the same is not true for the Prescott's on the other side.
The conversation Sean Prescott has with his son is not pleasant. Sean berates him for coming home unannounced, bitches about Nathan receiving a C on an exam. It isn't hard to see where Nathan's anger comes from.
When Nathan opens the closet door, he doesn't look too pleased, eyes downcast as he looks for you in the closet. You assume you must look like a bit of a kid, wide-eyed, curled into his mass of whale plushies, holding the biggest one to your chest. He smiles when he sees you.
"And the world's most pleasant dad award goes to..." you whisper.
Nathan rolls his eyes at your antics. You carry the stuffed whale back to his bed, eagerly curling into his chest when he motions for you to do so.
"Every holiday, my mom symbolically adopts a whale for me, and they send her a stuffed animal," he explains, without provocation. "They've gotten out of hand."
Words are few and far between. Nathan's neck is still wet from your handiwork, a tiny red mark has formed on his collarbone, but that's all you can see. At some point, you're lulled to sleep by the sound of his breathing and the fingers tapping along your spine.
It's late when Nathan wakes you up. His father is gone again, and he looks much soberer than he was when you knocked out. He drives you back to Blackwell to the shitty tunes you put on his radio, holds your hand on the way into the dorms. You don't know how he does it, but a tiny whale, the size of your fist, appears in your room.
In the heat of everything, it completely slips your mind that there's going to be a Vortex Club party on Thursday. Nathan seems to have forgotten too.
"Victoria can handle it," he sleepily grumbles into the back of your neck. He's just woken up, but you get the feeling he barely slept. "We'll leave tonight."
To your dismay, Principal Wells comes looking for you. He takes you back to his office to grill you about what happened to you on Monday. He asks you if Nathan is at fault for your injury.
"A truck kicked up a rock, and it decked me in the face," it's the truth, but it sounds silly now that you say it out loud. Principal Wells takes hours to let you go. Analyzing over security footage frame by frame, calling Ms. Grant in after her class ends. Nathan texts you on and off, occasionally asking what's happening, others sending you green caterpillars.
Principal Wells keeps you there for over three hours.
The campus is still just as alive as it was when Principal Wells dragged you into that stuffy office. The resident skater boys are out and about, using slang that goes right over your head. A football is being passed back and forth. Elyssa is sitting on a bench with her nose deep in a novel. She's been carrying that book around a lot; you might just have to check it out for yourself.
It's hard not to miss the sound of Nathan yelling at someone for entering his dorm. You don't intend to go and check out the fight, not initially anyway. There's a heavy thump, a female gasps.
"What in the world?" You're changing courses immediately, jogging towards the boys' dorms.
You walk in on Warren on top of Nathan, Max, and her blue-haired friend, Chloe, you think her name is, stand off to the side like a pair of deer in headlights.
"You are so fucking dead!" Nathan howls, cradling his head in his hands. He reaches into his pocket, produces a silver pistol. Warren's kicking it out of his hands before Nathan can even begin to raise it.
Okay, he might have deserved that.
Warren keeps going, though. Nathan's already down. He's disarmed; there's no point in continuing. But Warren does, kicks Nathan as hard as he can. You expect Nathan to get up to defend himself, but he does no such thing, he lies there, and he takes it. It's hard to watch.
"Warren, back off," on their own, your feet begin to move. Warren doesn't back off, and much like you did with the unnamed man yesterday, you plant your palms on his shoulders and shove him off of Nathan. Warren dares to look shocked.
"He's down already. Knock it off," you bark, pushing to create distance between the two men. Blue-haired punk girl goes for the gun. Using your foot, you nudge the pistol towards you, away from her, and scoop it up. It's cold in your hand, has the weight of one of your textbooks.
The mere act of holding the weapon has your blood pressure spiking. In the back of your head, your conscience reminds you the gun itself is not dangerous; it's the person holding it. Right now, you're the only person you trust with it.
Max, your lord, and savior, steps in before Warren can find room to argue. "Hey...come on." It's not much, but Warren backs down rather quickly.
The metal of the gun is cold against the sensitive skin of your hip as you tuck it into your waistband, concealing it from prying eyes. This must be what Nathan used to scare your favorite heckler off yesterday.
Below you, Nathan tearfully mumbles words you can't quite make out. When had he started crying?
"Nathan..." your knees hit the ground a little too hard, your concern for the brunette easily overrides the pain.
"Stop..." he rolls away from you, bruised face hidden in trembling hands, "sorry..."
The Chloe girl makes a comment you don't hear, don't care to give any attention to. With gentle hands, you take Nathan by his shoulders and pull him up off of the ground. It takes everything in you to haul his weight off the ground, but you manage. Getting him down the hallway is a little easier. Never once does he lift his head.
In the safety of Nathan's bed, you bring his shivering body into your arms and just hold him. Whatever just happened seems to have struck a nerve. Hot tears land in the patch of skin where your collarbone meets your shoulder. His arms make their way around you, squeezing tight, making it just a little difficult to breathe.
"You're okay," the words are murmured into soft hair, freehand carding through the long strands.
It's faint, hidden under his breath, but the quiet chant of "one, two, three" pricks your ears.
"How fucked up do I look?" Watery blue eyes peer up at you from where his head rests on your chest.
You have to lift his head a little to get a better look. A cherry red bruise has formed on his right eye and cheek; there's a similar, lighter one under the left eye as well. His bottom lip is split open, leaving an angry red mark on the soft flesh that you've come to love. There's no telling how bad his ribs are.
"Your face has certainly seen better days," your thumb swipes at his busted lip. "Do your ribs hurt?"
"Like hell."
"Will you let me look at them?" There's genuine concern laced in your voice. A few well-placed kicks can easily break a rib or two.
He hesitates, stares hard at you from under long eyelashes. "Fine." He moves at a snail's pace, signature jacket dropping from his shoulders. The white vest comes next, long fingers working extra slow to pop each button out. Below the vest is just a plain black shirt. It dawns on you that you've never seen him without the vest.
Nathan practically rips the shirt off his body, abruptly revealing the slender, milky white frame that hides underneath. Eye contact is near impossible to make.
"You don't have to be nervous around me, you know," this is such a new side of him; you wonder if anyone else has ever seen him like this. If you're the first.
