#and in the evenings it's just waiting until she wakes up - when she was smaller she'd wake up every hour and i'd have to spend 20 mins

[kabsey]

Why am I suddenly obsessed with the idea of a forgiven Illario being gravely wounded in the last battle?

Like he stumbles his way back to where the Crows have gathered, covered in blood and grime and gore, and he wants to cry with relief when Teia rushes to his side. She has to hold up almost all of his weight as she leads him to one of the few empty cots left in their field hospital. And then she leaves him and he wants to cry again, near delirious with pain and blood loss and an all-consuming dread that his end is waiting, just out of sight, to swallow him whole.

The minutes trickle by, and as he lies there, surrounded by the moans of the other dying and gasping for breath that can barely squeeze through the agony, he starts to think that maybe this was how it was always meant to happen. That maybe he was destined to die alone and unmourned, just another body on a mass pyre. When he begins to fade in and out of consciousness, he's grateful because he's no longer aware of every second counting down until his last.

In one brief flicker, he hears voices above him, muffled and far away as if he's underwater.

"—wasn't like this when I left him, I swear, Lucanis."

"Get a healer. Now."

-------

In the next, he's fairly sure he's still dreaming because he's wrapped in a blanket and curled in a wheelbarrow of all things being pushed by a qunari of all people.

-------

When he wakes again, he barely notices because the room he's in is so dark. He's lying on a soft bed, and a black silhouette watches him from the shadows just outside the circle of banked firelight.

"Lucanis?" he croaks. Every inch of his skin feels soaked through with cold sweat, but his throat is so, so dry.

The silhouette leans forward to reveal a pointed beard and a pointed gaze that had always seemed to accuse him, even before he had committed any of his crimes.

Illario sighs, too tired now to feel the panic of before. "Here to... finish me off?"

He's already drifting when Viago answers.

"If I were here to kill you, you wouldn't have woken up."

-------

The next time he opens his eyes, pale grey light fills the room, filtered through gauzy curtains. Both he and the world feel more solid. He's not in his own suite in the villa but a smaller room in the guest wing. And the man sitting at his bedside is, as ever, the person he most and least wants to see in the world.

"You're going to live," Lucanis states, and his voice and his expression hold no clue as to how he feels about that.

A huff of wry laughter escapes Illario. "My apologies."

That prompts the tiniest of furrows in his cousin's brow. "Why were you there? No one expected you." The furrow deepens. "Were you even fighting for our side?"

The jibe should sting, but Illario feels as if all of the aches and weariness from every moment of his life have settled deep into his bones. "I killed Venatori. Even a few darkspawn."

"So you betrayed your allies again?" Lucanis sighs. His exhaustion is clear in the slump of his shoulders and the circles beneath his eyes.

"The Venatori were never my allies."

Lucanis straightens at that, showing a little of the fire that Illario had always wished he would. "You were going to let them into Trevsio."

"I wasn't going to let them stay. After they pushed out the Antaam and protected us from the gods, we could have gotten rid of them."

"And the blood magic?" Lucanis accused.

"I needed to be able to defend myself."

"From me?" his cousin demanded, a spark of violet flickering in his eyes. "Or your Venatori lover?"

Illario lets his eyes fall closed. "She was just a tool. They were all just tools."

"That's all you see, isn't it? You look at the world, and instead of people, you see only tools to be used."

"Of course," Illario agrees. He opens his eyes and almost laughs to see the look of surprise on Lucanis's face. "Just as we were taught, no? Even we were only tools to Caterina."

He settles deeper into the pillows, the pull of sleep tugging his eyelids down again. "But maybe being the favorite tool was almost like being human."

For a few long moments, only the crackling in the fireplace answers him. He expects to hear the creak of the chair and Lucanis's fading footsteps at any moment.

Instead he hears a quiet murmur. "It wasn't."

The low tone is a hook in Illario's heart. Even decades later, he can hear the echoes of shared secrets in the nights after hard days, when he would sneak into Lucanis's room and curl up on his floor so they could commiserate in their mutual misery. He struggles to breathe around the tears that prick his eyelids and tighten his throat, the effort just as wrenching as trying to breathe through the pain of his wound.

And he thinks then that he has not learned his lesson, that maybe he will never learn his lesson. Because if some power alighted in that room and promised to send him back to those years, even if it meant that Thedas would suffer blight and war and demons and elvhen gods all over again with no guarantee of a repeated victory...

He wouldn't hesitate for a moment.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || Ch. 35]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.6k

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He dreams of hands. 

They are soft and delicate, but they do not treat him as such. They wrap around his throat, tightening and cutting off his air until he is left gasping and wheezing - nails dig into him, breaking his flesh and drawing up dots of blood. 

But the hands do not hurt him. They do not cause pain.

They only bring him pleasure.

They make him feel Desired. 

Wanted.

They claw desperately at him, not holding back as they squeeze and tear at him. He isn’t treated as something delicate - something that will crack and break under the slightest pressure. He arches into them as he is marked with thin lines of scratches - begs with what voice he can muster for more.

More.

He’s teased to the point of almost too much before the hands reset.

Whatever they plan for him, he submits so easily to it. 

He yearns for it when one leaves his neck to force open his jaw. He is in bliss as his lips are pushed back so his teeth are exposed like he’s an animal in need of inspection. A thumb tests the sharpness of his canines before more digits are added to completely fill his mouth. His head is tilted and guided so he can be thoroughly examined and he prays the fingers will gag him - be shoved down his throat so all he can taste is their saltiness.

But they don’t. They retract until only the tips remain, keeping him from being able to close his mouth. A low whine escapes his throat in protest, something weak and pathetic and needy, and the response he gets is more pressure to his windpipe until he’s struggling to breathe. 

As his lungs become desperate for oxygen, something viscous begins to drip into his waiting maw and he wastes no time drinking down whatever the gift is. It is tangy and musky, but sweet and he wants it to coat the inside of his mouth. 

He wants to drown in it. 

As he begins to overflow and get his wish, the hands holding him down begin to fade into nothingness and he is left floating in the abyss. 

But he is not alone. 

He is wrapped within the drumming of twin beats - one is stronger than the other, but they are both steady. They are both warm. They call to him and the beast inside his chest trills out in response - he wants to be with them. To be a part of them. 

Soon, the smaller beat begins to morph - it’s firm ‘thuds’ stretching and bending until they are words. 

“Daddy, wake up.” 

Matt’s eyes blink open. 

Despite their uselessness in terms of sight, the act still helps him wake up and fight off his grogginess as he begins to process all the inputs he is receiving. The most obvious and important of the signals he is getting is that of his precious daughter, standing next to the bed, just by his chest. 

She does not seem distressed in any way, so he does not panic. He lets himself yawn and for his brain to catch up to being awake before he responds.

“Yes, princess?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep. He doesn’t move, hoping that whatever has his daughter out of bed is trivial and he won’t have to get up just yet. He has no idea what time it is, but he gets so little rest that even an extra few minutes will do him wonders.

“Daddy!” Minnie’s voice is filled with absolute delight at his acknowledgement, but is also a fraction above a whisper - like she is just barely breathing out the words. Matt’s lips turn up into a soft smile as he realizes she’s trying to be quiet so she will not wake the other person sleeping in his bed. You are deep in Dreamland, but you have a Mother's Ear. If you hear Minnie up and talking, you'll jump to attention, and neither he or his princess want that. 

He rolls so he is on his side facing his little one, and reaches out to run the back of his index finger over one of her full cheeks, “Why are you awake, baby?”

Mouse preens at the affection, a wide smile taking over her face as she leans into his touch, “I needs help, please thank you,” she starts, her soft voice coming out a little rushed as she tries to tell him everything at once. “I gots up all by myselfs and went pee in the toilets. All by myselfs. Buts, Daddy, I can’t…I can’t reach the sinks. I trieded but it's too high and I can’t reach it. I tried really really hard! Mommy says, Daddy, she says, Mommy says if I can’ts do it myself I gotta ask for help. So I need help, please thank you.”

Matt takes in the information slowly, letting it roll in his brain and combine with everything else he senses. 

He can hear the toilet gurgling and refilling after being flushed. He can smell the traces of urine on Minnie’s fingers from her efforts to clean herself. The world begins to bloom around him as he processes what is being asked of him.

A small amount of Pride fills him at her attempts to take care of herself. She wears pull ups to sleep because she is still learning to control her bladder at night, but since Matt has known her, there have been no accidents he is aware of - even in this new environment. It isn’t her fault he has a tall pedestal sink with no step stool for her to use so she can wash her hands. 

Rest is important, but his little girl needs him, so Matt rolls himself out of bed. 

As soon as he is up on his feet, Minnie is holding up her arms to be picked up, so she is scooped up onto his hips, and her tiny arms go right around his neck. His shirt covers the bruises and cuts that make up his entire torso, but it does nothing to cushion the pain of thirty pounds being bumped into him. He's far too disciplined to wince or grunt, but he reminds himself this is why he needs to work on his defense. 

He can't play with his daughter with broken ribs.

As he carries her to the bathroom, he becomes more and more awake and Minnie’s attempts to turn on the sink become more and more obvious. 

The faucet is dripping the smallest amount of water, one drop at a time - the handle has just barely been nudged to turn on - and something semi solid has been dragged over to be in front of the sink. Only when Matt is right in front of it and can feel the item with his foot does he realize it’s his empty laundry hamper, but tilted over to be on its side. 

He huffs a soft laugh as he imagines his daughter trying to figure out a solution to her hand-washing problem. He loves her cleverness and outside the box toddler thinking. 

“Did you try to climb up on the hamper to wash your hands?” he asks, curious as to what the response will be. He's curious about her logic and curious if she'll admit to moving the hamper.

“It’s not strongs enough to hold me,” she grumbles into his shoulder and Matt does nothing to suppress his grin. He likes the answer. He likes how honest and direct she is. 

He likes that she follows the rules her mother gave about washing her hands. He likes that she realized she had a problem and attempted to find a solution, and when that didn't work, she came and asked for help. 

Matt loves her so so much and he loves all the values you have instilled into her. They are the values that you hold, that you cherish, and think are the most important. Every time he thinks about what a wonderful mother you are, his heart swells and he can't believe God is being so gracious with him.

He thanks the Lord everyday for you and the precious angel you have brought into his life.

Matt gets his foot under the hamper and lifts it back up right with ease, explaining as he does, “It’s made of wicker - that’s a type of tree. It’s hollow inside and that means it can’t support any weight. It’s only meant to hold clothes, not people.” He wants her to understand why her problem solving didn't work. He selfishly wants to encourage this type of behavior. If she can get up at night and wash her own hands, he gets more sleep.

“But I’m a peoples.”

“You are a peoples. But Daddy overlooked not having a step stool for you,” he says, owning up to his oversight. He admittedly has not been around too much during waking hours, unfortunately. The firm has been busy, so Matt has been getting to work at seven thirty in the morning and Minnie gets tired around eight at night. That doesn't give him a lot of time when he gets home at six in the evening. “I’ll get one for you today, okay?”

“Can it be pink?” 

Matt agrees to the request as the hamper is returned to its usual home, and once that is done, he assists Minnie by holding her up to the sink so she can thoroughly wash her hands. He is no longer surprised at how seriously she takes the task - his angel always wants to follow any rules her Mommy gives her and he knows first hand how overwhelming dirty hands can be on the senses - and the combination results in Minnie scrubbing enough to make a surgeon jealous.

As his daughter focuses on her task, he lets his hearing open up to the world outside the apartment. He gets the feeling it is still a few hours until sunrise - there is a distinct stillness the city gets between four and six am, and that is just beginning to waiver. In his quick scan, no one gives him an exact time, but he knows well enough that however early it is, his day has started. By the way his little girl is humming while she works, he knows there is no chance of getting her back to sleep. She is up and about and there is no way Matt is going to rouse you from your slumber when he’s perfectly capable and taking care of his angel. 

He’s used to working on no sleep and he’ll happily sacrifice a few hours of rest to be able to be with his daughter. Plus, he’ll be in court all day, supporting Foggy as second chair - with all the breaks and waiting around that normally occurs, he can sneak in a few power naps. 

He’ll be fine.

As for his morning with his sweet girl, Matt has been wanting to cook with Minnie for a while. Despite his diet of take out and leftovers, he does know his way around a kitchen and he knows for a fact Mouse is the best sous chef New York has to offer. She will be thrilled to help him do something special for her favorite person in the world. 

And she will be even more thrilled when Matt tells her the plan is to make her Mommy breakfast in bed. He very much wants to spoil you after you took such good care of him the night before and letting you sleep in will just be the tip of the iceberg. 

You deserve the Sun, the Stars, and the Moon, and while he can’t manage that at this exact moment, he can wrangle up a few physical reminders of his adoration.

Minnie gets the last of the soap off her hands and Matt pivots so she can reach the towel to dry herself off. As he does, his mind refocuses to the morning routine and the steps he needs to take before he can enact the first steps of his plan - he needs to get his daughter ready for her day. That means getting her dressed and doing her hair. 

He sees no reason to beat around the bush, so he bluntly asks, “how do you want to do your hair today, Princess?”

Mouse gives a tiny gasp and looks up at him with what he can only guess is wonder, “you’re gonna do my hair, Daddy?” Her little hands shoot up and she begins patting around her bed-head curls and he can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as she determines what she wants. You’ve told him a few times that you have been letting her make this big decision in the mornings, so he waits patiently, understanding the need for independence. 

“A ponytail!” is the final verdict and Matt is slightly relieved it is nothing complicated.

“We can do a ponytail. Can you pick out some clothes that will go nice with a ponytail?” he asks, knowing the answer will be an enthusiastic ‘yes’. Hair is something he can deal with, but picking out a toddler approved outfit is beyond his skill level for obvious reasons. Minnie is a little fashionista with all her tulle and party dresses and he would hate to make her look like a jester instead of the royalty she is. 

He adjusts his hold on her before leaving the bathroom and as he makes his way back to the bedroom, he drops his voice low, “we need to be quiet so we don’t wake Mommy, okay?”

“Quiet,” Mouse breathes in agreement, her face scrunching up with determination as she does. “So we don't wake Mommy.” He knows then that she will try her best to obey him and it makes his heart swell. 

He has the sweetest little girl in the world. 

He sets her back down just outside the doorway, and to his great surprise, she instantly pushes up to be on her tip toes. She is a bit wobbly, but she has far more control than he expected for a four year old. She turns to him, and in the most authoritative voice he’s heard in a while  advises, “we gotta be quiets” before sneaking into the room.

Her steps are exaggerated - she lifts her foot up way too high to be practical before setting it down again and between each movement is a pause to check for noise. He is reminded of an old timey bank robber and he guesses that must be the reference she is mimicking - some Bugs Bunny or Scooby Doo cartoon where silence was crucial. Her antics make him smile and he takes a moment to observe them - noting how she is true to her nickname. She makes no excessive noise and he’s sure if he didn’t have his superior senses, he wouldn’t be able to detect her. 

It is amazing to him that something that took years of training for him to master comes so naturally to Minnie. She truly is his miracle, and if he thinks about it for too long, he gets overly emotional and philosophical, so he tucks all his awe away for another time and follows her into the bedroom. 

While Mouse follows her mission of picking out some clothes, Matt grabs the bucket of hair supplies from his dresser. He doesn’t know what all the different bottles and products are for, but he takes them all anyway. He is hoping a few more sessions will have him graduating out of the novice category of hair styling and he will be able to do more than the basics.

Apparently, asking Minnie to pick out clothes while being quiet also made her focus, as she  selects something from her suitcase in record speed. She exits back into the living room the same time he does, a big smile on her face as she holds up her prizes to present to him. He's pretty sure she's showing him a pair of leggings and a t-shirt dress, but such small clothes are a little harder for him to figure out.

“I wanna wear these.”

“With your ponytail?”

“Yes, please! Thank you!”

With the hard decisions made, he guides Mouse over to the couch and that begins the process of changing her into her day clothes. He’s so very lucky that she finds novelty in him being the one to assist her, because she wants to show him all the right way to do things and that she can get dressed all by herself. He’s only needed to help straighten everything out and to tell her she looks perfect in her apparently pink dress.

Her hair is almost just as easy - Matt finds joy in running his fingers through her bouncy little curls and Minnie can't soak up the affection quick enough. He’s gentle as he manually detangles any knots and he forgoes the brush completely in favor of pulling her hair up with his hands. It is far from the smoothest of ponytails, but as soon as his hands are away from her head, Mouse is running to the nearest reflective surface to examine herself.

She twirls and poses, pretending she is in front of a camera while declaring, “Daddy made me extra pretty!”

He does not need anymore ego boosting, but the compliment goes right into his front pocket and he will be telling Foggy about his accomplishments.

He lets her spin around and have her fun, in no rush to move the morning along. He knows better than anyone that these types of small moments are what his Soul and Heart need and he will cling to them as long as he can. He does wish he knew how to get his phone to take video and pictures, because he knows how much you would cherish them. It is something he plans to work on - not only for you but for him as well. He has daydreams about attending dance recitals and spelling bees and he wants to be the proud dad in the crowd filming everything. He wants to be able to go back to those moments and listen to them anytime he wants to. 

But until he actually has the energy and patience to learn more about his phone, he will treasure this time only in his memory. 

Minnie gives a final peace sign to her reflection, then she turns and hurries over to Matt with her arms held out to be picked up. 

“I’m a kitty!” she eagerly tells him as he once again swings her up onto his hip. She not-so-gently headbutts him in the shoulder, then starts rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “Meow meow meow!”

Her gleefullness is infectious and Matt is quickly grinning while he begins to exaggeratedly pet at her back, “Well, Miss Kitty, I was thinking about making some scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and I was hoping to have an assistant. Since my daughter seems to have disappeared, do you think you can help me?”  

Minnie pulls back so she can look at him, then she reaches up, fingers curled up to make a paw, and starts playfully, but so gently, batting at his cheek. “Meow meow, scrambled eggs and toast? Meow meow. I knows how to make those, I can helps, meow meow!” 

“You can help?” He confirms and she nods so hard her curls bounce around behind her. “And you won’t get any fur in the eggs? This is an extra special breakfast.”

“Meow meow, extra special breakfast, meow meow?” 

He hums in affirmation and begins to carry his little girl towards the kitchen. “Extra special breakfast. You see, someone I love very very much is still asleep and I think it would be nice to wake her up with breakfast in bed. What do you think, Miss Kitty?”

Matt gets another light bop to the face just as Minnie asks, “Meow meow, is it for Mommy, meow meow?”

“It is for Mommy.” 

He sets her on the back counter, away from the stove, and starts to pull out everything he will need to complete his task. As he does, Mouse begins to swing her feet.

“Meow meow, Mommy likes red stuff on her eggies. Meow meow meow,” she tells you, but he has no idea what she is talking about. He’s never noticed if you add something to your eggs, but he’s not entirely sure if you have eaten eggs together. Most of your meals together have been lunch or dinner, and he doesn’t recall any breakfast for dinner scenarios. 

“I don’t think I have any red stuff,” he advises as he takes out the milk, eggs, cheese, and butter from the fridge. She is completely nonplussed by the update and keeps up her kitty-time play. 

“Meow meow, she likes cheese, toos. Meow meow.” 

That makes him chuckle and instead of putting the bag onto the counter, he offers it to his daughter, who eagerly hugs it to her chest. “Do kitties like cheese, too?” 

“Meow meow, kitties love cheese! Meow meow meow!”

“What about whisking eggs, do kitties love to do that?” 

He doesn’t get a verbal response and he gets about a quarter of a second of warning before Minnie is leaping down from the counter. He darts forward, catching her by the waist as her feet miss brushing the floor by a centimeter, but his hold is no match against a wiggly toddler and she’s running out of the kitchen before his mind can process what just happened. 

He stands slowly, his heart slamming in his chest with adrenaline over his sweet girl jumping off something twice her height. She had no fear or second thoughts about it, but all he can imagine is her little body crumbling to the ground in pain. 