He turns his head away, facing the couch. "Shut up." Still Nathan Prescott, though.
His skin is impossibly soft under your touch, almost distracting you from the concern at hand. Dark, plum-colored bruises have already formed along his upper ribs; there's a clear shoe imprint on the left side. Nathan's stomach is much better than the rest of his body, discolored by a few pale red marks.
Nathan watches your every move, speaking only with his eyes and the occasional disgruntled noise. The way your nails drag against his skin makes him twitch under your touch, squirming when your fingers fall into the gaps of his prominent ribs.
"Does it hurt?" He shakes his head at your words.
You move to stand, drawing the forgotten pistol from your pocket. It's left a visible imprint on your skin. You're not too eager to keep it on you, choosing to place it just inside of Nathan's bedside drawer.
A warm hand slips under your shirt, thumb swiping over the imprint on your hip. Nathan's got that look in his eye.
"Don't tell me you're into gunplay," you groan, shaking your head.
The corners of Nathan's lips quirk up. "What if I am?" His hand travels up, nails dragging up and against your spine. Your back arches, squirming away from the touch.
Resistance is futile when firm hands grab your hips, drag you into his lap. You don't need to be told to kiss him, dipping your head down to meet soft, waiting lips. It's is the first kiss you've shared since yesterday. Yet Nathan's breath is already running ragged, hands already running up the back of your shirt.
You've got him by the back of the neck, keeping him in place as your tongue dips into his mouth. His lips fall open, hot tongue dancing with yours in the wettest of kisses. You catch yourself kissing him harder, deeper, hungry for everything he has to give you. His hips roll up into yours, something hard, unfamiliar, pressing into your core, and you gasp into his mouth, nails raking down his unclothed back.
"Meow," he teases, "bring out the claws, baby."
He shifts under you, and then your back is hitting the mattress. The room is impossibly cold without him there; you're reaching out for him before you've even registered that he's moving. And then he's there, hips slotted between yours as his lips claim yours, and every one of your senses are clouded with Nathan, Nathan, Nathan.
He presses into you again, groans when your nails properly bite into his shoulders. Like a thread, you unravel underneath of him, gasping when his lips briefly find the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping when he's done toying with the spot.
"Fuck, the things you do to me," he murmurs.
Experimentally, you roll your hips up into his, and he moans, high in his throat, eyelids fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.
"Don't dish out what you can't take," he warns, but his hips are already beginning to grind into yours.
"I should be saying the same to you," you gasp. God grinding like this shouldn't feel as good as it does; it's not fair. "I don't even know what we are right now."
Nathan scoffs, his nose bumping into yours. "I'm literally between your legs, and you want to have this conversation now?"
"My timing is impeccable, isn't it?"
"Well," he pecks your lips, "I can be anything you want me to be."
"So what if I want you to be my boyfriend?"
"Then I'll be your boyfriend," another kiss, "and I'll be the luckiest Prescott who ever graced the Earth."
In your wildest of dreams, you had never expected to find yourself here, with Nathan Prescott settled between your legs as he whispers sappy phrases against your lips.
"Boyfriend," you repeat, primarily to yourself.
Nathan smiles against your lips, "boyfriend."
He rolls his hips against yours one last time. "As much as I want to fuck you senseless," his words bring heat into your cheeks, you can see his reddening as well, "I want to wait."
"Waiting to find a private yacht?" You joke, settling further into his bed as he lays down on top of you. It's a comforting weight.
"I wanna take my time with you," his hand rubs idly at your waist, "I don't want to mess this up."
"You're full of surprises, Prescott," he's so warm, so comfortable against you. It's like you were made for each other, perfectly sculpted to fit like puzzle pieces.
"What I'm not going to take my time with is making sure everyone knows you're mine."
"Not if I do it first."
"Is that a challenge?"
Before you know it, your eyes are fluttering open. The room is dark. Nathan is still nestled on top of you, lightly snoring into your neck. The party must have already started because you can hear a rhythmic thumping in the distance. There's something else, though.
A rattling just outside the door. It's faint, but you can hear it.
"Nathan," you whisper, gently shaking the sleeping boy.
"Hm?" he readjusts, curls further into you like a needy cat.
"Do you hear that?"
His head is up surprisingly fast, barely open eyes squint at the door. The noise occurs again. Nathan stiffens in your arms. You're not too sure what it could be, but based on his reaction, you can't imagine that it's good.
"I want you to take my gun," he tells you, sitting up straight. "And I want you to hop out my window and hide." He's already beginning to throw his clothes on, his bruised and battered body disappearing under a black shirt.
You fail to move. Unsure. "What's wrong?"
"I think Mr. Jefferson is outside of my room," he whispers, "and he's not happy with me."
You don't need to be told again. Sleep leaves your body in an instant; your hands are already finding the gun. The cold metal burns your warm skin, and you can't bite back the hiss that leaves your lips.
"There's already one in the chamber, fifteen in the magazine." You don't want to know why he's suggesting you take his gun. The thought of having to use it chills you to the bone.
Words leave you. You say nothing as you push his blinds away and open the window. God, when had it gotten so cold outside? You regret wearing a t-shirt today. A gust of wind enters the room, wrapping chilly fingers around your already stinging skin.
One last glance at Nathan reveals all of your thoughts to him.
He produces a duplicate of his jacket, drapes it around your shoulders like a cape. The jacket is oversized on you, the sleeves reach down to your fingertips, but it's warm, and that's all you need.
"What about you?" You ask. The door shakes.
"I'll be fine," he pushes you to the window, "go."
You land behind one of the many bushes in front of the dorms, heart high in your throat as it pounds away. There's a sense of deja vu; this is the same bush you hid behind on the night you first met Nathan.
There isn't anywhere for you to go. You can't leave campus, not without Nathan, but you can't exactly go back into the dorms either. Nathan's jacket dangles from your sides, threatens to fall off your shoulder as you walk onto the central part of campus. You have to pop the middle button in to keep it secure.
Ultimately, you settle down next to the water fountain, the running water a soothing lullaby.
"'I'm just helping with chemistry homework'" you recognize that voice.
"Hi Dana," you suppose the jacket is a dead giveaway.