Is this what he puts Foggy through everytime he puts on his helmet?

He pales at the thought. 

“Sweetheart, it wasn’t safe to do that. You could have gotten hurt,” he tells her, feeling like the biggest hypocrite in the world. He’s only very recently started caring about his own well being and he’s thrown himself in danger without thought so many times that he’s pretty sure even God has lost count. 

“Kitties land on their feets!” Minnie tells him from across the room, rummaging in her bag of toys. He has no idea what she could possibly be looking for and at the moment, as long as she is safe, he doesn’t care. 

He drags a hand over his face, very suddenly understanding why being a parent is a full time job. He is definitely going to add on to his plans to spoil you - Minnie is a sweet angel but you need more than praise for raising her. 

She finds whatever she was looking for and runs back towards him with it held high over her head - it is plastic and by the smell of it, he’s pretty sure it came from her kitchen playset. 

“I knows how to whisk, meow meow!” 

Matt takes a deep breath to reset himself, then lets his affection and love for his daughter take over, “you do, do you?”

“Meow meow, yeah, I can whisk lots of things!” She waves the toy at him, clearly proud of herself, and he chuckles at her sweetness and eagerness. He wanted her help in the kitchen and he is certainly going to get it.

“Okay, then, Chef Miss Kitty, let's make some eggs.” 

First thing first, he gets the coffee going. He switched to the brand you prefer the morning after your first time in his apartment and he’s made sure to memorize exactly how you take it so he can give you the perfect cup every time. 

Next, he cracks eggs into a bowl while Minnie watches like a hawk, her toy whisk clenched tightly in her hand and waiting to do her job. He adds a dash of milk and as soon as he sets down the carton, his shirt is being tugged on so he can lift up his little angel - so he does. 

Determined doesn’t even begin to describe what Matt witnesses. Minnie takes the task as seriously as a professional chef, hunched forward and silent as she works. There is a little pout on her lips and he has to latch onto his own professionalism so he won’t laugh. 

There is no need for him to direct her - she was not telling tall tales about her abilities. She blends the eggs beautifully and when Matt senses there is no point in continuing to whisk, he kisses her cheek. 

“I think you got them, sweetheart. They are perfect, thank you.” 

“I love whisking,” she whispers to him like it is a secret and he takes note of it. He’s sure that when Minnie finally gets to meet Foggy’s parents, there will be lots of desserts in his future. Anna loves baking and loves grandkids and letting her have an afternoon with a toddler who loves to cook will probably be like an early Christmas.  

She stays on his hip as toast is started and butter is dropped in the pan to melt. She keeps surprisingly quiet, only piping up to ask to switch her whisk for a spatula. She gets a real one as the time comes to start cooking the eggs. 

“You have to let them bubble a little and start to become firm,” Matt directs, hoping his directions make sense. “When the parts touching the pan get solid, you have to push them out of the way so the liquidy part can cook, too. Got it?”

“Meow meow, got it, meow meow.”

He doesn’t know if she really understands what he is saying, but it is clear that you have let her stir the eggs before. She is gentle as she nudges things around, like she is aware too much will make a mess and again, she stays sharply focused, seemingly wanting to make your breakfast in bed as perfect as possible. He is quickly learning that tomfoolery is not tolerated in Chef Miss Kitty’s kitchen and he is more than fine with that. He thinks it is absolutely charming that she is so dedicated. 

She sits up straighter when the eggs begin to firm and form into a runny scramble and Matt hums out soft praise, “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” 

“I knows how to make eggies, meow meow.”

“You sure do. Do you want to add the cheese now?”

“Meow meow, yes, please. Meow meow.”

He gives her another kiss and a minute later, Minnie is telling him the newly cheesy eggs are done and he sets her down so he can transfer everything to plates. She stays in his shadow but out from under his feet as the toast is buttered and cut, and coffee is poured. It is only after everything is ready to go that he realizes that he does not have a tray to properly present breakfast in bed. 

He considers his options, then decides on just bringing the plate as is, with a dish towel under it to keep you from burning your hands. He’ll make sure he has the correct set up for the next time he does this - because he knows very well there will be a next time, and a time after that, and many more after that.

The moment Minnie steps out of his small kitchen area, her demeanor changes completely. She is back to being an excited toddler and Matt lets himself throw his head back and laugh as she takes off towards the bedroom. He follows after her, his heart swollen and glowing with love for both her and the woman who changed his life for the better. He prays this is one of the moments he will remember for the rest of his time on Earth and can replay in his mind over and over again.

“Mommy! Mommy! Wake up! We made you breakfast!” 

---

:3

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Nena and Sol

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

@girlgenius1111's Sol x Child!Reader

Summary: You want your Mama and Papa

You don’t know why you moved in with Ingrid.

You don’t know a lot actually like your times tables and how to do your laces and why your middle sister gets all blushy when she meets Tia Ale’s sister.

But you especially don’t know why you moved in with Ingrid.

All you really know is one day you came home from school and Papa was packing your bags and Sol was helping you into your coat.

You went to the airport that evening, Sol letting you have the window seat even though she had gazed longingly out of it as you made the long flight from Norway to Spain.

Ingrid met you in the lobby as the two of you were escorted through security. She’d given you a big hug and then given a smaller one to Sol, who begrudgingly hugged her back.

You don’t know a lot but you do know that Ingrid and Sol didn’t get along for a while. It was kind of weird because you’re all sisters and sisters have to love each other.

That’s the rule.

Ingrid’s your idol.

When you grow up, you want to be a footballer just like her.

You guess Sol is kind of your idol too. You don’t know what Sol wants to be when she grows up but you imagine it’s something cool like Ingrid’s football.

“Oof,” Your middle sister says as you go bounding onto her bed. She lifts her head up off her pillow, looks at you and sighs. “It’s early.”

“Uh-huh!” You say excitedly,” Come on! Come on! Come on!”

"Nena, it's early," Sol says again, sitting up and blindly reaching behind her for Scout to pop his head up.

"But it's Spanish Christmas!"

You're very excited as Sol finally looks at you properly, wiggling on her bed happily as Scout gives you kisses on the cheeks.

'Spanish Christmas' as you so eloquently named it had been Ingrid's idea. You'd been kind of sad to learn that Mapi wasn't coming home to Norway with you and your sisters. Instead, she was staying in Spain with Bagheera on Christmas day. That made you sad so Ingrid said that all four (six if you counted Bagheera and Scout) of you could celebrate Christmas a bit early and exchange gifts with Mapi.

Spanish Christmas was the day before the flight back home which is why Sol's suitcase is already waiting and packed by her door.

"Sol!" You squeak as she flops down on her bed again," Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

Sol sighs and her arms reach out for you. You try to squirm away but Sol does cool things like rock climbing so she's got very strong hands and they don't let you go at all.

"It's early," She says, shuffling you down under her blankets and pulling your back against her front," Go back to sleep, Nena, and when you wake up, Ingrid will have breakfast ready."

"But-"

"Sleep."

It's nearly lunchtime when Ingrid finally wakes the two of you up.

It's a cute sight. You, open mouthed, pressed up against Sol's front as you snooze. Sol's in that weird in and out bit of sleep where she's already stirring by the time the door creeks open.

"Don't," She says, voice thick with sleep.

Ingrid grins as she sits down on the edge of the bed. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"You're a horrible liar."

"I just think," Ingrid says as she gently reaches to shake you awake," That it's nice that you let her sleep with you. You're a good sister, Sol."

Sol tries not to take it to heart, pushing it off even though a nice feeling spreads through her chest. "She's only little. I couldn't send her away."

You stir as Sol talks, blinking awake until the image of your sisters hovering over you sharpens.

"Ingrid!" You cheer, suddenly filled with energy as you launch yourself at your eldest sister," It's Spanish Christmas! Where's Mapi?" Your head whips around wildly like Ingrid's girlfriend will appear out of thin air. "Spanish Christmas! And then home Christmas with Mama and Papa!"

You're probably the most happy to be returning home to Mama and Papa.

You don't understand why you and Sol were sent away. You don't understand why Mama and Papa aren't discussed when Sol is in the room. You don't understand why Sol's face goes all weird like she's angry and sad and resigned all at once at the mention of Mama and Papa.

Ingrid notices Sol's look as well and she sets you on the ground.

"Why don't you go and help Mapi with the pancakes?" She says," Sol and I will be out in a second."

You kind of want to insist that Sol comes with.

When Mama and Papa are busy with their jobs and doing important things, Sol would look after you. Mama and Papa are very important people so they're busy all the time and Sol got to be in charge of you a lot before the move to Spain where suddenly Ingrid and Mapi were in charge.

Sol makes the best pancakes without eggs because you're allergic but with chocolate chips and whipped cream and sprinkles and warm chocolate milk for special occasions.

But Ingrid looks like she wants to have a conversation with Sol and sometimes those conversations aren't made for little ears like yours so you let Ingrid and Sol have their conversation and run out to Mapi.

"Nena!" She says, lifting you easily with one arm and setting you up on the counters.

"Happy Spanish Christmas!" You cheer," Ingrid said we're having pancakes!"

"We are!" Mapi says," Pancakes just for you and Sol."

"Can I help?"

Ingrid and Sol stay talking in Sol's room for ages and ages and you and Mapi have seconds and thirds of the pancakes and get impatient waiting to open presents.

"Ingrid?" You ask, pushing open the door as you very carefully bring in the plate full of now cold pancakes," Sol? Christmas pancakes! Sol...why are you crying?"

You clumsily place the plate on the bed, climbing up and wedging yourself between your two sisters.

Ingrid's holding Sol as your middle sister sniffles and tries to dry her eyes with her shirt.

"I'm not crying."

"Ingrid says lying is bad. You shouldn't lie, Sol. It makes kittens cry."

That shocks a laugh out of Sol and you feel a bit of pride at that.

"You told her that lying makes kittens cry?" Sol asks Ingrid, who's also laughing a little.

"No," You say," Mapi told me that but Ingrid said lying is bad! Why are you crying, Sol? Do you miss Mama and Papa? I do too sometimes but it's okay! We're seeing them tomorrow!"

Sol's throat bobs. "Well...actually...Nena, I was thinking...Never mind."

You frown, looking between your two sisters.

"Never mind what?"

"I..."

"Sol's going to be staying here for Christmas," Ingrid says," She's going to stay here with Mapi and Bagheera and Scout."

You freeze, all the joy and excitement from Spanish Christmas melts out of you. You glance between your two sisters, similar features to your own staring back at you.

"What?"

Ingrid pulls you onto her lap, holding you nice and tight. "Sol doesn't want to come back to Norway for Christmas. She's going to stay here at home."

"But...Why? It's Christmas!"

"Nena..." Sol reaches for you and you flinch away.

"No! No! Bad Sol! Naughty Sol! You have to come see Mama and Papa for Christmas! They miss us!"

"Nena...They don't."

"They do! They're our parents! They love us!"

"Nena..."

"They do! They do! They do! Stop lying Sol!"

"Nena, please..."

"No! No! Sol, you're so naughty! Why are you so naughty?! You're why Mama and Papa sent us away! I hate you! I hate you!"

Sol's face splits with an emotion you can't name and her brow furrows.

"Nena!" Ingrid snaps, standing up with you in her arms," Apologise!"

"No!" You howl, kicking your legs out and trying to wiggle out," Ingrid, no! Sol's being naughty! Mama and Papa love us! They do! They do! They want us to come home for Christmas!"

"Nena-"

"No!"

Spanish Christmas is not as fun as you thought it would be.

Sol doesn't come out of her room. You get put in timeout. Ingrid is angry even though she says she isn't.

You don't say goodbye to Sol the next day when you go to the airport. You don't say anything to Ingrid on the plane.

You don't say anything until you get home.

Ingrid unlocks the door and you burst in.

"Mama! Papa!" You say," We're home!"

Your special light-up shoes squeak on Mama's squeaky clean floors and the lights bounce off the darkened walls.

"Mama...? Papa...?"

You look around but no one's home.

Your bottom lip wobbles a little.

You turn. "Ingrid...Where's Mama and Papa?"

Ingrid gives you a smile that's not really a smile. "They're probably just caught up at work, Nena. They'll be home soon."

But they're not home soon.

They don't come home for ages. They don't come home until you're tucked up in bed and they're gone the next morning before you wake up.

You don't see hide or hair of your Mama and Papa until the day before Christmas Eve.

"Mama!" You cry when you see the woman at the stove.

Papa is at the kitchen table and Ingrid's sitting on one of the countertops, Hector in her arms as he excitedly licks her face despite spending the night in bed with her.

"Y/n," Mama greets you coolly, dodging your attempt to hug her and lightly pushing you away with the spatula she was using.

You try to hug her again but she pushes you again.

"Mama...?"

"The table, y/n," Mama says, a brow raised as she stares you down until you shuffle into the seat next to Papa.

He smiles at you, ruffling your hair with his rough hand before turning back to his paper.

You frown.

You thought Mama and Papa would be happier to see you after so long away. You haven't heard from them for months and months. Not even a phone call.

You'd missed them like crazy but they don't even seem to realise.

"Here," Mama says, sliding you a plate," Eat."

It's a weird yellow thing that you haven't really seen before and you reach for your fork.

Ingrid takes one look at it though and pulls it from you.

"Ingrid!" You whine," I'm hungry!"

"It's egg, Nena," She says," You can't eat that."

"It doesn't look like egg."

"Give her the egg, Ingrid," Papa says dismissively," There are different rules at home then your place in Spain."

"She can't eat it because she's allergic," Ingrid snaps back," She'll swell up and have to have her epipen and then go to hospital. She's not touching the egg. You should know this."

"It was a simple mistake," Papa says with an eye roll.

Ingrid huffs, plucking you from the kitchen table and holding you close. "We'll eat later. We're just going to go and call Mapi and Sol."

"Send Mapi our regards!" Mama calls after you but Ingrid ignores her.

"Ingrid," You say with a little frown," Why did Mama and Papa forget I'm allergic to eggs?"

Ingrid wants to be able to give you an answer. She wants to be able to tell you that it just slipped their minds, that they remember that night when Ingrid came home when you were just one and a half and had to go to hospital.

It had been a cold, snowy evening and Ingrid had fed you some egg from her plate, turning away to finish the washing up. Sol had screamed when you swelled up, face going red and throat closing up.

There had been a rush to get you to the hospital and Sol sobbed until she threw up as she and Ingrid waited outside your hospital room for updates.

Mama and Papa had been out at another work party that they really didn't need to be at.

Ingrid wants to tell you that Mama and Papa don't remember a lot about you and about Sol but you're still at that age where everything they do, you want to be apart of.

You're still at that age where you can't see them as anything but your heroes and Ingrid won't ruin that for you.

She can't ruin that for you.

She's seen how it's affected Sol. She's seen how broken her little sister is, withdrawn and reserved and nervous most of the time.

She doesn't want you to go through what Sol has gone through.

She doesn't want to ruin the image you have of your parents.

So she avoids the question.

"I bet Sol is excited to see you," Ingrid says, squeezing you nice and tight just like you like.

It's incredible to see the similarities between you and your other sister. It's striking really.

There's such an age gap between herself and Sol and then another age gap between you and Sol and yet you've all ended up very similar.

You all love tight hugs, squeezed so nice and tight like it lifts a weight off each of your chests.

"Really?" You ask, eyes bright," I miss Sol! I'm sorry I was mean to her at Spanish Christmas! I didn't mean it!"

"I know, Nena. Why don't you tell Sol that too?"

The phone rings for barely a moment before Mapi's face fills the screen.

"My Engens!" She cheers," I've missed you!"

"Missed you, Mapi!" You say," But want to see Sol too! I missed her!"

Ingrid doesn't want to see you go the way of Sol. She doesn't want to see you crushed through your parents' disregard of you.

But Ingrid can see it happen in real time.

She hadn't had that with Sol.

She gets to see it with you, her tiniest little sister who liked playing football and wearing your light up shoes and chasing the cat with Hector and calling Mapi and Sol every night before bed so Sol can read you your bedtime story.

So, with you fast asleep in your car seat in the middle of the night, Ingrid strides out of her childhood home.

She doesn't speak to her parents. She doesn't even think they'll find the note she's left for them until tomorrow evening when they come home from another Christmas party that they absolutely shouldn't be going to when they had a young, excited child at home.

It's Christmas Eve and flights are full but Ingrid manages to pull a few strings.

"Ingrid?" You ask, groggy and still half asleep in your car seat as Ingrid drives the rental car back to the airport," We goin' back to see Mapi and our Sol for Christmas?"

"We are. Is that okay?"

You make a content little humming sound, a big yawn overtaking your whole face. "Hmm. Good. I miss Mapi and our Sol."

It's not cold like in Norway, something that Sol had known for a while but still, it's weird to have no snow outside of her window on Christmas morning.

Sol sighs, pulling a pillow over her face and curling up into a little ball.

Scout snores in the crook of her knees but even he can't bring her comfort right now.

The door creaks open and Sol groans.

"I don't want to get up now, Mapi," She says.

"Not even for us?"

"Ingrid?"

Her sister stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a grin. She's still bundled up for the Norway weather despite being so clearly in Barcelona right now.

"What are you...?" A bolt of panic has Sol sitting up. "Where's Nena? Did you leave her with them?!"

"Sol!" You cheer, coming running into your sister's bed still in your pyjamas," I missed you!"

You jump onto her, tucking yourself under Sol's chin.

"Mama and Papa weren't very nice," You say to her," So me and Ingrid came home to you and Mapi. We brought presents!"

Sol has to bite on her cheek to stop the tears. "You brought presents."

"Of course we did, Sol! It's Christmas!"

"Mapi's making pancakes," Ingrid says and you interrupt her very quickly.

"But you have to help! Mama and Papa don't make breakfast like you! And Mapi doesn't make your special pancakes! Please, Sol! Please! Please! Please!"

Sol laughs, easily picking you up onto her hip. "Special pancakes with chocolate chips."

"And whipped cream!"

"And sprinkles," Ingrid puts in, pulling Sol into her for a big group hug between both of her sisters.

"And special chocolate milk?" Mapi asks, poking her head through the open doorway," Because I've got some mugs of nice, warm chocolate milk that Bagheera will drink if we don't hurry!"

"My milk!" You exclaim," Sol, Ingrid! Come on! Come on!"

Ingrid laughs. "Alright, Nena. Let's go start Christmas."

[g0niki]

pick up! ── y.jw

pairing: bf!jungwon x gf!reader

word count: 1.4k+

contents: no protection(i'm just a girl), finger sucking, reader's on the phone lol, pretty tame fic idk

a/n: not my best,, but also not my worst 🤷

jungwon was annoyed.

all day he had been on ten, waking up to his clothes sitting on the dryer; still soaking because one of the guys took his out to do their own, constantly being asked to do things, having to guide the members step-by-step during recording, people complaining to him, and schedules being thrown in his face.

the only thing getting him through the day was the thought of you, his girlfriend, waiting for him at your place, excited for your bi-weekly sleepover.

and as much as he loves you and your sweet personality, he was looking forward to your warm walls being wrapped around him and your thighs tightly pulling him closer, his pelvis flat against yours and his lips marking up all over your neck and collarbones. his fingers repeatedly tapped on his thigh, getting more and more fidgety with each passing moment as the street lights dimly showed through the tinted windows of the van. the frequent red lights urging him to just run out of the car and get to your place on foot, he would go insane if he wasn’t in your embrace within the next ten minutes.