"Oh my god, that's Nathan's jacket." Ah, there's Juliet.
"Surprise," you mumble, cheeks heating up under their curious gaze.
Juliet sits down on the fountain next to you. "So, is he your boyfriend now?" She gives you a playful shove.
"Maybe," you crack. "Okay, yes, he is."
Dana squeals. "I knew it!"
Juliet looks less thrilled, already beginning to open her purse. She produces a twenty, which is quickly snatched up by her more excited counterpart.
"Did you two have a bet on us?" You squeak, eyes wide.
"It was hard not to make one," Dana batts her eyelashes at you. "You should see the way he looks at you in class."
Huh. Hadn't noticed that.
A shoe scuffs the ground behind you, off in the distance. It's Nathan, head down, walking in front of Mark Jefferson. He looks at you as he passes; you can't make out what expression he's wearing. Anger. Defeat. And something else. Fear?
Mr. Jefferson doesn't notice your trio. He's got his hand shoved in his oversized pocket, holding something large in there. Something solid.
Your hand is reaching for the keys in your pocket. "Do me a favor," you begin to say, transfixed on the two men walking into the parking lot, "if I suddenly disappear, tell them Mark Jefferson did it."
You're moving before the girls can protest, a one-person army with a mission you don't know the details of. You haven't a clue what you're going to do, just that you need to do something.
Your heart slams against your ribcage like an animal, threatening to burst out at any moment. You get to your car right as Mr. Jefferson pulls out of the parking lot. It's hard, catching up to the vehicle without appearing as if you're following them. You have to let several cars get between you, squinting to keep track of the vehicle.
On an old back road, it starts to rain, a torrential downpour that turns your entire windshield white. In the fleeting moments that it takes you to turn on your windshield wipers, Mr. Jefferson's car has disappeared.
You hit your breaks, stopping in the middle of the road. "Where did they go?"
They were just here. Where could they have gone? They couldn't have kept going down the road. You would still be able to see the taillights.
The storm rapidly worsens as you drive up and down the road. You can't see. No matter how slow you drive, you can't figure out where they could have gone. The windshield wipers are on their highest setting, but they're no match for the rain. Lightning strikes a tree in front of your car, illuminating everything around you for just a few seconds.
You see it.
An old, battered barn that has undoubtedly seen better days resides off in the distance. There is no road leading to it, except for a few tire-like patches of mud in the grass. There's no way your little car will go up that without getting stuck, but it's the only place they could have gone. So you guide your vehicle over onto the side of the road, just before the ditch begins, and put it in park.
Reaching into the back seat, you feel around blindly for a blanket, anything to protect you from the freezing rain. Your hand brushes against a smooth, curved handle. It's impossible to tell what it is without light, so you reach up to turn on the interior lights.
It's the umbrella.
"Nathan, you fucker," you pull it into the front seat, pulling off the velcro which holds it shut. There's no telling how he managed to sneak it in here.
As you turn off the car and get out, you become painfully aware of the gun in your waistband. Nathan didn't warn you of any safety; you can only assume that it's ready to fire at any time. You don't appreciate that thought.
The wind blows hard against your umbrella, getting underneath and tugging with a relentless force. The umbrella is worth its weight in gold; it doesn't so much as budge. Your shoes quickly become caked with mud as you walk towards the barn; your tires wouldn't have fared well here.
Around you, the storm cackles. A furious fist of thunder strikes the ground, shakes you back into reality. Right. Mr. Jefferson just took your boyfriend into an old barn, and your boyfriend was scared that he gave you his weapon.
This should be a walk in the park.
The doors to the barn are wide open, revealing a familiar car parked inside. It's Jefferson's. Inside, there's a faint white light coming from the ground. An entrance to a bunker, you realize.
You place the umbrella off to the side, freeing up your hands to hold the gun instead. Your palms tremble as you hold it, dominant index finger dances near the trigger, settling next to it but never curling around it. Not ready for that commitment yet.
One step at a time, you enter the underground bunker. Mr. Jefferson is talking, repeating the same phrase over and over. You can't make out what it is. At the bottom, the door sits ajar, even brighter light seeping through.
Your breath echoes against the concrete walls; every footstep is too loud, like a scream in the quietest of rooms. The blood in your face has long since drained, leaving you numb and lightheaded. Outside, the wind howls like a hungry wolf.
"Leave me out of this, Mark!" Nathan shouts from inside. "I don't want anything to do with this fucked up shit!"
A sharp smack of skin against skin follows. "Do not disobey me, Nathan," Jefferson seethes, "how do you think your father would feel if this got out, hm? How would y/n feel, knowing they're whoring out to a monster?"
Wow. You're almost insulted yourself.
Using your free hand, you push the door open, and of course, it has to squeak. You freeze.
"What more do you want from me?" Nathan cries, breathing hard and heavy. "Is it money? Is it drugs? What the fuck is it?"
With Nathan's yelling as a mask, you push the door open just enough to slip inside. The bunker is entirely black and white. Charcoal walls, white tiled floors. Pictures of women litter the walls, frightened women who don't look entirely conscious, mentally not there at the taking of their photos. The hair on your arms stands straight up.
Creeping down the hallway, you curl your finger around the trigger.
"Oh, Nathan," Jefferson's voice is so calm that it's condescending, "it's too late to back out now, buddy."
Oh.
It seems you are not the only armed person. Jefferson bears a gun identical to yours; the barrel pointed down at a cowering Nathan Prescott.
You don't know what to do. You can't distract him. No, he'll turn the gun on you and turn it into a standoff. Terrified, you raise the weapon, directing it towards your photography teacher.
"I'm not helping you anymore," Nathan spits. "I'm fucking done. Do you hear me?"
Jefferson's pistol whips him across the face. "Do not disobey me!"
His finger is wrapped around the trigger.
That's enough.
Without a second thought, you squeeze the trigger, and the gun fires with a loud bang. Your first shot misses.
The second and third do not.
Ears ringing, you emerge from the corner, both hands pointing the gun towards the ground. Jefferson is howling from the floor, clutching a hip that you can only imagine is shattered. Next to him, Nathan appears out of it, staring distantly at you and his weapon.
"Whores can shoot, apparently." Is the only words that can come out of your mouth. Your brain is fried.