【☆】★【☆】

jungwon chewed on his inner cheek, checking his phone to see if you had replied to his message saying he was almost there, immediately launching himself out of his seat when the van reached his destination. briefly saying goodbye to the rest of the guy as he grabbed his bag from the trunk, more focused on rushing to your door and letting himself in.

his bag was practically falling off his shoulder, his phone gripped in his left hand as he fumbled with his keys in the right, ready to run into you and crash his lips onto yours the moment he could. yet to his disappointment, he entered to you lying down on the couch, dimly lit, and chatting on the phone with your close friend, hardly even noticing he had just walked through the door. won loves your friend, and he understands that she is occupying your time at the moment, but the needy boyfriend in him is more than annoyed.

won hurridly tosses his bags to the side, coming up behind you and hovering over your figure. not so secretly pressing his groin against your backside and muttering an “i miss you”, you and your friend both briefly greeting him before continuing the conversation. jungwon pushes himself up, sitting on the edge of the couch and rolling his eyes in annoyance, ready to get up until he feels your hand tugging on the pocket of his sweats. he pinches his eyebrows together, slightly confused by your action until you’re tugging on his pocket once again.

“sit we were just about to hang up.” and well jungwon wasn’t going to deny himself his girlfriend.

only a few minutes became five… and then ten… and now twenty. his patience had been run thin as he was now big spooning your smaller frame, his hand gripping your waist and he couldn’t stop himself from slowly dragging you against the slight bulge in his pants. if you had seemed to notice you were doing a hell of a good job playing it off, not even stuttering or failing to miss whatever nonsense your friend couldn’t wait til the morning to talk about.

his lips finally came in contact with the nape of your neck, your breath finally slightly faltering, your free hand coming back to grip his hip for a second, pulling him just a bit closer to you. something about you noticing his actions and actively having to fight against your natural reactions turning him on way more than he was before. he felt cocky knowing that you were desperate enough to urge him to keep going despite your friend’s voice ringing through your phone’s speaker.

“hello, y/n??”

“yeah sorry, jungwon was asking me something.” his lips tugged up into a slick smile, he hadn’t uttered a single word since you told him to wait with you, finding it cute how you quickly covered up your delayed response. his hips slowly dragged against your ass and his right hand wrapped around you, trailing down and under the waistband of your pants to trace your cunt over the thin fabric of your underwear. he could feel his stress leaving his body, the increasing temperature of your body against him making his hair stand. his lips coming down and nipping on your neck, small red and purple bites blossoming on the skin.

“soaking through your panties right now, cute.” your thighs closed around his hand, grinding up against it and trying to gain more friction. he enjoyed seeing you like this, so needy for him yet pushing your limit to see how long you could stay on the phone, and well his goal was to regret making you stay on.

he truthfully doesn’t give a fuck about how much your friend hears, if anything jungwon was definitely enjoys this. his breath grew heavier as you scrambled to wrap up the conversation with your friend.

“haha, just call me back when he texts you! won’s been waiting for me love you bye.” the moment you pressed the red hang-up button the sweetest sound left your lips as you doubled over.

“aww, i thought we were having fun there, look at how you coated my fingers.” jungwon is using this as a chance to pull you closer and slide his fingers into your mouth, sliding them out slowly before taking them into his mouth. “you taste so good too.” his hand slipping under your shirt and grabbing your bare chest, firmly groping and pinches your sensitive nubs between his fingers.

“making so much noise for me, don’t ever hold back for me pretty.” jungwon roughly moved the two of you around, laying you flat on your back and hovering over you. pleased with how your legs immediately came up around him.

won tugged his sweats and underwear down his thighs, not bothering to properly take them off and putting even less effort into moving your clothes. only being able to hold back enough to tug your shorts and underwear to the side. the view was almost too much for him, your heat glistening and clenching around nothing and so ready for him to take you. despite usually doing his best to prep you properly and open you up for him won couldn’t bring himself to do it right now. biting his lower lip and groaning out loud, the thought of him having to push past your tight barrier and feel you struggle to adjust to him.

you seemed even more desperate than him, reaching down between the two of you to line won up with your cunt, brushing him against you a couple of times letting your essence coat his aching tip.

“put it in, please.”

the look in won’s eyes dimmed even more than you thought possible, roughly pushing himself around halfway through and then slowly sinking down for the remainder. his hips not bothering to still once he completely buried himself inside. immediately pulling back out to the tip and sensually grinding back into you, his hips pushing up and leaving the feeling of his member against your lower stomach.

“look at that baby,” his hand adds a force to the previously mentioned spot, feeling his dick tap against his hand through you. jungwon felt lost within you, watching as your lower back arched and his hands firmly gripped onto your waist, giving him leverage as he pistoned up into you.

he wanted to last longer but watching you struggle to take him and be so pliant for him was sending him into overdrive.

that was until your phone started ringing again, your friend’s contact picture lighting the screen and giving won an idea.

“why don’t you pick up, pretty? wasn’t it important before? let me get it for you.” and before you could protest his finger was dragging across the screen and hitting the speaker button, your friend’s voice squealing into the mic.

you bit down on the palm of your hand, hardly understanding what your friend was saying and providing little hums of agreeance.

“that… that sounds, great.” and oh god that was enough for jungwon’s dick to twitch inside you, feeling you clench around him as you forced yourself to respond.

his hips couldn’t stop themselves, firmly thrusting into you, hard enough you have your body jump up a bit and a high-pitched noise leaving the back of your throat. the both of you shuddering and releasing at once, his warm cum painting your walls and making you whine as you drop down from your high.

“oh my fucking gosh you could have called me back later!” the sound of your friend hitting her dial, and hanging up followed shortly after.

“well, you could call her back now...”

ᯓ★

@g0niki all rights reserved. do not translate or post my work anywhere without permission.

[neveragent]

Early Grave

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: Rooster was quite right about the early grave. But he didn't know.

Warnings: death, depression, self-harm, suicide attempts, guilt of surviving

Words: 1637 words

"Hangman, the only place you lead anyone, is an early grave."

Coyote's face went blank for a short time, Phoenix frowned and Hangman? There was a split of a second where he was near to tears.

Not many people knew what kind of flashbacks this sentence triggered. Rooster also didn't know. If he knew, he wouldn't have said it. But he didn't know. He didn't know about these flashbacks...

Jack woke up in the late morning by some soft kisses. "Hey, honey," he heard her lovely voice. The voice he'd kill for. He opened his eyes and had to blink a few times to see something in the light of the sun. He looked right into a pair of gorgeous brown eyes. That pair of eyes he fell in love with when he met her for the first time.

It was at a deployment. She was his backseater. When he saw her for the first time, he knew that he would marry her one day. It only took a few days until his friends made fun of him for being head over heals for her. And now he was waking up with her.

"Morning, sweetheart," he smiled. She cuddled up against his chest. "I don't wanna leave this place." He closed his eyes again. "Me neither, sweety." They were laying there together until another pilot knocked against their door. "Time to get up, lovebirds. Meeting in half an hour." Jake groaned.

They even went to TopGun together. The Navy knew about their relationship but they were still allowed to fly together since they kept everything surprisingly professional. Maybe she even helped him to focus and to become a team player.

Their first date was in a bar. Usually it wasn't visited by people from the Navy. That was also the reason why he chose it. He wanted to be alone with her and didn't want any rumors about them the next day. "I like this bar. It's different from the place we usually visit," she smiled at him sweetly and started sipping on her cocktail once more. "Yeah," he grinned, while getting lost in her eyes once more. They were chatting a lot that night. They even danced a bit to the music which was playing in the background. Jake warned her that he wasn't a great dancer but she insisted on a dance. He stepped on her feet a few times, but she couldn't care less. It was the first time, he enjoyed dancing with someone. When she went to the bathroom, after some time, she even trusted him with her drink, which made his heart beating faster. It was nearly 2 a.m. when they arrived back at the base. He thought he was going to have a heartattack when she kissed his cheek and gave him an innocent smile before closing her room door.

"Ready for another dogfight?" Jake grinned when they were in their jet once more. "Everytime, Hangman." Jake laughed softly. "You know that I love you, right, sweety?" "Of course. Hard to forget about it," she giggled, referring to the make out session they just had during the changing of their clothes to their suits. Jake laughed again. With her he felt free and loved. For the first time in his life. He just felt alive. "I love you too, honey. To the moon and back." He held his hand behind his seat and she took it, pressing it softly.

It was another dogfight at TopGun. Another routine training. Something they have already done so many times. "I don't see them on the radar," his WSO said. "Then we'll wait," he answered to her. She looked around in the sky, searching for the other team. Again, holding Jake's hand. It was such a calming thing for her. Something, they always did. He loved to feel her smaller hand in his. A feeling of home, even though they were many feets above it. "From the right!" His girlfriend suddenly shouted, which lead to Jake letting go of her hand to start a maneuver. The next minutes, they shouted a lot to communicate about their tactics. Of course, it wasn't necessary to shout, but both of them loved competitions and maybe took them a little too serious.

After many minutes of pure adrenaline, they won this dogfight and were on their way back to the base.

Suddenly, both of them got many warning signals. They had no time to react to them before the engines stopped working and they were falling like a heavy stone.

"Babe, do something!" Jake shouted after he lost control. "I can't. We have to eject." Jake pressed some buttons again, panicking and not understanding that it was a lost cause. "JAKE!" She shouted again. They were still falling and all possibilities were running through his mind. He wanted to safe the jet. The jet that became like a second home to them. His ears were ringing and his body was working like on autopilot. It took some important time until the voice of his girlfriend came to him again. Then he realised that he was risking both of their lives in such an unnecessary way. "EJECT! EJECT!" He shouted, reaching down.

His parachute opened and he saw the ocean underneath him. He looked around, searching for her. He was relieved when he saw her. But then his heartbeat stopped for some seconds. At first, he didn't know why. They both were out of the jet. But something felt off. Of course, they just wrecked a million dollar worth U.S. military jet, but it was something else.

Then he saw it. And what he saw made him feel like throwing up. She got all tangled up and the bands of the parachute which led to it not opening properly. That's why she was falling way too fast to the surface of the ocean.

He called out her name, unable to do anything. He landed some time after her in the cold water. He swam to her. The lifeless body weighted heavy in his arms. Her heavy gear was nearly drowning him. And if he was honest, he wished it would. "C'mon, sweetheart, give me the pretty smile of yours," he whispered. Denying the finality of the things that had happened just minutes ago. "Open your pretty eyes, I beg you." He was crying and begging, unable to even look at her properly since their gear was dragging him down. It was devastating. Just some minutes ago, they were both in their jet, laughing at some stupid jokes of him and now he was all alone in this world. He reached out for her hand, feeling the thin ring, he gave her the evening before.

She was the happiest women he had ever seen. She was so shocked when he proposed and after the ring was on her finger, she danced through the whole room, while singing one of her favorite songs. She already made up her mind about a wedding dress and she wanted at least two kids with Jake, a beautiful house with a porch and a garden, where the kids could play.

All that was gone now. Because he wasn't able to react sooner to eject. Maybe if he had reacted faster, things would've been different.

And now he was with the dead body of the love of his life in his arms in the ocean.

The days after her death, he didn't leave their bed. Most of the time, he slept or cried. After one week, Coyote, his best friend, and Natasha, her best friend, came over to his room, afraid that he might've done something to himself.

But he didn't. He tried. More than once. But when he was standing there with the knife on his throat, he didn't have the guts to do it. He didn't tell his friends.

Her ring had joined his dog tags on the chain.

He didn't think things could be worse. But her funeral was the worst thing he had ever experienced. He didn't want to say good bye to her. It felt wrong. And he also had to face her parents. They blamed him for everything that happened. They had never liked him. Even when she was still alive. They only saw him as an arrogant playboy who was just playing with their daughter's heart, while he always had serious intentions with her. And he couldn't even blame them for blaming him. Because it was his fault in his eyes. The fact that it was confirmed that the manufacturer made mistakes during the production of the engine wasn't important to him.

He killed the woman who had been so full of life.

He stayed at the grave until the coffin was buried under the ground. And even then he stayed for some more hours until Phoenix and Coyote forced him to come with him.

After that day, Coyote and Hangman grew even closer, while Phoenix was slowly distancing herself.

Not because she blamed Hangman but because everything around him remembered her of her best friend. And it became unbearable for her.

It took a long time until Hangman was flying in a jet again. He never flew with a backseater again, afraid he would be the reason for the death of this person. People also noticed very quickly that he wasn't a team player anymore. Whenever he flys, he still imagines that she's still sitting back there, giving him technical information. And he gives everything to protect her form any harm, even though she isn't real. He only thinks about her saftey which leads to him leaving his team quite often.

All these memories and emotions are playing infront of his eyes while he loses the control of his mind for a split of the second after Roosters comment.

[desigal-26]

Omg, I loved "red wings", it was better than I expected! and that part "He enjoyed it—the power he had gained over her in this moment. The feeling of her completely at his mercy. The authority that had him stiffening in his breeches, moving his hips against the swell of her ass and had her choking on to her breath. The sounds that she made were music to his ears, and gods, did he want to take her right then and there. But he won’t. Not when he can have her to himself once she is lawfully his in only a few matter of days—wrapped in white silk and lace, dolled up for him to take her, bed her and fill her up with his child." OMG it really made me feel things 😏😏😏 Thank you so much for fulfilling my request. That said, can I get part 3, with their wedding and wedding night? And maybe Daemon will use her dagger for something? (In a consensual way, that the reader also likes — and only if you write nsfw, otherwise, just ignore it). Please?

Glad to know I served well. This is my first smut, please be gentle in criticising.

Also Request are Open and Well-Appreciated.

“Husband” “Wife”

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

Read Part One here and Part Two here

He was fire and she was the sun—both bound in eternity to burn together

The day the realm waited for had arrived at last—the Rogue Prince being bound into another marriage by his brother. Only this time she was his wife; his equal.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ Content, Hair pulling, Dagger play, Implied Breeding Kink, Implied Masturbation (once), Fingering, PiV intercourse, Loss of Virginity, Dirty Talking. Creampie (I guess?). My writing (because i know this deserves a warning this time). Also, do let me know if i should just stop writing smut 😅 and also if i forgot to add something in the warnings

Word Count: 3.2k

The wedding was everything every nobleman and noblewoman had anticipated it to be. Targaryen royalty met the Dornish luxury in a dangerous yet elegant dance of grandeur and sensuality. The Rogue Prince, for once, hadn’t been drunk beyond senses—but rather, he stood straight and proud at the end of the aisle, watching the dangerously dressed Princess of Martell walking beside her brother Prince Qoren.

She had forgone the traditional skills for a more Dornish approach. The deep velvety dress had dangerously revealed the most of the skin of her back while the neckline dipped low enough to seduce any man—and woman too. The jewellery added to adorn her even more had been the end of had she not smirked at her now-husband when her brother placed her smaller but no less hand in Daemon’s larger ones.

The air around them had pulsed with a sensual desire that had the High Sept blushing and stumbling over his words while he proclaimed them man and wife. The stolen glance and the lingering touches and the whispered words hidden behind smirks weren’t lost in the eyes of the court and they knew that this was only the beginning.

And true to their thoughts, it had only just begun.

The first kiss wasn’t soft or brief. Daemon’s hands had pulled her closer by her waist, lips clashing against hers with tongue and teeth and bites that weren’t made for the eyes of anyone but them. Her fingers had slithered up from his chest and had tugged on his hair, once—and the groan that had followed was anything but innocent. No. It was the call of a dragon waking, hungry and dying to sink his teeth into fresh meat.

The reception was spent with polite formalities of thanking the nobles for their attendance on their special day and the gifts that they brought with them—all just a cheap attempt at trying to impress the newlyweds and possibly—hopefully—step into the good graces of either the Targaryens or the Martells or perhaps, if the gods and luck provided it, both.

But even then, the questionable proximity of the two raised a few eyebrows. Hand around her waist, possessive and territorial. The kiss that lasted longer than appropriate or the bite of her lip that followed it until the Prince let go with a smirk. The first dance spent whispering into each other’s ears—and by the smirks and winks and flusters, the court could only say that they weren’t even meant to be spoken in front of them, especially when they could be heard by anyone.

And so, when the King Viserys had announced that the feast was over and the bedding was to start, only a brave—and heinously drunk—men had moved to approach the Dornish Princess who sat with a smug smirk and a single glance at her husband, whose hand had collided with the top of the table in front of him.

“Touch her and you shall pay the price with your cock,” the warning had brought everyone to a standstill while a few drunk and old men tried to explain to Daemon that it was tradition. And not following it is not an option, especially with how he hadn’t consummated his last marriage despite a thousand efforts of the council and every noble born involved except for Daemon himself and Rhea, who continued to spend her life undisturbed in Runestone.

But the Rogue Prince had only smirked and with a flair of his usual swagger and mischievous charm, replied, “you will hear the evidence enough to confirm what you must.” Before anyone could babble out an excuse to it, he had swept his wife off her feet and had carried her bridal style to his chambers with a spark of danger glinting under the candles that illuminated the Maegor’s Keep.

That is how they were here now, sipping on wine transported from Lannisport—a “graciously gift by Lord Jason Lannister for the newlyweds who had yet to share a word since the small commotion in the throne room.

The Princess of Dorne—now, the realm itself—lounged on a chaise, hair out of the thousand pins, flowing down her back in careless waterfall while she gently swirled the wine in the goblet. She was still in her wedding dress that had elicited enough raised eyebrows and gasps to be deemed the most scandalous dress to be worn by a bride. But could anyone blame her? Especially when she had done it only to torture her beloved husband a bit more. After all, the longer the wait, the sweeter the fruit.

Daemon, on the other hand, had already discarded his longsword and dagger on a table and had escaped the clutches of his wedding tunic and lounged in only his breeches and the loose undershirt that revealed a sliver of his toned chest. Perched upon the edge of the table, his sharp gaze followed every dip and curve he could find in his wife, the goblet of wine forgotten on the table that separated the chaise from the armchairs in front of it.

“Husband,” she cooed softly before taking a slow sip and letting a drop of the red substance slip past through the corner of her plump lip, trailing down her chin to chase the bare skin of her neck before disappearing into the tempting valley between her breasts.

“Staring isn’t well-appreciated,” she commented with a mischievous smile, throwing one leg upon another and proceeding to slowly pull back the hem of her dress with her foot, baring her shapely calves for the Lord of Flea Bottom to feast upon from a distance—but not for long.

“And don’t you know, wife,” his voice was nothing but a growl, a warning dipped in danger and desire—a deadly yet attractive combination. “Teasing is a heinous crime.”

The sound of his strides were muffled by the soft carpet that covered every inch of the floor. Good for her knees, he thought while his fingers reached out to caress her hairline before dipping into her long tresses. The feel of her hair wrapped around his long fingers gave him a thrill that had his breath deepening—the casual dominance he hid well underneath brimming up to the surface.

His hand fisted the hair on the bottom of her neck, tugging at it to make her gasp before he pulled her up to stand in front of him, the goblet of wine in her hand trapped in between them—the only object to separate them apart from their own clothes. Her other hand clutched his undershirt, the white cotton soft underneath her fingertips unlike the ruthless grip on her hair.

“You will not disobey me, wife. Ever.” He growled, a rule set in stone, but if Daemon thought that she would obey without fighting back—than perhaps, Daemon has yet to know who exactly he married.

The Dornish princess only smiles, tilting her head while the goblet of wine moved up to trail up to his bare neck, before she tipped it. The wine spilled across the expanse of his neck before trailing down his chest and being soaked up by his undershirt, making the princess smirk while she carelessly dropped the goblet to the side.

The thud of it colliding with the floor coincided with her leaning up to lick a strip up his neck, collecting the drops of wine and making his groan while his hips grounded next to hers. The grip on her hair tightened and Daemon tugged her back, his own face disappearing into the croak of her neck, lips leaving hungry kisses and teasing bites across the sun-kissed skin.

She clung to him, hands gripping his shoulders while she tilted her head back to allow him more access and space, moaning against him in low breathy gasps, his name a chant of prayers upon her lips that had began to swell.

“Don’t you know, wife,” he whispered against her neck, placing a kiss on her pulse point while his fingers trailed up her sides in featherlike touches, teasing the seams where the dress began to bare her skin for a tantalising view for everyone’s eyes.

“It is not holy to have a weapon on yourself for your wedding.”

His fingers were quick, slipping out the expertly concealed blade from underneath the fabric. The familiar hilt of the dagger felt oddly like home in his hands, the metal blade shining underneath the golden glow of the candle, the sharp tip pressed against the base of her neck in an almost threatening yet erotic manner.

She breathed a chuckle, her hands moving down to slowly undo the ties holding the neckline of his undershirt together, her eyes—dark with desire and dilated—watching the deft work of her fingers before looking up at him through her lashes.

“And what is holy about our matrimony, husband?”

He growled, turning her around with her shoulders before the hand that held her dagger snaked around her front, the blade dangerously close to her jawline—much alike the way it had been that sinful night when both of them had returned with unholy thoughts and retorted to the use of their imagination to bring themselves to the throes of pleasure their bodies craved.

Daemon’s other hand made quick works on the ties that held her dress together, tearing through the thin silk fabric with the hunger of a predator toying with his prey—but she was no prey. She was his wife; his equal.

“Eager, Daemon?” She huffed a laughter, rolling her hips against him, the swells of her ass brushing against the centre of his breeches, making him grab hold of her supple hips while the dagger laid flat over her neck. Her breath hitched, eyes widening before closing while shallow breaths transcended into pants as the blade she had yielded at least a hundred times started to travel down her bare skin, making its way to the curve of her bosom.

“Breathless, Princess?” He whispered in her ear before his teeth sunk into the tip of it, making her gasp and her bosom graze the tip of the dagger, creating a small cut in the dress and baring the skin that his hungry gaze hadn’t seen until now.

His lips began to trace the path from behind her ears down to the tempting curve of her collarbone, kissing, licking and biting hungrily while the dagger made its way down and down until it rested against her mid-thigh, the fingers fisting the fabric of her dress and slowly lifting it up to bare more and more of her shapely legs.

His other hand maintained its grip on her hip, but his own now thrusted against the plush of her ass, growling under his breath while his breeches tightened with the need to take her now and own her forever—to claim and to breed her as he saw fit.

“Mine,” he groaned against her, his hand moving up to brush against her covered tits, groping the supple flesh before his thumb grazed across her hardened peak, making her shudder against him—partially melting into him.

“Then take me.” What was supposed to be a challenge came out as a plea, and Daemon would not deny her when she asked so prettily, so breathless for him and him alone.

The reply didn’t come in form of words or sounds, but in actions.

The dagger clattered to the ground while he rushed to turn her around, lips crashing down against hers in a fierce battle for dominance while hands greedily tried to bare every inch of each other’s skin to their touch and gaze and feel, while their legs took them backwards, in the direction of the four canopy bed that awaited them since the moment the two stepped into the room.

His undershirt was discarded, so was her dress, but his breeches—as tight and as restricting as they had become—stayed on while Daemon pushed her back on the bed, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of her bared body and committing the scene to his memory. But then again, he didn’t need his memory anymore when he had her to remind him and serve him the same—and more delicious—scene every night—at his will and hers.

“Look at you, dōna hāedar,” (sweet girl) he cooed, his fingers caressing her calves before trailing up to her knees and moving up towards her core in a slow, almost torturing pace, drawing a whine from the princess whose eyes were almost closed as her body bucked against her husband in desperation.

Wordlessly, Daemon settled between her legs, his eyes trailing over every inch of her burning skin—from her thrown back head to her parted lips, down to her inviting lips and curve of her supple tits to the pebbled nipples that stood out aching for his touch, down to her hips before they finally landed on his final destination—her glistening core.

Two fingers, deft and long and lithe, moved across her inner thigh before they grazed her cunt, collecting her juices before he slipped his fingers into his mouth—head tipping back and a moan slipping past at his tongue lapped on every inch of her taste.

“So wet, all for me, riñitsos?” (Little girl) he asked, smirking down at her withering figure when his fingers dived back in, teasing her opening before slipping in and getting a feel of her plush and tight walls that succumbed his digits like a hungry monster. His wife could only mewl, eyes closed and lips parted open while unfiltered moans and whines and pleas slipped past.

“Daemon, please,” she whimpered, her fingers moving down to thread into his silver hair and pulling him up to crash her lips to his hungrily, as well as desperately. The Rogue Prince, not at all deterred from his actions, continues to drive his fingers in and out of her wet quim while assaulting her lips and moving down to her neck—littering it with love bites and bruises that will last long enough for the court to spin the stories of the hungry prince who devoured his desert snake.

Satisfied with his ministrations to get her wet enough to soften the burn of him, his fingers emerged from her folds, reaching down to untie his breeches and get out of it before they wrapped around his length, lubricating it with her own wetness.

His other hand had moved down to beneath her chin, keeping her gaze locked on his while he placed the mushroom tip of his length on her opening, whispering to her in a quiet voice, “this will hurt only for a while.”

She only nodded, her fingers lacing into his hair while her eyes—softer than he has ever seen them—looked into his with an unwavering trust. A small smile and a squeeze at the base of his neck had him moving, pushing inside her.

She gasped—in pain and in surprise—her eyes closing while her head tipped back as she tried to relax her body as much as she could despite the foreign invasion. But it was Daemon who was truly holding on to his last threads of sanity. Every inch in his body screamed at him to thrust into her completely, to fuck her and to claim her and to make her his in all senses—to make home inside her tight cunt that clutched his length in a warm and intoxicating embrace.

His fingers drew soothing circles on her hips, eyes closed while his forehead grazed her shoulder as he slowly began to push in his entire length, sitting still once completely inside—waiting for her to relax and to tell him to move, to give him her consent to go further—all while he fought against his every instinct.

Kisses were placed on the side of her neck, soft whispered praises meeting the gentle touch of a warrior who knew not to be gentle but still, somehow was being for the sake of his wife—his only equal in the world.

Moments passed before she gently, rolled her hips, making him groan before she whispered breathlessly, “move, please.” He nodded against her, slowly pulling away until only his top remained inside her before driving in slowly, repeating the process until the resistance of her wall broke and it made space for him to pick up pace.

What started out as small moans and gasps transcended into pleas for more and screams while she clung to him, nails scratching his back while he drove into her like a man possessed.

“Gods, riñitsos, iksā sīr sȳz naejot nyke, sīr ȳrda!” (Little girl, you’re so good to me, so tight) he praised through gritted teeth while he thrusted into her, drawing out a choked moan from the Dornish Princess who didn’t understand anything of what he said, but her body reacted to it nonetheless by clinching against him.

“Dae-daemon,” she whined, her eyes rolling back into her skull as the pleasure started to reach at its peak, the knot in her stomach beginning to tighten and threatening to snap at any given moment. Daemon realised it without any words needing to be said, in the way that her body was slowly tensing up and the way her walls had tightened its grip on his length.

His tip grazed a single spongy spot inside her that had her unravelling with a loud moan of his name, but he didn’t stop just yet. Instead, Daemon was chasing his own high desperately while his tip continued to abuse that one spot inside her that had her seeing stars.

He came soon enough after her body reached its second orgasm, groaning her name and filling her up to the brim until he pulled out and their mixed cum leaked out of her tight cunt, offering him a tantalising view that would have had him hardening again had he not been preoccupied by the view of his breathless and flustered wife panting while clutching to him like her life depended on him.

His hand snaked under her waist, and he flipped them both, his back landing against the mattress while she landed on his chest with a surprised gasp, a hand hitting his shoulder that had him laughing deviously down at her.

“Look at you, all spent for me, wife.” He commented, earning an eye roll while her skin flushed even more.

The candles were almost out, flickering with the last of their strength and the room had dimmed—the curtains drawn hid the moonlight that would have otherwise illuminated the most of the room in its silvery glow. He looked down at her features that had softened after her peaks, the shadows contouring the best of them in a dramatic fashion. Her usual sharpness bleeding away to leave a vulnerable sparkle in her eyes, dark hair tousled while her golden skin glowed post-coital, plump lips parted and swollen while her neck and shoulders were littered in the many evidences of their passionate night—a map of desire and passion across the beautiful sun-kissed canvas of her skin—his mark.

“Sleep now, wife.”

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

A/N: After hours filth. Your boyfriend catching you getting off.

~*~

You should’ve known that your idea would’ve gotten you into this predicament. Caught red handed, legs wide open and knees cool from tile flooring, thighs aching with twisted blood rush. The silicone is pressed deep inside, your hands still resting on your nipples - just how he found you. It’s not hard to decipher what’s going on when he blinks the sleep from his eyes, caramel tresses in disarray, chain nestled in his overgrown chest hair, bare feet, and a pair of his black briefs, ones not concealing a damn thing, especially now.

“What’s this?” He questions, that honey heating up, rasp still clinging to his tongue.

You know he’d never shame you or control your pleasure, despite you being a couple. It’s a playful curiosity, yet one that borders on jealousy. Steve Harrington, with twitch of his jaw that makes that mole dance, those lips look more pronounced as he licks across them, tongue lolling out so far that it reaches his stubble bitten skin — is jealous of your dildo.

“My toy.” Is your soft response.

He shifts in the doorway, his length growing beneath the fabric, pressing uncomfortably. Bare feet pad on the floors until he’s kneeling in front of you, tilting his head to see you spread around it. And god, when he looks at you, nostrils inhaling, pupils blown so wide that remaining sleep curls away like wafting smoke, a thin amber ring surrounding an enriching black ink. You find yourself holding your breath as he leans in, nose nudging yours, breath hot on your mouth. His hand raises to cradle your cheek, thumb pad brushing ever-so-lightly.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He plants a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I…” you accidentally move on the toy and let out a gasp into him.

He pretends to mock, mouth finding that space behind your ear that makes your hands drop from your chest and reach for his shoulders, digging in.

“You, what? Hmm, honey?”

“You’ve been working, so I just didn’t want to take your sleep away from you, baby. That’s all.” It’s the truth, one that has Steve softening, his gaze filtering back to your own.

“You could’ve used your smaller toys, or your vibrator. I wouldn’t have mind if you stayed in bed with me while you played with yourself, sweetheart.”

Your legs tighten around the length, a whine escaping your throat. An uncomfortable echo. You have to move. You know what will ultimately satisfy you. He knows it too.

“Or is it that you just had to have something inside of you?”

“Steve…” you dig your nails into his shoulder blades and he takes the opportunity to move his hands, letting them slink around your lower back, before locking in tightly, pulling you up against his chest, your naked breasts dragging through the soft curls, his necklace draped across your collarbones.

Both of you so warm, panting, rocking into one another.

“Judging by the size, someone missed my cock, didn’t she?”

“I told you I didn’t want to wake you, please —“

“Shh, honey.” He presses a finger to your lips, his massive palm digging into your lower back, the other on your waist, and he’s lifting you a few inches off the toy, pushing you back down seconds later, his mouth piece finding your earlobe, letting you in on a secret. “Your pussy woke me up. So fucking wet that I could hear you in here.”

Your jaw drops open. “You know I wanted you, I just couldn’t wait.”

A nod that shakes strands across his forehead. He’s perfect as he rises above you, cheeks tinted pink, offering his hands to you, easing you off the cock as you stand fully.

“Jesus Christ, honey. Look between your legs, won’t even have to prep you.”

Embarrassingly, you do look down and catch a strand of creamy arousal drip from your cunt. But Steve loves it, hands shoving into the elastic of his boxers. You’re practically drooling, taste buds ready, saliva pooling across your tongue, settling in the corners of your mouth.

“How do you want me?” You’re immediately blurting.

Steve smirks that signature, shit eating from, strutting the two steps forward, pushing his hand across your cheek, some fingers splayed down over your neck. He taps several times, contemplating.

“I wanna see your face when I give you what you want, and I want to be the one that gives it to you until you’re asleep, for the rest of the night. Do you get it, honey? That okay with you? Just let me take care of you.”

You’re letting him direct you into laying back on the bed, legs wide open, chest exerted in excitement as you watch him peel down his boxers, sticky with desire, collecting over the head of his thick shaft. Absolutely beautiful. Red, dusted in beauty marks, that vein, all the way to those full balls surrounded by his bush. He is receptive to how your eyes light up, body shifting, face wrinkling in discomfort, the need to be taken, to have. He holds onto himself, watching you as he spreads that shine all over, working into his fist, his tongue collected at the side of his inner cheek, poking.

Both of you craving a little extra edge, he senses.

“You want this raw, honey? Just me inside of you, nothing else? Risking-every-damned thing.”

You incline your head at a rapid pace. “Make it happen, Steve.”

That’s all he needs to know.

[scoutswritingcorner]

Those 7 Long Years

PLATONIC Papa Alastor x GN!Child!Reader

TW: Angst- Alastor disappearing for those 7 years, fear of abandonment, separation anxiety. 

A/N: I wanna say by this time Reader is about in their pre-teen/teen years depending on how fast you think they are aging in the story!!

Your day started off fine but your Papa wasn’t anywhere around..but then he was never around..Until one day he popped back into existence.

It was a peaceful morning, as peaceful as it could get in hell, but nonetheless you got yourself up and dressed for the day. Slowly making your way from your bedroom to your Papa’s bedroom, he didn’t wake you up so you figured he had gotten busy but he wasn’t around..which was weird but not exactly out of the ordinary for him, he was a busy man. You knocked once..then twice..but he never answered so you slowly opened the door, “Papa?” You called out peering into his bedroom but he wasn’t there. You closed the door and made your way downstairs hoping to see your Papa’s shadow waiting for you at the bottom of the staircase but it was never there to greet you and you couldn’t hear his jazz playing from the kitchen either but you trekked onwards to find your Papa.

Hours..you spent hours running around the hotel trying to find him. You checked his bedroom and radio tower four times. Fear started to creep into your heart as you sat on the sofa in the foyer, tears welling up into your eyes as you tried to not think about it. He would be back, maybe he was at a meeting or got sidetracked with Auntie Rosie. Yeah! That had to be it, he was sidetracked with Auntie Rosie, you could give her a call and see if he was still there! But you didn’t move from the spot, just curled in on yourself and watched the doors of the hotel. He would come back eventually…right?

You glanced back at Charlie who was sitting right next to you and curled your legs into you even more. “Waiting for Papa..” You whispered out, answering her unasked question, “He wasn’t in his room or tower this morning..he’ll be back soon.” You whispered out looking back at her, tears falling down your cheeks. “He wouldn’t abandon me right?” Your voice broke on the last syllable as you clung to her arm. Her heart shattered at the sight of you crying..Where was Alastor?