Nathan's moving, rushing you like a football player.
White-hot flames explode in the side of your forearm, but it's not from Nathan tackling you. The sound of a bullet leaving the chamber hits your ears. You don't feel the way your head smacks the tile, the pain of Nathan landing on top of you. The gun slips from your fingers, landing next to you with a clatter.
"Don't even think about it," Jefferson threatens, weapon aimed at the both of you.
Everything goes black.
It takes you a second to realize the power has just gone out, that you're not dead. Cold hands are grabbing you, fingers dig into your fresh wound, and you can't hold back the shriek that forces its way out of your mouth. A hand clamps down over your mouth, the other hauls you back, dragging you. You're helpless, squirming and kicking as your body is hauled away.
A door slams just as you're able to bite down on the offending hand.
"Ow!"
"Nathan?" You can't see shit, but you know that voice.
"Come on," he whisper-shouts. "We only have a few seconds."
Hobbling to your feet, you hold onto him as he leads you up a set of stairs. Oh. He's dragged you out.
The umbrella is just where you left it. It's tossed over your shoulder haphazardly as you begin to run, Nathan acting as your only guide. Your head is spinning. Blood pours down your arm like a waterfall.
"My keys are in my back pocket," you tell him, approaching your car on the street. "I don't think I can drive."
His hand is in your pocket in an instant. Not exactly how you pictured him grabbing your ass for the first time.
The two of you pile into the car, Nathan's sliding the key into the ignition and turning it before you've even shut the door. Obedient, your car starts. The roads have already grown even worse. That tornado vision Nathan's been having, you're beginning to realize, has some truth behind it.
"I don't think we're going to be able to get out of town." It feels strange to be in the passenger seat.
"Not with that arm; we're not." Nathan's flooring it, tires squeal as the car takes off.
Neither of you can find any more words. Your arm is throbbing; it's impossible to think of anything else. In the dim light of the car, you can tell that it's just a graze. Still, it burns like a bitch.
"Ready?"
God, when had you and Nathan already gotten to Blackwell?
You pick up the forgotten umbrella from the floorboard with your uninjured arm. "It took us a literal life and death situation to use this."
Around you, the storm is rapidly growing worse. A tornado siren cries in the distance and that spiral in the distance certainly appears to be the offending twister.
You count to three and open the door.
Together, you and Nathan flee the car, holding onto one another for dear life as you all but fly to the dormitory. It's the only building at Blackwell with a basement. The only place you stand a chance at surviving. The wind has other ideas, blowing against you so hard that you fear you may fly away—the umbrella groans under the pressure.
The entire student body of Blackwell is down in the basement, as you quickly learn. The power has long since gone out, the only light in the basement provided by flashlights and cellphones.
"What in the world are you two doing?" Hayden all but yells upon your rather unceremonious entry.
"I don't want to talk about it," Nathan snarls. There's a space in the back corner, and he takes it. You're too exhausted to argue about where you'll sit, following after him like a shadow. You huddle into his side, shivering from the cold rain. You hate it, but it's the only thing reminding you that you're both alive.
A warm, heavy blanket drops over the both of you.
"Just when I think this day can't get any stranger." You recognize that voice.
"Hello to you too, Victoria," Nathan groans.
Under the privacy of the blanket, his arm snakes around you. You sink into him fully, injured arm cradled in your chest.
He and Victoria speak some, Nathan catches her up to speed on what happened. He leaves out the part about being blackmailed and what happened to Rachel. You figure that he hasn't told her about who Jefferson truly is, not yet, anyway. She does find you a medkit when she sees the torn flesh of your arm. It's not much, but she and Nathan make quick work temporarily dressing your wound.
Outside, the storm roars as it tears Arcadia Bay apart bit by bit. The three of you huddle close into the corner as Blackwell Academy trembles under the tornado's wrath. The sound is so eerie. You always imagined tornadoes would sound like a loud roar, and it does, but once it gets close enough, it sounds like a demented freight train.
The storm lasts long into the night and the early hours of the morning. When it does subside, Arcadia Bay is gone.
The sun is up, warm sunlight bathing the path of destruction left upon the bay. Buildings that once stood tall and proud lay in crumpled heaps, trees who have stood for longer than Arcadia has existed are uprooted, lying across roads, roofs of cars, and on buildings. Debris reaches as far as the eye can see.
Blackwell Academy is one of the few buildings left standing. The roof is essentially destroyed, a tattered mess that will take days, if not weeks to repair. The water fountain is gone, as is the gymnasium. A large, heavy branch lays on top of Nathan's truck, denting the roof with its weight. Your little car, albeit muddy, seems to be one of the lucky few who were unharmed.
"Have any more visions, cap'n?" You say, bewildered by the sight in front of you.
Nathan shakes his head, reaches out to hold your hand. "Not yet."
Clean-up begins immediately. There isn't much of the town left, you'll never truly know how many lives were lost, but so many more have miraculously survived beneath the rubble. Blackwell Academy temporarily converts into a makeshift cleanup crew, offering class credit and free tuition for all able-bodied students who help clean up the Bay.
The last thing you expect is for Nathan to join in, but on the first full day of cleanup, he makes an appearance. It quickly becomes clear that Arcadia is going to need more than just a high school of students to clean it up. As a collective, the students of Blackwell begin an online campaign, asking for volunteers to help recover Arcadia Bay. The campaign doesn't do well, not at first.
Two weeks in, Nathan is waking you up with a smug grin playing across his lips. "I have something to show you," he grins, tugging your sleepy frame to the window.
Outside, a mass of people has gathered in front of Blackwell, bringing with them trucks and supplies. You're still not sure how he did it, but he broke into the Prescott social media accounts and used them to boost the campaign into the public light.
Recovering Arcadia is a grueling process. The weather is quickly becoming colder as Winter approaches. The ache in your neck has become a permanent affliction, nights you once spent sneaking out with Nathan are now spent curled into a king-sized bed watching movies that you fail to stay awake for.
You often find yourself questioning how long you can continue this. How long you can keep running yourself into the ground for the sake of a town you barely know. But then you see the community that has formed around you, how hard Nathan is working to use his family name to repair the town, and you realize you wouldn't have it any other way.