You stayed in her arms for an hour or two just crying your little heart out. She didn’t want you to feel like you were alone anymore..

~~~7 YEARS LATER~~~

When Alastor had returned from his long 7 years away from the spotlight and his little fawn, he had entered the hotel like nothing had happened..because nothing happened. But something felt off when he entered, something..no someone was missing. Where was his little fawn? His shadow disappeared from his side and moved towards the stairs as if waiting for you to run down them at any moment but that moment never came. 

He hummed and walked towards the stairs before stopping when he saw you standing at the end of the hallway. Tears in your eyes, his heart shattered seeing you cry, he broke that one promise he made to himself years ago. To never be the one to make you cry. But here he was, silently watching as you broke down dropping the plates you were holding but before they could crash onto the ground his shadow had quickly scooped them up. “Papa…” You whispered out as he made his way over to you, watching you shake and tremble between each sob. Without a word he pulled you into his chest allowing you to cling to him, “You left, Papa.” He gently wrapped his arms around your smaller frame. He hated seeing you cry. He hated being the cause of your pain.

“I know, Little Fawn..I’m sorry.” He whispered out his ear flattening against his head, he couldn’t tell you why..he didn’t need to drag you into his problems. “You said you wouldn’t leave me again, but you did.” His smile pulled into a small frown as he rubbed your back, allowing you to cling to his jacket. 

“I’m here to stay for good, Fawn. I won’t leave anymore.” He whispered out and he would stay. He’d keep you by his side until this silly redemption hotel worked and you went up into heaven where you rightfully belonged.

A/N: IM KINDA BACK FROM THE DEAD-

[luveline]

hello my love!! could you maybe show us what bedtime is like in the kbd universe? thank you, you’re incredible <3

kbd —dad!steve and mom!reader get their small family ready for bed. 3k

“She looks so pretty,” Avery whispers. 

Steve struggles to pull the hem of his sock over his ankle, crossing his legs to match her as she snaps an apple slice in half with her fingers, the juice wetting her pyjama top, her torso swaying as his knee bumps into hers. “Who?” Steve asks, blinking. 

“Wren,” Avery says, leaning back to let Steve see the baby where she’s napping in her bouncer. Avery shoves a chunk of apple in her mouth. “She’s pw-ery.” 

“Try not to talk with your mouth full, you might choke.” 

Avery nods, closing her mouth to chew up the rest of her food with chipmunk cheeks. 

Steve draws a little heart into her knee. She has a bruise from falling up the stairs a few days ago like a purple ink blot just under her kneecap, but she hasn’t complained. She didn’t cry when she fell, she just got back up and asked for a Capri-Sun. Steve’s surprised she’s so hardy, but she’s getting older. He’d sort of been hoping she’d want him to kiss it better.

“She’s pretty like her big sister,” he says. 

“I’m glad she’s stopped crying all the time.” 

“Me too.” He takes one of the smaller slices from her plate to eat, wiping juice from her cheek as he does. 

She grins. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. You all done?” 

“Yep.” 

“Not hungry anymore?” 

“Nope.” She grabs her plate before he can. “I’ll put it in the sink.” 

“Thanks, beautiful.” 

She jumps up with her empty plate and does a spin, saying, “Who, me?” 

Steve laughs like an idiot, still chuckling to himself as the sound of her plate hitting the kitchen sink reaches his ears. Wren, finally out of her sleep regression (for now), doesn’t wake. All good signs of a good night. 

Steve lets his head fall back onto little legs. “What about you?” he asks Dove, the second youngest daughter, where she sits behind him on the couch. 

She hums under her breath, her hands quick to weave into his hair, petting it away from his face. He waits for an answer he doesn’t get, closing his eyes and turning his face into her knee. Her giggles are treacle sweet. “Don’t sleep,” she protests. 

“I’m tired.” 

“It’s not bed time.” 

She’s not gonna like what Steve’s about to tell her, if that’s the case. She had a screaming tantrum last night about bed time where she threw herself on the floor and whacked her hands until her palms turned bright red. He’s not wanting a repeat. 

“It is bed time,” he says gently, though it’s not for another half an hour, “but, I was thinking, because you’ve been so good today you’d stay up extra. Maybe even have hot cocoa before bed.” Steve turns to meet her eyes. “How’s that sound?” 

“Really?” she asks, her eyes blowing wide with excitement. Steve is starting to wonder if she’s not as mini-me as he used to think, growing into sweeter features as she leaves the baby-toddler stage and starts to look like a kid. He loves it. 

“That sound fun or what?” 

She dives at him. He has enough sense to have twisted and catches her before she can break any of his teeth. “You are the best daddy ever!” she declares seriously, almost tipping over his shoulder. 

He lets her dangle for a second, then yanks her back topside. “You’re my best girl, that’s why. Let’s go make the drinks. Actually, we better go see who else wants some.” 

You and Bethie are attempting some last minute crafts at the dining table, and you’re very interested in hot chocolate but Beth doesn’t like it and so, doesn’t want any. She does seem interested in a glass of milk with a couple of chocolate chip cookies, so it’s nearly the same thing. “Careful,” he says, putting the half a pint of milk down in front of her birdhouse cautiously, “you don’t wanna spill that, baby.” 

“Who says she’s gonna spill it?” you ask. 

“Don’t start with me,” Steve warns. 

You smile to yourself. You’ve a spatula for PVA glue in your hand, skins of glue dried to your fingertips flecked with splinters of wood. Lollipop crafts felt like a good idea when he’d suggested it, but then he didn’t actually want to do it, and you’d been kind enough to step in. I’m sick of mess, he’d confided. 

Well, you’d said, somewhere between a quick kiss pressed to his shoulder and your hand rubbing it away, you probably shouldn’t have asked me to have so many kids. 

I love mess, he’d corrected immediately. Love to make more of it someday. 

“We’re nearly done in time for bed,” you assure him now. 

“I told Dove she could have an extra half an hour.” He winks at you clumsily. 

“Oh, really? Well, maybe Beth and Avery should get some extra time too.” 

Beth dunks her cookie into the top of her cup. “No thanks. I’m tired. Can I sleep with Avery again?” she asks, milk dribbling down the sides of the glass to darken the coaster underneath. 

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Steve says. “Wait, where is she? I thought she was in here.” Something grabs him by the legs, a sudden clutching that activates a heat in his eyes and spine he can’t explain. He flinches sideways into a cabinet and almost steps on a rather small limb. “What the fuck.” 

“Boo!” Avery says, laughing brightly as Steve rights himself on the counter. 

“Avery! Did I step on you? I’m sorry,” he says, immediately bending down. “What were you thinking? I could’ve really hurt you!” 

“Daaad, I was just pulling a prank,” she says. 

He checks over the arm he was so sure he’d stepped on. “You okay?” 

“She’s fine,” you say. “Yeah?” 

“I’m fine!” She hugs his legs again. “You said a super bad word.” 

He was hoping everybody missed that. “Dove–”

“Dad,” Dove interrupts, kicking her little feet exactly where he left her sitting on the dinner table by your left, “bad words make me cry.” She says it all clunky and clumsy, having heard it enough times. Her Aunt Robin has a potty-mouthed girlfriend, and Steve can’t do damage control quick enough sometimes.

“No, it’s when you say bad words daddy cries,” Avery says. 

“I didn’t say one!” 

“I know! I just mean it’s not when dad says it.” 

“What?” Dove asks. “He did says it.”

You’re grinning. You love when Dove confuses herself, all kids go through it, where half the time they don’t know what they’re saying until you help them along, but you love Dove��s new phase especially because she’s always been so serious. “What Avery is telling you, baby, is that daddy doesn’t get upset when he says bad words because he’s a grown up.” 

“So when we’re older we can cuss too?” Bethie asks. 

Steve’s jaw drops. “No, Beth! No, none of you need to say bad words, and I don’t either, and I’m really sorry. Can we forget about it?” 

Steve makes hot chocolate and helps you clean the sorry mess you’ve made on the table, and, after some light teasing, everybody forgets he’d reacted so violently to Avery’s surprise. Well, almost. Dove is the first to succumb to a case of the sleepies despite being otherwise reluctant to give in, sitting on his thigh, marshmallows still whole in her drink. She’d barely managed four sips. 

Steve cuddles her to his chest, covering her ear where she nuzzles against him from the sounds of your and Avery’s giggling. “He went pale,” you’re saying. 

Beth offers Steve half of one of her cookies. “You didn’t,” she says. 

If he didn’t have his arms full of Dove he’d scoop her up. “Thank you, Beth. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Alright,” you say, twining your fingers and sliding them behind your head, your neck and back clicking audibly in the quiet of the Harrington house winding down, “I think it’s bedtime. Are you done with your drink?” 

You rinse the cups. Steve ferries Dove upstairs, has her down and tucked in in record time, soon enough to catch you as you and the rest of the girls make your way upstairs. Beth and Avery are beautifully silent, weary of their sensitive baby sister where she’s cradled to your chest. 

You attempt to put her down in her crib in your room, but Steve gets the feeling you aren’t successful when a crackly cry breaks out. 

“Oh, no,” Avery says. 

“It’s fine. Let’s go brush our teeth, okay? Mommy has it.” 

They brush their teeth. Steve wipes their faces down with a damp hand towel and has a moment of gratitude just touching their faces. They both look so loved, the way their eyes crinkle, the way they lift their chins, all too happy for Steve to do it. He loves these moments of being a dad most, he might say, second only to getting to talk to them, especially now they’re both holding conversation. They talk to each other none stop; Beth talks to Avery ten times as much as she does anyone else. 

“Are you having a sleepover again?” Steve asks. 

Beth turns to Avery pleasingly. “Can I? Please, please, please.” 

“Yes!” Avery says, big sister extraordinaire. She wraps her arms around Beth’s shoulders, taller, more aware of herself as she presses her cheek to Beth’s and mumbles, “Of course you can. I love you. I want us to have sleepovers every night.” 

You emerge from the bedroom victorious, heading into the bathroom as he and the girls come out. “I’m just gonna brush my teeth,” you say. 

“Gonna get Beth changed.” 

“Okay, I put her nightie on the foot of her bed earlier.” 

It’s routine but not without enjoyment. He makes sure they’re both comfortable in the night's sleepwear and takes care of their hair, before giving Avery’s room a quick half-clean and shaking out the sheets on her bed. Avery has the second biggest bedroom, though Bethie’s is nothing to turn your nose up at, and it gets Steve thinking as they climb up into Avery’s single bed. 

“I think it’s good for you guys to keep your separate rooms for now,” Steve says tentatively, “but what do you think about sharing?” 

The plan was that Dove and Wren would share, but if Avery and Beth are getting along so well, it might not hurt to ask. 

Beth gasps. “Our bedrooms?” 

“Like, you and Avery could both sleep in here. You have a bunk bed, or we could get you a big one to share, and you could share teddies.” 

“I don’t want to share my teddies,” Avery says. 

“Well, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna make you.” Steve squints at them both. “Bad idea?” 

“I want to share,” Beth says immediately. 

Avery has a better understanding of what that will mean. “Maybe.” 

“You don’t have to,” Steve says. “Your rooms are yours, okay? Maybe we can just get you a bigger bed anyways, Ave. You’re so tall now, in a couple of years you’ll be ten feet tall and we’ll have to bend you in half to get you to school.” 

This is the funniest thing a man could say, apparently —both Beth and Avery burst into girly giggles that ring down the landing. Beth sounds like she might be sick. She laughs so much, falling into Avery’s side as her big sister says, “Dad, that’s silly!” 

“I can show you, if you want. We’ll practise making you into an Avery flavour pretzel, c’mere.” 

She squeals and climbs over Beth’s legs to huddle in the corner of her bed. Steve doesn’t so much as touch her legs and she’s laughing again, panicked, hyper laughter like she can’t decide if she wants to be folded or not. He presses his finger over his smile. “Shh, shh, we can’t wake the babies.” 

“Sorry,” she laughs. 

“My fault. Don’t be sorry.” He gives her leg a squeeze. “How about we start to tuck you in, girls? Do we have everything we need?” 

Beth wants a few things from her own bed, but besides that, they’re ready. Well, they’re supposed to be ready, but Steve wound them up and it’s his own fault, he can’t even complain when they beg him to watch a movie. What’s the harm? he decides, turning on Avery’s TV and pushing their favourite tape into the VHS player. 

“The effect FernGully has on the new generation is amazing,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’ve changed into pyjama pants Steve’s sure you’ve had since you met him and a tank top with straps falling down your shoulders. He wants to pull them back over the curve of your shoulder, but he’s trying to be less smothering.

He fluffs the pillows behind the girls’ backs. “It’s the boy. What’s his name? Dennis? Daniel?” 

“Neither.” You put a fallen teddy back on the bed and turn on Avery’s star-shaped night light before flicking off the big light above. The TV glows green on their legs. 

“Gonna lie down?” Steve says, gentler now, easing them in. 

Avery flops back. Beth curls in on her side, and it reminds Steve of you and him. He can sleep any which way. You’re slightly more particular, but you’re happier curled on to him. He really loves how close they are as sisters, and he has to give Avery some credit, because while Beth is exceedingly easy to love, she’s a clinger, she worships her big sister, which must get heavy from time to time. 

Avery pulls the blankets up over them before Steve can do it himself. He sighs, tucking them both in. Blankets pushed gently under their sides, hair brushed back from their little faces, he says, “Love you, Ave. Love you, Beth,” kissing their foreheads in swift succession. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

“Love you, daddy,” they say at the same time. 

You touch his arm gently before leaning in for your own kisses. You’re slower than he’d been, turning their faces in your hand one after the other to place identical kisses on their cheeks. “Love you, sweetheart,” you say to Avery, and, “Love you, baby,” you say to Beth. Steve holds your back as you do. “Have good dreams, okay? And don’t mess with the TV. One movie tonight is enough, you’ll wake up with sore eyes.” 

He steals another kiss from both of them and then you’re closing the door behind you, the house much darker and quieter than it had been only ten minutes previous. 

“You want a glass of water?” Steve says. 

You catch his hand. “I got you one.” 

Neither you nor Steve bother with anything but bed. He draws back the blankets and you climb in, only stopping momentarily to make sure that Wren’s alright in her crib. You curl in the middle of the bed and wait for Steve to force his way beneath you, which he does, your face resting on his shoulder, your leg stretched across his. Your hip is a lump in the blankets. He lets his hand fall atop it, whistling a tired breath through his teeth. 

“Mm,” you agree, stretching out, curling in tighter. 

“I know,” he says. Can’t forget his best girl, can’t not think about how much he loves you when it’s you and him alone. Mostly. “You alright?” 

“Fine. Tireder than I thought.” Your eyes close, lashes brushing his chest. “H?” 

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Fine, honey. Was just asking you,” he mumbles. His pillow feels like a cloud beneath his head, the mattress even better, and the sheets are a brushed cotton that’s amazingly soft on his skin. 

He turns his nose down onto you for a not so secret sniff. 

“Feels too good to be true.” 

“My turn tonight,” he says. 

“No, baby, it’s my turn.” 

“That’s fine.” He’s not as tired as you, or at least not half as achy. If Wren wakes up crying (not definitely going to happen) or Dove has a late night startle (even less likely, though not impossible), he’ll take the burden tonight. “I wanted babies and I got ‘em.”

“I want them too,” you say. 

“Of course you do,” he says, rubbing your forehead with the tip of his nose affectionately. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Less when they wake me up,” you joke. 

Steve feels up your side to your shoulder for a sleepy cuddle. You don’t realise how soft you can be, how warm you are pressed against him like this, how grateful he is to hold you. Maybe you can read his mind, or maybe as just pure evidence of such a feat, you cup his upper arm in your hand and begin to draw shapes over his skin, breaking the pattern with fleeting scratches. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, honey. I’m sure. You go to sleep now, okay? It’s Saturday tomorrow,” he whispers tenderly. “You don’t have anywhere to be.” 

“‘Cept here,” you whisper back. 

“Love you.” A brush of his lips to your eyebrow. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you,” he says. He swears he’s gonna stay up for a bit and count your eyelashes or something, maybe pen you a love poem, write a note about your lips and how they pout when you’re nearly sleeping, but he forgets to when you press your face into the curve of his neck and kiss it clumsily. You fall asleep at the same time, the girls laughing in whispers just a few feet away behind the wall.  

[yeetus-feetus]

Duke is a much smaller Duke one day, he's lost all his memories beyond the young age he is now and he's scared and confused.

He doesn't know where is. But then there's Tim, his Robin! And suddenly everything is ok.

The bats have no idea what's going on, but Duke refuses to go to anyone but Tim. He's also a little ball of energy bouncing off all the walls, and Tim is SO tired. "Robin- Tim, come play tag with me!"

One night Tim ends up passing out at his desk, a sleeping Duke cuddling into him on his lap.

Except when Duke wakes up Tim is small too.

And he doesn't remember who Duke is!!

So Duke reintroduces himself and Tim let's himself be dragged downstairs to the actually Batcave!

Bruce is looking at them in absolute astonishment, they're so small!!

Damian laughs at Tim's smallness and Tim gives a cold glare. Maybe age can't change some things.

"where are Nightwing and the new Robin?" Tim asks.

"I'm Robin."

"no, I meant Jason!" Tim huffs and crosses his arms. Ah, he's so young he still believes Jay is Robin.

Duke is still clinging to him, but Tim can't bring himself to mind all too much.

Bruce doesn't know how to handle these boys, between a hyperactive Duke and an absolute menace Tim.

Dick tries to help, but even he can't keep up with the mischief and shenanigans they get up to together.

"dick pick us up!"

"yeah! Pick us up pick us up! And swing us around until we get dizzy!"

"again!"

"again!"

It's time to bring out the big guns, and by that they mean calling Jason over to the manor.

Tim settles immediately, but Duke remains overly weary around the large man with guns strapped to his thighs. He's kinda scary.

But Tim likes Jason well enough. At some point he ends up cuddled up with Jason who's stretched out on the couch, and Duke is just a little bit jealous.

"hey stop hogging him! Tim is mine," Duke pouts.

Jason raises an eyebrow at the boy, and Tim tilts his head. "You know there's enough room for both of us up here, right? Jason is a lot bigger than he used to be."

Duke considers this. "Mm okay, but only because you're up there". And he climbs up into Jason's lap to cuddle into Tim's side.

It's calm for a moment, until Duke starts to fidget, not able to stay still for too long. Jason let's put an annoyed noise and looks at them over the top of his book. "Would you quit it I'm tryna read here".

"what are you reading?" Duke asks.

"Macbeth."

Tim scrunched his nose up. "Why are you reading that?"

"I like it. Reminds me of school", and Tim catches something in his tone that Duke absolutely doesn't.

"it sounds silly. Will you red it to us?"

Jason looks at the both of them for a very long moment before signing. "Sure, but you've gotta stay still, your knees are already in my ribs."

The three of them all end up falling asleep like that, tucked into the lounge and curled up together.

Except when they wake up in the morning, Jason is scrawny little boy, even smaller than Tim and Duke.

Tim explains what he can to the tiny Jason as Duke sneaks some snacks from the kitchen cupboard for them.

Cass catches them stuffing their faces with junk food and squeals. "Three baby brother's now!" And scoops them all up as the quick and try to squirm away.

"gotta tell B"

"wait who are you exactly?" Jason asks.

"big sister", Cass smiles and pets his curls.

"no way! Really? That's so cool, I've never had a big sister before", he exclaims.

Cass carries all three of them down to the Batcave because she's so strong and awesome! And Jason can't believe he ends up with such a cool sister.

"Batman!!!" Jason shouts in pure excitement, and Bruce turns around and almost cries.

Because look how small!! Oh baby Jay lad!! So precious and smol!

"I think the de-aging syndrome may be contagious", Tim speaks up. "You should have us all properly quarantined until you can find a cure."

quarantine is fun, for Jason and Tim at least (tiny Tim is plotting revenge on whoever caused this, Jason is reading and occasionally shouting at the characters). Duke can't stand having to stay still in the same one room for so long.

idk where this is going, but consider this awesome 3am idea of mine

[blissfulflw]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢

Pairing- Kim Minjeong (Winter) x fem reader

Genre- Angst

Word Count- 2942

A/N: Uhh just a bit short, could’ve added more context and stuff but yk. I’m a lazy writer… mb

You remember the first time Minjeong looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

That was Minjeong. Always too tender. Always hurting more for others than for herself.

You didn’t know what love was then. You were five, and love was just the word your parents used when they kissed each other on the forehead after long days. You thought you loved Minjeong like you loved your mom’s soup, or the stars you could see from her bedroom window on sleepovers.

Years passed. You stayed inseparable. Two kids growing into teenagers, into adults, still orbiting each other like twin moons. You didn’t notice the way your heart beat differently when she smiled at you, or how you kept every letter she’d ever written—birthday cards, dumb little notes she left in your locker, even grocery lists with hearts dotting her i’s.

You didn’t notice until it was already too late.

The first time she told you about the diagnosis, she said it like a joke.

“It’s not that bad,” Minjeong said, eyes skimming over your face like she was trying to memorize you. “They caught it early. Just… a rare autoimmune thing. They’re figuring it out.”

You didn’t know the name. Still don’t. It doesn’t matter.

You believed her. Of course you did. She was twenty-two. People don’t die at twenty-two.

You remember the second time she looked at you like you were the only person in the world. It was the hospital room—the first one, not the last. The tubes were smaller then. Her hair hadn’t fallen out yet. You cracked a joke about the food tray, and she laughed, real and raw, then went quiet. Her eyes were shining. You thought it was the morphine. Now, you think it was goodbye.

But you were still in denial. Still pretending there would be a tomorrow. That this was just a temporary detour, and life would pick up again soon. The way you talked around the word terminal was almost impressive. An Olympic sport of omission.

Then came the night it hit you.