"Is your dad still upset with you for breaking into his Twitter?" You find yourself asking one evening, arms full of splintered wood as you carry it to the truck.
Nathan hoists a heavy chunk of metal from the ground, forearms flexing with the weight as he follows you. He's put on some muscle since the cleanup started. It looks good on him. "He's pissed off about everything."
"Isn't he always pissed?" Victoria's standing in the truck bed, pushing the junk back as far as she can to create some more room there. She's been one of the key organizers for this whole debacle, you really appreciate that she made the call to put you three in a team together.
"He's starting his own campaign to buy all the land he can and turn it into real estate," Nathan grumbles, chucking the metal into the truck with a heavy bang that makes Victoria swear at him. "It's Prescott v Prescott right now."
He's told you about this a few times. Sean wants to take advantage of the destruction by forcing out help and buy up the land from frustrated owners. Nathan wants to rebuild Arcadia Bay and restore it to its former glory and then some. The presence of the campaign has directly put a hole in Sean's plan.
"I'm sure the media will listen, if you open up to them," Victoria suggests as you unload your armful of wood onto the bed.
"Can't buy land if you piss off its current owners," you giggle.
He does it, the next day. Appearing in an interview with the local news station that's been giving him over an interview hell for months. The media takes the story by storm, slamming Sean Prescott for his attempts at thwarting the recovery of the town. It garners your campaign more attention, volunteers flood in from all corners of the state.
By the time Christmas has come around, there is not a speck of debris in Arcadia. Principal Wells practically chases all of you out of the dorms, insisting that each and every one of you go home for the holidays and rest with your families. You go home immediately, thrilled to finally see your family after all that has happened. after Christmas, Nathan makes it a point to show up and meet the people who raised you. He's a total suck-up, an angel.
It's terrifying.
On a foggy January morning, you're awoken by police knocking at your door, and Nathan is taken in for questioning. Mr. Jefferson, whom you assumed had passed in the storm, was alive and well, seeking to press charges against Nathan.
The media is nasty, chasing you and Victoria around and demanding answers out of the both of you. Nathan tells the truth of what happened, you back him up wholeheartedly, bearing the scar to prove it. Your scarred forearm is a prominent part of the case, it's hard to lie when you have the proof of an injury like that.
Maybe it's just luck, the influence of the Prescott name, or divine intervention. Or maybe it's because the community rallied behind Nathan, having caught sight of the man Nathan has become, knows how much he has done to help the town. Somehow, Nathan avoids all charges, and Mr. Jefferson receives 25 years to life for the murder of Rachel Amber and the violation of so many other students.
The court does order that Nathan begins attending therapy once a week, for the next two years. He doesn't like to admit it, but you can tell that it does help him in the end. He gets proper medication, the right tools for coping with his anger issues. Who would have thought? After the trial comes to a close, Nathan's estranged Grand Father reaches out to aid in your campaign to save Arcadia. It's a small act that warms your heart.
For Spring Break, he takes you to meet his sister, and she's every bit as lovely as you imagined her to be. Nathan brings his polaroid camera, takes so many photos that your dorm walls are surely going to be covered in them when you get back home.
"Hey, doe-eyes?"
You're curled together in a plush hotel bed, taking in your last full day of vacation before you have to return to Arcadia Bay. It's been a long day of doing absolutely fucking nothing. A movie plays on the television, some Netflix fantasy Nathan found whilst surfing channels. It looks like a good movie, but you're more interested in tracing the veins of Nathan's hand.
"Hm?" You can't be bothered to lift your head. Whatever it is he wants to tell you, will have to be mumbled into your scalp.
"I love you."
Three little words that you'd never expected Nathan to say.
Flames burst in your cheeks. Bashful, you kiss his hand. "I love you too."
Before you know it, you're up on a stage, and Principal Wells is handing you a diploma. A photo of you displays on the projector, the one Nathan took of you on the rooftop that night. You don't expect to receive any applause, but the entire room erupts into it. Your heart is soaring.
This is it; this is really it.
There's a final Vortex club party after the last student walks the stage. It was originally outdoors, but some unplanned rain led to the party being held in the same unfamiliar church you graduated in. Proper security has been instilled into the parties now, drink covers handed out to everyone who attends.
You and Victoria share a drink together. You've earned the right to a little alcohol.
"I'm looking forward to having you as a next-door neighbor," she smiles, around a cherry that came with her drink. "You're nice to have around, Y/N."
"I can't believe we're staying in Arcadia," your own drink is bitter in your mouth, making you cringe. Blargh. "And to think we were dreaming of ditching this town over Spring Break."
Victoria shakes her head, smiling at something behind you. "Sometimes home is in the place you least expect."
"Care to ditch this shitty party, nerd?" You don't need to turn around to know who's hands are on your hips, whose lips are ghosting the shell of your ear.
"But of course," you say, in the poshest accent you can muster. "Take me away, good sir."
"You hang out with my sister for three days, and suddenly you act just like her," Nathan gripes. Victoria's waving you off, already turning to Taylor as Nathan guides you away with a gentle tug of the hand.
By the coats, Nathan produces an all too familiar umbrella. He opens it when you're ready and guides you out into the chilly May air. You can see all of Arcadia from up here. It's far from rebuilt, but Nathan is confident that it will be repaired one day.
"Thank you."
"Hm?" You're leaning against his warm shoulder, dreamily staring off into town. Construction has already begun, you can't wait to see what Arcadia Bay becomes.
Nathan's arm wraps around your waist, drawing you into a familiar chest. "Thank you for putting up with my stubborn ass," he nuzzles a cold nose into your scalp, "you're the best thing to ever happen to me, y'know?"
"Look who's gone sappy."
"I hate you."
"Love you too, Nate," you peer up at him, meeting with a fond gaze. "I'm glad I kept running into you."
He grins at your words, breaking out into a big, goofy smile that is triggered by more than just your words. Nathan doesn't tell you right away, but you can see the gears turning in his head, formulating something.
"Why do I get the feeling that you're planning something devious?" You chirp as the two of you begin walking to your car.
"How do you feel about joining me for a secret rendezvous in my father's precious dining room?"
I eagerly await angst pt 2!!!! Pt 1 was soooooo good
Sidon X Reader [Angst]
Finding out About Yona [Part II]
[I'm absolutely blown away by how much notes part one has! I'm really thankful for all of the support! I hope you guys like this! Part one will be linked below.]
It has roughly been a month since I last laid foot in Zora's Domain. I haven't heard a word from Sidon since. I had abruptly moved out of the domain making myself home in Tarry Town. It has been abundantly painful, as the last time we talked we were in an argument. I constantly tried keeping myself busy whether helping Hudson, or going off and exploring new fallen pieces that fell from the skies above. I found myself walking along the edge of Akkala seeking sundelions from Hudson's request. I sighed in annoyance, they weren't easy flowers to find.
"I swear there was some growing here..." I grumbled, clearly annoyed. I pulled away from the grass, making my way towards a rock formation, leaning against it. I then sat down next to the trail resting my head into my arms, holding myself close. The thoughts of Sidon and his engagement to Yona filled my mind. No matter how many distractions I had, the thoughts and feelings always came back. My breathing started to pick up a bit thinking about the situation at hand. "I still can never get you off my mind..." I whispered to myself, as if hoping that would clear my heavy heart. I trembled a bit as my breathing was quick to turn into hyperventilation. I was lost in my mind, as I couldn't hear the sound of footsteps upon the trail, with a sharp and audible gasp. The figure seemed to stop and started talking. It all sounded like gibberish, anything that went in one ear went out the other.
"(Y/n)!" The figure cried giving me a light shake. I was startled, looking up to see a black Zora who was a guard. I was quick to gasp out of shock immediately standing up, backing away lightly.
"...Bazz?" I asked in a broken tone still not in a fit state to be interacting with others. However, I took a few deep breaths before getting into a semi-calm state to interact with Bazz. "What is the captain of the guard doing all the way outside of the domain?" I asked with a rather frantic tone. Bazz only gazed at me with a rather concerned look. His amber eyes only seemed to be filled with worry.
"(Y/n), are you alright?! We haven't seen you in weeks, everyone was worried SICK!!-" He paused before quickly clearing his throat, noticing that he was acting informal. He sighed, then stood up lightly tapping his silverscale spear on the trail. "I was personally sent out to look for you by request of King Sidon. Now that I found you, I'll escort you back to the domain at once!" He stated in a firm voice, eyes still carrying a look of concern. I stood still, trying to process everything. I only stepped back a bit more with a quick head shake.
"King ... Sidon?" I asked, completely dismissing what he had stated. "When did Sidon become King..?" I asked a little bit quieter, if anything; asking myself.
"He was crowned by the now retired King Dorephan not too long ago, after him and Master Link had saved the domain. Post-crowning ceremony, as stated before; he had personally sent me to come find you. We need to get going before it starts getting dark outside." Bazz said in a formal tone, I was personally taken aback by his rather direct tone. I shook my head once again.
"I'm not going back to the domain! I don't even live there anymore. There's no point in doing so." I snapped, feeling a strain in my voice. Everything really felt like it was coming back, not in a good way. It was now Bazz's turn to be taken aback himself. He gazed at me with widened eyes before he sighed. He stamped his spear a bit into the ground, turning his head, thinking of what to say. He gazed back at me with his eyes piercing into my own.
"Look (Y/n)..." He started, closing his eyes for a moment before he looked back down at me. "I obviously cannot force you to come with me, however I have been looking for you for two weeks straight. It isn't just King Sidon that's worried about you, it's most of the domain as well. I personally thought you had died, it took a toll on me. While I am captain of the guard, I'm also asking as your friend... Please come back to Zora's Domain." He pleaded with a bit of desperation in his voice. I sighed, before slowly nodding and choosing to go back with him. By the time we reached the domain, the sun was starting to set. The Zoras around the domain saw me and were whispering among themselves and looked at me in surprise. While it was starting to get to me, it all had stopped the minute I saw him. Sidon... His back was turned, the crown upon him that King Dorephan once wore was now upon his head. Bazz told me to stay still, as he approached Sidon whispering to him, before giving a quick bow before stepping away. Sidon was quick to turn around seeing me stand before him. He was very quick to approach me before standing in silence.
"It's you..." He said with a softened tone, his face was unreadable. He seemed to be picking his words carefully this time. I only crossed my arms at him, doing my best to hold in any emotions that I was feeling. I felt like I was shaking from everything being held in. Sidon was quick to break, his eyes started to fill with tears.
"Well?" I asked, clear shakiness in my voice.
He breathed before his golden eyes closed for a moment. "Darli- I mean- (Y/n)..." He then opened his eyes, looking absolutely destroyed. "I'm truly sorry for how I behaved towards you. I really wasn't myself then, there was a lot on my mind... I never wanted my actions to hurt you like this." He said mustering up the best apology he could in the state he was in. For a moment, I started to calm down before I saw a green Zora stepping in, standing by his side. It was Lady Yona. This immediately brought me back to my breaking point and I snapped.
"Really? That's all?!- I just... You made me come all this way just to say that? It seems all you did was waste my time! Thanks!" I scoffed angrily, clearly upset. Sidon's saddened eyes went wide at this completely shocked at my tone. He was clearly hurt, Yona placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, both of them looking at each other before looking back at me. This was the nail that finally hit the coffin for me. I immediately started turning around to leave.
"Wait! (Y/n)! We're still talking!" He cried out towards me, but I ignored him, feeling my eyes burn with tears. He kept calling for me, but I kept ignoring him. I finally felt a tight yank on my wrist, I winced. "(Y/N)! Would you LISTEN to me for once?!" I heard him speak with his teeth lightly gritting. I turned around, trying to pull my arm back, but it wasn't working.
"Let me go! All you've done was leave me for someone else without even consulting me!" I cried out with spite in my voice. He was quick to respond back mirroring my tone.
"It was a political marriage! Besides, you chose to disappear for a whole MONTH! I genuinely thought you were dead! I was beyond worried about you! You didn't even say anything when you left!" He snapped. I could hear a stomp behind both of us.
"Would both of you cut it out?! Both of you are acting like complete children!" Yona yelled out behind Sidon and I. We were both very quick to silence ourselves, turning towards her shocked. She composed herself, before turning towards me. "(Y/n), Sidon and I came to the conclusion that it's best for us to not fulfill our political marriage. My own home needs me more than ever now after what happened in Hyrule." She then turned to Sidon for him to continue. Sidon needed a minute to cool down, before his gaze met mine.