She was asleep beside you in the hospital bed, small and pale, her hand weak in yours. You were rereading one of her old letters—you used to carry them in your coat pocket, folded and frayed. In it, she told you about a dream she had when you were both thirteen. You were grown up, holding hands on a beach. The sky was full of stars. She said she thought it meant something.

You reread that letter three times. Then, you looked at her.

And it came like a wave. A crash.

You love her.

Not platonically. Not like a sister. Not like a friend.

You loved Minjeong like the world had been waiting for her. Like your life only made sense in the context of hers. Like every beat of your heart had been echoing her name since you were five years old.

You don’t know how you didn’t see it before. But you do now.

You told yourself you’d tell her the next morning.

_________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, she was unconscious.

She never woke up.

Her mother let you stay the night. You slept beside her, begging whatever god would listen. But morning came, and Minjeong didn’t.

She died at 4:17 AM. You had gone to the vending machine at 4:15.

Two minutes.

Two minutes late.

You remember the way her room smelled. Like antiseptic and lavender lotion. Her hands were cold when you held them. You kissed her forehead. You whispered the words you never got to say.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t know it.”

She didn’t answer.

_________________________________________________________________________

The funeral felt like a blur you couldn’t wake from. People cried, but not the way you did. Not the kind of crying that breaks something in your ribs. Her mother held you like a daughter. You couldn’t meet her eyes. You couldn’t meet anyone’s.

Days became weeks. Weeks, months.

You stopped answering calls. Moved out of your apartment. You visited her grave sometimes, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. There was no her in the dirt.

Grief is not loud.

It’s not the sobbing people do at funerals, or the polite condolences whispered into your shoulder by distant relatives who never knew her favorite color, or what song made her cry at 2 AM.

Grief is silent. It sits. It waits. It grows.

The first night after Minjeong’s death, you went home and stood in your bedroom doorway, staring at her sweater folded neatly on your chair. She left it behind the last time she stayed over—when she still could. She had fallen asleep watching one of those dumb sitcoms she loved, the ones you only tolerated because she laughed so hard her nose scrunched.

You walked over and picked up the sweater. Buried your face in it.

It still smelled like her.

You didn’t sleep that night. Or the next. Or the next.

You told yourself you were just… processing. That soon you’d cry, and scream, and get it out of your system like they say you’re supposed to.

But the breakdown didn’t come like a storm. It came like rot.

You stopped showering. Stopped replying to texts. You ghosted your friends, your boss, your own mother. The world felt like background noise behind thick glass, and you were underwater, watching everyone else breathe like nothing had changed.

You wore her sweater every day. It stopped smelling like her by the second week. But you wore it anyway.

The nightmares started in week three.

Sometimes, they were vivid—Minjeong, calling out to you, trapped in a hospital bed while you stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move.

Sometimes, she was already dead, and you just sat beside her, whispering the things you should’ve said before it was too late.

You always woke up crying.

There were good days, or what passed for them. You’d manage to eat something. Open a window. Pretend she was just on vacation somewhere, phone broken, coming home soon.

But then you’d see something.

A bottle of her favorite tea at the store.

A commercial playing the song she once sang at karaoke, terribly and off-key.

Her handwriting in the margins of a book she lent you years ago.

And it would shatter you all over again.

The guilt was the worst part.

You left.

You left the room.

You went to the vending machine. For a stupid bag of chips. You were hungry. You thought she’d still be there when you came back.

Two minutes.

You were gone two minutes.

Sometimes, you imagine what she looked like in those moments. Did she open her eyes? Did she wonder where you were? Was she scared?

Did she die thinking you didn’t care?

That thought burrowed under your skin and stayed there, festering.

And then came the next regret, the one that stung deeper.

You never told her.

You had so many chances. How many sleepovers? How many late-night conversations where she looked at you like she wanted to say something too? How many times did she hug you longer than a friend should?

You were too afraid.

You thought you had time.

People like Minjeong aren’t supposed to die young. She was light. The kind of person who made everything brighter just by being in the room. You never thought the light would go out.

But it did.

And now every second you spent not telling her feels like a crime.

You tried to visit her grave.

The first time, you threw up in the parking lot.

The second time, you couldn’t get out of the car.

By the third time, you managed to sit beside her name, carved into granite like a lie.

Kim Minjeong. Beloved daughter. Cherished friend.

It didn’t say anything about you. There was no room for that.

You brought her daisies. They wilted in your hands before you even reached the stone.

You whispered, “I’m sorry,” until your throat went raw.

_________________________________________________________________________

Then one day, her mother called you. Said she’d found something.

A letter.

Addressed to you.

You drove over in silence, heart stuck somewhere between hope and dread. She handed it to you with trembling fingers. Said she hadn’t read it. Said Minjeong had asked for it to be given when the time was right.

The envelope had your name in her handwriting. You knew it instantly. You’d seen it a thousand times.

You took it home. Sat with it in your lap for hours. Then, finally, you opened it.

Y/N,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger. I tried. God, I tried. I didn’t want to leave you.

I’ve loved you since we were kids. I didn’t know what it meant back then. But I knew that every birthday, every summer, every time you smiled at me, something inside me wanted to keep you safe. To hold your hand until we were old.

I wanted more time. Not just with the world. With you.

Ever since the day we’d met, it was like a connection. As if we had been interlinked, soulmates. I really wish I could’ve had more time, I wish that maybe, just maybe I could’ve plucked up the courage to tell you. I love you.

Even if I’m not alive, even if I have to watch you go on with life from afar.

Please live.

I know we didn’t have enough time, never got to see you walk down the aisle in your pretty white dress, but until death do us part.

-Minjeong.

_________________________________________________________________________

You don’t remember dropping the letter. Just the sound of your own scream. It tore out of you like fire.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t move.

She had loved you. She loved you. All this time. You could have had a life. A real one. You could have kissed her under the stars like she dreamed.

But you missed it.

Missed her.

You stopped leaving your apartment.

Her letter was on your nightstand. Folded. Torn at the crease.

You read it every morning. Every night.

Sometimes you read it out loud. Pretending she was there. Pretending she could hear.

Please live.

You wanted to honor that. You did. But it felt like a command given to a body without lungs.

How do you live with a hole in your chest?

How do you live when the person you lived for is gone?

The depression wasn’t cinematic. It was quiet.

You didn’t cry all day.

You just didn’t feel.

You lay in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, trying to remember the sound of her laugh. The way her fingers felt when they accidentally brushed yours. The little dance she used to do when your food arrived at restaurants.

Every memory was a blade. And you kept stabbing yourself with them just to feel something.

Sometimes you’d wake up reaching for her.

Sometimes you’d hear her voice in your dreams, whispering your name. The way only she could. Like a prayer.

But she was never there when you opened your eyes.

One night, you pulled out your phone.

Went through every photo. Every video. Every message.

The last one she ever sent: I hope you sleep okay tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you always, even if I don’t say it out loud.

You didn’t reply.

You had seen it. You just hadn’t known what to say.

You threw the phone against the wall. It cracked.

You stared at the damage like it meant something. Until coming to a decision.

You wrote your own letter. It was shorter. Messier.

You kissed her photo. Held the pendant she gave you when you were twelve.

And then, like sleep, the dark came.

But it wasn’t the end.

Not really.

Because you opened your eyes to light. Warm and blinding.

Minjeong was there.

Smiling.

She looked like she did before the sickness. Healthy. Beautiful. Ageless.

You ran to her. She caught you in her arms. You wept into her shoulder.

“I missed you,” you said.

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”

You didn’t know how long it lasted. Time didn’t work the same in that place.

But her arms around you felt like home.

And then, just as quickly—

The light turned to fire.

Her hands slipped from yours.

She screamed your name, voice cracking with desperation.

You tried to hold on.

But it was too late.

Again.

You were pulled down.

The heat came. The cold after it. The gnawing emptiness of consequence.

And her voice…

Fading into the stars.

You think of her still, in this place.

You wonder if she remembers you.

If she cries.

If she watches.

You don’t know if it hurts her to be without you again.

But for you, it is agony.

Because the punishment isn’t fire.

It’s separation.

It’s almost.

It’s the taste of her name on your lips with no mouth to say it.

It’s the eternity of silence between two souls that once fit together like puzzle pieces.

It’s the memory of a smile you will never touch again.

There is no clock here.

No sun. No moon.

Only the echo of things you once had, and the things you never said.

Hell is not fire.

Hell is remembering.

You sit in the dark with her name on your tongue like a forgotten hymn, whispering it over and over like it might still reach her, wherever she is.

Minjeong.

Sometimes, you hear your own voice ricochet through the silence. Like it’s trying to come back to you. But it never does.

You’re not sure how long it’s been. It could be years. Centuries. A second stretched forever.

Time doesn’t live here.

Only loss.

_________________________________________________________________________

At first, you screamed.

You begged whatever force was responsible. You pleaded to see her again. Just one glimpse. One moment.

One goodbye.

You said her name until your throat cracked. You tore pages from your mind just to rewrite your story—rewrite that vending machine run, that unsaid confession, that moment her hand went cold without yours holding it.

But nothing changed.

No one came.

No light. No forgiveness. No her.

And she is up there.

You know it.

You felt it.

Before the sky ripped you apart, her eyes met yours one last time. She smiled, even as you were dragged away.

Her smile didn’t hold anger.

Just sorrow.

And love.

You know she begged for you. You know she tried.

But heaven has rules.

So does hell.

Love can break hearts. But it can’t always break laws.

She watches you now.

You feel it.

Sometimes, when the air turns still, you sense her at the edge of everything. Like a shadow pressed to a window you can’t reach. Like the feeling of being watched by someone kind, someone aching.

You feel it when your heart—whatever’s left of it—twists. A warmth. A memory of light.

And then it’s gone.

Just like she is.

Minjeong is in the garden.

In the morning that never ends.

She sits on a bench surrounded by white roses that never die, looking up at a sky that never dims.

She holds your letter in her lap, creased and fragile from fingers that trace your name like a prayer.

And she cries.

Not because she’s angry.

Not even because she’s alone.

But because she still loves you.

Even here.

Even now.

Even with forever between you.

She speaks to you, sometimes.

Whispers your name into the wind.

Tells you stories you’ll never hear. Laughs soft and broken at jokes you would’ve made. Hums the lullabies you both used to fall asleep to in the hospital bed, when there was still time. When there was still hope.

She wonders if you can feel her.

She wonders if you forgive her—for not holding on tighter, for not saying I love you sooner, for being too soft and too quiet when it mattered.

But mostly, she wonders if you’re okay.

If wherever you are, you remember the way her hand fit in yours.

If you know she never stopped waiting.

And you—down here—you do feel it.

Every now and then, in the cold, you catch the faintest scent of lavender and sugar. You think it’s her.

Maybe it is.

Maybe there are cracks in the walls of this place. Tiny fractures in eternity where her love still seeps through.

But you can’t follow it.

You can’t climb back.

You made your choice.

And hell remembers.

You begin to forget your own voice.

But hers? Hers stays with you.

You say it every day like a spell.

Minjeong.

You write it in ash.

You carve it into stone.

You bleed it into the silence.

And still, she does not come.

Because she can’t.

Because forever means forever.

Because some loves are written in the stars.

And some are written in the spaces between them.

There is no ending here.

Only echoes.

Only distance.

Only love that couldn’t outrun time.

You are the ghost she dreams of.

And she is the light you were never meant to hold.

But still—across the great divide—

you both wait.

You both love.

And that will be your forever.

Apart.

But never unloved.

[midnightshindig]

I think a fun prompt would be rex hcs/drabbles of what it's like having karaoke with him and the reader over some pizza and beer because of course they'd be having those around in the Guardian's headquarters to celebrate a successful mission HAHAHA. May/may not include the other guardians as well 🫶🫶

Rex Splode X Gn!Reader

Yeah I gotchu <3

fic under the cut:

It had been a long, difficult mission

youd all barely escaped with your lives

You know what that means-

PARTAYYYYYY

Okay but Rex has the habit of roping the Guardians (including you) into post-mission Karaoke and drinks

He orders pizza, or rather he bullies Mark into flying you pizza, and there’s beer in the fridge. Perpetually.

He had to threaten Cecil he’d quit to get that.

and so here you and the guardians are, watching Rex perform “Girls” by The Dare

He’s a terrible singer

but he knows all the words!

more than anyone can say for Rudy, who’s up next

Bros AWKWARD

Amanda does her best after him, some girl band song, Spice girls or something she sounds just tween enough to pull off

everyones having a pretty great time, duets around the group and a group rendition of YMCA

It’s a jolly ass time, you even rope Bulletproof in on it

Rex has proven his taste in music to be the equivalent of a mating call

”Take me Down”, “Dumb Dick”, that sort of thing

Until the fourth round of Karaoke where he’s like eight drinks in, and everyone’s just slurring through their songs

This is when he busts out— and dedicates you to— “I’ve been waiting for you” by ABBA

”Th8a THIS is for my PARTNER y/nnnmmmmmmMMOKAY LETS GO! A five six 7 nine!”

and he starts singing “I’ve been waiting for you” by ABBA

which would be romantic if he wasn’t butchering it

He ends the song dropping to his knees, fully raptured by the song

oh my god Rex get off the floor

everyone's staring at him, considerably less drunk

“I’m gonna get him some pizza…” you excuse yourself as he chokes through the second verse

When you come back and get some pizza in his system, he’s just finished his song

a minute later, he’s chewing down his third slice of pepperoni pizza, and very softly goes

”You left my song….”

oh he’s so sad

”I was singing it js for youuuu” he whines, tilting his head back and leaning against your shoulder

He wraps his arms around you waist and buries his face into your chest and collar

Rex looks up at you, like borderline pathetic

“Shhhhh, cmere-“ you pet his hair, which had been hair whipped out of its man bun an hour earlier

Soon the alcohol takes you too, the both of you fall asleep on the couch

It’s actually insane

Cecil Teleports into the living room the following morning to find:

you and Rex cuddling on one end of the couch, Amanda next to you sleeping with her head on Rudy, who was curled up with his back against her and his legs just barely not kicking Bulletproof

On the smaller couch adjacent, The Immortal and Black Samson sat, leaning onto opposite arm rests, with the Immortal sleeping with his arms crossed

Shapesmith is on the floor with Rae, both using the couch as a backrest

Mark walks in with a cup of coffee and smiles at Cecil “They made me bring them pizza. Black Samson sung Black Pink, you missed it it was great.”

Mark, whose mommy told him he wasn’t allowed to drink, was the only one without a hangover, and he took a long slow sip of his coffee before spitting it into the mug

”Ew is that what coffee tastes like??”

Cecil groans, pinching his temple “I guess training can wait for these dumbasses to get some rest. Wake them up soon. And with that he’s gone.

[belit0]

YanUchihas (including Sasuke) with a couple who don't want to stay by his side "I like you, but I like my freedom more." *proceeds to escape* 🧚‍♀️

I feel like an old lady asking this, but this is the second time I've seen this term in my requests and I'm puzzled… what does "YanUchihas" mean?

Madara

He doesn’t raise his voice.

Madara never needs to.

The room feels smaller when he turns to face her, jaw tense, that storm-dark gaze narrowing.

The air is thick with silence, heavy with something unsaid.

–You’re walking away.

It isn’t a question.

She nods once. Slowly.

Her hands don’t shake.

–I like you, Madara. Probably more than I should.

She breathes in deeply.

–But I like my freedom more.

His stare doesn’t waver, but something flickers at the edges of it—something that almost looks like grief.

Or fury.

Or both, caught in the net of his pride.

–You think freedom will keep you warm at night?

–No.– She meets his gaze without flinching. –But I won’t burn just to stay near your fire.–

He doesn’t stop her.

But when the door closes behind her, it sounds like a thunderclap.

Izuna

Izuna laughs first.

A sharp, incredulous sound.

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal.

–You’re kidding. You have to be kidding.

(Y/N) only watches him.

Quiet.

Measured.

–You like me, but not enough to stay?

He turns to her, eyes wild, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

–Or is this the part where you pretend not to care before walking out dramatically?

–I care, Izuna.

She steps closer, until the scent of smoke and steel is all around her.

–That’s why I’m leaving before it turns ugly.

He scoffs, but he doesn’t interrupt.

–I like you. But I like waking up without a name chained to mine even more. I like being able to walk away when I need to.

–So walk, then.

His voice cracks down the middle, all snarl and sorrow.

–But don’t come back. You don’t get to light me on fire and leave me to burn.

She doesn’t respond.

Just presses a kiss to his cheek—so brief, so final—and goes.

Izuna doesn't move.

Not until the silence hurts worse than the goodbye.

Shisui

Shisui doesn’t try to smile.

Not this time.

He watches her, quiet, eyes like dusk after the rain.

–You didn’t have to explain anything.

–But I wanted to.

She exhales softly, as if each word costs her something.

–Because you were good to me. And I don’t want to be cruel about it.

His hands are in his pockets, but he rocks on his heels slightly, like he's trying to keep his balance without touching her.

–You like me. But not enough.

She winces.

–No. I like you… but I like my freedom more.

That lands harder than she expects.

He nods slowly, eyes flicking away.

–I always knew you’d fly. I just didn’t think it’d be now.

She almost stays.

Almost.

But when he says nothing more, she turns.

Leaves.

And Shisui stays where he is, staring at the space she once filled like it might still echo her footsteps.

Sasuke

He says nothing when she finishes speaking.

He just stares at the ground, one hand in his pocket, the other clenched tight.

–Say something.

Her voice is steady, but there’s a brittle edge to it.

He shrugs.

Barely.

–You made your choice.

–Sasuke.

His jaw tightens.

–What do you want me to say? That I’ll change your mind?

He looks up, eyes sharp, but not angry. Just tired.

–I’m not going to beg.

She nods.

There’s no victory in it.

–I like you, Sasuke. But I like waking up without guilt more. Without needing to fix someone, or be fixed.

Something cracks in his expression—something small, invisible to anyone but her.

–Guess we were too alike, after all.

His voice is quiet now, barely audible.

–You like your silence. I like mine. Just didn’t think we’d have to walk away to keep it.

She leaves without another word.

And Sasuke stays in the shadows, jaw tight, waiting for the ache to fade.

But it doesn’t.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

imagining Charlie having an Oh moment when she finds Vaggie napping in a chair one day, early on, with Razzle and Dazzle sprawled out over Vaggie like they're trying to cover as much of her small body as they can with their own even smaller ones-

Charlie pulls out her phone and stealthily inches closer for a picture (she's doesn't' wanna wake them she swears) (she's just never seen something so cuuuuute-)

but a floor board squeaks and Razzle cracks an eye open to glower while Dazzle shushes her

and Charlie stops

There's another Oh... moment, because they've never shushed her before. They were brought to life to keep her safe and they've always only cared about that one thing- it took months for them to stop following Vaggie around the house suspiciously, like they always did with anyone Charlie tried having a relationship with, like a pair of silent, plush guard dogs-

(glaring at Vaggie from shadows, from across the table at breakfast and dinner, from the pillows directly over her head when Charlie finally convinced her maybe sharing a bed would help with the night terrors)

-but that'd all changed, at some point. Only, Charlie hadn't noticed until now

now she does. Now suddenly, she wonders

Charlie creeping over on silent, careful hooves, to gently stroke between the tiny wings of her childhood friends, looking from them to Vaggie's relaxed and sleeping face (getting a little lost watching her, for moment) (reaching out to tuck back a strand of the hair Vaggie is growing out long, accidently stroking Vaggie's cheek, forgetting to take her hand away afterwards) (the longer hair is hard not to play with, she excuses)

Charlie leaning in and asking Razzle and Dazzle, in the softest whisper-

"....are you keeping her safe for me?"

a pair of soft little churrs rising up in answer. Two little plush demons, snuggling closer to Vaggie as Vaggie frowns in her sleep, shifting restlessly, stirring-

Charlie freezing bc she has NO idea what to say if Vaggie wakes up and finds her- well. looming kinda?? while Vaggie SLEEPS???

it feels different than just already being there when Vaggie wakes up in the night, different in how waking up like that was normal when they'd gone to bed together, but crouching down to STARE at someone like this, with your hand still on her cheek, scared to move it in case that REALLY wakes her up when she DIDN'T get much sleep last night and DIDN'T wake you up that time for some reason so you couldn't snuggle her or make her feel better and now you might startle her instead or make her feel awkward which you hate- you don't want her to ever feel awkward around you-

it doesn't matter though

because Vaggie settles down again, as Dazzle croons quietly and Razzle reaches out a little paw to gently press her arm

she used to jump and flinch a little every time she saw them

when did that change?

these days she flicks little snacks at them from off her plate, no matter how many times Charlie reminds her they have their OWN plates and their OWN donuts and are just begging to get ATTENTION, the little show-stealers-