"(Y/n), look. I understand that communication is important. I'm sorry that I never stated anything about the engagement either, I was too busy with my own duties, I had neglected someone I love the most, and that is you. I've always seen Lady Yona as an older sister, my feelings were always complicated about the situation. It took a lot of talking to my father to get out of the engagement." He said with a very sincere tone. My eyes went wide at this. Before I could respond, he very dramatically went on his knees, grasping onto both of my hands.
"Sidon..." I finally muttered softly, feeling tears in my eyes as I was finally beginning to feel the weeks of suppressed emotions hit me.
"(Y/n), will you have me once again? However, this time things will be different. We will both be open and communicate with one another. No more hiding away our feelings. I now want you at my side, no more distance between us!" He practically proposed to me, looking into my eyes with eyes filled with hope. I was quick to nod at him, with a soft giggle.
"Of course Sidon! I would love nothing more than to be by your side!" I said with a warm smile, he gasped before giving me his signature winning smile. He lets go of my hands, revealing a ring, and then slid it upon my ring finger. Sidon picked me up and twirled me around laughing. We both laugh in each other's hold. Afterwards, Yona had approached me with a warm look as Sidon and I held hands.
"(Y/n), please treat him well. Sidon means the world to me, and even more so to see him happy." Yona said with a smile. I nodded in response smiling at her in return.
"Of course. I'm sorry for not acting the best as of late..." I said looking at her guilt. "I'm glad Sidon has you as a sister figure." I had finished off. Yona and I both shook hands before she left the domain.
Some time passed by, Sidon and I had finally wed, as we would rule the domain together side by side becoming closer. At the wedding ceremony, Yona and I had bonded over embarrassing stories from her and Sidon's childhood, she has also become like a sister to me. Meanwhile, Sidon and Link bonded over who could throw a korok the farthest. While nothing was perfect, it was more than you could ask for.
The End.
______________________________________________
Part One
Finding Out About Yona
[Part One]
You hadn't seen Sidon in months due to the upheaval in Hyrule, and due to Sidon becoming extremely busy
love languages event ft. eren, armin, jean, erwin and reiner ☆
royal aus ft. armin, jean, levi and yelena
how they hold your hand ft. eren, armin, mikasa, jean, reiner, porco and pieck ♡ ☆
how they dance with you (salsa edition) ft. eren, jean, sasha, levi, erwin, reiner and porco ♡
awkward things they did during sex ft. eren, armin, mikasa, connie, jean, sasha, levi, hange, erwin, reiner, annie, porco, pieck and zeke ☆ ♡
the piercings that they have ft. eren, armin, jean, reiner and porco ♡
how they react when you fall asleep on their shoulder ft. eren, armin, levi, erwin, reiner, porco and zeke
their favourite things of yours they like to wear
Tiktok pranks
putting your hand out in front of them [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, armin, mikasa, connie, jean, sasha, levi, hange, erwin, reiner, annie, porco, pieck and yelena ☆
calling them a “friend” in front of other people [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, armin, mikasa, jean, levi, reiner and porco ☆
telling them you’re in the mood [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, armin, mikasa, connie, jean, sasha, levi, hange, erwin, reiner, annie, porco, pieck and yelena ☆ ♠
calling them by the wrong name [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, armin, mikasa, jean, levi, reiner, annie and porco ☆
reacting to the phub sound [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, armin, mikasa, connie, jean, sasha, levi, hange, reiner, annie, porco, pieck and yelena ☆ ♠
not saying ‘i love you’ back [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, armin, mikasa, jean, levi, reiner and porco ☆
calling them your husband [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, armin, jean, levi, reiner and porco ☆ ♡
texting them “they’re busy” [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, armin, connie, levi, porco and annie ♡
texting them “i want a baby” [a tiktok prank] ft. eren, jean, connie, levi, zeke and porco
Fanfiction
Anything for him ♠ ♡
It was new for both of you but Armin’s curious nature encouraged you to experiment even further. And to be fair, watching him fall apart as you slid in and out of him was even better than you could ever imagine.
Who’s Annie?
The fog inside my mind clears for a moment, in hopes of deschipring a clue, something that will help me understand the growing pain and increased longing behind his blue eyes that I’ve been noticing lately. Yet all I can catch is a name.
three-way call (6 chapters) ♠ ♡ ☆
When you told Armin to pick up Eren’s call while he was fucking you, you weren’t expecting things to escalate this quickly. Not that you were complaining.
nine years ♡
The war is over and you and Armin seclude yourselves on the other side of the world. You intend to make every moment count.
the one where you ride him dumb ♠ ♡ ☆
tw: praising kink, overstimulation, dumbification (on him >:))
the one where he ties you to the bed ♠
tw: praising kink, fingering, eating out
catholic boy ♠ ♡ ☆
Armin has taught you so many things during bible study. It’s time you teach him how to properly pray the rosary.
boy toy ♠
After Annie and you find out you both find armin really cute, you decide to invite him to your bedroom <3
Make him feel better ♠ ☆
“You did say you wanted to make me feel better,” he reminded you, grabbing your chin and making you look at him. “And since I’m not taking any medicine, this will have to do.”
the one where you are a brat ♠ ☆
tw: rough sex, brat taming, reader being a brat
the one where he teaches you a lesson ♠ ♡ ☆
tw: dom themes, brat taming, impact play (with a belt), degradation, overstimulation
the one with all the domesticity ♡
“No reason,” you smile. Levi huffs and goes back to reading his book. A few seconds pass and you’re already parting your lips again. “I just think you’re very pretty.”
three-way call (6 chapters) ♠ ♡ ☆
When you told Armin to pick up Eren’s call while he was fucking you, you weren’t expecting things to escalate this quickly. Not that you were complaining.
After being forced to attend your ex’s wedding, you find yourself chatting with your old friend, Eren. When he learns the truth about what really caused the break-up between you and the groom, he decides to do something about it.