(not like Charlie's doing that too by complaining) (noooooo) (not like she grins like an idiot when Vaggie smiles and says cute things deserve a little extra attention, while looking over at Charlie instead)

these days any annoying demon who comes looking to curry favor with Lucifer (or trying pulling one over Morningstar's "naïve" daughter) gets pinned by THREE dangerous glares while waiting at the door for Charlie to hurry downstairs and meet them

(or rather shoo them away before they say something too not nice and Vaggie grabs her spear while Razzle and Dazzle get within ankle biting range)

when she thinks about it, things have been different for a while now

better. They've been better, and Charlie still doesn't know when or how it happened, and maybe that part doesn't matter so much anyway

in the present, Charlie takes the chance to retrieve her hand (reluctantly..) so she can slip off her jacket and tuck it around the three of them- Razzle, Dazzle. Vaggie- her two old friends and one new but very important one-

important enough to be considered part of her, by them as were created to protect her

and that's a new idea too. but she likes it a lot, she thinks

she likes being part of a family again

-

Vaggie wakes up a good solid two hours of nap time later with Razzle and Dazzle draped over her like furry boas and Charlie's head in her lap, a former Exorcist absolutely COVERED in cuddly demons-

she stays completely still for another hour more afterwards, stiff neck be damned, watching the three of them sleep. Smiling.

.... (it's only the three of them, later)

(when vaggie flutters up and finds razzle curled up on dazzle's memorial, the night after the battle. when she tucks him into her shoulder and heads back to her and charlie's rebuilt room. as a relieved and teary eyed charlie scoops him up and the three up them huddle together under vaggie's reformed wings)

(it's only three of them... but part of why charlie cries that night is knowing dazzle did his job- vaggie is still here)

(dazzle did his best. and for everything charlie lost, the old hotel, too many of the cannibals who followed her, almost all the egg bois, sir pentious, dazzle himself, the faith that she could solve all this without anyone getting hurt...)

(she didn't lose the part of herself that'd held her together the night before the battle, held so many other times, through family calls and failed meetings with heaven) (she didn't lose vaggie-)

(and some of charlie's tears that night, for dazzle, are grateful)

(he died trying to keep charlie safe. and he did. he did)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember and @steddiesongfics.

No Loose Ends

Week #3 Prompt: Sneaking Around | Word Count: 6500 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Post S4, Sexual Content, Underage Recreational Alcohol and Weed Use | Tags: Eddie Munson Lives, Florida!!!, Hiding Out, Healing, Steve & The Boys of Corroded Coffin Taking Care of Eddie, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson

Song inspiration to fill the @steddiesongfics prompt is FLORIDA!!! by Taylor Swift feat. Florence & The Machine:

Little did you know, Your home's really only the town you'll get arrested, So you pack your life away, Just to wait out the shitstorm back in Texas Indiana

Steve's almost eight hours into the twelve hour drive, when he starts looking for another gas station. The smaller the better. One with a cashier who would rather be anywhere else other than at work behind the counter, and who in turn, won't be paying any attention to anything going on around them.

Not that he's wanted, or being looked for, because he's not. He's just being extra careful. Trying to garner no additional eyes on his car, or himself, if possible. No speeding, no rolling through stop signs. He's never driven this carefully in his entire life, and he feels tense from it.

It gives him a glimpse of what it might be like, sometime in the future, if he's in charge of hauling around six of his own little nuggets.

But that's not today. Today he's just in charge of one, well two, other people.

And himself. But he's used to being in charge of himself, since he has been, since basically forever.

If everything goes smoothly tonight, nobody's even gonna realize he's been out of town. Only Robin knows, and she's running interference with everybody else. Giving excuses for why they haven't seen him all day. Just buying him the time to get down, and back, without being missed.

The next filling station is a little raggedy, but exactly what he wants. Probably no cameras. Perfect.

He parks alongside the pump, and pulls up on the handle, starting to fill his tank. He looks in the backseat, and the bundled up figure moves under the blanket, shifting. It's dark under the poorly-lit canopy, three of the six fluorescent bulbs are out, and it makes it look just a little bit spooky. But even better, unless you were looking for him, you'd never see the slightly moving lump in the backseat.

And nobody's looking for him. Not anymore.

Thank fucking god.

Steve pays for the gas, and grabs drinks. Back in the car, he puts his own Coke in the cup holder, then lays the Mountain Dew in the backseat floorboard for when Eddie wakes up, and finally slides the Dr. Pepper into the passenger side cup holder.

He doesn't know Gareth Jones, not really, and it has taken everything he has to trust him. But Eddie couldn't be left alone, not yet, and Steve had asked who could they trust, and Gareth had been Eddie's answer.

Now he's asleep, head against the window, and Steve pulls back out onto the two-lane road, and keeps heading south.

They pull up in the driveway of the dark house, and Steve kills the engine.

"We're here," he says, and Eddie stirs in the backseat.

Eddie can barely walk. Once they've gotten him out of the car, he can only shuffle along, blanket over his shoulders. Together, they hold him up on both sides. The sand surrounding the beach house is not making it easier for him to move, Steve can tell. Steve has to try three keys before the door swings open, but they get him inside. Steve's not satisfied until Eddie's on the couch of his grandparent's vacation home in Destin, the city they swear is gonna become a tourist hot spot in the coming years.

So, the elder Harringtons scooped up a waterfront home that they only use once or twice a year, swearing it's an investment they'll be able to turn a profit on in the future. Steve doesn't care about that, but he is glad they have it right now, so they have a place Eddie can lay low. 

It's a little musty from being shut-up, but it'll do. 

Especially since there's no chance anybody in his family will turn up, since they're all in Europe right now without him. That left it just sitting empty, the perfect place to stash Eddie long enough to wait out the shitstorm back in Indiana.

Nobody knows he survived. Not the public, and barely any of their friends. Not even Wayne. Not yet. It's easier to keep a secret when you don't know the truth, as guilty as that makes Steve feel. 

But right now, he can't dwell on that. Today, Steve's gonna try to get him holed up in here, and then figure out a more permanent solution once Eddie's back on his feet. 

He can't dwell on the rest of them, or his guilt will eat him alive. Knowing Wayne's mourning his nephew. Knowing that Dustin is going through hell. Steve hopes they'll both forgive him, when the truth comes out. Eddie swears Wayne will. Says he'll understand. Says he'll only be relieved that Eddie's safe, and well. 

Steve hopes that's true. 

He knows he'll be in for an ass-chewing from Dustin, but that's nothing new. He can handle that.

Steve gets Eddie situated. A blanket. Some pillows. A drink. All while Gareth looks around the house, snooping, and it sets Steve on edge. He's a kid. Is he really gonna trust a kid to keep Eddie safe? Alive? He supposes he is. It's not like he has any other choice.

Gareth's older than Steve was when he got involved in the Upside Down. But still. Kid.

Steve can't stay long. He takes a nap, and then gets back on the road before he's missed. Back in his bed in Hawkins before anyone has started asking any real questions that Robin can't deflect.

A week later, when Steve steps out of his front door, Pop Tart in his mouth, he nearly chokes when he sees two guys leaning against his car. Jeff and…the other one. Steve's drawing a blank. They're Eddie's friends, but as far as Steve knew, they'd evacuated with the rest of the town. 

Out of the way, not a concern. But, here they are.

People are starting to come back, Steve's noticed, now that the town is rebuilding after the earthquake damage. If they have houses to return to, lots of them are doing just that.

He should have expected this.

Well, not this. Because they shouldn't know Eddie's alive or that Steve might be a person to talk to about anything.

"Uh, hey?" Steve says as he pulls the dry pastry out of his mouth, trying to chew it up, and buy himself some time.

"Where's Gareth?" the one that isn't Jeff asks. 

"Um, Gareth who?" Steve asks.

Jeff laughs, showing a mouth full of braces. 

"Gareth Jones. He's not with his mom, and she thinks he's with you."

Steve tenses. That little shit. Gareth told his mom the truth? What the fuck? For real. That wasn't the plan. At all. 

What a dumbass kid. He can't believe he has to trust him with Eddie's safety. Clearly, he's doing a bang-up job.

Steve looks around, "Don't see him, do you?" Steve asks, sliding back into his King Steve persona easier than he'd imagine he'd be able to after a few years.

"Harrington," Jeff says. 

"He's not with me," Steve says, which is true. "I don't even know him." Also true. 

"If you have Eddie. If he's out there somewhere, you're gonna take us to him," the other one says. Goldie? Steve thinks his name is Goldie. Goldwin, maybe? Gareth was talking, and he's sure he mentioned him, but Gareth talked a lot. Steve zoned out. 

"Or we're going to the cops."

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn't actually think they'll do that, but fuck, what does he know? He cannot risk that. He'd rather tell them what he knows, than have any officials poking holes in their story.

He makes a decision, one he hopes he won't regret.

"Okay, Goldie, get in," Steve says, resigned to this, but Jeff laughs loudly, mouth open as the guy who is probably not Goldie by his reaction, jabs Jeff in the ribs with his elbow.

"Goodie," Jeff corrects, "but that was closer than most get."

In the car, Steve squeezes the steering wheel. 

"Where is he?" Jeff asks. 

"Florida," Steve answers.

"Florida?" Goodie demands, and Steve just nods.

"He's healing. Gareth's with him. You can't tell anyone," Steve stresses. "If the government finds out. They'll, well. Dispose of him, I reckon. No loose ends."

And Steve starts from the beginning.

They worked out a schedule. Every week they'll switch. And somehow Steve is stuck making the long fucking haul in the dead of night, with one of them in his passenger seat. It's awkward. He doesn't know them, and they definitely don't like him.

This week it's Jeff Williams. Honestly, he's nice enough, but Steve runs out of things to say before they hit the Indiana state line.

The long haul back has Gareth jabbering nonstop about what they did this week. All Steve really wants to hear is updates on Eddie. Is he getting better? Are his wounds healing? Still no infection? Did you help him change the bandages he can't reach? Can he climb the stairs yet?

But he's having trouble getting those answers. He does learn all about the new Accept album, though. Whoever the fuck that is.

The third week is even worse, because hauling around Goodie Goodwin is like having an angry bear locked in the car with him. A brown bear, not a black one. He's fucking pissed, and snarky, and only belligerently agreeing to help for Eddie's sake. Not for Steve's. He's made that abundantly clear. 

He hates Steve, in case Steve needs it spelled out for him. 

Steve does not. 

It's definitely clear.

Super duper clear.

Crystal clear.

And that's fine. Eddie just needs a babysitter, and an angry bear will do, so long as Eddie trusts said bear, and he seems to, for whatever reason.

When they fucking finally pull up, after a twelve hour drive that felt more like twenty-four, Eddie's sitting on the covered porch, the color finally seeping back in his face. Goodie sits down in the glider right next to Eddie, and steals Eddie's lit cigarette right from his mouth. Eddie leans against his shoulder, face pressed into his very weather inappropriate leather jacket, and smiles.

Oh, so now he's a gentle giant. 

Fucking dickhead.

Hauling Jeff back to Hawkins is a breath of fresh air after twelve hours of having Chernabog in the passenger seat. And he actually gives helpful information. Eddie's doing great. He's made some real progress, and he probably doesn't need a babysitter much longer. He's getting out of the woods.

Steve wishes he knew that before he had to spend time in the car with Goodie, but it's still good news, even if Steve had to suffer.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone this week?" Steve asks, and he doesn't know what he'll do if the answer is no. Leave Goodie for a second week of duty? Stay himself?

"I'm fine, Harrington," Eddie promises, and Steve nods.

"Okay, then. I'll be back next weekend," Steve assures.

Steve worries about Eddie being alone the whole next week, and it's a long drive by himself, but not as long as it was with Goodie refusing to make even the smallest of small talk. 

Goodie didn't say a word for the eight hundred miles back to Hawkins.

Honestly, it was actually an improvement from the ride down.

When Steve pulls up the house, Eddie's on the porch again, and Steve wonders if this is where he spends most of his time. There don't seem to be any neighbors here right now close enough to see him, and even if there were, they wouldn't know the Harringtons well enough to be sure Eddie didn't belong. 

"Harrington," Eddie says, foot pushing slowly, keeping himself in a soft sway on the porch glider.

Steve sits down next to him, and then Eddie keeps them moving, the breeze coming through the porch, and not feeling bad at all. 

"Ocean air is healing, you know," Eddie says as if he's serious, and Steve smiles.

"Is the gulf considered an ocean?" Steve asks.

And Eddie just shrugs and grins back, shaking another pack of cigarettes out of the fresh carton Steve brought him. Steve feels like a pack mule, hauling food and smokes and beer, back and forth across several states.

"Closest thing I've ever seen to one, at least," Eddie says, and Steve has the fleeting thought that someday, Steve will change that. 

He doesn't know why. They aren't really friends or anything. Just two people that were thrown together to fight back against evil. They don't exactly have a whole hell of a lot in common beyond that.

They get into the beer, and Eddie pulls out a joint. It's fun, and relaxing, honestly. Doing a whole lot of nothing. It feels like a mini vacation, and like Steve's settled for the first time in weeks, months. So, he stays an extra day, and then another, because they're having so much fun. Robin will cover for him. She will. But he's really gotta go in the morning. 

"Your friend Goodie hates me," Steve says. 

"All bark, no bite," Eddie laughs. 

Steve doesn't know about that. He seemed pretty nippy to him. 

The next week, he brings the decks of cards Eddie had asked for, and now they sit around the round table on the porch, and play hand after hand, going through a case of beer and cigarette after cigarette. It's fun, and unexpected, and Steve's pretty sure next week, he's gonna find a way to stay longer. 

He's tipsy, they both are, as they stumble up the stairs towards their rooms. He's got his hands on Eddie, the excuse that he's helping him not fall, but he's pretty sure that's not the whole reason.

He doesn't examine it too much.

They're just having fun, and that's a nice change of pace from the shitshow that Hawkins has been over the past few years.

He wants to stay. 

As his head hits the pillow, and he rolls over onto his belly, he tries to devise a plan to make that happen, even as he's drifting.

The kids aren't happy about it when he says he's going to be traveling with his parents for a while, and they'd really be pissed if they knew that he was actually sneaking back to Florida to hole up with a very much still alive Eddie Munson. 

He's gonna have to pay for lying about this, to a lot of people that really love Eddie. Steve knows it. But, he'd do it again. Eddie's safe. He's healing up. Every week he's been more mobile, more agile, more…Eddie.

Sure, it's not as if Steve knew him well before all this. But they went to school together. He knows what Eddie Munson is all about, and it's definitely not being quietly introverted on a couch.

When he gets there, he lugs in his huge suitcase, and takes back over the empty room across the hall from the one Eddie's been staying in. 

And then they spend their time laying on the beach, or getting drunk, or stoned, as Eddie's body slowly finishes stitching itself back together. He still aches, and so does Steve, but it's not too bad anymore. There are no more bandaids, ointments or creams. No more antibiotics. They hurt, sure, but they're getting by better now.

Eddie wants to venture into the water, and with no open wounds, Steve can't find a reason to say no. Eddie had had to watch from the porch that first week as Gareth ran across the sand, wading out into the water.

Now, it's his turn. 

Steve by his side, making sure he's okay. Strong enough. They didn't go through all this just for Eddie to drown.

Steve's getting concerned that he can't quit touching Eddie, but Eddie doesn't seem interested in making him stop.

They're wet, and wrapped in towels, but it feels inevitable when Steve pushes Eddie towards the bathroom, and into the shower. Inevitable when he turns to leave, and Eddie snags his hand, pulling him back towards the tub. Inevitable as he washes his body, trying to not only ignore his own half-hard dick, but Eddie's too.

It's still inevitable as he slips on his clean underwear, and crawls into Eddie's bed instead of his own, and finally presses their lips together. 

Eddie kisses back, and hands roam across bare skin. Eddie's fingers trailing his back, making Steve squeeze his eyes shut. He didn't realize how long it's been since someone touched him like that.

Neither of them take it further than that, but they do find themselves, lips kiss-swollen and laying together, breathing heavily in the quiet of the room, and Steve doesn't even know how they've gotten to this point.

One day Eddie was just some guy, then he was wanted on trumped up murder charges, and now, well, this.

"What's the plan? I can't stay here forever," Eddie says into the darkness, and Steve thinks maybe he could. They both could. They'd be safer that way. Hawkins can fuck off. It's their hometown, but not home anymore. Just a place that would arrest Eddie and throw away the key, given half the chance. 

"We could," Steve says, and Eddie meets his eyes.

"You know you can't. And your grandparents will turn up eventually, and be less than thrilled to see me here."

"They won't be back until winter, and even that's iffy," Steve reassures, more himself than Eddie, he's pretty sure.

They could sneak around for months, until the snow birds fly south, and nobody would know. 

That's all Steve thinks about as he falls asleep, Eddie's arm slung over his stomach.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Steve jerks, sitting bolt upright in bed. Eddie doesn't even stir beside him.

Gareth Jones is standing at the foot of the bed, and Jeff and Goodie are in the doorway. Steve's heart is hammering in his chest. There's no explaining this away as anything other than exactly what it is. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Eddie," Steve says, nudging him with his elbow. Eddie still doesn't budge, but his foot is sticking out of the comforter, and Gareth runs his knuckle up Eddie's bare sole.

Eddie's awake then, jerking his whole leg backwards.

"Jesus H. Christ, kid!" Eddie screeches, pulling the sheet up to his neck as if he's trying to protect his precious modesty. It's fucking endearing. 

Terrifying, but endearing.

Steve must be staring at Gareth, because the kid shrugs, "He was late to school. A lot. Wayne asked me to start getting him there before he was a fifth year senior from tardies alone. The bottom of the foot is foolproof."

And Steve's hammering heart slows, just a little. Nobody is screaming, there's no fight breaking out. Nobody's being called names. He's not sure how to take this. They've been caught in bed, but nobody is really reacting to that. 

It's just a best friend explaining how to get Eddie awake. Robin would know how to do that for him, too.

"What are you doing here?" Steve finally asks. 

"We thought we'd come give you a break," Jeff says from the doorway. 

"Doesn't look like you want it though," Goodie adds, and it's the nicest thing he's ever said to Steve, Steve's pretty sure.

"Our parents think we're at a band camp," Gareth adds, "before school starts back up for me."

"Band camp," Eddie laughs, flopping back against the pillows, "Go wait downstairs."

And they listen. 

Steve just lays there next to him, finally saying, "Well."

Eddie laughs, then turns to face Steve, "They knew about me. I mean, the theory of me. It's not like I was getting any action. From boys or girls. But they're cool. Freaks gather together."

Steve chuckles, but Eddie keeps talking, "I'm sorry they know about you without you okaying it first, though."

It's fine. Honestly. Like, if they aren't gonna kick his ass? Everything's fine. Sneaking around always ends this way. Steve knows it. You always get caught by someone. He just didn't predict it to be so soon, or here.

"How'd they even get in here?" Steve asks, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He's pretty sure he locked the door when they went to bed.

"That's probably my bad. I taught Goodie to pick locks."

"Another Munson family trick?" Steve asks, pulling his jeans on, sliding up the zipper.

"Yep," Eddie answers, "the school would sometimes forget to leave the room unlocked for us to have Hellfire. So, I taught him to open it, since I have a bit of a tendency to run late."

Steve laughs, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Regret it now, though," Eddie says dryly, and Steve holds open the bedroom door for him.

Gareth and Goodie are sitting around the kitchen table, already helping themselves to the beer they found in the fridge. Cards dealt. Waiting.

Jeff's cooking a massive skillet of eggs and there's toast piled high on a plate.

Beer and eggs. That's something. Breakfast of champions.

"You can fuck him, but Eddie is my card partner," Gareth says, pushing a waiting hand of cards towards Eddie.

Fair enough.

Steve snags a plate, and is more interested in eating than cards, anyway.

"We can't have set partners with five of us," Jeff says. "It's just gotta happen as the game unfolds."

Gareth starts to argue, and it's like they totally moved on from what they all saw upstairs. Steve feels off-kilter, but he takes another bite of toast.

Maybe these guys are Eddie's version of Robin. That's the only thing that makes any sense. 

Steve picks up his cards, and starts organizing them in his hand. He isn't even sure what they're playing, but he guesses he'll figure it out. There were lots of card parties in the Harrington household growing up. He probably knows whatever they're gonna throw at him, as long as it isn't something they've straight made up.

Which is possible, he's sure, knowing Eddie.

But that's about the extent of the discussion about what they walked in on earlier. 

Jeff turns over a card.

"Eldest, auction is in your hands," Jeff says, and Eddie looks down at his cards.

"Order it up," Eddie says, eating eggs and playing at the same time.

"Trumped up, just like your murder charges," Goodie says, and everybody laughs. 

"That doesn't even make sense," Jeff says.

"You just wanted to say it," Gareth adds, and Goodie takes his needling pretty damn well, all things considered.

And Steve smiles, happy that this is something they can all joke and laugh about. That as fucking terrible as it all was, is, that they can still make light of it to cope.

That's not nothing. That Eddie wasn't lost to it. That he's here to be gently ribbed. That his friends believe in his innocence, totally.

Eddie names his card, and Gareth plays it, becoming Eddie's partner. 

They continue to play, and things do not go Gareth's way, which Goodie seems to be enjoying.

And later, Goodie smirks, "I'm in the barn."

Gareth heaves a big sigh, "Damn. I'm gonna get skunked." 

And everybody laughs at his misfortune.

They stay. Camp out in all the rooms in the house, staking their claim. And it's actually a lot of fun. Like a high school house party that just doesn't end in a fist fight on the lawn. Steve hasn't been this relaxed since, well, before. Before 1983. Before monsters and the Upside Down came crashing into his life. 

He embraces this break, this chance to just be. He's not a kid anymore. Not in age, and definitely not in life experience. 

He lays on the beach, catching a tan.

These couple of weeks have felt as close to a vacation as he's gotten in years, and he lets the worry of the past slide off his back. 

Steve supplies the beer, Goodie has a few pre-rolls left, so they smoke, drink, and play cards. Steve watches them fight over the stereo, and he learns to recognize the new Accept album by ear with time. 

They swim, except for Goodie, because apparently he's scared of gators. Even if they tell him that the gulf isn't a swamp, and the chances of him being taken down by a gator are extremely unlikely. Not impossible, gators gonna gate, but it's not like it's super plausible. 

Goodie doesn't care. He's not doing it, and says no amount of peer pressure will work on him. So, he sits on the porch, beer on his knee. Cigarette in hand. 

So much for him being big and bad, Steve thinks. 

Today, girls have suddenly appeared down the beach. Screaming and laughing, and they all watch them intently. Taking in the bikinis. The bouncing boobies. Not one of them above watching a free show. 

They have a volleyball that comes bouncing in their direction, leading the girls to finally notice them and approach. Apparently Steve's the only one with a working voice, though. He learns there are a pair of sisters staying in their grandparents' beach house with their friends. One last hurrah before going back to, or for a couple of the girls starting, college. 

University of Nebraska. Go, Cornhuskers. Apparently.

Since Steve's the only one engaging like a normal human, they're paying extra attention to him. One in particular. And she's cute. But he politely rebuffed her attention the best he could, and then watched Eddie do the same.

Goodie builds a little bonfire, and Steve is kind of impressed. He doesn't even know where he got the wood at. 

Of course, Steve was less impressed when he was sent off for the stuff to make s'mores.

Eddie followed him, and as nervous as Steve is any time Eddie pokes his head out of the house, it's probably fine. Honestly. They are so far from Hawkins. 

Eddie does wait in the car at the grocery store, but then digs through the bag to see what Steve bought. 

Graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows. Steve's not sure what else Eddie expected, honestly. It's s'mores.

By the time they get back, one of the girls has taken a shine to Gareth, and now Steve and Eddie are watching him blush and blunder through what Steve thinks could be considered flirting, maybe. 

It's honestly a good show. 

For some reason, she isn't put off by Gareth's awkwardness, and later that night, with the window to his room open, Steve can hear Gareth talking to her down below on the porch. 

He's not as bad as Steve once thought, none of them are.

Just like Eddie.

Steve should have realized that earlier, he's pretty sure. First impressions are almost never right about anyone.

And their partying continues, just now there are girls involved. The group, growing. 

Goodie's suddenly not as scared of gators, apparently. Because there's a girl on his back out in the water. 

Steve sees Gareth dip under the water, and knows where this is going, and sure enough, he must snag Goodie's foot, which causes a commotion. 

Steve misses Robin. He sits there considering if there's any way he could get Mrs. Buckley to let her join them, but can't think of an excuse that would seem plausible. Unless Robin also wants to go to fake band camp, too.

Steve's lounging on the steps, leaned back, his elbows braced against the wood. Watching from behind his sunglasses. 

Gareth sits next to him. 

Two of the girls are hitting around a volleyball. Bouncing along the sand. 

"Boobies," Steve says. 

"Boobies," Gareth echoes, then laughs. 

They sit and watch a few seconds longer, then Gareth says, "Eddie doesn't have those, you know." 

"I know," Steve answers. "I like both. I'm okay with that. Are you?" 

"Yeah. Eddie does too," Gareth says, then turns and looks at Steve fully. 

Steve turns to see what he's doing. 

"Thanks. For saving him. I know we've been kinda shitty at times, but we owe you." 

They don't owe him anything, but he still teases, "Don't worry. Someday I'll collect." 

Gareth slaps him on the shoulder, and then inserts himself in the volleyball game down below.

The next morning, Steve's shaving at the sink, bathroom door open, when Gareth appears in the doorway. 

Then says nothing. 

Steve keeps shaving, waiting to see what this is. Finally asking, "Eddie okay?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, he's fine. Um, I have a question." 

Steve meets his eyes in the mirror. Still waiting.

"Do you have a condom I can borrow?" 

Steve grins, "Maybe. But not borrow. I definitely don't want it back."

Gareth rolls his eyes, "Very funny. Eddie told me to ask you. I regret that decision, now." 

Steve reaches over and gets his bathroom bag, and tosses it to Gareth, "Help yourself."

"Thanks," Gareth says, as he digs through it, finding what he was looking for. And then takes the whole box. Little shit.

But Steve lets him. He'd rather Gareth have more than he needs, instead of less. Steve can buy more. He's not embarrassed at all. 

"Play safe," Steve says as Gareth tosses his bag back, it thumping against Steve's bare chest.

Gareth doesn't come home that night, and by mid-afternoon the next day and still no sight of him, Eddie is sending Steve down to check on him. 

He's fine. Just laying on the couch in the girls' house, hand up the shirt of the petite, blonde one. 

"Check in with Eddie later," Steve says, startling him. "You know how he worries." 

Gareth laughs, and gives Steve a little salute and then a dismissive shooing away motion. 

Another girl is at the top of the staircase, and lifts the hem of her shirt, flashing him. 

"If only I wasn't already spoken for, sweetheart," he says, holding his hands to his heart, as if he's wounded by this admission. 

And she's laughing, and seems charmed, not offended, which is what he'd hoped for. He hasn't made anything official with Eddie, and they have definitely cooled their jets since Eddie's friends arrived, even if they all know. 

Steve walks down the sand, and Eddie is waiting on the porch.

"Well?" Eddie asks.

"I saw some tits," Steve says, sitting down next to him, "and Gareth's fine."

Eddie laughs, and briefly slides his hand through Steve's arm, squeezing his elbow.

In no time at all, the girls are packing up their cars, and Gareth is acting like he's about to become a war widow. 

Steve gets it. He does. Your first, you don't forget. But this should have been a little summer fling for him, not a pending broken heart. 

It's not like Gareth doesn't have to go soon, too. Labor day is quickly approaching.

Gareth is pretty pissed off that summer has slipped away, and now he has to go back to school. One more year. The youngest. Without him, they could probably stay indefinitely. 

And he's very unhappy about that fact.

But, he's made it his life's mission to make it clear to all of them that while he has to go back to high school for another year, at least he's not a virgin anymore. 

They're all sick of hearing it, and Steve's grateful it isn't gonna be him stuck in the car for twelve hours with him this time.

Eddie has given Gareth very explicit, detailed instructions on how to run Hellfire. How to keep it going for the other sheepies. Sure, the name will likely have to be changed. It's far too tainted now. And they might even if they have to do it in private, away from that godforsaken school, but Eddie wants that to happen, if need be.

A few days later, it's their turn to leave, and they're dragging feet, Gareth especially. 

"Are you ever coming home?" Gareth asks Eddie, standing next to his mom's borrowed minivan.

Eddie looks at Steve, and Steve doesn't have the heart to answer that. 

But no. Eddie's probably not.

Alone, once again, Steve follows Eddie up the staircase, his hand resting in the small of his back. As if Eddie still needs help with his balance. He doesn't, but Steve wants to touch him, nonetheless.

Steve watches as Eddie pulls his shirt over his head. He's gotten a bit of a tan while his friends were here, and he looks healthier, finally. Steve's hands find his bare skin, squeezing his sides. Eddie laughs, hair falling into his face. 

And Steve wants. 

He kisses him like he means it, then pulls back. During his last beer run, he'd done some other stocking up as well. He pulls the plastic sack out of the nightstand. New boxes of condoms and K-Y jelly. He shakes them out onto the bed.

"You wanna?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at them, cheeks going a little red, but he nods.

There's a little confusion on the expectations here, but Steve rolls over onto his belly. This is what he wants. He's never had it, but he wants it, anyway.

"I've never, have you ever?" Eddie asks, holding the tube in hand, flipping the cap open and shut, over and over again.

Steve shakes his head, "No."

There's a learning curve. It's kinda steep, but at least they can laugh about it. They can figure it out together, and now that Eddie's finally got two fingers in him, Steve thinks they're finally getting somewhere. 

It's an odd feeling, honestly. He isn't sure what he feels about it, other than full.

But he's gonna ride this out. See where it goes.

Now up on his knees, the blunt head of Eddie's cock is definitely bigger than his fingers, and Steve hangs his head down between his shoulders, and sucks in a sharp breath.

Eddie stills, "You still okay?"

There's a hand on Steve's ass, and he focuses on that point of contact. Like everything is in that warm touch, and nowhere else.

"It's a lot," Steve admits. Because it is.

"Want me to stop?" Eddie asks, his other hand now trailing up Steve's spine.

"No. No. Just, more lube, I think. And go slow," which Steve knows is an ask. He's pretty sure Eddie's barely been moving at all.

Eddie slides out, and now Steve feels left open, and missing something. It's so fucking weird. There's more lube, and more fingers, and even more lube. Steve feels it dripping out of him, he's pretty sure. 

But then Eddie's pressing in again, and it seems to go a little easier. He feels the head of his cock pop past his rim, right into him, and he groans, fisting at the sheets underneath him. It's good, and the rest of the slide feels easier.

Eddie eventually stills.

"You all in?" Steve asks. He's not sure what he'll do if there's more.

"Fuck, yes," Eddie answers, and then Steve can feels his fingertips brushing along his hole as it's stretched around his cock, buried deep inside. "Look at you."

Steve can't do that, but wishes he could.

"You good?" Eddie asks.

Yeah. Steve thinks he's good, "Yeah. Yeah. You can move. Slow. Go slow. But fuck me."

And Eddie does. It's a little hesitant, and uneven, but he draws back, and then slides deep again. And again. Until he's found a nice rhythm. Steve feels insane, and whiny, and so fucking needy. 

He didn't expect how much he'd enjoy this. He kinda just thought he'd be taking one for the team.

Fuck that. He's taking this for himself. Happily, greedily.

It doesn't last long. Steve knows how that goes. The first time you slide into a body that's allowing, welcoming, you inside. It's overwhelming, and feels good in a way you can't even begin to expect.

Eddie shoves deep one more time, and comes with a noise that is nearly enough to send Steve over the edge, untouched. 

When he pulls out, Steve feels empty. Cracked open, and then Eddie rolls him over onto his back, slick hand finding his cock, eyes locked straight on Steve's, and Steve melts into it. He looks at Eddie. Into his dark eyes, his hand gripping Eddie's scarred waist, holding on.

It's a firm slide up, and back down, and Steve can feel his orgasm building. And when he tenses and comes, splattering his own belly and chest, he feels so fucking good. Eddie eventually lets go, cleans him up, and then curls into his side.

Fingers dancing along his skin, and Steve suspects, going from mole to mole.

He's gonna fall in love with him, hell, probably already has.

"We gotta do something. Make a plan. We can't stay hidden here forever," Eddie eventually says, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut. "Even if I want to."

Steve knows. He knows that's true.

"Okay. I'll figure it out."

Steve paces on the porch, worried. He eyes the nailbat leaning against the railing, waiting, in case he needs it. He's scared he's made a mistake. Scared that it's gonna be helicopters, spotlights, and a whole fucking army decending on them.

It's not.

It's Dr. Sam Owens. Alone, with a briefcase.

Two hours later, Eddie Munson has a whole new identity, and a small tote bag of cash. A payout Steve hadn't even known to ask for, but Owens had brought as a peace offering to keep Eddie quiet if he'll just slink off and not expose all their secrets. 

Wayne's paperwork is on the counter, if he wants it. 

Jeff and Goodie are bringing Wayne out next week. That's the plan anyway. If they can lure him into the car. 

Eddie can't return to Hawkins with his new identity, but he can leave the beach house. Can leave Florida. He can go anywhere he wants, now.

Dr. Owens is descending the steps, nearly onto the sand, when Steve hurries out onto the porch. 

"Hey, wait!"

Dr. Owens turns around, and Steve suddenly isn't sure what to say.

"Yes?"

"Um. What would it take, to get me that kind of paperwork?"

Owens smirks, just a little, and reaches into his briefcase, pulling out a manilla envelope. 

Steve takes it.

"How did you know?" Steve asks.

"I've had eyes on you from the moment you ferreted him out of Hawkins."

Steve swallows. Nods.

Looks down at the envelope he's gripping tight. He could disappear, too. If he wants. He'd have to find some way to loop in Robin, of course, but he could just…go. 

Wherever Eddie wants. 

"Thank you," Steve says. 

"We think the activity in Hawkins has ceased. Once they finish rebuilding, it should be back to business as usual." 

Steve nods again. But it'll never be the same. Can't be. But the town will be able to start over. Have proven that's the plan. Hell, they've already figured out a way to start school on time and everything. 

Dr. Owens gives him one last look, and then he's gone.

Eddie's standing on the porch, and as Steve climbs the steps, Eddie holds open the door, asking, "What's next?"

Steve turns the lock, "Anything you want."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesmuttyseptember and @steddiesongfics to follow along with the filth and fun! 💦🎵

Notes: In the 1980's Destin was just starting to turn into the vacation city it now is. It went from fishing village to a resort city.

Accept's album Russian Roulette was released on April 21, 1986. As we're all aware, Eddie was wearing an Accept pin on his battle vest during S4.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Two of a Kind 8

Masterlist

NO TAGS. Don’t ask.

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; manipulation; criminal behaviour; cumplay/creampie, talk of contraception; written for smut, just being honest. Not all elements will be tagged/warned.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. It features dark!Ransom Drysdale and dark!Modern Charles Blackwood. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Ransom and Charles are partner’s in crime but they’re looking for some pleasure after years of business.

Note: :)

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya.

Ransom paces. He’s agitated. Charles always has to be the big man. Always has to be in control. That’s not how this works. This is a partnership. They are equal, in all their gains. It’s why they’re so efficient. 

So how come he’s out in the cold and Charlie Boy is cuddled up nice and close with the kitty. He bets he’s in there getting a double dip. Fucking unbelievable. 

Ransom snarls and flops onto the couch. His satin boxers tickle his tip and he hardens. He hasn’t fully calmed down. Every time he thinks about how she squeezed him, he tingles and twitches. Fuck, that was good. Who would’ve thought?  

He sighs and stands up. He charges down the hall to Charles’ room then stops. He strides back to the front room and retraces his steps a second time. He snarls and cracks his neck. They had a fucking deal. They share. So why is he in there hogging her all to himself? 

He closes his eyes and pictures her shivering in the tub. The tears streaked down her cheeks and the glistening, sticky aftermath of fucking all over her skin. The way he covered her has him fully hard. Fuck it, he’s not waiting until morning. 

He turns the handle and swings the door inward. The room is dark. He can smell the chamomile. Charles’ snores rumble in the dark. He always sounded like a pig in heat when he slept. Ransom slows as his eyes adjust to the dim. 

He sees her squirm. She’s under Charles’ arm. He thinks she’s awake, he swears he can feel her eyes on him. He nears quietly, placing each foot carefully, and bends over the side of the bed. He measures’ his accomplices snores. 

He runs his fingertips down her arm and wraps his fingers around her wrist. He’s lucked out and he’s not gonna pass up the prime opportunity. He tugs her and she whimpers. He hisses out a hush. She gulps and slides out from beneath the blankets and Charles’ arm. 

Ransom stops and pulls her to him as the other man grumbles and shifts onto his stomach. He puts his hand over her mouth to quiet her gasp and she presses flush to him. She’s still naked. 

He turns her and walks her toward the door. He ushers her into the hall as she awkwardly mimics his steps. He reaches back to close the door and she whines. 

“Please, I’m tired--” 

“Shut up,” he snarls. “You can sleep, I’ll still fuck you.” 

“But... Ransom... I... I thought you liked me--” 

He chuckles, sure to keep it low. He nudges her down the hall. He points over her shoulder. 

“I like what you can give me. Well, more what you have. By nature, really. Nothing special but those holes do the job,” he smacks her ass and reaches past her to open his bedroom door. “So why don’t you show them off for me, baby.” 

She curls her shoulders, looking even smaller, and his balls throb. He feels full even though he was aching moments ago. Been a while since he felt so... ready. Usually, he just rolls over and prays he wakes up to an empty bed. 

She hesitates and looks around. He huffs. She’s a bit stupid. Her fear gets him going but it’s also fucking annoying.  

He marches up and grabs the back of her neck. He urges her to the end of the bed and guides her to kneel on the cushioned bench, like a fucking dog. Mm, he likes that. She’s his. His obedient little pet. 

Her back racks visibly as she quivers. He gets behind her and pushes down his boxers, the fabric catching on his swollen tip. He growls and stretches the elastic past his length. He lets the satin fall to his feet and grabs her hip. 

He steps closer and presses his tip along your ass. He smears around the precum already trickling out and shudders. His entire body pulses at the sensation.  

The surge drives him. He bends his knees and leans over her. She whines as he traces down past her ring, a moment of intrigue before he finds her cunt. Charles wouldn’t forgive him if he took her ass without him. 

He glides between her swollen folds and feels her flinches. He groans and rubs against her cunt. He pushes against her opening and she drones as she tenses. Her body resists his intrusion but it only goads him on. 

He snaps his hips and breaks through. She cries out and he once more brings his hand to her mouth. He puts his other on the bench as he bends over her and thrusts again. It takes several tilts for him to bottom out as she sobs into his palm. 

Her agony fills him with smoky delight. Fuck. Her walls throb, milking him as he tries to fight the pressure. He can’t blow already. 

He rolls his hips slowly, enjoying the feeling of her around him, so tight and slick, then the tingle of the naked air around him as he pulls out. In, out. He stands up, bringing her with him, and watches himself pump into her. Shit. Don’t, don’t, don’t. 

He exhales away the swell and carries on. He covers half her face with his hand and ruts harder and harder, pausing after each rippling slap of skin. He leans his head back as his eyes roll into his skull. Her fractured voice is smothered by his palm and she quakes uncontrollably at his mercy. 

He spasms as he erupts, unable to hold it in any longer. He fills her up as he fucks his cum into her until it squelches and leaks out. Even then, he doesn’t stop. He could keep her on him forever. 

👄

You stare at Ransom’s back. Your insides crawl and threaten to spill over. You stare at his muscles, the power woven through them, and you feel the weakness in you. 

His breath rises and falls as you lay in the soft hue cast through the window. You suppress a groan as you turn onto your back. It takes all you have to sit up. You hunch over and touch your pelvis as it scalds.  

You nearly stumble out of the bed. You limp to the door and glance back at his sleeping figure, focusing on him to make sure he isn’t awake. You slip through the door, leaving it slightly open, and creep down the hall. 

Your clothes are still on the floor. You dress in the grim night shade. The friction of fabric on your skin makes you wretch. You can’t stand even that. You never want to be touched again. 

You find your shoes and bag by the door. You stop to listen to the house as you put your coat on. You take out your phone before you flip back the lock. You sneak out into the whipping gales and steel yourself for the walk home. At least, you hope you find your way back. 

You open your maps app and follow the small blue arrow through the desolate night time. Each step is torture. When you trip off a curb, you feel it inside. 

You cry again, here and there, replaying the night in your head. Reliving your own mistakes. How could you ever believe Ransom? You really thought he was into you... 

Your mom can’t know. She’d be horrified. Or... what if she doesn’t believe you? 

That hurts more than anything they did to you. No one would believe you. If they did, they’d say it was your fault. You went to his house, you stayed there with both of them, you didn’t fight hard enough. No, you let them use you. 

You stop and sit on a bench. You know this part of town. You’re just too tired to keep going. You just need a minute. Or two. Or three. 

It takes you a while to get up again. Shivering, you watch the battery on your phone drain. You put it away as you recognise the street signs. It’s like a maze as you struggle to push through the pain and the blistering wind. 

You just want to go home and forget tonight. Forget it like it never happened. 

As you reach your front door, you fumble for the keys. You ease inside, keeping your steps soft and sitting to take off your boots. You hug your bag, huddling over it, and shuffle down the hall. The light flicks on above you. 

You blanch as your mother’s voice calls after you. You inhale and face her, hoping she can’t see your sadness. You force a smile. 

“Mom...” 

“There you are,” she says. “I’ve been waiting all night. I thought you’d be home before me.” 

“I’m sorry, mom, I... I lost track of time--” 

“You couldn’t call, or message?” 

“I know, mom. I—I—” You stutter. “I’m an adult.” 

She scoffs, “I know that but I worry.” 

“It’s okay--” 

“Okay? Out all night with a boy. You never know what could happen.” 

You sniffle, “mom.” 

“I’m just trying to look out for you, honey.” She girds and lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but... I’m just glad you’re safe.” 

She comes forward and you tremble. You want so desperately to hug her and cry against her. No, like you said, you’re an adult, you made this decision. 

“Well, did you have fun?” She asks. 

The question nearly bowls you over. You stare at her dumbly and shrug. She smiles and snickers, “oh, you don’t have to tell me everything.” 

Good, because you’re not telling her anything.