Cuddling headcanons with Mikasa
the one where you ask her to sit on your face ♠
tw: face-sitting, praising, mikasa is a too shy to let herself moan but reader won’t let that happen, reader is a flirt
sleepovers in my bed, at least i got you in my head ♠
[kinktober 2021 - day nine: face-sitting] A night with your two favourite girls is everything you’ll ever need. Especially when you seem to work so well together.
the end of summer ♠ ♡ ☆
You want revenge. Jean is hopelessly in love with you.
the one where you get food poisoning
you get sick after a dinner date and porco takes care of you
the one where you have shower sex ♠ ♡
tw: shower sex, fingering, porco moans are god sent, dirty talk, porco and the reader actually love each other so much omg
a good boy ♠ ♡
Porco has just come back from yet another battle. You are laying in bed naked, celebrating his return when you joke about him not being able to take some pegging. He takes it as a challenge, not expecting to end up a crumbling mess of moans and sweat.
porco loves classic rock ♫
drabble + many songs
the one where you have office sex ♠ ♡
tw: semi-public, dirty talking, phone sex (kinda?), exhibitionism, eating out, office sex, rough sex, quickies, cum play
the one where you use a leash on him ♠
tw: overstimulation, pet play, use of collar + leash, sub porco, hints of degradation and cum play <3
save your love (and take mine from me) [multi-chapter] ♠ ♫ ♡
Porco wasn’t surprised when you called him at three in the morning because you were too drunk to drive back to your place. He would always be there when you needed, both as your best friend and the guy who was completely head over heels for you. And both of them were sure Zeke Jaeger was cheating on you.
sweet child of mine ♫
drabble + childhood friends to lovers + canon compliant
your song
drabble + first dance at a wedding
the one where you are friends with benefits ♠
tw: drinking but they’re not drunk, dirty talking, spanking, hair pulling, light dom/sub themes, begging
the one at the cinema ♠
tw: mutual masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), semi-public, female reader
sweet things porco galliard does
some headcanons about the sweet things he does for you ~
boy, you write your name, i can do the same ♠ ♡
[kinktober 2021 - day twenty-three: humiliation] The first moment you set your eyes on Porco Galliard, striker of the Marley University Football Team, you knew you were done for.
fitness instructor porco galliard ♠ ♡
You start going to a nerw gym and meet Porco, one of the instructors. It doesn’t take long for both of you to fall for the other.
in your hands ♡
reiner reminisces about his return to marley not being what he dreamt about or reiner braun’s love language is physical touch
angels like you ♫ ♡
Sometimes ending a relationship is the only way to help each other. At least that’s what you tell yourself on your way back home to your fiancé.
the one where he massages you
Whenever Reiner is feeling anxious, he likes to touch you.
sweet things reiner braun does
some headcanons about the sweet things he does for you ~
sweet things zeke jaeger does
some headcanons about the sweet things he does for you ~
guys my age don’t know how to treat me ♠
[kinktober 2021 - day three: daddy kink] A date night with Zeke at a social event ends up with the both of you leaving early. You make it to his apartment in no time and once inside, it’s really hard to keep your hands off of each other.
Domestic headcanons
some sweet, domestic headcanons with the commander
real quick warning. beel’s part might be a bit triggering for some <3 part 1
It was a stupid argument really. So stupid in fact that the both of you didn’t even remember what it was about. You just knew that all the pent up frustrations from the past few weeks were finally coming out. “I don’t even know why I bother. All you see is Lilith in me anyway.”
Satan
he paused and looked at you
true, he never physically met her but he is from lucifer
he’s feels the fondness that the ladder felt for her but it’s nothing more than that
a memory
“is this what this is about?”
He didn’t notice how it sounded until you scoffed
Nothing was said until you reached the door
“i often wonder what it would be like to actually love her. to hug her, share moments with her, to genuinely be able to cherish her but i’ll never get that experience. i, luckily, am able to love you and it’s been one of the best experiences of my life. i wouldn’t replace you for all of devildom. please know you mean so much more than those faded emotions.”
Asmodeus
He let out an audible gasp
“mc…!”
He wanted to say something snooty back but nothing came up
Instead he started ushering you out of his room
“get out. the stress will only give me bags and spots”
once you’re gone he’ll sit at his vanity and just stare at himself in the mirror
then and only then will he let himself break
Beelzebub
time stopped when the words left your mouth
no words were needed. you could see the storm going on behind his eyes
all the pain and guilt from the war came rushing back at him
“i’m sorry…”
the words were so soft and broken that if you weren’t paying attention you would have missed it
he sobbed between each apology. slowly sinking to his knees. without noticing he started grabbing handfuls of his hair
though the guilt had sunk in from bringing up the topic…
you couldn’t help but wonder if the apology was for you or his sister
Belphegor
slowly he sat up and glared at you
“do you really think someone like you could even compare to her?”
he hadn’t meant to say it but it’s wasn’t his fault
besides you started it so it was only fair he was petty back, right?
“she was better than you in so many ways. she could do a lot more things than you. the most important thing though, she meant a lot more to me than you ever will. don’t project your insecurities on her.”
with that he grabbed his pillow and headed toward the attic making sure to bump into your shoulder on the way
You had been Jotaro’s friend for god knows how long. You had been with him through pretty much everything.
And despite your feelings for the man, you never spoke them. You wouldn’t dare. You were there when he had his fanclub, you knew how much he despised women pining over him. And the last thing you wanted was to ruin the relationship you had with him.
So you never made a move. Then, Jotaro got married and had Jolyne. It broke your heart but you were happy for him. With everything you had seen that man go through, he deserved happiness.
You continued to stick around. You were the go-to when he needed someone to watch Jolyne and the go-to when he needed to talk. His wife never really seemed to be in the mood to do so and he also never felt as comfortable sharing with her as he did with you.
And then, when Jolyne was about 5 years old, Jotaro and his wife got divorced. It had become clear to Jotaro that it wasn’t working out a long while ago, but he stuck around for Jolyne’s sake. In his opinion, Jolyne was the one good thing coming out of his marriage.
You were by his side through the divorce, helping him win points to get custody over Jolyne since her mother originally wanted to fully take her for herself. And with what you knew, that couldn’t stand.
You, being Jolyne’s standard babysitter, had often talked with the girl and right before the divorce, Jolyne had come to you.
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